Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s my fault.

Tears streamed down his pale face as he stood staring out a window in the cold hospital room. The sun shone brightly through the tinted windows onto his white plating, the day clear and crisp. Inside, the heavy atmosphere made it difficult to vent. His heavy spark ached and his mouth was as dry as the barren wastelands. Around him enforcers, nurses and doctors hustled quietly, whispering, explaining. They ignored him.

He in turn shut them out.

I never should have left…

The tiny, cold hand in his, barley strong enough to hold on. The pleading, dimmed golden optics begging him to stay.

‘Stay….’

A voice cleared behind him and he blinked, doorwings flicking back and up. He raised a hand and wiped at his wet cheeks. He couldn’t turn around to face the detective.

“Smokescreen, I apologise for intruding, but I need to get your statement.” His voice was strong yet gentle, his field coaxing.

Smokescreen nodded, tilting his helm towards the detective. He could face the empty berth even less than the detective. He drew a deep vent, turning back to the window. “I left him. Alone.”    

He shuttered his optics as fluid burned them. A small frame dwarfed by the large berth and the myriad of pipes and machinery haunted him as he turned his helm away. Guilt gnawed at him like an malevolent cyberat.

The detective didn’t say a word. Smokescreen was thankful for that – the words were stuck in his throat like glue. He should never have left. Primus he should never have left… The tang of antiseptics stung his olfactory. He wiped his hand over his face.

“He wanted me to stay. I thought he’d be safe. He should have been. It’s a fragging hospital!” His voice cracked on the last word and he bit his lips, doorwings trembling as his emotions whirled and broiled within him like an untamed storm ready to unleash its full fury.

“We are investigating why the alarm was not raised.” The detective’s soft voice held no sway over Smokescreen’s rampant emotions.

“Please, Smokescreen, the longer you delay in your statement the longer we remain here instead of out there looking for Dilinger.” The detective stepped up to stand next to him, his dark plating absorbing the light. “It is vital for us to know everything.”

Smokescreen’s helm dropped forward. “I’ve already told you that I suspect it was his carrier.”

“We have sent a unit out to the address you have given for Nostrum. Your statement now is for the record.” The detective drew out a single, thin datapad. “I am going to both record it and put it in glyphs. I will need you to sign for it. Now please, your statement.”

Smokescreen drew a deep breath. “I was with him last night until visiting time was over. I left at 23h00 joors. He asked me to stay….” His doorwings flattened against his back and his plating tightened. “I told him he would be safe. I told him I would be here first thing in the morning and that he didn’t have to be afraid.” A bark of self-loathing laughter burst his lips. “Guess I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

He pressed his hands over his face, willing the helmache away. Dilinger’s dim optics stared at him. “Before I left, I gave him my Amulet. Told him he could hold it safe for me until the morning. That way he knew I’d be back first thing.” He dropped his hands and folded his arms protectively over his abdomen. The coldness coiled there didn’t warm, but only coiled tighter.

“I got here this morning at 07h00 joors. I start work at 09h00 joors, so I thought it would at least give me a joor and a half with him. When I got here, his berth was empty.” Smokescreen turned and stared into the ward at the bed his younger brother had occupied. It still mocked him with its barren emptiness.

“I freaked out, called the nurses. They didn’t know where he had gone.” He snorted as the coldness turned into angry heat, the first tendrils of the storm unleashing. He balled his fist. They should have been there to protect him! “He was supposed to be safe! How could they not fragging know what goes on in their own hospital!?” He hissed. “I trusted you to keep him safe! You left him alone!”

Not one of the medical staff dared look at him. “Don’t you at least have ball bearings to look at me!?” He shouted as he flared his doorwings wide, arching them above his helm as he straightened. “You da– ”

“Smokescreen, that is enough! They will answer, but right now ranting at them will not help find your brother.”

Smokescreen whipped his helm round to glare at the detective. “He’s barely into his younglinghood! He…I warned them of my suspicions and they still didn’t put a guard here or even a fragging nurse!”

“And they will be investigated.” The detective flared his armour and raised his chin, but his voice remained even. “So you informed the staff that your brother wasn’t in his berth, what happened next?”

Smokescreen grit his denta, the tangy bitterness of loss stinging his glossa. If only he had stayed… The storm festered down. He drew another deep vent and turned his back towards the lonely berth. “I was taken to the waiting room, and then you came.” He whispered. “I told you that I was in the middle of a custody dispute to get Dilinger, and that I suspected his carrier had taken him since the court was ruling in my favour.”

“Why would you think his carrier would take him from the hospital, especially seeing as he was injured? A carrier who cared for his creation would not do that.”

Smokescreen laughed, and if there was a hysterical note to it no one commented on it. “Cares…oh as if he cares…He’s delusional. Crazy.” He wiped at the tears streaming once more from his burning optics. “Negligent, abusive. Why don’t you go ask the court, the university what kind of deranged mech he is?”

“We will, but I need to know why you think he’d want him back and that he would be willing to go to such extremes to get him.”

Smokescreen turned back to the berth, shaking his helm slowly. How did you explain a mech like Nostrum? How did you explain that there was something inexplicitly evil in that mech? How did you explain someone who had such….an obsessively queer interest in their youngling yet in the same vent barely recognising him as an individual being? How’d one explain that he’d painstakingly monitor his sparkling’s mental progress yet at the same time forget the basics of feeding him? How could one even begin to explain….

“Stay…please…”

The room dimmed as he slumped against the wall. A steadying hand grabbed his arm, stilling him, anchoring him. Smokescreen shuttered his optics and swallowed the thick lump of fear in his throat.

“I just know he’s got him…and it’s not because he cares.”

Chapter Text

“Urgh…This is so disgusting.” Red Alert whispered as he crept through the knee-deep, fetid waste. His arms were outstretched, his fingertips barely touching the slimy sides of the round cylindrical pipes as he used them to guide him through the pitch darkness.

“It is foul-smelling.”

Red Alert’s plating prickled at the monotone voice sounding from behind him. He should have known that sound carries in these blasted sewer pipes. He willed the nervous fluttering in his tanks to subside. What a fool he was to have taken this colourless drone with him! Oh he had mistaken him for a regular youngling…well, as regular as younglings in the Institution could be. But no…he had to have taken something barely a little more sentient than the drones cleaning the hallways. He clicked his glossa in irritation at himself. Stupid! Stupid! Not even a rookie mistake! Not for the first time that joor he wished he had not acted on the spur of the moment but had at least considered what he was doing before dragging the mech along.

But he had been desperate to get out of there, so desperate that he had been willing to use the help offered to him in the form of the other youngling – it was a mistake he wouldn’t repeat again.

His pede landed in something squishy and he froze. What little energon was left in his tank rose swiftly to his throat and he gagged, slowing it again. It was too precious to lose. He panted as he lifted his pede and placed it somewhere else. Freedom. Think of freedom. He was so close to freedom. He could handle this. You’re ok Red, you’re ok.

The sloshing water behind him also came to a stop, leaving only the echoing drops of water to reverberate through the tunnels. “Why have we stopped?” That infuriatingly calm voice asked again.

“Because, I stepped in something.” Red Alert quipped through clenched denta. His fingers curled in, the putrid slime coating his palm and he felt like screaming. Primus the first thing he was going to do when he reached his freedom was take a good, long shower!

“Are you injured?”

“Nooooo…” Red Alert flexed his hands and forced his pedes onwards. This was just a little grime…it wasn’t mech fluids, or…or….

“Then we should move.”

Red Alert’s optic twitched. “Of course….why didn’t I think of that.” He whispered back and stepped forward. If only it wasn’t this dark, or they had some form of light. At least he wasn’t alone. Maybe the mech wasn’t too bad. He had someone at his back…behind him…someone he barely knew…behind him….behind him…behind….

His frame started trembling and his knees buckled. No, not now. Please…not now…He caught himself. He drew deep vents. He couldn’t lose it now. His spark constricted as he dragged air in. Red don’t…don’t…. Oh Primus…there’s…no…no don’t go there…there’s nothing…no, there’s….someone at…my back…at my back….he’s at my back…he’s-at-my-back-he’s-at-my-back…Raw memories clawed their way up from the deep recesses of his processor, each terrifying cry amplified as darkness smothered him. Get away! Get away! Get Away! Strength flooded his legs and he sprinted forward, heedless of the fetid water splashing across his frame, of the turborats scurrying away. Run-run-run-run-run…he had to get away. He had to get away. That’s all that mattered! He had to…get away!

He ran through the icy darkness as fast as his legs could take him, oblivious of where he was going as long as they carried him away from him.

He turned his helm, his sensitive audial horns picking up the sound of pursuing pedesteps and splashing water. Primal fear gripped his spark, crushing it painfully as an invisible hand chocked him. He cried out in fear. Faster! Run faster!

He hit a wall, his helm clanging against it as it knocked him back. Even as he shook the dancing speckles away he was back on his pedes, running. Suddenly the ground beneath him disappeared and he screamed.

A hand grabbed his and his burning, trembling frame hit the wall. Water crashed over him. He sobbed, gripping the hand as his spark thudded. His processor cooled, his thoughts blurred as he scraped against the wall, the water pelting his hot frame.

“I do not think this is the right way.”

Red Alert broke into high-pitched laughter as he hung onto the hand. Somehow that stupid, placid voice broke through to his irrational, pounding helm. I’m ok, not dying, not dying. I’m ok.

“I am pulling you up, try to use the walls to assist me.”

Red Alert nodded. He laughed-sobbed again at the irrationality of nodding. The mech wouldn’t be able to see it… but he didn’t trust himself to say anything.

He dug his pedes into the wall and tried to step up as the Praxian pulled him up and over the edge. Feeling along the wet walls, he found a place to sit. He drew his legs up to him and placed his warm helm on his knees. Just focus…focus on the here and now…vent one two three four…hold….one two three four….focus on the cool wall, focus on the rushing water. Wait. Rushing water? He popped his helm up and turned towards the source of the noise. When had the water started rushing?

“Are you injured?” The disembodied voice drifted from the opposite side.

Red Alert jerked his helm towards the sound. “No.” He croaked.

Silence fell between them. Red Alert drew a few more deep vents, his spark calming. He was alright, he was fine. He pushed his back against the wall. Nothing could sneak up on him as long as his back was covered.  The memories flitted at the edge of his awareness. He had to get away from them. He cleared his vocaliser, hoping the static wouldn’t make his words indecipherable.

“Thanks…for catching me.” He rubbed at his arms, the plating still sensitive.

“You were going the wrong way.”

A spark of irritation ignited. “I know! I wasn’t….” He snapped his mouth shut. He wasn’t about to tell this stranger that he had been running blind, and not because of the lack of visual sight. He frowned. Now that he thought about it…

“How did manage to catch me?” Red Alert sat straight, ignoring the chilly spot left on his back.

The other mech didn’t answer.

“Well?” Red Alert wasn’t letting this one go.

“I am not sure I grasp your meaning?” If not for the miniscule inflection Red Alert might have thought the mech had made a statement.

“It’s pitch dark! How did you manage to catch me? How did you see me?”

Another beat of silence. “I can see perfectly well.”

Red Alert shuttered his optics and pursed his lips as heat rose to his cheeks.

“You are unable to see?”

Red Alert drew a quick vent. “I am perfectly capable of seeing in light, I was, however, unaware that you can see. Why, I beg of you, didn’t you tell me?” He asked sweetly, but unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

“You did not enquire.”

“Oh. Right then. I’ll remember to ask you next time.” Red Alert quipped. “Now, how do you see? You’re not wearing a visor.” Nothing of this mech was making sense – maybe he really was a drone with an added sparksignature to confuse mechs….maybe he was a spy…or a tracker! Red Alert pushed back against the wall again. And worse – he now knew the mech could see perfectly in the dark while he himself was left defenceless!

“I have doorwings.”

Of....course. Doorwings. High density of sensors and highly sensitive. Capable of forming pictures through echo-location in almost all circumstances except those of high electromagnetism. He shuttered his optics, muttering under his breath at his own stupidity. How could he forget something as simple as that? He rubbed a hand tiredly over his face and froze. “Euw …” He grimaced as the smelly, sticky slime clung to his cheeks. He whimpered. He wanted out of these tunnels.

“I will lead. You were heading south. Is that the route you have chosen?”

Red Alert shrugged. Truth was he had no idea where to go after they exited the facility. He knew where to exit the Institution and how to exit, had timed that smeltering pit time and time again. He knew he had had one shot at getting out and he had taken it and beaten the odds…that he had a tagalong was a little unexpected…but he was out. But where to next? That was the million shanix question. He vented heavily. “It doesn’t really matter where we go from here, as long as it’s as far away from the institution as we can get, and out of these tunnels.”

“We must head north.”

Red Alert frowned. The mech sounded like het was very sure of it. Suspicion curled at his tanks. Was this mech leading them back? What was his motive? He folded his arms over his chassis protectively. He didn’t trust this mech. A flashback of him falling stalled him. The mech didn’t have to save him, and yet he had. Perhaps, perhaps just this once he’d allow himself to follow blindly. At least if he followed there was no one at his back. Processor made up, he nodded. “Alright. Why north?”

Two beats passed.

“The mech who opened the vault said to head north.”

No way! Red Alert shook his helm vigorously, lips pressed firmly. Did this mech think he was a total moron?! “Oh that’s nice! We’ll just follow the instructions given by some random mech working at the Institution who just happens to have the codes of the Vault. Brilliant!” He waved his hand in the air. “We can’t follow some random mech’s words to go north! For all we know he might have laid a trap for us! He might simply be waiting to catch us and return us to the Institution! Maybe they are using us as test subjects to check the defence network surrounding the Institution!” His vents stalled at the thought. Primus, what if they are already tracking us?

“No. They are not following, but we cannot stay here.”

Red Alert grabbed his horns, squeezing his optics shut. Why had he ever thought he could escape? It was impossible! Freedom was nothing but an illusion!

“We must leave now.”

Red Alert’s optics snapped open as he heard the other mech stand. His field was abnormally calm. The mech wasn’t concerned. Slowly he released the grip on his horns, his spark still spinning rapidly. He had to get a grip on his frayed emotions. He had to think logically if he was going to survive. He tilted his helm towards the Praxian. “What if they’re waiting?”

“If it is a trap, we will fight our way out. If it is not a trap, there is freedom. Let us continue.”

Red Alert stood, legs wobbling as he followed the sounds of splashing water. “How can you be so calm?”

The mech continued walking in what Red Alert assumed to be north.

“Calm?”

“Well, yes? Your field is incredibly stable and it’s not like we are in the best of situations.” And that made him all the more suspicious. No mech could be this calm after having escaped that Pit.

“Calm.” The mech repeated thoughtfully.

Red Alert had the distinct impression that he wasn’t being paid any attention to. His impression was confirmed as the mech never bothered with an answer. He let it slide. He didn’t have the energy to insist on an answer.

They continued trudging through the sewers, water dripping on them and objects bumping into them that Red Alert didn’t want to think about. Joors stretched on until finally, Red Alert picked up a soft, fresh breeze.

“We are approaching an open source.”

Red Alert quickened his pace, the water current starting to flow faster and faster. He smiled as he first started making out shadows, then the form of the Praxian before him, and finally he started distinguishing colours. He laughed as he saw the first few rays of the planet’s moons filter through a gated entrance.

“We made it!” He whispered happily as he pushed past the Praxian. He grabbed the rusty grater and pressed his helm against it. This was all that stood between him and the freedom he so desperately craved.

The Praxian knelt beside him, his grey frame covered in streaks of black and brown, but the golden optics sharp and keen as they scanned. His face remained impassive. “There is no one.”

Red Alert grinned as he ran his own scan. They were alone indeed. Fantastic! He studied the grate. “We need some way to open this. By the looks of it, it’s rusted through. We should be able to break it with enough force.”

The Praxian continued examining the exterior.

Red Alert’s grin faltered as he shook his helm. Stupid Praxian. He yanked at the bars, gritting his denta as condensation gathered on his helm.

Another pair of hands grabbed the bars. “We must combine our strength.”

Red Alert huffed. “No slag.” He shook his helm as he adjusted his hold on the bars. “On the count of three…one…two…THREE!”

The two mechs yanked and with a painful shriek the bars broke free from their rivets. The force sent the two mechs flailing back and into the rushing water.

“We did it!” Red Alert laughed as he pushed up, using the walls for grip as he headed to their freedom. He drew in deep vents of fresh air, grinning up at the boundless stars. When was the last time he had seen them? He laughed again. “Primus I’m glad we’re not prowling those fetid tunnels any more!”

“Prowling?” The Praxian turned to him, his doorwings set neutrally as he followed Red Alert out of the pipe.

Red Alert cocked an optic ridge at him. “Yes, prowl, as in wandering stealthily in the dark in search of something, in our case, searching for our freedom.” He gave the Praxian a once over. For all the mech didn’t look stupid, he certainly wasn’t very bright.  He stopped and planted his hands on his hips as he thoroughly enjoyed the first tendrils of his freedom.

The fresh breeze caressed their plating as millions of stars glittered in the night sky. In the distance a few lights burned – a sure sign of a small town where they would hopefully be able to get some fuel. He dropped his gaze to the water running out of the sewer. It led to a small water pond where Red Alert could make out the forms of some mechanimals. He bit his lip. At least none of the shadows were in the form of insecticons.

He turned to his sort-of companion. Now what to do with him. As much as he loathed companionship, the journey forward might be a little easier if he had company. But one false move on this mechs part….might be too late for him though, although he was in no way defenceless. He was a reasonable fighter, and an even better shot. Problem came in he didn’t have a blaster.

He made a mental note to get one. Soon.

“So…” He started as he crossed his arms defensively. “There’s a town over there. It lies…” He checked the sky… “to the north. The way we are heading. We can go there together, perhaps get some fuel than split paths. Deal?”

The mech turned golden, calculating optics on him and Red Alert fought the irrational urge to shuffle his pedes. He lifted his chin and optic ridges. “Well?”

“Agreed.” The mech turned once more to the sight before him. “We must head north.”

Red Alert studied him. The mech was completely absorbed in his surroundings. It’s as if he’s never seen….Oh…. He worked his lower lip as his plating clamped. He’d probably never seen the outside before. That made him…dangerous.

This mech was probably made in the Institution. “First time out?” Red Alert whispered. What if this mech decided he didn’t like it here? What if he wanted to go back? What if he used Red Alert as a bargaining chip? A small keen escaped his vocaliser as he curled in on himself. He was the stupid one!

The Praxian turned towards him. “I do not know.”

Red Alert’s processor came to a grinding halt. “What?”

“I do not know.”

The breeze continued to dance over their plating as night chirps sang around them. Red Alert scratched his plating. Maybe he had burned a chip out in his processor or something? How could you not know whether you’ve seen outside or not? It’s not like there’s no difference. He cleared his vocaliser. “What…what do you mean that you don’t know? How could you not know?”

“There is nothing there.”

Red Alert canted his helm, face pulled up in confusion. Nothing there? No memories or no recollection? “Are you a drone?”

The mech swung his helm towards him.

Red Alert raised his hands placatingly. “Apologies, that was very rude. It’s just…how can there be nothing? What about your memories? I mean, you are what a youngling, or a young full-frame? You have to have something there.”

The doorwings moved up and down minutely. “There is the mech who told me to head north, then there is you.”

“Ok.” Red Alert nodded, mouth slack and ridges squishing together. Well this was…different. He scratched his chin. “Well, um, let’s uh begin then with your designation. I’m…or rather you go first.” He didn’t want this mech having his designation before he didn’t get one. He was already taking the lead in this dance and he didn’t like it. He was a loner. He didn’t do dancing.

He was met with another blank stare that stretched into breams. The mech shook his helm.

“Seriously?” Red Alert’s hands dropped to his side as he stared at the mech. The doorwings hitched higher.

“There is…nothing. I do not….”

For the first time the Praxian’s tone waivered and his armour pulled tight.

Not a drone, then. They can’t do that. “Ok, hang on, might be that you had some…” Red Alert waved his hand around in the air, desperately thinking of what the mech might have had. “Got it! You bumped your helm and scrambled your processor! You’re bound to remember after a good uh, defrag!”

“There is nothing.” The mech repeated, his tone hard.

 “Uh,” Red Alert pulled his shoulders up, optics wide. Primus, how the pit did he deal with this? Was it even his issue to deal with? “Well, um, then let’s, uh, choose something for now, and later when you remember we can change it back. No big deal, I mean, uh, what’s in a designation anyway?”

The mech stared at him. And stared.

“You want me to choose you something?” Red Alert’s mouth slacked as he pointed at himself. He wasn’t prepared to choose some random mech’s designation! It wasn’t his problem.

The mech’s helm tilted. “Yes.”

Red Alert rocked back. “Well, uhm, ok then.” He blinked a couple of times and pursed his lips. The audacity of this mech! What was he? This mech’s creator or something! “Let’s call you… Prowl. Yes, Prowl for now as you are basically still stuck in a dark tunnel in search of something, in this case, your designation.” He ended off with a nod as he folded his arms over his chassis.

“Prowl.” The mech turned his gaze back towards the distant town. “For now, Prowl is adequate.”  

“Ok good.” Red Alert’s helm bobbed. This was one pit of an odd mech. “My designation is Red Alert.”

The mech, newly dubbed ‘Prowl’ stepped out. “Red Alert. Let us head north. We are wasting time.”

Red Alert vented in exasperation. Seems like they were taking turns leading the dance. He pursed his lips and threw out his hip.  “Well, we can head north as long as we head north through that pond. I want this gunk off of me!”

Prowl stopped and turned to look at him. “Gunk?”

Red Alert drew a longsuffering vent as he headed to the pond. He indicated his frame. “Yes, Prowl, gunk. This horrible, stinky, slimy goo that is stuck to our frames and make us look like swamp monsters straight from the acid wastes!”

“Gunk.” The Praxian repeated as he followed Red Alert.

Red Alert grit his denta. Hopefully the town wasn’t too far away. This mech was too odd, too different. His lips pulled down in a frown as he rolled his shoulders. Prowl couldn’t be trusted. There was something about him that didn’t make any sense. How could a mech not remember his own designation? Or even more concerning, if he had supposedly lost his memories or had ‘nothing’ up there, how the pit was he even able to walk or talk or do anything? Red Alert narrowed his optics.

There was something not right with this one.

He cast a worried look over his shoulder at the mech following him.

He needed to figure him out.

The guard trembled as he took out his access card. It slipped through his trembling fingers and fell on the floor. He drew a deep vent, picked it up and swiped. The light blinked green and the locks disengaged.

He stood at attention, the pungent odour of chemicals nauseating. At the table a scarlet mech stood working, carefully inserting a formula into his terminal. Large doorwings arched over a solid, sleek frame. The mech turned keen crimson optics on the guard and with a voice as silky and smooth as his paint job, enquired. “Well? Where is he?”

The guard opened his trembling lips. “There are no sign of them.” He swallowed.

“NOOOOO!” The furious roar was echoed by the shrill screech of a table flipping, it’s contents spilling and crashing onto the barren, sterile floor. A cleaning drone came racing over.

“How dare you come back and tell me he is gone!” The pitch black mech ambled towards the guard, finger outstretched and optics blazing.

The guard shrank back on himself. “We are going through sur-”

A hand descended on his throat and clamped tight.

The guard chocked, optics bulging as he scratched at the wiry hand crushing the life out of him. Smoldering crimson optics filled his vision.

“I have invested millions into this project! He is a vital part of that weapon! Get. Him. Back!”

He shoved hard, the guard falling on his back as he gasped and spluttered.

“Use whatever you have to.” Nostrum turned towards the back of the room where two other pods lay. His lip curled. How dare they take him! His prized invention! After all the vorns of planning and manipulation to get the perfect combination to complete his prized weapon – someone had stolen him.

His fist balled and red tinged his vision. He yelled as he kicked the table. It flew across the floor, scraping and screatching. Panting hard, he glared at the shattered screen of his blank terminal.

A throaty growl built up from deep within him.

Whoever took him will suffer a fate worse than death. He’d make sure of that.

Chapter Text

Emptiness.

Prowl blinked and looked at the red and white mech walking few paces in front of him, bathed in the silvery light of the moon. He canted his helm as he observed the mech. His walk was different than in the tunnels. He set his processor to determine the differences and what that could mean.

He blinked again as he continued observing. Perhaps it was because the ‘gunk’ had been washed off and the mech was now lighter.

Illogical. The gunk was not as substantial. Most likely scenario was rel..r..r…

His processor pinged sharply, then blanked. He kept walking.

Emptiness.

He drew a deep vent and released it slowly. There was something wrong. Something missing.

His processor latched onto that thought, chasing it through the myriad of … nothingness.

He blinked again. There was something wrong.

Calm.

That’s what he was. Calm.

Red Alert tossed a look over his shoulder at Prowl. His dull, grey frame had not improved even after a thorough wash in the pond, and there had not so much as a single change of expression graced his stony face. There was something wrong with this mech.

His tank growled and he folded his arms over his abdomen as he continued trudging along the shadowed path that led to the town. When was the last time he had fuelled? Probably at the institution. He wouldn’t mind a fresh, warm cube of energon…or maybe rust sticks! His tank ached dully, and he cut that processor thread. He’d be lucky if he was able to find anything decent to eat in a garbage dump. It wouldn’t be safe. His thoughts drifted involuntarily to Prowl.

As soon as they were in the town, they could scavenge for some energon and they’d part ways. Simple as that. They weren’t too far away anymore. Probably another half joor or joor at the most. He glanced to the side where the first rays of Cybertron’s sun was rising. It would be another four or five joors for the other to rise, depending on the season. It would give them some cover, but not a lot.

Speaking of the season…Red Alert looked around him. It wasn’t winter, but there was a chill in the air. Perhaps they were approaching winter…or maybe heading out of it? He shook his helm. He’d figure out the time and date soon enough. Or perhaps…no. He doubted Prowl would know. The mech was clueless. Never assume…He paused, then rolled his optics at his own little annoying voice echoing from the back of his helm. He blew out his vents and cleared his vocaliser. He wouldn’t lose anything by asking.

“So do you know what season it is?” he asked in hushed tones, looking around to see if the shadows jumped or morphed. They remained still and he relaxed slightly. So far it looks like they made a clean break.

“…Season?”

Red Alert sighed and rolled his optics. Yes, absolutely clueless.

“Oh come on, really now? You don’t know anything do you.” He clicked his glossa and shook his helm. He wasn’t going to teach this incompetent AI anything.

It’s not his fault. He didn’t ask for this.

“Shut up.” He murmured under his vents. He didn’t have to take responsibility for this mech. It wasn’t his job and he certainly didn’t want to make it his. His lips pressed together in a slight grimace, his optics ping-ponging among the fading shadows. He swallowed.

Not going to look out for another mech again. They only die. They’re too stupid. He hugged himself tighter. His sensitive audial horns picked up the sound of the other’s light pedefalls on the gravelly path. Not his fault…not taking responsibility…he needs help…he doesn’t. He doesn’t even know who he is….exactly why he needs your help.

Red Alert gripped his arms until they hurt. He drew a deep vent. That stupid little voice wasn’t going to shut up until he satisfied it. “Seasons are changes in our planet’s weather. It causes warm or cold times.” There! That’s enough!

Prowl didn’t answer and Red Alert silently thanked Primus for that. He wasn’t in the mood to answer anymore stupid questions.

They continued in silence until they reached the outskirts of the small town. Or rather village. Face scrunched up in distaste, Red Alert studied the delipidated buildings huddling closely together as the first, orange rays hit the weather-worn roofs. He squinted, barely making out frames backlighted as they moved past dimly-lit windows. He canted his helm and drummed his fingers. Why weren’t there mechs on the streets already? He crouched deeper behind the small rocky outcrop.

Prowl’s calm field settled next to him, his silvery doorwings splayed and his impassive, golden optics keenly analysing. At least he too had the common sense to use the rocks to hide them.

“This town will not hold much of value to us.”

Red Alert jerked his helm at the Praxian, his optic ridges arched high over his slate-grey optics. “Well, didn’t really expect that coming from you.” He quipped before he clamped down on his mouth. One of these orns his mouth was going to get him into serious trouble. He leaned away from the grey mech, field pulled in tight.

Prowl looked at him, blinked and turned his helm back to stare at the village. “It is quiet.”

His ridges still knit together, Red Alert turned back to the town. He licked his lips. “It is quiet.” He agreed. His sensory net prickled as he watched the town. They should leave…

His tank gurgled and he huddled in on himself, hoping the other mech hadn’t heard. He licked his lips. He should leave, but he needed energon. There had to be a dump spot here somewhere where they could scavenge. Even just a drop would be enough…he just needed something. He rubbed a shaky hand over his face. Perhaps they could hunt? It wouldn’t be the first time he ate natural, raw fuel. It was just difficult to catch the little turborats – not to mention the little vermin put up one Pit of a fight. His nostrils flared.

“We need fuel.” He whispered through clenched denta. His hand gripped the cold rocks until his knuckles whitened.

“Agreed.” Prowl’s posture remained stiff next to him, his field calm and steady.

“We should look for a dumpsite. There might be fuel thrown out.” Not likely. The irritating little voice quipped. Red Alert balled his fists. He wasn’t going to give up.

“The probability of finding a fuel source is less than five percent.”

Red Alert stilled. This mech…He blinked slowly as his olfactory scrunched up. He opened his mouth, hesitating, “How…how is it that you don’t know what the frag a season is, but you can use such articulate language to explain our situation?” He canted his helm.

Prowl didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge that he had heard. Red alert nearly gave up on receiving an answer to a very sensible question when Prowl answered: “I do not know other than I know.”

Red Alert shot him an unimpressed look. “That’s not really very explanatory.” He blew hot air out of his vents. “But you know what, I don’t really care.” I’m not getting involved. There is something not right with you and I don’t want to know what it is. “Do what you want. I’m going to look for fuel.” He stood and stepped around the kneeling Praxian.

A few steps towards the village he heard the other mech follow. His spark sped up and he braced himself, but instead of the harsh impact his frame expected, Prowl matched his speed. After a few moments his plating relaxed and he vented easier. Easy, he hasn’t done anything…yet. He kept at least two sensors on the mech as they skirted the perimeter of the village.

Prowl turned towards him and Red Alert froze.

“What is articulate?”

Red Alert swore.

The suns sat high in the sky as Red Alert cradled the cube of energon in his hands, soaking in the warmth he had not felt in vorns. The small, mercury brook bubbled over pebbles, it’s sound soothing as it mingled with the native avions. His gaze absently fell on Prowl as the mech sat on the opposite side of the brook.

The mech had been right – they hadn’t found any energon anywhere and had reverted to stealing. Red Alert wasn’t new to stealing. He didn’t like it, but he wasn’t against stealing if his survival depended on it. He took a sip of the warm energon and savoured the feeling of the thick, syrupy brew sliding down his intake and settling snuggly in his tank.

They had never gotten this type at the institution. The disgusting, bland stuff they had the gal to call fuel didn’t even hold a flashlight to this divine brew! He tipped the cube to take a last sip, then sealed it before slipping it into his subspace, where another cube was securely tucked away. He didn’t know how far he’d have to go before he found more. He focused on his soon-to-be ex-partner in crime.

Prowl flared his doorwings, the individual feathery plates splaying briefly before settling together so tightly it would be difficult to distinguish from the whole. His unopened cube rested on his knee. His helm was moving from side to side in small, jerky movement. The mech appeared to be enthralled by everything surrounding him.

“You wish to leave?”

Red Alert jerked in surprise, his vents freezing for split-second before he forced his frame to relax. He forced a stiff smile to his lips. He hadn’t thought Prowl was aware of him. Obviously the mech was in tune with his surroundings: he wouldn’t repeat that mistake. Shadows dimmed the ground and Red Alert glanced up to see a fat, grey cloud obscure the light of their binary suns. He pursed his lips. He still didn’t know what season it was but he’d figure it when he was on his merry way. He drew a vent.

“Yes. This is where we go our separate ways.” He swallowed. This was for the best. He didn’t know who or what this mech was – the mech didn’t even know that himself. Who knew what he was capable of? Or even why he was at the institution. He wiped the condensation of his forehelm and pointed towards the north. “According to your unknown mech, you should head that way.”

Prowl turned in the direction he had pointed, but didn’t move.

Red Alert got up, wiping the dirt from his frame. His lips tightened as Prowl followed suite, but didn’t say anything. They stood staring at each other. Red Alert scratched his audial horn as he glanced to the side. This was more awkward than he had thought it would be, although honestly he had thought to lose Prowl in the small village where he could become another mech’s problem.

He had enough riding on his back from escaping the institution. No doubt there were mechs already on their trail, no doubt they would hear about the stolen energon. His throat tightened and he shuddered. Pit, they had probably lessened their escape gap by considerable means sitting here in the suns. What had he been thinking?! He should leave. Now. Head somewhere else. Not north. The other mech said to go north.

He squeezed his optics shut as pain bloomed in his processor. Not now, not now! Don’t loose it now! Breathe. Just..try to breathe! He opened his optics and stared straight into calm, golden optics. They became a focus point. He licked his dry lips and drew deep, even vents.

“I’m leaving. Go that way.” He ignored the static in his voice and marched off, not looking back once. Prowl would be ok. He could run probabilities and didn’t need any other information. He needed to look after himself, just like Red Alert needed to look after himself.

Processor set, he marched west.

Joors later, the smallest of the sons dipped beneath the horizon, casting long shadows through the forested path. Ignoring his aching pedes, Red Alert plodded on. The more distance he placed between himself and the institution, the better.

Leaves rustled to his side and he jumped, staring wide opticed.

Nothing happened.

He swallowed his spark that had somehow gotten stuck in his throat.

The wind brushed over his flared plating, its gusty spurts pushing at him. “It’s just the wind. Stop it.” He held out his shaking hands, willing them to still. He balled his fists and pushed them against his mouth, optics squeezed tight.

He had to learn to get a grip. He had to control his glitch. He wasn’t going to become what they tried to make him. He wouldn’t! He didn’t know how long he stood there before he finally found the strength to move his leaden pedes.

Step by step, vent by vent, he would beat this.

The wind howled as it picked up pace. Red Alert huddled in on himself as the coldness sliced through to his protoform. He would need to find shelter for the evening. Cold wasn’t something he appreciated.

His thoughts floated back to Prowl. I wonder if he’d find shelter? He snorted. The mech probably doesn’t even know what it means. He bit down on his lip, unease wiggling itself into his spark like a small little worm. Well, what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t bring him along.

The icy wind howled through the trees. Not my fault he’s as half-witted as a newspark.

And yet you’d never leave a newspark.

I would if I had to. Red Alert ducked his helm as a particularly strung gust blew past him, the crackling sound of brush and leaves echoing through the forest. He had walked away in the past. He owed no one any shred of loyalty. His conscious could go jump in a smelter! He lifted his chin high.

He’d been – “GAH!”

Strong cords like metal arms wrapped around his frame and pulled tight. He tripped, his helm ricocheting off the hard ground and his vision whitened. Cold fingers raked through his frame like demons as his audials picked up the heavy thud of pedesteps approaching.

“No! Nonononononono.” He writhed against the cords wrapped around him, inching away from the steps. The more he fought the tighter they pulled. No! “I’m not going back!” They were here for him! They’d found him. His spark thundered and his vents heaved. I’m not going back!

Strong arms grabbed him and flipped him onto his back. Pain seared through his helm. A strong, purple hand gripped his throat and squeezed. A deceptively slim frame leaned down, so close that Red Alert felt the hot vents over his chest as he blearily stared into smelter-red optics. “Don’t you fragging move!” His hands were drawn together and cuffed. Red Alert cried out as volts arced up his arms; they spasmed painfully against the cords. He grit his denta, his cheeks hot from the tears running down them. “Pl…please…”

His horns sparked and his vision tunnelled. They were going to take him back…He shook his helm, and froze as lashes of pain seared through his neural net.

“Any sign of the other one?”

“No.”

“He can’t be far.”

“We’d be-”

The mechs sentence was cut off with an energon-curling shriek.

All Pit broke lose as the lanky frame above him shoved off, drawing a blaster. Red alert rolled his helm to the side, his vision blurry from tears. He tried but failed to focus on the frantic activity.

He whimpered as pain-filled screeches, discharging blasters, snapping struts and dropping frames filled the air.

Everything went deathly quiet.

Red Alert heaved, unable to stop his frame from convulsing. He couldn’t see past the blurriness and pain shrouding his vision. What was going on? Soft pedes approached.

Hands grabbed his shoulder and he screamed, rolling away. “No! No! N-” His coughs interrupted him as he hunched in on his sides, the pain in his arms arching through him as half-processed energon dribbled from his mouth.

The cords relaxed and his hands were grabbed. The currents of electricity ceased and Red Alert drew his arms tight against his chest, curling in on himself. His optics continued to burn as his helm pounded.

But he could move. His spark thrummed. He could run. He could run. “I’m not going back!” He pushed off the ground, launching himself away.

Strong arms grabbed him and pulled him back, holding him tightly. “No!” Red Alert bucked, writhed, kicked, but it was like fighting against a metal wall.

“Red Alert.”

Something registered. He tried to turn his helm, tried to push at the arms holding him. Get away! Get Away!

“Red Alert.”

He paused. That voice!

“Prowl?” He croaked. It couldn’t be…yet…he ran a scan. That same abnormally placid field greeted him. His struggles stopped and he wilted. His vents came loud and harsh. His helm felt heavy and hot. He let it sag, unable to keep it up. “Prowl.” He chocked as fear morphed into relief which bubbled over into loud sobs. The arms kept holding his shaking frame.

“You are injured.”

Red Alert shook his helm, then stopped as lancing pain struck. He whimpered as he became aware of his helm pounding in rhythm to his spinning spark.

“I am going to release you. Do not run.”

Suddenly his support was gone and he slumped forward. He braced his hands on his kneeling knees. His vision was shrouded in dark colours.

Red Alert swallowed as he tried to focus. His vision remained blurry. Panic welled again, threatening to drown him. Can’t see-need-to-see-can’t-see-need-to-see. He raised a hand to his optics. They were wet. He wiped at the wetness. Through burning, hazy optics he stared at the energon staining his red hands. Is that…is that…mine?

A cloth appeared in his coated hand and on reflex he clutched it.

Prowl’s warm hand on his neck tipped him backwards and a cool cloth was pressed against his helm. Red Alert expected Prowl to wipe the energon away, but instead he stayed steadily holding the cloth to the aching point on his helm.

Red Alert scrunched the cloth in his hand. Use it. He clumsily maneuvered underneath Prowl’s arm to reach his face and wiped at the energon. Steadily his vision became clearer. He glanced to the side, hoping that if he perhaps focused on something far off, his optics would clear. His gaze landed on a grey clump and his focus sharpened until…

He swallowed at the nausea clawing its way up his intakes. He shuttered his optics and drew in deep vents. It’s not what you think. You’re…you’re still panicking. It’s just a rock or something. His optics must be fritzing. He opened them again and looked at the lump. He whimpered as his processor interpreted what his optics were seeing.

A severely mangled, decapitated helm lay a few metres from him. Energon trails ran from darkened optics that stared straight at him…

He grit his denta and shuttered his optics. He felt Prowl’s hand adjust on his neck. His plating crawled and his helm felt light. Had it been…had it been Prowl who killed them? Was he even capable of killing mechs? His lip trembled. Who else was there?

 “Prowl?” He whispered.

“Yes?”

Oh Primus what did he say? “Did you…?” He licked his lips and swallowed. He shivered as another gust of frigid wind blew over him.

Prowl lifted the cloth, then pressed it back down again.

“You should rest.”

No way! His processor screamed at him that he couldn’t – this mech holding him – this was a killer! Primus what kind of slagged up experiment was he? He cracked his optics open to look at the decapitated helm again. He gagged, turning to his side as he badly tried to keep the precious energon in his tanks.

Prowl helped him sit up straight, somehow still managing to hold the compress to his helm. Where did he get it anyway? Unless it came from them? He pressed a hand to his mouth, inhaling deeply through his olfactory. The tangy bitterness of half-processed energon filled his mouth and he swallowed desperately.

“You should rest.” Prowl repeated and he felt a small, sharp pain to his neck, then everything went black.

Prowl caught Red Alert as he slumped forward, then shifted him to lay on his back. He lifted the compress and examined the wound. It wasn’t large, but it had leaked profusely. It was still dripping, so he pressed on it again.

He watched his slender, white hand, stained dark blue due to the energon he had spilled. He tilted his helm. There was an uncomfortable pressing on his chest. He ran an internal diagnostic scan.

It came back clean. He was uninjured.

He raised the compress and nodded when no new drops of energon formed. He stood and threw the cloth to the side. He had no more need of it. He looked at his hands again.

They needed to be cleaned. He raised his helm and looked towards the lifeless frames. He marched towards one and kneeled next to him. The mech was burley, at least another mech-half taller than Prowl, but had been easy to deactivate due to his larger frame taking more time to manoeuvre. He ran a white finger over the chassis, pausing at the purple face embossed on the mech’s chest. He committed it to memory, labelled as ‘threat’, and pried open the deactivated mech’s subspace. He took out three more cubes of energon, an acid pellet, cartridges, a blaster, two short blades, a medical kit and finally a cloth. He held the cloth, checking that it was clean before methodically wiping his hands first, then going over the energon splashes on his frame.

He subspaced the dead mech’s inventory and repeated the actions with the other three frames. Once he was done, he went and sat next to Red Alert’s limp frame. The wind howled through the trees and Prowl draped his doorwings over his frame. He watched as the second sun slowly sank lower and lower, the forest darkening far quicker thanks to the dense foliage. The now familiar sounds of night greeted him, and he decided that he preferred these sounds over lightcycle sounds. He could hear more sounds; he could analyse them and add to the emptiness.

Throughout the chilly nightcycle, Prowl observed the various mechanimals as they sauntered in and out from between the trees surrounding the path. At one point an oddly shaped creature sauntered towards one of the offline frames. It sniffed, then taken an arm and dragged it off into the forest. Prowl had not bothered to stop it.

He glanced down at Red Alert and held his hand next to his olfactory. Warm air tingled over his hand and he nodded, satisfied that the mech was recharging. He laid a hand on the mechs shoulder. It was ice cold. He felt his own plating. It was warm.

The edges of his lips twitched down.

He thought back to their early morning fuel next to the brook. The suns had been warm on his plating. It was…a brief, sharp pain like the quick strike of a blade struck at the back of his helm. He raised his hand and rubbed at it.

What had caused that? Prowl shuttered his optics and traced his small memory cache to where the pain had interrupted him. It was his analysis of the suns on his plating.

The cold gust of wind chose that moment to buffet them and Prowl put a hand out on the ground to stop him from falling, his doorwing shifting to make way and assist his balance. The cold that seeped in was unpleasant.

Unpleasant…something shifted in his processor like a gear clicking into place.

Cold: unpleasant. Warm: pleasant.

He blinked. That was what had caused the pain. He recalled the suns on his plating – the warmth was pleasant. His lips straightened into a neutral line.

The emptiness was a little less…he had pleasant and unpleasant. He glanced down at Red Alert and placed his hand once more on the frame.

Cold. Unpleasant.

Without thinking Prowl shifted and laid down next to the prone mech. He stretched his doorwing to shield them from the unpleasant wind. Now, they will be pleasant.

He shuttered his optics and initiated recharge.

Chapter Text

Warmth.

That was the first sensation that drifted through his foggy processor as his optics fluttered open.

He stared at the brightly glowing orange sky, framed by the tall, pointy treetops. Around him avions chirped and a gentle breeze brushed the very tips of the tall pines.

Recharge-hazy optics squinted into thin lines.

Where am I?

Optic ridges drew together over slate grey optics and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

How’d I get here?

His helm ached dully and for a moment he shuttered his optics, gently floating back to the beckoning arms of recharge and the comfortable, soft warmth over and next to him.

…Next to me?

His optis shot open as he jumped up, pushing away from the source with a loud, undignified squeak. He hissed and flared his plating, his delicate sensor net bristling and pulsing red as he glared at the source.

Serene golden optics stared back placidly as the grey helm lay on an equally grey arm.

“You!?” Red Alert spit as he bared his denta, ignoring the frantic little voice at the back of his processor screaming that it was a bad idea to anger Prowl.

Prowl shuttered his optics slowly. He withdrew his doorwing and folded it behind his back. “You are unpleasant.”

“…What?!” Red Alert’s face scrunched up as he leaned forward. “B-..pfft.” He shook his helm and stopped, raising a hand as a helmache bloomed. “Usually when one wakes up unexpectedly it is unpleasant.” He raised a hand and touched his sore helm. “Especially if your helm feels like splitting.”

But why…? He traced back his lasts thoughts and found them…blank. He covered his optics, holding his helm, that all familiar fear curling around his spark. What happened? Why can’t I remember? I was walking, but then what? What happened? What?!  The more he thought the more his helm throbbed. “What…what happened?” He asked between breaths. Calm down, calm down! It’s ok, it’s ok. Your safe, relatively unharmed. He’s not moving. You’re ok. I can be calm.

“They attacked.”

Red Alert split his fingers a crack to peak at Prowl. They attacked? Who are they? “Who attacked?”

The grey mech pushed himself up, stretching his wings calmly. He looked to the side. “Them.”  

His vents caught at the same time his spark stopped. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, not even the scream that lodged firmly in his throat.

There, a few metres away from him lay a greyed-out helm in congealed energon.

Red Alert swallowed and closed his fingers, cutting off his vision. You’re still recharging. This is just a bad flux. His helm swam. It’ ok. You’ll wake up soon. He forced his stiff, trembling fingers to part.

The lifeless, dark optics kept staring at him.

“What is that!?” He squeaked, voice breaking as his vents came heavy and fast. Don’t panic! Don’t panic-don’t-panic! It’s dead! It’s dead..dead. It’s…Exactly! It’s DEAD! DEAD-DEAD-DEAD!! What…who…oh Primus. He turned large, round optics to Prowl. I’m gonna die!

He jumped, but a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and pushed him down. His horns sparked.

“LET ME GO!”

“No.” A large wing wrapped around him and pulled him close to a grey chassis.

Red Alert’s optics bulged, his vents rasping as he struggled. His vision blurred. I’M GONNA DIE! I’M GONNA DIE! I’M GONNA DIE! His fingers clawed into the soft ground as he braced himself. He squeezed his optics shut. This was it!

Somewhere far someone was mumbling, but Red Alert couldn’t hear past the high-pitched screetching in his helm, nor the force that squeezed at his spark as if to extinguish it.

Something soothing pressed against the fear.

Calm.

He drew his legs up and covered his sparking helm with his arms.

Calm.

He drew a deep vent, frame shaking. Gonna-die-gonna-die-gonna-die-gonna-die.

Calm.

The hand squeezing his spark eased. Raspy vents sawed through his aching, trembling frame.

Calm.

He blinked his burning optics open, his vision a blur of dirty red. Find…something…focus…..

Calm.

Red Alert sucked air in, his helm spinning. Focus….ok. Focus……venting……Focus….ground….focus….on the…ground….focus….pressing against….calm….ground….ok….ok….I’m…I’m….ok… You’re ok….Not…gonna…“Kill…me?”

Calm.

“Illogical.”

Illogical??? Red Alert blinked, that level tenor breaking through the hazy fog flooding his aching processor. “Illogical?” He repeated blandly. He could grab that. He could focus on that. Illogical…focus.

A malleable wing brushed lightly against his frame and he bristled, pulling away.

“Yes.”

Red Alert blinked rapidly.  Focus. He drew steady vents…1…2…3…out…1…2…3…steady. Feel the ground beneath your pedes, feel the vents flowing into your ventilation system. Feel the pain in your processor. Focus on it. The tremors raking his frame eased.

With a final deep vent, he lifted his heavy helm. He blinked at the grey mech filling his vision. Prowl’s expression was neutral as ever, yet the optics were searching, analysing. It was the first tendrils of change he had ever seen. It wasn’t pleasant.

Red Alert clamped his armour. It was almost as if Prowl was seeing into his very core, tearing him apart. Then abruptly the optics changed, becoming unreadable.

Calm.

It still permeated Prowl’s field as if he was the embodiment of the virtue. Red Alert allowed his field to expand, to touch on it, soak on it. There was no undercurrents. Nothing.

It wasn’t natural…but right now Red Alert didn’t care. He filed it away to examine later. What mattered was that he regain his faculties. He was too on edge…but then again who the Pit wouldn’t be after seeing a….a…he swallowed again and glanced to the side, but the silver doorwing hid the grisly scene from his sight.

“Thanks.”

The edge of Prowl’s lips turned down for just a moment before straightening. His field flicked with an emotion that was too quick for Red Alert to catch, but levelled out almost immediately.

Red Alert filed that little piece of emotion away for later perusal as well.

The two sat staring at each other.

Red Alert drew his legs up, hunching in on himself. “Uhm…” He flicked his optics from side to side.

Prowl said nothing as he crouched before Red Alert, wings still extended to surround the smaller mech.

“I, uh, think you can move back a bit?” Red Alert moved to rub at his temples again. His nerves were raw, and his sensory net detected even the slightest of air currents as they floated over his hot frame. He didn’t need an extra presence pressing beyond his personal boundaries.

Without a word Prowl withdrew his doorwings and sat back on his hunches, his eerie stare still fixated on Red Alert.

Red Alert squirmed back. Looking anywhere but at Prowl….or the helm. His gaze settled on a deactivated frame.  He drew a deep vent and released it slowly, but refused to look away. He needed to remember what happened. He needed to see how he could avoid this in the future. This was in the past…he needed to stop it in the future. He chased his thoughts, but they kept bringing him back to the icy wind and setting suns. His last thoughts were those of getting shelter.

He straightened his back, nodding at the frame. “What happened?”

Prowl finally turned his helm away to look at the frames and Red Alert’s shoulders relaxed.

“They attacked.”

“Yes, I thought as much, but what else?” Red Alert flicked his free hand in the air.

“I deactivated them.” That same serene voice answered without inflection.

Red Alert pursed his lips and shuttered his optics. Primus, was he supposed to pull every tiny bit of detail out of Prowl? He continued to massage his sore helm. “I function on details, Prowl.” He quipped through grit denta.

“Detail?”

Red Alert groaned. “Yes Prowl, like what happened exactly. I need to know why they attacked, what happened when they attacked, and what happed after they attacked”. He pressed against the ground as he pushed himself up on unsteady legs. He needed to get a closer look at those frames.

His sensory net prickled as Prowl got up as well, as quietly as an avatar. It was unsettling how silently he moved. He kept a sensor locked on him.

 Not that it will help you much. He grimaced as he looked at the three frames. He knelt next to the first frame who was obviously the owner of the gory sight that had greeted him. The helm had been ripped off cleanly, the shoulder out of joint and the knee strut broken. His optics fell on the pointy purple face snarling at him. He traced it lightly. He’d seen this before. His ridges drew down low over his slate grey optics. He’d seen them at -

“You require a debrief.”

“Hmm?” his helm snapped back to Prowl, expression open and hands still lingering on the purple face. The mechs’ gaze held that same, calculating look. Debrief? Red Alert looked back at the frame. “Definitely military.” He murmured to himself. Not a pleasant though….Primus, maybe he really was ‘unpleasant’ with all the mystery surrounding Prowl. He swallowed. “Yes Prowl. I require a debrief.”

Prowl nodded sharply, legs braced, arms behind his back and doorwings arched as he stared straight ahead. “You took point, I maintained a safe tracking distance. At evening, the four mechs attacked. I neutralised the threat. You were harmed and acting irrationally. I have analysed that to be a recurring feature.”

Red Alert narrowed his optics to tiny slits, helm dropping slightly to aim his horns at Prowl. “So I’m unpleasant and irrational. Thank you very much.”

Prowl remained as unmoved as a rock.

Red Alert growled but let it slide. Really. This mech had no manners whatsoever! If he was a mech. He might still be a drone – except for that little frown he had displayed. Oh well. At least he had the bare struts now of what happened. He cocked his helm to the side and huffed “So, you said I took point. What part of “head that way” did you not understand?” He murmured under his vents.

“You are all I know.”

Red Alert’s hand hesitated as it hovered over the dead mech’s chest, Prowl’s words soaking into him. All I know. “Damnit.” He rubbed at his temple, optics half-shuttered. This wasn’t the first time Prowl alluded to not knowing anything, but at the same time he could give him a lowdown of what happened. Either this mech was brilliantly clever or brilliantly stupid.

Or maybe he had an accident and lost some of his memories, like you just did?... Shut up… It doesn’t make sense... Not a lot of things do in your helm… Shut it! He pressed his hand over his optics. His helm was too sore to be thinking these kinds of thoughts. “I need to get some pain chips or something from these mechs.” He hesitated.

Looking over decimated, dead frames was one thing, but actually searching them through…His lips curled down as a shudder rippled through him. Not on his list of ‘want to do’ things.

“I have already retrieved all valuable objects.”

Red Alert curled his fist then flexed his fingers. Apparently, it would remain on that list. He glanced over his shoulders at Prowl. He should probably be thankful…but he should probably also check what Prowl took, as what constituted ‘value’ to Prowl might not be the same for him. He pushed off the ground. “Show me.”

He walked over to Prowl on shaky legs, thankful to leave the frame behind him. Prowl knelt and withdrew the items from his subspace.

Red Alert smiled when he saw the medical kits. “Great! This is what I’m after.” He bent and picked up the first kit, turning the box round and round in his hands. The same purple face decorated its white sides and Red Alert’s lips tipped down. Where have I seen this before?

He tagged his processor to work on the puzzle as he unlocked the box, took out a pain chip and with an expectant smile slid it into the port on his wrist. Their cooling relief flowed through his frame like liquid and settled soothingly in his helm. His thoughts cleared as if a cloth had been wiped over them. He smiled. “Much better.”

Prowl cocked his helm as he looked at the place where Red Alert had shoved the chip in, but didn’t say anything.

Red Alert placed his hand defensively over the port, shoulders hunching. Primus how he hated being stared at! He cleared his vocaliser. “Did you take their shanix as well?”

Prowl raised his helm to look at Red Alert. “Shanix?” The optics unfocused, “It is required?”

Red Alert’s optic ridges shot high, a skew smile pulling at his tight lips. “Well, uh, yes? You know, without shanix you basically can’t do anything.”

Prowl blinked slowly, his gaze unfocusing before he seemed to snap back to Red Alert. His frame stood perfectly still. “Shanix…We require resources to reach the north.”

Red Alert’s face morphed into a grimace and he scratched his chin. “Yeeessss…..but, uhm, well, I uh, have a problem with that ‘we’ part of the sentence.” He splayed his hands. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful that you saved my aft, but…” He glanced at the frames, then back at Prowl. Pit, the mech was a killer and worse than that he was completely unreadable and that made him unpredictable which made him a threat. Do you really want a threat tagging along? You won’t know when he’ll turn on you! He bit his lips and dropped his optics, tucking his arms around his torso. Give the mech some leeway – he did save you. Killed a bunch of mechs to do it, but he saved you. His optics flicked back up to Prowl. He could be useful. You can shoot but you can’t fight. You weren’t trained for it. He rubbed a hand harshly over the non-bruised part of his helm. “You know, I’m still trying to figure you out.”

Prowl lifted his chin ever so slightly. “Figure me out?”

“Yes.” Red Alert shrugged. He couldn’t trust this mech, but he might need him. “You say you only know me and that ‘other’ mech, but what about everything else?” He pointed a finger at the corpses. “You can do basic things like talk, and walk, and…fight. You analyse but don’t socialise. You searched them through and took what was necessary but left the shanix. You treated my wound, and you…” miraculously kept me from losing it.  He pressed his lips tightly together. He did owe him that. “You’re so contradictory. And you don’t have any, any tact….you appear, well, uh…expressionless?” Dronelike. He drew a deep vent, helm tilting forward as his ridges squished together. “Who are you!?”

Prowl blinked. “I am…” His face contorted painfully, doorwings flinching back before a neutral expression settled over him like a shutter being closed, while his doorwings stilled unnervingly.

Red Alert narrowed his optics, helm tilting to the side as he studied Prowl. That was…odd. Almost like a reset. He raised his chin, optics still narrowed as he studied him. “Prowl, what is the last thing you remember?”

The doorwings tipped up ever so slightly. If Red Alert hadn’t been watching for signs, he would have missed it.

“Clarify what you require.” Prowl didn’t so much as move, his voice perfectly even.

Ah, so the upward flick signals confused thoughts. Red Alert tagged that to the movement and crossed his arms, jutting one hip out to the side. “Before we met, you mentioned that ‘other’ mech. What do you remember from before then?” He canted his helm, optics roving over Prowl, but settling on his doorwings. He was made to search out weaknesses and he’d found Prowl’s. The lack of expression and the minute signals.

Prowl’s golden optics unfocused. His doorwings gave a single shudder before settling against his back. “Darkness.”

“That’s it?” Red Alert tapped his pede against the moist ground and drummed his fingers against his arms. “You only remember it being dark? I need you to really focus back to that time. It’s very important that you tell me exactly what you remember.”

The golden optics focused their sharp gaze on him. “Darkness.”

Red Alert rolled his optics and worked his jaw. He wasn’t going to get upset. “Alright. So darkness. We’ll settle for that. What happened during the darkness?”

The tips of his doorwings flicked once. “This is important to our mission?”

Mission? That icy ball in his tank grew as Red Alert processor connected the dots. He glanced back to the lifeless frames, his plating tingling. Deal with it later, first get the info. He drew a deep vent, pushing as much calm into his field as he could muster. “Yes, Prowl, this is important to our mission. I need a debrief.”

Prowl blinked. “Darkness, then the mech. He…” the helm canted slightly to the side, the steel grey chevron reflecting small drops of light… “disconnected me and ordered me to go to room B3. We rendezvoused. You are familiar with the details from there on.” 

“Disconnected you?” Red Alert rubbed at his optics. “Nothing disconcerting about that image.” Pit, he wouldn’t be the first thing that was hooked up in that horrible place. Red Alert folded his arms again, hunching his shoulders as he thought. The dots -  the dots painted a singular possibility. He looked at the purple face adorning the medkit. His optics flicked to greyed frame and the purple face. His processor pushed one of the dots and a memory unfolded before his open optics.

Red Alert sat hunched in the corner of his sterile cell, aching back pressed against the cool wall. His sensor net tingled as he detected every little anamoly in the air currents. His audials tinged as he heard pedesteps coming down the hallway, a murmured conversation bouncing between the two.

‘He’ll be ready to take his place shortly.’

‘Lord Megatron demands speed.’

‘He will be ready on the date appointed.’

‘He needs to be ready now. The Autobots’ are still weak. We must act now.”

The pedesteps came to an abrupt hold outside his cell. Red Alert braced himself as he pushed into the corner.

‘He will be ready at the appointed time.’

The door swung open and a large frame stepped in, dwarfing the cell. Red Alert stared into the depths of crimson optics, then quickly dropped his gaze to the mechs chest.

An ugly, purple face snarled back at him.

“Lord Megatron.” Red Alert whispered. His fingers dug into his arms. He had suffered abuse, been tweaked, his glitch exploited for the sake of that hated designation. He sucked air into his vents and looked at Prowl. No doubt the mech was being weaponised as he had been. Only something went horribly wrong with him. A shiver ran through his frame and he hugged himself closer.

Exactly. You can’t leave him alone. Besides, your chances of survival will be much higher if this mech is loyal to you. Red Alert bit his lips. It was true – if this mech was on his side….he turned his helm to survey the rest of the frames. His helm felt fuzzy. It would be advantageous to have another mech with fighting skills with him. If the purple-faced mechs were after them, they would be safer in a pair.

Biting his lip, he nodded. Yes. That would be the best course of action. It would be safest. “Ok.” His pede dug into the soft dirt. “We’ll travel together to the North. Our paths will split there.”

He spun on his heel. “We’ll take the credits and head to the next village. We’ll get what we need there.” He glanced over his shoulder at Prowl. “Who knows? Maybe along the way you’ll remember something.”

If he really doesn’t remember anything or if he doesn’t kill you first.

He grimaced at the unhappy thought as he knelt next to a greyed frame. He drew a deep vent. Just do it.

Chapter Text

Prowl folded his doorwings over his shoulders, pedes planted firmly as he stared into the deep night, optics focused on the shining dots of light plastered against the dark canvass.

It was another village.

Softs puffs sounded from behind as Red Alert came up to him. The gravel crunching softly beneath his pedes. He stopped as he spotted the village.

Prowl turned his attention to study the red mech. Small drops of condensation beaded his helm above his pale grey optics. His plating quivered as the breezed passed over them.

As if feeling his stare, Red Alert’s optics darted to him, and he tentatively raised a hand to his helm, touching the wound. His face contorted at the touch.

Discomfort. Pain. Prowl’s processor supplied him with the words Red Alert had taught him. Words were coming faster to him now, yet the void in his processor teased him only with blurred shadows and painful twinges.

In the three orns they had been travelling together again, Red Alert’s pace had decreased. He recharged more. Fuelled less.

“Your helm is wet.” Prowl mentioned and turned back to the lights. They had left the edge of the forest as the two suns had set, and before them lay open plains, littered only with low-level rock formations. Prowl did not like the exposure, neither the ambush opportunities, but if they wanted to reach the lights, and they needed to, then they would have to cross it. Red Alert had said as much.

An irritated click sounded, but he paid it no special attention. Red Alert’s answers were always preceded by an irritated click.

Red Alert dropped his hands and turned to look around himself, spotting a flat rock feature. He lumbered over to it. “I am…running hotter than normal.”

The tip of Prowl’s doorwing flicked in, then stilled. He accessed his own thermometer. “My frame degree reeds 37.9 degrees. That is normal?”

Red Alert slowly seated himself on a large rock and dropped his helm into his hands. When he spoke, his tone was low and slow. “Yes. What do you remember about frame temperatures?”

Prowl blinked slowly. Over the past three orns Red Alert had constantly asked him what he ‘remembered’. Most often nothing came to his processor. He shuttered his optics and drew a deep vent. Even though he ‘remembered’ more, there was nothing of significance according to Red Alert, but he said it might change. So the mech continued to ask, and Prowl continued to tie the loose strings dangling in his processor. Temperature. Warm is pleasant. Cold is unpleasant. That much he knew. What he remembered? Nothing.

“I am pleasant.” Prowl opened his optics and waited for feedback.

Another click. “That’s not what I meant and you don’t feel pleasant. It’s just…wrong.” Red Alert groaned as he lifted his helm, blinking rapidly as if to focus better. He pressed his fingers against uninjured his temple. “You’d rather say ‘I am comfortable’. You feel comfortable Not hot, not cold. Pleasant is being amiable.”  He bent forward and rested his arms on his knees, helm hanging low. “But I meant do you remember anything like hyperthermia, hypothermia, fever,  anything like that?”

“Negative.”

A heavy sigh escaped Red Alert as he lowered himself to the ground, resting his back and helm against the cool ground. “I need to rest a little.” Around them micro insecticons chirped and whirred, while night avians sang into the crisp air. His pale grey optics, half-shuttered, focused on Prowl. “37.9 is a normal temperature. You are supposed to be measuring like that. I am currently measuring at 42 degrees, which means I am running a fever which probably means this stupid helm-wound is infected.”

Normal. Prowl focused in on his frame as he updated his internal files. He felt the cool ground against his pedes, felt the chilly breeze brush his doorwings. He felt…normal. Not pleasant, but normal. Neutral.

“Affirmative.” Prowl nodded sharply, his optics focusing on the distant lights. “I have updated my files. I am normal.”

“Huh…far from it if you ask me. Well, while your updating. I’m going to get some recharge. Rest will help bring the fever down.” Red Alert’s voice faded away as he lay on his side, helm resting on his arm to cushion it against the dank foliage.

Prowl turned towards Red Alert, doorwings ticking up. The perspiration still dotted his helm, and he was pale, even in the soft moonlight. He was uncomfortable. Not normal. He walked towards Red Alert and sat down in front of him, throwing his silvery doorwings out to cover the mech. His processor spun around the words Red Alert had spoken. He was 3.6 degrees warmer than he should be. His pace was slow. His speech softer. His optics were dim. Something clicked and fell into place. Prowl shuttered his optics as he tried to chase the thought through…nothingness. A small frown pulled at his optic ridges. No – not nothing. There was something. He slowed his venting and focused only on the thoughts of Red Alert. He lifted his helm and opened his optics.

“You are deteriorating.”

“Hmmm?” Red Alert peered out from beneath heavy shutters, curling his knees more towards his chest as Prowl’s doorwing sheltered him against the cool breeze.

“You are deteriorating.” Prowl repeated, his voice firm.

Red Alert drew a deep vent. “Yes, but it’s not nice to say that. You’d rather say “you’re not feeling well”, and no, I’m not. I feel horrible and my helm wants to split.”

Prowl snapped round to Red Alert, “Your helm is splitting? You should have informed me the wound is growing.”

“Oh for frag’s saaaaake.” Red Alert buried his helm in the nook of his elbow. “It’s an expression. It means my helm hurts a lot. I’m in a lot of pain. It also means I don’t want to think – much less be talked to. So just…shut up!”

Prowl blinked and turned his helm away. Red Alert was deteriorating. Not well. His optics dimmed as his processor whirred. Deteriorating. Deteriorating….His lips pressed against each other. There was something…something there. Deteriorating.

His optics swam as an image formed in his processor.

Bright lights. Energon. A mech kneeling. A red cross. Pain.

Prowl gasped as a sharp pain stabbed into his helm like a knife. He grabbed his helm, vents seizing. He blinked and it was gone. He inhaled deeply, optics wide.

An icy feeling settled in his tanks as a shiver ran through him. Medic. The word….made him….feel. But it made him feel strange. He ran a diagnostic.

His temperature was 38.1. Normal? Not normal? Not neutral. His spark spun and his chest felt tight.

“You ok?”

He swung his helm round to see wide, pale optics watching him from underneath the tips of his silver wings.

“Affir – “ Prowl paused and cocked his helm. He was cold, but not cold. His frame was hot, but he was cold? Another stab echoed through his helm and he flinched. Was he deteriorating? Red Alert would know. He must remain in optimum condition or their safety was as risk. “My temperature is 38.1. It is within acceptable parameters?”

The pale optics deepened in colour and Red Alert’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He didn’t answer for a while. “Yes, between 37 and 39.5 is acceptable parameters.” He laid his helm down again, but he kept staring at Prowl. “Is that all? You flinched…badly. And your field…”

Prowl blinked at him and rested his arms on his crossed legs. Why had he flinched? His rise in temperature was not the only thing that occurred. Dots connected in his processor, tingling his awareness. It occurred because of the shadow. Because of the medic. He fullfed his armour. “Negative.”

“No. Don’t say negative. You sound like a drone. Say ‘no’.” Red Alert grumbled. “So what else?”

Prowl remained silent as he searched for the words to describe the medic and the…oddness of it. “I am cold, yet my temperature is 38.1. There was a…memory… It was uncomfortable.”

“A memory? Of all the times to have one…” Red Alert pushed himself up, optics squinting as his face pulled into a pained grimace. He placed a hand against his wounded temple.

“Affirmative.” Prowl studied the wound in the dim light. He could not detect any anomaly. It certainly wasn’t splitting.

Red Alert uttered something under his vents that Prowl ignored. “Affirmative means ‘yes’, so say ‘yes’. Update that file would you. Negative, say ‘no’. Affirmative, say ‘yes’. Now, what do you mean with ‘a memory’. Tell me what you remember? Why did you feel uncomfortable?” He leaned back against the rock, optics shuttering briefly before he stretched them open.

Prowl stilled as he recalled the image. Pain twitched inside his helm, but he pushed on. He now knew what the shadow was. It was necessary. “White light. Energon….” He canted his helm. Was that on him? Affir – yes. “Energon on me. There was a mech – he was white, but had a red cross. Pain. That is all.”

“That’s it? You don’t know the mech?” Red Alert shifted, helm rolling back against the rock.

“No.”

“Not much to go on, but at least you remember something. That’s good.” Red Alert’s optics roved over his frame. “Maybe you will remember more.” He gently laid back down again.

“You require a mech with the red cross.” Prowl stated.

“Probably. And it’s called a doctor. Or first responder…. Or medic. There are many….many terms to use for them….” Red Alert’s voice trailed off as his frame went limp.

Prowl watched him, then turned his helm back to stare at the lights. Medic. That is the correct term. They would stay until Red Alert onlined. Then, they needed to find a medic. There was a good probability that the town would have one.

87.3% probability.

Prowl watched the small figure as it blipped in his HUD.  Parameters are acceptable.

Acceptable. That was good. That was right. Probabilities should always be within acceptable parameters.

His lips pressed together. A memory lingered on the edge of his awareness. Probabilities should always be within acceptable parameters.

That did not….sound like him?

Prowl shuttered his optics as he replayed the voice. A dark figure formed, then vanished into nothingness. Nothingness bled into awareness - the small insecticons chirping, the sound of Red Alert’s ragged vents, the breeze caressing his frame. Prowl opened his optics and once more resumed staring at the lights.

The shadow would return. The nothingness was already less than it had been since the beginning. He simply needed to wait.

He glanced at Red Alert. His HUD brought up information. The mech was tagged as ‘ally’. Ally. Prowl’s doorwing twitched in the cool night breeze. He would ask the mech once he woke what that word meant. He knew ‘threat’ and that it needed to be eliminated, but how did ‘ally’ compare?

Crack!

Prowl’s helm snapped around as his doorwings shot up, scanning. He got to his feet, squatting in a position and ready to launch himself if necessary. His doorwings scanned the immediate area. Two small forms were moving towards him, not yet visible to the naked optic, but they would soon be.

His optics sharpened as he tried to draw the shapes in the darkness.

Symbiotes.

His processor pinged the species of mechanical forms – a quadruped and an avian form. They were making their way towards him.

He folded his doorwings back into battle position. Symbiotes have a master. The shadow-figure danced at the tip of his mental awareness. A master. Prowl shifted his doorwings and scanned again. His HUD beeped with a sparksignature.

The signature grew stronger as it came closer. Prowl slid a knife into his hand. The quadruped would be the first target, then the avian. Once they were disposed of, the master would follow.

The quadruped suddenly paused and looked directly at him. The darkness was broken as two golden optics glared at him, a throaty growl escaping the small mechanical as it crouched lower to the ground.

Prowl flared his armour in warning even as he mapped out the mechanimal’s weaknesses. It would be harder to kill than normal mechs, given its agility and razor-sharp claws and fangs. It would be harder still with his ally and master.

A whining sound caught his attention. Behind the quadruped a ring of light appeared as a blaster powered up. Prowl lowered his chin. If he moved, the shot would hit Red Alert.

Unacceptable.

“State your business my mech.” Out of the shadows a tall mech stepped forward, the avian settled onto his shoulder, squawking as it lowered its helm at Prowl.

Prowl remained as still as a statue in his crouched position as he analysed the situation. He dismissed every plan as they came within unacceptable parameters of success. Had Red Alert been online, his chances would be in the acceptable parameters.

“You alright?” The tall mech stepped closer, helm skew, but the blaster still aimed high.

Prowl narrowed his optics. There was no malice in the mech’s vocals. His processor downgraded the threat level, and yet Prowl didn’t move. He was the shield between Red Alert and this mech. His doorwings flared wider, hiding Red Alert from sight.

“Look mech, we’re just passing through. Now I won’t harm you, if you have no intention of harming us. Deal?” The mech kept his blaster primed and trained on Prowl as he stood his ground.

Prowl analysed the words and subharmonics, then nodded once. The mech was wary and there was no active aggressiveness aimed towards himself. Prowl meant no harm either and saw no need to neutralise the threat, but neither would he risk standing down when this mech still aimed the barrel of his blaster at him. He raised his doorwings. “I mean no harm.” He echoed. If attacked, he would retaliate. To initiate attack was fatal.

The large mech held his gaze a few more clicks then lowered his weapon. “Good, ‘cause I really don’t want to fight. Too much of that going on anyway.” He moved closer and as he did the quadruped followed suite.

“Where you hea-” He stopped and rocked back, optics narrowed as he looked past Prowl.

Prowl flared his armour and raised his doorwings in warning. The comfortable feel of the blade rested soothingly against his palm.

“Hey, Is your partner alright?” The mech didn’t venture closer as he pointed towards Red Alert, but his vocals changed.

Prowl analysed it. Red Alert had used the same harmonics when he was….concerned? Prowl’s doorwing twitched. Concerned. He blinked slowly. The blade against his palm was cool. This mech did not know him. This mech did not know Red Alert. There was no reason to be concerned. What was his motive?

The mech drew a deep vent and subspaced his blaster. “Look, mech, I get you’re suspicious and if your partners hurt, even more so, but maybe I can help.” He held his hands up. The quadruped at his heals flattened his armour and sat down, but the wary optics bore into Prowl.

Red Alert chose that moment to moan as his helm rolled to the side. Prowl draped his doorwing over Red Alert. He requires a medic.

Prowl studied the mech as he held his hands up, watching closely for any flaw in his demeanour. There was no engraving on his armour, no purple snarl greeting him. He blinked slowly. Red Alert’s health had been deteriorating. He required assistance, and yet prowl would not know how or where to find the assistance. There was a 56% possibility that the mech before him would be able to assist in finding a medic. There was a 44% possibility that the mech would betray them. The statistics did not fall within acceptable parametres. There were too many variables. He needed information.

The mech remained standing as still as a statue.

“Are you a medic?” Prowl asked, his optics locked onto those of the mech.

“No, I ain’t, but I know where to find a reliable one in the village yonder. That being said, I have some field skills that might be handy.”

Prowl analysed the subharmonics. Neutral. He did, however, wish that Red Alert was awake seeing as he had no idea what the mech’s last statement meant. “We require a medic.” Prowl reiterated.

“Ok that’s cool mech.” He dropped his hand to rest on the quadruped’s helm, but other than that didn’t move.

Another whine from Red Alert had Prowl’s doorwing twitching. He required assistance. Prowl could not give it to him, and yet his processor insisted he defend his ally. He squeezed the knife in his palm, the sharp edge of the blade digging into his palm. The pain grounded him. His mission was to reach the northern boundary. His priority was to ensure his ally survived.

He required his ally’s assistance.

The blade retracted into his subspace and Prowl flattened his armour. He stood gracefully, folding his soft doorwings behind his back. He looked at the mech and for a while they stared at each other.

“So, uh, this is getting a little awkward my mech. Maybe we should just start over, huh?” The mech took a step closer as he scratched an audial horn. “Designation’s Blaster, and this here,” he patted the quadruped’s helm, “is Steeljaw and the one sitting on my shoulder is Rewind. They’re my cassettes.”

Prowl nodded at them, but remained silent.

Blaster tilted his helm, a half-smile pulling at his lips. “I didn’t catch your designation?”

Catch his designation? Prowl’s doorwing flicked up. He had not thrown anything?....maybe…designation referred to his callsign. Perhaps this mech was referring to another way of asking for identification? Red Alert had referred to his designation as well, and had identified him as ‘Prowl’. Perhaps this was what the mech was referring to.

“…Prowl…?” Red Alert lifted his helm, slowly dragging his arms closer to his frame as his armour clattered.

Prowl crouched again, optics still glued to Blaster as he covered Red Alert with his doorwings. The smaller mech stilled.

Blaster kept his optics on Prowl, but the smile was gone. “He ain’t looking good, mech.”

“No.” Prowl agreed.

“So, I take it your designation’s Prowl?” Blaster moved closer, but kept his pace slow. “I can help if you want, otherwise I’m moving on.”

Help…assistance….are similar. He glanced down at Red Alert. His face was pale even in the soft light of the moons, while beads of condensation dotted his forehelm. His priority was to assist his ally. Red Alert was his ally. He knew…little else. He nodded sharply. “Yes. We require a medic.”

“Ok, I’m going to have a look at him. What’s his designation?” Blaster turned to Prowl, his optic ridges high. The mech was an odd one, but his field was calm and open.

“Red Alert.” Prowl stated as he moved to the side to allow Blaster room. The knife slid once more into his palm. Should this mech harm Red Alert, he would not hesitate to kill him.

The quadruped stilled as he glared at Prowl. Prowl trained a doorwing on him to monitor his movements.

Unknowing of the silent stand-off, or perhaps trusting his symbiote, the mech let out a low whistle as he laid a hand over Red Alert’s helm. “He sure is running hot. What happened? Accident?”

“Attack.” Prowl crouched deeper, optics pinned on the mech. How much information should he divulge?

The quadruped inched closer to its master, its gaze locked on Prowl. The avian took flight, circling low over the trio on the ground.

Prowl angled his doorwing to detect motion if the quadruped moved, while with his other he tracked the avian.

“Attack. Cons I take it?” Blaster shook his helm as his lips turned down, inching to the side to get into a more comfortable squat. “They’ve been pretty active in this area of late. You neutral?”

Cons? Neutral? The words floated in Prowl’s processor, nothing attached itself. He was certainly not a ‘con’, since this mech would have noted him as such. So the only alternative was neutral. Prowl dipped his helm in the affirmative.

“So am I. Heading to the next town to gather some supplies and then getting the Pit out of here.” Blaster leaned closer to Red Alert, studying his wound. He gently touched the sides of Red Alert’s helm. “We should get him to a doc-bot. He ain’t gonna make it lying here.”

Prowl glanced at Red Alert, then back at Blaster. Red Alert would not take well to a stranger touching him, yet Prowl was at a disadvantage with his lack of knowledge. He examined the mech. The odds of being attacked was 28.9%. The odds that the mech could turn on them once he had Red Alert was 45%. The odds of Prowl defeating him and the mechanimals…cassettes…sat at 66.98%. The odds that Red Alert would deteriorate significantly sat at 93.5%. His priority was to protect his ally. Finally, he nodded. “Yes. He requires a medic.”

Blaster looked him over, then ran a hand over his helm. “You ain’t got a lot of bulk on ya.” He vented as he looked at the quadruped. “What d’ya say, Jaw, should we give them a hand?”    

The quadruped glanced up at him, it’s tail flicking. He returned his stare to Prowl, lowering his helm and his audials flicking forward. The night insecticons’ chirps seemed to grow louder as the silence between the mechs stretched on.

Blaster’s lips pressed into a thin line as his one hand dug into the soft grass. “Mech…Prowl…I get you’re on edge, but I ain’t planning on harming you. Now, your friend needs help. The town is about three or four kels from here. You don’t have the bulk to carry him, but I do. But…before I do I need to know you ain’t gonna stab me or my cassettes in the back.”

Blaster’s words rolled through Prowl’s processor, trying to make sense of the conversation. Ain’t…context refers to…a negative? Harm, refers to damages incurred. Negative harm. No harm. Friend…friend….friend refers to ally? Bulk? I have no bulk but the mech does? Prowl blinked slowly, his doorwings flicking as pressure built in the back of his helm. He fingered the blade, his thoughts evaporating as he focused on the cold feeling. “You do not intend harm?”

“No.” Blaster kept his face straight and his frame still. “I want to help.”

Prowl tilted his helm. He required assistance. Red Alert required assistance. He stood smoothly and the quadruped bared its fangs. He glanced at it briefly before looking at Blaster. “If you harm him, I will eliminate you.”

Blaster vented loudly, shaking his helm as he muttered something about Decepticons under his vents.

Prowl caught onto the word, a sharp twinge bit into his processor and the pressure in his helm increased. He rubbed at the blade again, its coldness soothing.

“I really don’t know why I should help ya, but blame my good spark on it.” Blaster threw over his shoulder as he gently lifted Red Alert. “Right. Let’s get going.”

Prowl stood to the back of the room, doorwings flared and denta grit. His nostrils flared as he drew in deep vents. The pungent stench of chemicals assaulted him. His spark raced. He needed to leave.

Illogical.

He balled his fists as he watched the orange and red mech look over Red Alert. He scanned the room. There was no threat, no malice, and yet his spark thrummed and his throat felt dry. He needed to leave this place.

Illogical.

His lips pressed together, doorwings flicking back. The lights were too bright. He blinked. White lights…pain…energon… He needed to leave this place. He took a step forward, then halted.

If he left, Red Alert would stay behind.

Not acceptable.

He drew in another vent. “He is…” Prowl paused as the words evaded him. He looked at Red Alert. What had he wanted to say? His armour clenched. He needed to leave this place.

The medic turned towards him, his smile lighting his optics as he nodded. “What was that?”

Prowl raised his doorwings. He chased through his empty helm. No words came. He needed to leave, but he would not.

The medic straightened and rubbed his jaw. “He’ll be fine. I’ve given him a shot of mirconanites to clear the infection, and placed nanite binders to seal the wound. He’s lucky. A little lower and your partner would…not have been in such good condition.” He nodded as he walked over to a sink, rinsing his hands and then wiping them off with a clean rag. He bundled the rag and threw it into the bin.

Prowl watched him silently, armour prickling. His processor pinged him with a threat analysis. The threat that the medic would attack was 9.3%. And yet… He swallowed. “He is not in good condition.” Red Alert was far from optimal operating parametres.

The medic smiled knowingly. “Of course not, but considering all things he should be alright by morning. You can spend the night with him, I’ll just drag in another berth, or you could go to the nearest inn. It’s just down the road. Though, you look a little pale. Were you hurt as well? Do you want me to give you a check-up?”

“No!” Prowl snapped, armour clamping as he scanned the room. There was nothing. Only this mech and Red Alert. Red Alert. He turned back to Red Alert. His spark twinged uncomfortably, his chest plating tightening uncomfortably. He should not leave Red Alert. He should not abandon his ally. He clenched his denta. Neither did he want to remain in this room. There was no threat but it was not safe either.

Illogical.

There was no reason to think this clinic was unsafe. Blaster had assisted them here, introduced him to the medic, and left. He was no longer a threat. The medic had treated Red Alert. He was not a threat. They were alone in the clinic. There was no other mechs. No other threats.

And yet Prowl felt…odd. He did not like this place.

A sharp, painful twinge to his processor halted his thought process.

“Are you alright?”

Prowl opened his optics. When had he shuttered them? He nodded, balling his fists. “Af- Yes.”

The medic frowned, his thick optic ridges drawn close over searching green optics. “Are you sure? You looked like…you’re not in any pain?” He stepped closer to Prowl, his field open.

Prowl recoiled, stepping back. His battle protocols pinged him.

Illogical.

He raised his hand to stop the medic, lips parted and vents heaving. He blinked. What…what was he doing? Perhaps he was malfunctioning? He should ask the medic to examine him, and yet he wilted at the very thought of the medic touching him.

Why?

Pain blossomed in his helm and his face contorted. He raised a hand to touch his temple. Battle protocols requested activation.

No enemy identified. Illogical.

“Sir?”

“Do not!” Prowl barked as the medic rushed towards him. “I am functional.” He glanced at Red Alert, then back at the medic.

He needed to leave. Now.

“I will return.” He said and turned, marching towards the exit while his doorwings kept track of the medic. Thankfully the medic did not follow him.

He shoved the door open and stumbled out, the cold breeze buffeting his face.

The air was clean, beleaguered only with a sweet scent that made Prowl’s tank clench. But it was different than the clinic. There were no harsh lights, no empty slabs. Shadows assaulted him as he shook his helm violently. He stumbled into the wall, grabbing onto it to keep from falling. More shadows clouded his processor. His spark spun, vents heaved. The pain in his processor spiked, the pressure behind his optics building.

Run. Run.

Prowl pushed off the wall, only to fall back against it as his legs gave way. He pushed himself up again, using the wall as support. Red warnings littered his HUD. He was hot…he was too hot. His chest constricted. He gasped, sucking in frigid air. His doorwings trembled, drawing tight to his frame. His knees buckled and he sank to the cold pavement.

Shadows danced across his vision, blurring the red with darkness. The darkness took shape…the form of a large mech.

A single optic stared at him. Bright lights…too bright. The acrid stench of chemicals…the optic came closer…a hand reached out….darkness covered his vision.

Prowl jolted as his optics snapped open. He stared at a white ceiling. The berthpad was soft and warm, the soft whirr of machines blended into the background.

His armour prickled as he lay deathly still. This was…familiar. He balled his fists.

“Prowl?”

That voice. His helm snapped towards the only thing that held security in the fogginess of his processor.

Pale, slate-grey optics stared at him. “Where are we?” Red Alert croaked as he slid a hand to his helm. He laid on the berth opposite Prowl, a small energon line connected to his upper arm.

Prowl blinked and pushed himself off the berth, his frame heavy and doorwings hanging low. His helm rewarded him with a dull ache that seemed to originate from his neck. He glanced around the single room. Beautiful painting dotted the walls and to the side of the berth a pitcher stood with coolant. A memory stirred of this room. Of Blaster and the cassettes. He had been here….but he had left? “The clinic.” He grit out. How did he get here?

“We carried you here. You needed a medic.”

“We?” Red Alert’s voice pitched. “Who are – ”

“Ah, you two are up early.” The red and orange medic from the previous orn chose that moment to pop his helm into the doorway. He entered fully, his smile bright. “I had expected you to rest at least a little longer.”

Red Alert glared at him, optics narrowing as he curled into himself. “Who are you?” Static laced his voice as he followed the medic into the room.

Prowl dragged his doorwing forward to shield Red Alert as he slid off the berth. The medic stopped at the display, his lips downturned and his optics held a note of sadness. He extended his arms to the side, fingers splayed and palms up. His red and orange paint glistered in the white light of the clinic.

“I am Dr Comeback and I run this clinic. You are currently in Corumkan. They brought you in yesterorn, you were unconscious and running a high fever.” He turned his green optics towards Prowl, his hands clasping each other. “How are you feeling? You had a severe crash.”

How are you feeling? Crash?

“You crashed?” Red Alert touched his doorwing and Prowl flicked it out of range as he took a step forward. “What happened?”

Prowl kept staring at the medic, but his thoughts ran internal. Feel? He was conscious. His frame hurt, but he could process. He was functional. He dipped his helm. “I am functional.”

“Functional isn’t the same as feeling well.” The medic – Dr Comeback – said as he stepped forward, his field soothing and warm.

Prowl teeked it before withdrawing his own field as close as he could. His optics flitted across the room. The medic barred the exit. Battle protocols pinged to online, but Prowl dismissed them. The medic did not pose a threat, and if he did, he was easy to eliminate. “I am well.” Prowl said, flicking his doorwings in dismissal.

Dr Comeback scratched his jaw, his thick ridges furrowed low over his old optics. “If you are well, I am glad. But usually after a crash, you will feel heavy and tired. This would be normal as the processor needs time to recalibrate and this takes most of the energy meant for the frame. It would be better if you recharged for another joor or two.”

“Unnecessary.” Prowl shook his helm, but he committed the words to memory as he re-examined himself. He did…feel…tired and his extremities did not move within optimal parameters, although they were within acceptable parameters. He leaned his hip against the berth, angling his frame away from Red Alert and the medic. From this position, he would easily be able to attack.

“Why did you crash?” Red Alert pushed himself up as well, groaning as he did.

Prowl pressed his lips into a thin line. Crash? He would need to clarify the term with Red Alert. What he did recall was the strange sensations that had assaulted him. An enemy from within…the shadow stirred and a twinge twisted inside his helm where the dull ache resided. He glanced at the medic, then at the berth. How…he had been outside. The corner of his lips turned down. “I left.” He glanced back at the medic.

“Yes, you did. You weren’t well, so I followed. You crashed outside my clinic, and I carried you in.” The medic pointed to the door before clasping his hands lightly. He kept his frame open and still.

Unconscious. That was a grave weakness. The dots connected. Crash was dangerous. Crash is a weakness.

“But why?” Red Alert clicked and he slapped the berth in open irritation. “Prowl were you hurt?”

Prowl shifted his armour. He did not want to talk about his weakness in front of the medic. Medics, although not a threat, were by no means an ally.

The medic cleared his throat as he slowly made his way towards Red Alert. Prowl studied him.

“I’m not sure, and I would appreciate information,” Dr Comeback shot Prowl a look, “but from what I can tell it appeared to be connected to your logic centre and emotional cortex. However, that’s from a deep scan. I can’t get through your firewalls, and as your vitals weren’t redlining, I didn’t bring them down, but I expect that you have been under a lot of stress lately, and that yesterorn’s events, knowing your mate is safe, pushed you to cracking point. It’s not normal, but it’s not unheard of either. You should have a thorough examination to make sure there are no damage.”

Prowl ran an internal diagnostic. He could not risk being damaged, but the thought of allowing this mech into his helm was…uncomfortable. His diagnostic pinged him with the results a fraction of a click later. He checked it. Apart from requiring a thorough defrag, there was no damages.

“I am well.” Prowl straightened to his full height, though it was half a helm shorter than the medic. He flared his doorwings, scanning. The illogical desire to leave this place remained, however, his frame did not feel the same pressure. He turned to Red Alert. He would not leave his ally. “Are you…well?”

“Tired, but I don’t feel like the Pit anymore. Thank you, doctor.” Red Alert cleared his vocaliser from the remaining static.

“Very well.” Dr Comeback nodded, although by the scowl marring his face, he wasn’t pleased with their answers. He turned his attention towards Red Alert and Prowl stood closer. “Red Alert, are you sure you are alright? The nanites have worked wonders to bring your fever down, but I’d still recommend medication for several more orns. And I’m hoping you will be more magnanimous in your answer than your mate.”

Red Alert tilted his helm at Prowl, optics running over him before he smiled sweetly. “Yes, my mate isn’t known for his conversations. Less so when he is worried.” He batted his optic shutters at Prowl.

A small frown pulled between Prowl’s optic ridges. Red Alert was…off.  Before Prowl could question if he was well, Red Alert turned his optics back to the medic.

“But I’ll take the medication, thank you. And as to my mate, it’s ok. It’s…rare…for him to get crashes, but it’s been a terrible couple of orns and after we were attacked in the forest…” Red Alert’s voice trailed off as he raised a hand to his helm.

Dr Comeback nodded, his field expanded to wrap Red Alert in soothing comfort. “Yes, the attacks have been increasing. It is said that the Decepticon movement is gaining ground in the South. Most mechs are heading north to avoid the fighting.” He glanced at Prowl, before turning to Red Alert. “I understand your hesitance for a processor sweep, but I would recommend it.”

Red Alert dropped his helm as he picked at the light mesh covering his berth, chewing his lower lip. “I can’t force Prowl to allow that. He’ll be ok. We’ll rest for a few orns. I promise. If he acts off or something, we’ll come back.”

Prowl tagged the word Decepticon. It had been the second time he had heard the word. It merited further investigation. As to returning to the clinic, Prowl dismissed that idea.

“Dr Comeback, we would like to compensate you for the medicine and energon, and if you could perhaps point us in the way of safe accommodation?” Red Alert shifted on the berth, fingering the IV that was imbedded in an energon line.

Dr Comeback nodded. “I would have preferred to keep you here for a few more joors, but I’m under the impression that neither of you are comfortable.” He reached over to Red Alert’s IV bag and turned off the valve, and then gently removed it from his arm. He held his digit over the line for a few clicks. “I would appreciate the credits, seeing as funding for medics is being diverted to the war.”

War? Prowl caught Red Alert’s optic, and the mech shook his helm. Prowl blinked. What did Red Alert mean with that?

Red Alert turned back to the medic, his armour clamped tightly to his frame. “Yes, war is a terrible thing.” He whispered.

Chapter Text

The inn Dr Comeback had pointed them at was detestable…to say the least. Red Alert wrinkled his olfactory at the mouldy smell as they stepped into the modest room with its peeling paint and dark corners. It was simple, really, with a single double berth pushed against the wall and a chair and table in the corner. Basic to a T with no windows. The light flickered once, twice, then stabilised, casting the room in a gloomy, orange glow.

“Well, this is great.” Red Alert shook his helm and inched closer to Prowl. The Praxian drew his doorwings back, studying the room. His face was, as always, a placid pool that rippled with nothingness.

“Affirmative. It is not cold. It is pleasant.”

Red Alert groaned as he stepped inside and pulled Prowl along behind him. The door slid close with an abhorrent squeal. “I was actually being sarcastic, but it probably is an upgrade from outside.” He shook his helm as he paused in front of the closed washrack door. His face scrunched up. No way I’m going in there. He glared at the berth. Who was to say it didn’t have tiny microscraplets running around? He didn’t want them feasting on his energon.

Prowl moved into the room, doorwings flared wide as he inspected every nook and cranny. Red Alert rolled his shoulders as he watched. Definitely military. Not disturbing at all…but not inconvenient either.

“There are no external entrances. The door will be easily guarded. The room is safe.” Prowl announced as his doorwings folded back into their neutral position.

Red Alert smiled, helm tipped lopsidedly. “Are you sure? Have you checked the berth for bugs?”

“Bugs?” Prowl flicked his doorwing as he turned to the berth, crouching next to it. His doorwings tilted up and back and flared subtly, the silvery feathers puffing and making him look like an overgrown avian.

Red Alert huffed as his grin grew. He dropped his arms and ambled over to the berth. In truth he hoped that the berth was safe; he truly needed to get some recharge and they had paid an obscene amount of credits for this shabby room. Besides, the dull ache in his helm was gaining momentum and his frame felt heavy. A small nap before an afternoon meal would do just the trick. He squatted next to the berth. “Bugs are tiny little beasts – like insecticons, just waaaay smaller. You know, those creatures that chirped at night while we were making our way here?”

Prowl stared blankly at him. “Chirped?”

Red Alert dragged a hand over his face, glaring at Prowl. “Chirp as in … chirp. Crick. Click.” Primus! How humiliating. “Can’t believe I’m replaying sounds to you. One would think you’re a fragging sparkling.”

Prowl’s golden optics darkened, then brightened as he nodded. “An insecticon and a bug both chirp. Like we would speak.”

Red Alert arched his optics ridges. “Well, you’re certainly starting to make connections. Yes, basically.” Definitely not going into the finer details. He placed a hand on the berth and studied the corners, annoyingly aware of Prowl following his every move. His armour pricked. He hated close scrutiny, even if done innocently.

“No bugs.” Red Alert announced, relief flooding his systems as he pushed himself up and onto the berth. “I’m going to nap. I’m tired and sore. When I wake we can go down to get fuel. They don’t offer room service.”

“Understood.” Prowl stood and flattened his doorwings. He glanced once more around the room, then walked to the other side of the berth and lay down. “Lights off.”

Red Alert froze as the berth pad sank next to him. Don’t panic. He swallowed, shuttering his optics. It’s just Prowl. It’s ok. He’s been protecting you this whole time. He’s just lying on the berth next to you. He doesn’t even know what’s a bug, so there’s no way he’d know what…that….is. He drew a deep vent. Thinking of that, there was something he needed to discuss with Prowl. But not right now. No way. Not now.

“Red Alert?” Prowl’s voice had him cracking open a single optic.

“Hmmm?”

“We are mates?”

The room dropped into silence.

“Primus hates me.” Red Alert muttered as he dragged a hand over his face.

He shifted, sighed, and rolled onto his side.

Golden pools of lights stared curiously at him.

He turned his helm away and stared at the dark ceiling. “Uhm, no, and yes. It’s, uh…” Red Alert pinched his olfactory ridge. Primus if he gave Prowl the wrong information now, it might go very, very bad down the line. And he did not want Prowl getting the wrong ideas or forming an unholy attachment to him. Think! How to explain ‘pretend’? An idea struck and Red Alert ex-vented, sinking into the berth. Just talk military. He’s bound to understand that. “For the purpose…of…our mission…to get to the North, we are assuming roles as mates.”

“Define mates.”                                                                                        

“What?!” Red Alert pushed onto his elbow and stared wide-opticed at the grey mech. “You don’t know what mates are?”

Prowl kept staring at him; waiting.

“Ok, so Dr Comeback referred to us as ‘mates’, right?” Primus don’t let this be complicated. “Uh, ok. Soooo…you get like three…kinds of relationships. Uh, like…” Think! What words does he know? He flapped a hand in the air. It was so hard with this insufferable mech! Some words he knew others was just like they weren’t there. He scratched his arm. “Ok, so like ‘ally’ and ‘enemy’. Although, enemy is not a relationship status. Although it is…it is, but it’s not really applicable here. Slag. Ok, bad example. Let’s start over. You get ‘ally’, which means you don’t kill that mech, you help them, ok?”

Prowl’s optics unfocused, then returned to Red Alert. “Understood. An ally receives assistance. You are my ally.”

“Right. Ok, so more than ally becomes ‘friend’. A friend is…slag. How do you define friend? My helm is aching too much for this right now.” Red Alert laid a hand on his pounding helm. This talk wasn’t helping him at all. He didn’t have friends, never wanted friends, so how was he supposed to explain friendship to Prowl? The closer a mech was to someone they more they got hurt. Allies was probably a good place to stay. Mutual benefit of staying alive. That’s where it should end, and that’s where his and Prowl’s weird alliance would end as well. The mutual benefit of staying alive. But…that didn’t solve the current social conundrum. He cracked an optic open at Prowl, face pulled into a grimace. “Friends…friends look out for each other more than allies. It’s someone you have an…affectionate bond with, but there’s no interfacing involved.”

“Noted. What is interfacing?”

“……I’m done with this subject.” Red Alert shook his helm and turned away from Prowl. “I’m recharging. We’ll talk more when we wake.” He certainly wasn’t haven’t that conversation lying down next to Prowl. Research have proven that once mechs learned of the…enjoyable….aspect of interfacing they were keen to experiment. Broaden their horizons so to say. He clicked as he snuggled into the worn bedding. The last thing he needed at his back was a horny Praxian.

What felt like breems later Red Alert slowly onlined to the sound of hot solvent running. He lay still, optics shuttered as he waited for his systems to boot properly, all the while stretching his sensor net.

He was alone on the berth. He opened his optics and sat up, the old berth creaking under his weight. Red Alert stretched languidly, the kinks working themselves out, he relaxed and fell back onto the berth. Primus he was feeling so much better.

His tank grumbled.

“I knew it was too good to last.” He muttered as he pushed himself. They would need to head down to the inn’s common room to get fuel, as they didn’t offer room service. Apart from the inconvenience, it was downright dangerous.

That’s right! It’s way too dangerous! Any mech could be out there, just waiting. What if the medic had told others about you? What if that other mech that had carried you had blabbed? What if they were already on their way? What if they were already at the inn? While you recharged, they could have surrounded this place! There isn’t even a window for you to check!

Red Alert stilled on the berth, quieting his vents as he turned up his audials. Only the faint splashes of solvent as it splatter against a frame and the walls reached his audials.

What if they’re just outside the door?

Red Alert swallowed. It was the only door…there were no other escapes.

His plating pricked. They could be right outside. His mouth felt dry. Maybe…maybe if he didn’t move…

The sound of solvent cut off.

Red Alert held his vents and turned up his audials. What if they pounce now…

The washrack door slid open and Prowl stepped out, drops dripping and glistering on his frame in the dull orange light.

He raised his doorwings as he looked at Red Alert.

Two blades unsheathed from his arms as he side-stepped, his back to Red Alert as he faced the door. His doorwings inched up and out, flaring lightly as they did.

“Red Alert, what is the threat?”

“They could be right outside the door.” Red Alert whispered as his balled his fist against the blankets. “They could be waiting for us.” He sank back, optics wide. A small blue spark zapped his audial horn. That’s right, they could be wearing spark dampeners. They’d know Prowl was a good fighter. Fool! Barely out a decaorn and already lax! He swallowed. “They’re wearing dampeners.”

As silent as the grave Prowl inched forward. He stood to the side of the door, blades ready as he unlocked the manual door. The lock clicked loudly.

Nothing happened.

The door slipped open and Prowl slithered outside. He glanced from side to side, then sheathed his blades. He backed into the room, and then shut the door. “There is no threat.” He repeated in his same placid voice.

“But there could be…” Red Alert didn’t take his optics from the door as he raised his knees to protect his chest. “They could be…”

“There is no threat.” Prowl stated, his voice as cold as steel.

Red Alert’s attention snapped to Prowl. The Parxian stood, shoulders back, doorwings flared and pedes apart. He would not tolerate any argument. Red Alert nodded, slowly at first, then more confidently as his vents returned to him. This mech was…intimidating.

“You’re right. It’s in my helm.” He hugged his legs as he rested his forehelm against his knees. No one there. Stupid. Stupid. “Thanks for checking.” He could trust Prowl to eliminate threats. That’s what allies did. Or at least that is what he used Prowl for. But what if Prowl wasn’t an ally? What if Prowl only used him as he used Prowl?

He could still kill you…He could wait until you’re a nice distraction, then leave you. Maybe he lied and they’re still out there…

He has no reason to stick around. He helped me.

Did he? Maybe he helped himself? You’ve not even seen the strange mech.

He took me to a medic.

Yes, a medic. He remembered a medic. So what’s to say he doesn’t remember more? Maybe he’s lying?

“Stop it.” Red Alert covered his audials with his hands. “Just stop it!”

“I am performing no action?”

The deep voice snapped Red Alert out of his helm and his optics popped open.

Prowl stared at him, his doorwings lifting half an inch.

Red Alert licked his lips. “No…I…uh…”

A scan prickled his armour and Red Alert bristled, optics flashing as he straightened. He hated scans! “Did you just scan me?!”

“Aff- Yes.”

“Prowl! That is rude!” Red Alert slapped the bed, lips pouting as his frowned at Prowl. How audacious! And invasive! This prehistoric moron!

Prowl tilted his helm. “Negative. The medic insisted. Your temperature is above normal parameters. You require medication.”

Red Alert clicked, fluffing his armour as he crossed his arms, chin down and horns pointed at Prowl. “We seriously need to work on your social skills. I’ll take my medication when I need to. You don’t simply scan another mech without their approval! You are not a medic! And even if you were, it would be by consent!”

“Consent?”

“Oh for Primus sake! Can’t you just…” Red Alert curled his fingers, imagining Prowl’s neck between them. “I’m scolding you! Consent means You. Ask. My. Permission. You don’t do that unless I ask you to!” he jabbed a finger at his own chest.

Prowl stared at him, but his face suddenly scrunched and he blinked, optics paling as his face smoothed. “You require medication.”

Red Alert stared at him, all discomfort at being scanned shoved into the back of his helm to deal with later. What was that? It’s the second time…Red Alert swallowed, leaning forward on the berth as the pad crunched under him. “Prowl?”

His doorwings inched forward.

“Do you…” Red Alert scratched the back of his audial, lips twisted in a grimace. How was he going to ask this? “What you did right now…the blink or something….do you, or what were you thinking of? Do you…did you remember something?”

Prowl looked at him, his face a perfectly blank canvass. “I…” his mouth remained open as his optics unfocused. “You are off.”

“What?” Red Alert’s optic ridges shot up. He squashed the first words that came to mind. Obviously Prowl was socially inept, so he had to take it slow. As with a sparkling. He drew a deep vent. “Ok, what do you mean by ‘off’. Can you,” he flapped a hand in the air as he thought of language Prowl would understand, “tell me why you say that?”

“You are…illogical.” Prowl lowered his doorwings and tipped his helm slightly to the side. “You make my helm ache.”

Red Alert stared at him. “Well, if you were any other mech I’d probably take that as an insult, but as I know not a lot goes on in that helm of yours, you’re probably meaning that literally.” He rubbed hard at his olfactory and then scooted off the bed. A long sigh escaped him as he contemplated the mystery he’d been unwillingly saddled with. Primus hated him. The universe hated him. And he sure as the Pit wished there was no one outside that slagging door!

Red Alert cleared his vocaliser. “Why am I illogical?” He asked as he folded his arms across his chassis, hip thrown out to the side.

“You are wary of enemies. Then you are angry at a scan. The two do not compute.”

“Oh.” Red Alert dragged out the monosyllable as his processor raced. Was Prowl incapable of making the jump from one subject to another, or was it the complexities of the emotions he found troubling, no doubt his glitch acting all irrational only added to the poor spark’s confusion. Well, at least that made sense. “And the ache in your helm?”

Prowl’s optics unfocused and Red Alert waited, trying not to tap his pede. He was starting to associate the unfocused optics with Prowl trying to figure something out internally. Best wait for him.

A moment later the Praxian blinked and returned his focus to Red Alert. “I am trying to connect your behaviour with your…” Prowl paused, a small frown pinching between his ridges.

“Emotions?” Red Alert lifted his shoulders in a shrug as he leaned forward.

“Emotions?” Prowl asked.

“Oh well, this is just stellar.” Red Alert dragged his hands down his neck. “Let me get my meds first then we’ll go into that.” He searched his subspace and withdrew a syringe. He wasn’t keen on getting himself doped, but he did feel his frame and if he was going to have a discussion with Prowl he needed to have his focus on the mech. Primus, but this is a mess. He shot a covert glance at the Praxian. There were too many questions, too many possibilities. If the mech had been reprogrammed then that might mean a centivorn’s worth of problems. Yet, there was life in the optics. He didn’t act reprogrammed. Just stupid and socially inept. Maybe he was a super advanced drone?

Red Alert pursed his lips. That was actually a distinct possibility.

Uh, ‘scuse me he has a sparksignature?

Right. Drones don’t have those. Unless this one was given a sparkling spark? A full-frame shiver ran through him. Anything was possible at the Institution.

“You are cold?”

“What?” He lifted his helm to see Prowl watching him closely. At least the mech hadn’t run a scan on him. He shook his helm. “No. Just had a horrible thought.”

A flick of the doorwings was his only answer. The syringe finally emptied into his lines and he pulled it out, closing the port. “Ok. So Prowl, obviously some bad slag happened to you at the Institution. We’re going to have to figure it out together. Emotions are basically feelings. You have those, right?” Primus please say yes! Please, please say yes!

“I do not understand.”

Red Alert drew a calming vent. How the Pit was he supposed to handle this? Primus had the wrong mech! Unless this was punishment for some evil he did in a former life? Probably. He released the warm air slowly and splayed his hand. “You don’t understand. Can you describe to me how you feel right now?”

“Feel? I am not touching – ”

“No! No, I don’t mean touching, how does your frame respond to you not understanding?” Red Alert tried again. “Like…when I was on the bed. I was afraid. How I looked made you check the corridor, it made you draw your weapons. I was afraid and you responded. Me being ‘off’. That was me being ‘afraid’.” Slag. That came out way more complicated.

Way to go you probably confused him even further.

Just shut up! He puffed air out of his vents. “How is…what are you thinking?”

Prowl blinked, slowly, but remained quiet.

Red Alert growled lowly and shook his helm. This was pointless and useless. The mech was a mess. If he didn’t even know the basics of what emotions, feelings were, then how the pit was he even going to fit into society? What is the point trying?

That’s why he’s got you.

“Shut up.” He hissed as he pressed two digits to his helm. Prowl was certainly causing his helm to ache too.

“Feel. When my chest is tight or my spark spins faster?”   

Red Alert dropped his hand, hope and relief blooming like a newly formed magnolia. “Yes! Yes, that’s feel. Feeling. When did that happen? When did you feel that?” He took a step closer to Prowl and splayed his hands as if to catch something. Hopefully some mercy.

“At the clinic.” Prowl stated. “You were there. I needed to leave. My chest….I could not vent. My spark was elevated. I needed to leave. There was no enemy.”

“You were afraid.” Red Alert whispered as he bit his lower lip. He knew the feeling all too well. Fear was his constant companion. The cause of his glitch and paranoia. “I know the feeling.”

Prowl searched his face. “I feel fear.”

Red Alert glanced down as a self-depreciating smile warped his lips. “No Prowl, you felt fear. You were feeling fear. You are not afraid now.” Red Alert reached out, then hesitated. He hated touching other mechs. He balled his fist and tucked it back into his side. “Why? Do you remember why you felt like that?”

“Why?”

“Yes, did you have a memory?” Red Alert hoped he did. That would mean he wasn’t an advanced AI drone, but in his spark he already knew Prowl wasn’t. Prowl was just one seriously screwed-up mechanism.

“A single optic. Yellow.”

The world spun as Red Alert stepped back, as if a massive invisible hand had punched him square in the torso. Colour drained from his cheeks and he sank down onto the berth. Single, yellow optic. “Shockwave.” The name was static laced. He squeezed his optics shut and drew deep vents. Shockwave! You idiot! And you’re still with this mech!? Are you insane? What if it’s him looking for you? What if he finds you!? What if this is his latest pet and he’d been programmed according to that psychopaths’ – ”

He screamed as hands grabbed his shoulders and he jumped up, trying to push away. No! “NO! Let me go!” Red Alert pushed and punched, but he was pulled flush against a stiff frame. Sparks zipped between his horns like lightning during a storm.

“You are fear.”

Red Alert panted as his struggles weakened. Fear? No, no that mech was the embodiment of every bad flux that existed under the suns! He’s evil incarnate! You need to get away!

“Let me go!”

“No. You are fear.”

Red Alert grit his denta as he pushed against Prowl’s unmovable hold. He couldn’t be found with this mech! If those mechs who had tried to kill them earlier had been able to report back then they were dead! And what about the medic? Maybe he would report them! Primus how could he have been so stupid!

“Do not fear.” The arms around him tightened to the point where he couldn’t vent. Fear exploded and the sparks intensified until they burned. A pinch to his neck plunged him into darkness.

Slowly Red Alert opened his optics and stared at a dirty, yellow-tainted ceiling. What…? He rolled to the side only to bump into Prowl. He stared at Prowl. His memory slowly returned to him.

“You must take your medicine when I say.” Prowl laid his hand on Red Alert’s forehelm, his voice even.

A small chuckle burst from Red Alert’s lips.

Prowl’s optic ridge arched slightly and the chuckle turned into a full-out laughed. Red Alert pressed his hands over his face. If he sounded hysterical to his own audials he didn’t care. What kind of horrible flux was this? What mech had he screwed over so badly that he would be in this situation. “Take your medicine!” Red Alert’s frame shook as he cackled.

“You are illogical.”

Red Alert shook his helm, the laughter dying off his glossa as he glared at the ceiling. He drew in deep vents and expelled the roiling heat. “Yes Prowl, I am the most illogical being there is. You probably screwed someone over too.” He drew a deep vent. “You know, common sense would say that I leave your sorry aft right here.”

Prowl remained silent as he sat ramrod on the edge of the berth, his golden optics dull and Red Alert almost wished for him to say ‘yes’.

“But you know, I can’t help but listen to the small, very small, little part of my dark spark that insists I keep you around. And it’s not just because you’re a good fighter, but because I feel sorry for you. How insane is that?! You’re like a sparkling with no sense and at the same time you’re like this military drone. I don’t know maybe you’re some kind of combination. I wouldn’t put it past Shockwave to do something that twisted.”

 “Who is Shockwave?” Prowl asked, and although his voice still held no inflection, it was softer. Compassion? Did Prowl even realise his tone had changed? Did he even know he had emotions without even knowing what emotions were?

Red Alert grimaced, “No mech you want to meet in a dark alley.” Should he tell Prowl? With Prowl’s inability to understand certain conversations and social skills, it might be better to leave it be. For now at least. The last thing he needed to add to his plate was Prowl spitting off Shockwave’s designation in public.

“You fear him.”

“Yes. He is a bad mech.” Understatement of the millennia. Red Alert pushed himself up with a heavy groan. Primus but his frame ached! Did he crash or something?

“If he comes near you, I will kill him.”

An unbelieving bark escaped Red Alert and he shook his helm. “You’d be doing the planet a favour, but he’s not that easy to kill.” He glanced down at his hands. They were shaking. “Let’s talk about something else. Please. I am uncomfortable talking about this…which means it makes me feel afraid. It makes me feel fear.”

Prowl nodded firmly and his doorwings flicked back.

Red Alert pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his chin on his knees. His optics roamed the bland room. “We need to upskill you socially. We won’t be able to reach the north without drawing attention if you act like you do.”

“Act?” Prowl asked as he leaned back.

“Act means behaviour. When I behave a certain way, I act a certain way. Like…” Red Alert’s face scrunched up as he tried to recall an example with Prowl, “when you said ‘I am off’, you meant ‘I was acting strangely’. Do you understand.”

Prowl’s optics unfocused, then refocused. He gave another curt nod.

“Good. We might need to get you hooked to a datanet at some point to download some basic nonverbal cues into your processor…although we’d need to be careful connecting to the datanet. Don’t want our signatures to get picked up on.”

Red Alert swayed from side-to-side, the old berth creaking as he did. His processor raced. “At least you are starting to remember some things. That is good.” His tank grumbled loudly and he clamped his armour. Goodness that was embarrassing! He checked his fuel levels and groaned. They needed to refuel – in the public dining area. Great. Trust the only fragging inn in town to not allow room service. Every mech in town and surrounds probably ate in that little saloon.

A nagging thought came to him. The medic had referred to them as mates – had he done so to any other mechanisms? Slag. He worked his bottom lip. He’d need to address that with Prowl as, technically speaking, it could serve a very valuable purpose as their cover. He drew a deep vent. He needed to address it with more elegance than the last time. He drew a deep vent and braced himself. “Ok, so while we’re here, we need to discuss our relationship. Especially as we need to go down to get some energon.”

Prowl raised his doorwings an inch, but his mouth remained in a firm line. “We are allies. We are mates.”

“..Yesssss.” Red Alert wrinkled his olfactory as he shifted uncomfortably. “It means we need to act ‘close’, like friends.”

Prowl blinked. “Friends and mates are the same?”

“Yes, they are similar, but mates are even more affectionate, or kind, to each other.”

“They interface?”

Red Alert dropped his helm to his knees with an agonised groan. Trust Prowl to latch onto the one thing he really didn’t want to discuss. He puffed his cheeks and blew the air out slowly. “Yes, they interface, but we don’t need to do that…and you don’t need to theoretically know what that is. Ok?”

“If this mission requires us to be mates, I need to know the parameters.”

“Parametres. Right. Ok. Interface is private. Uh, so we only need to be mates when we are in public, or with other mechs. Strangers. We can hold hands. I’ll sit close to you. You can drop your doorwings over my shoulder. Mates do that in public.” Red Alert raised his hands in surrender. “Just follow my lead, especially when we are down in the dining area. Especially there, we need to be mates. It will keep others away as well.”

“Noted. We are mates.” Prowl gave a determined nod as he stood.

Red Alert raised his ridges at Prowl as he also stood. He fluffled his armour and raised his chin. “Yes, we’re mates, but we don’t interface. Got that?”

Chapter Text

Run.

Red Alert swallowed as his spark raced. His protoform crawled underneath thin armour.

Run!

He drew a deep vent as his optics darted about the stuffy room filled to the brim with chattering, laughing, touching mechs. Light barely filtered through the dust-covered windows, barred so tightly that they didn’t even allow for the hope of a little fresh air.

His optics returned to the lively occupants in the room. In the corner a small band sang to the enthusiastic crowd, all of them cheering and singing along in the most horendious cocophany that had ever assaulted his audials.

Run!

“Oh Primus I can’t do this!” Red Alert turned to run back to his little safety hole but a firm hand caught his elbow.

“We must refuel.”

Prowl’s cool voice halted him. His chest rose with each harsh ventilations. “There are too many mechs…it’s not safe.”

The Praxian’s hold tightened until small rivlets of pain echoed up Red Alert’s arm.

“I will protect you. There are no threats. Come.”

Red Alert glanced over his shoulder at Prowl, then slowly gazed back into the over-stuffed saloon. There were mechs everywhere. He licked his dry lips and inched closer to Prowl. “How do you know there is no threat? There are dozens of mechs. Look at those in the corner near the window – they occasionally look over the room like they’re looking for mechs. Maybe they’re looking for us? Or what about those mechs behind the bar? It’s the best place to gather information. At the window to the far right – they are blocking that window. We won’t have any escape. This is a trap. We must…”

“Refuel.” Prowl stepped forward and all but dragged Red Alert.

“Prowl!?” Red Alert gasped as he grabbed Prowl’s hand and working to get his fingers loose. “Let me go!”

Prowl stopped and turned back to him, his silvery doorwing shielding Red Alert from curious glances thrown there way.

“This mission requires we fuel. You are drawing attention. Are you not in need of fuel?”

Vents still heaving, Red Alert bit his lip as his gaze once more slipped to the room. Prowl was right. More and more mechs were turning their attention to them. They needed to eat…maybe they should go out? But there were a host of other threats outside as well….He squeezed his optics shut and nodded. “Ok, ok. I need fuel.”

Get a grip, Red! You’re attracting attention and that’s like 101 for ‘Do not do’. What’s that stupid saying? ‘Keep calm, and carry on’. That’s all there is to it. If anyone approaches you, we’ll run. Or Prowl can kill them. And while he’s busy killing them, you can escape…through that window, and that one too…or the door. Ok. You can do this.

Red Alert forced his tight lips to curve. “Ok, Prowl. You’re right. We need fuel.” A full frame shiver ran through his frame and a horn sparked as he stepped into the room. A few mechs glanced their way, but no one made a move. That was good. Now where to sit?

Red Alert raised on his tip toes as he searched the room for a seat, his field pulled in tight. There! A back booth had just gone open! “We can sit there. It’s not ideal…but it’s not bad either.” He pointed the taller Praxian in the direction of the booth. None of the booths were ideal. Too many mechs…but they needed fuel.

Prowl nodded and marched towards the booth, his hand still firmly curled around Red Alert’s elbow. Maybe it was his deliberateness, but mechs tended to step clear of the Praxian. As much as it relieved Red Alert that no one was bumping into him, Prowl gave off such a presence that he was bound to be noticed…or worse, remembered.

They couldn’t afford to be noticed or remembered. They needed to blend in.

“Uh Prowl? Could you slow down a bit?”

Prowl didn’t reply but his pace became more liquid as he wove through the crowds.

Miraculously the table was still open by the time they reached it. Prowl released Red Alert and indicated he was to slide into the booth first. Thankfully, it was a U-curved booth facing the room with a wall to the back. No one could sit behind them, and to the left the stage started. So no one would be to that side either. That meant only two sides needed to be actively monitored. Ok. They could do this.

Red Alert released a sigh of relief as Prowl released him. “Thanks. They’ll send a drone to get our orders. We just need to wait for it.” He slid over the cracked booth covers. It had obviously seen better orns. “I pity the mechs that this is the only inn they’ve got. It’s awful. I hope the food is at least palatable.”

The seat next to him sunk in. “Palatable?” Prowl flared his doorwings slightly as he tipped them towards the room.

Red Alert smiled. He could feel Prowl’s powerful sensory net as it expanded. He’s your ally. He’ll protect you. Time to upskill your little sparkling warrior. “Palatable means it tastes nice. You remember the energon you’ve been drinking?”

Prowl nodded.

“Ok, so that is bland. It tastes ‘bland’ – which means it doesn’t taste sour or sweet or grainy or smooth. Although…it could probably be classified as grainy, but that is more texture.”

Prowl turned his helm towards Red Alert.

Red Alert arched his optic ridges. “Too much info?”

Prowl nodded.

“Ok. Just remember this – the energon you know is bland and grainy. We are going to try something else.” Red Alert stretched his neck out to try and spot the order drone. “Once the stupid drone gets here.”

Another burst of applause filled the room as the band wound down their song. The lead singer – a well-built, silver mech that could have been of any origin bowed to the room shouting his ‘thank-you’s’ before saying he’d sing one more before his break. Red Alert shook his helm. They wouldn’t catch him dead on that stage. He drew a deep vent as the band struck up another tune.

Still no order drone.

“This is fragging ridiculous. The first time we ever go on a dinner date and we don’t even get decent service.” Red Alert planted his hand on the cheap formica tabletop. He froze. He squeezed his optics shut as he slowly lifted his hand off the sticky tabletop. “Oh Primus I don’t even want to know what that is!” He moaned as he turned his palm up. Whatever it was…it was sticky, sweet and icky. He swallowed the revulsion. “Prowl,” he pointed at a rag neatly folded in a holder on the middle of the table, “Please hand me that rag. This is disgusting.”

He grabbed the rag Prowl handed to him and wiped at his hand, lips curled in a disgusted snarl. “Well, if the tables aren’t clean then there probably isn’t a drone operable in this slagging filthy place.”

He tossed the rag onto the tabletop and glared at it. They needed fuel…which meant they had to go to the bar to order some…

But if you do, then you’d lose your booth. And this filthy booth is the only filthy booth I’m willing to sit at. “Frag that stupid rule that says no meals allowed in room. Not like we’re going to throw a party or something.”

“Party?”

Red Alert rolled his helm towards Prowl, lips pursed and optic ridges raised. “Where a lot of allies get together to dance and drink energon. We don’t do that.” He squared his shoulders and puffed his armour. The bar was just there.

You can quickly get some energon…you can ask Prowl to monitor everyone while you get fuel. It’s just a quick order. No big deal. It’s not too busy.

It’s in the middle of all those strangers! No way!

You need to fuel. The sooner you fuel the sooner you can leave.

And what about Prowl? You can’t leave him here! What if someone talks with him. He’ll ruin everything!

No one’s going to talk with him. He positively screams ‘leave me alone.’ He’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Just go get some slag–

“We should refuel. If a party means we will refuel, we must hold one.”  

“Huh?” Red Alert scrunched his olfactory as he stared at Prowl. What is he…oh. He clicked his glossa and shook his helm. “Party. Of course. You don’t even know what dancing is. You’re only stuck on ‘fuel’.” He bit his lip. Prowl has a point though…the longer you sit tight the longer you need to be down here and vulnerable.

Red Alert sucked in a strengthening vent and nodded his helm. “Ok. I’m going to get us some energon. You keep your optics on the room and if anybody nears me with even the slightest bad intent then you….shout at me. Ok?” Kill them is more preferable, but can’t take that chance if Prowl misjudges the situation and then getting the local enforcers involved. Don’t need that extra complication. He stayed put a few more clicks before tentatively moving towards the opposite side so that he could slide out close to the stage’s side.

He could do this.

He glanced back at Prowl. “And for Primus sake, try not to talk to any mech and do not ask them what something means. In fact, don’t ask anything in front of them.”

It’s ok…He knows how to take care of himself. Go get the fuel.

**

Prowl kept his gaze locked on Red Alert as the mech headed towards a very clustered part of the room. Mechs were clambering and leaning over a steel structure, pointing at wording written on the wall opposite. Two mechs behind the structure kept nodding to them, then grabbed cubes that they’d deposit before the mechs who would promptly snatch them and turn away.

This was different than the forest. The forest was…pleasant. This was unpleasant. He shuttered his optics slowly as he raised his doorwings. He traced every single movement of every single mech in the room. Slowly his processor stored the data. The emptiness slowly filled with data of mechs interacting while drinking energon. He would analyse it later and glean from it what he could.

His processor tagged that none displayed any threatening movements. Still, Prowl’s golden optics studied them like a cyberhawk its prey. He would protect Red Alert. He would protect his ally.

Movement to the right of the room caught his attention and he snapped his helm around as a familiar sparksignature beeped on his net. The tall, red mech and his two symbionts entered the boisterous room and glanced around.

Their optics caught and the mech grinned, giving a small wave as he headed for Prowl.

Prowl kept his gaze on the mech as he aligned a sensor to keep watch on Red Alert. Red Alert had not given him clear orders what to do should a mech approach him – simply that he was not to engage verbally with them or ask questions before them. His processor tagged the mech’s movements. There was no malicious intent. His stance was relaxed. This mech was no threat. This mech was also familiar – he had helped them. Did this make him an ally? Was he not to talk with an ally? Prowl flattened his armour as thought threads knotted in his processor. He glanced at Red Alert then back at his approaching dilemma.

“Heya mech!” The large red mech rubbed his hands together as he eyed the open seat next to Prowl. “Good to see you! I’d wandered if ya moved on or stayed. Glad you stayed. How’s your partner?” Blaster slid into the booth without permission.

Prowl blinked. What was he supposed to do with this mech? He was not a threat, but was he an ally? What was he? Should he maintain silence?

“Still as talkative as always.” Blaster shook his helm as laughter bubbled out of him. Steeljaw jumped onto the seat next to Blaster, while Rewind nestled on Blaster’s shoulder. The feline bared its fangs at him, before settling down. “Don’t mind if we sit here?”

Don’t mind? Prowl blinked slowly and then turned his attention back to Red Alert. The mech was standing at the steel table, pointing at something over the servicing mech’s helm. He cocked his helm. The mechs in the room all conversed. Should he maintain silence, the mech would no doubt find it strange. He would stand out. Unacceptable. The mission required stealth, but stealth did not always mean silence. He relaxed his jaw, not having realised how hard he had bitten down.

“Hmm? Really not great a talker.” Blaster narrowed his optics at him, before twisting in his seat and craning his neck over the crowds. “Ah, there’s your partner. I was getting worried that he wasn’t ok.  He’s getting energon at the bar? The service mech didn’t come to you?”

Bar. Prowl assigned the word to the object. Order fuel at a bar. He drew his shoulders back and lifted his chin. “There is no service drone. Red Alert…prefers me not to engage with strangers.” Red Alert had said that.

“Really?” Fresh laughter fell from the mech’s lips as his shoulders shook. “Luckily I ain’t a stranger. And nope, no service drone, but they got a bot running around here taking orders. Especially those of the regulars. But the place’s pretty packed this evening so guess he’s not had a chance to work the room.” Blaster smiled at Prowl.

Prowl blinked at him. He did not compute 70% of that conversation, but …A bot taking orders? There was no …No…he balled his fist tightly on the table…no…commander? Commander. His optic twitched as a sharp twinge pinched his processor. Commander. One who gives orders. One follows his orders or is killed. This bot has been disobeying orders by not working the room. Prowl’s optics sharpened as his armour drew taught to his protoform. The mech was disobedient. “He has not been here.”

“Hmm?” Blaster swung his helm to him. The grin grew as he studied Prowl. “Frag mech, go easy on the mechling. It’s a lot of mechs. You don’t have to be so serious. He hasn’t done anything wrong.” The music stopped at that point and the room erupted to jubilant cries and loud applause.

Blaster clapped with them. “Way to go mech!” His clapping died as he leaned over the table so that he was closer to Prowl and lowered his voice. “Still revved up after the attack?”

Prowl snapped his helm to Blaster, his ridges drawing slightly together. This mech did not care if orders were followed or not? Perhaps this mech was not well either. Yet he enquired after the attack. Of course the mech knew about the attack. He had been of assistance to Red Alert. But what did he mean with ‘revved up’? He could not ask, but how should he respond? Prowl touched his temple lightly with his long fingers.

Blaster arched his thick optic ridges and skewed his helm.

Prowl leaned away from the mech’s presence when his doorwings caught movement from his left. Deliberate movement heading their way. Underneath the table he slid his dagger into his palm.

It was the silver mech from the stage.

“Hey Blaster! Mech it’s good to see ya!” The mech walked with a grace that caught Prowl’s optic. His processor whirred to life, analysing and memorising every detail. There was something off.     

“Hey Synchro! Been wondering when your troupe would be waving their magical instruments here.” Blaster got up as he grabbed the mech’s outstretched hand and pulled him towards him, briefly touching shoulders. He stepped back and indicated the newcomer to take a seat.

Prowl glanced at the new mech’s hands, noting the retracted claws as he shook Blaster’s hand. Potential threat. He sheathed the dagger and without a word he got up and shifted to the opposite side. He would need to get to Red Alert. He glanced at the red and white mech and saw him making his way towards him. Prowl flared his doorwing as he split his focus on the two babbling mechs and his ally. Should he disobey orders and move to Red Alert when there was no confirmed threat, or should he remain?

The other’s voices drew his attention back to them in time to see the visored mech shove Blaster lightly to the side.

“Well, when I saw you had such lovely company, I naturally had to take a break.” The silver mech leaned his hip against the table after flicking his hand at Blaster indicating he should take a seat. He folded his arms loosely across his chest, an easy smile playing on his lips as his gaze roved over Prowl. “So what’s your designation?”

Prowl drew his shoulders back and lowered his helm. There was something off about this mech. Threat level - medium. He needed more information. “Prowl.” He answered as he studied the silver mech. There was a fluidity in his stance that had Prowl’s armour prickling. Prowl rolled his shoulders. Was it another…emotion?

“Mine’s Synchro. Pleased to meet ya.” The mech purred as he leaned towards Prowl and extended his field with something that Prowl had never encountered before.

“And mine’s Red Alert.” Red Alert sizzled up next to Prowl, holding a cube up at Prowl all the time glaring daggers at Synchro.

The field quickly retracted and Prowl’s shoulders relaxed.

“Here you go, my love, thought we’d try something new. It’s a bit more towards the sour side of life.” He thrust his chin out at Synchro, lips pressed into a thin line. “Excuse us, but this was our table first?”

Synchro snorted as he hid a smile behind his fisted hand. He cleared his vocaliser as he pushed off the table. “Sorry mech, didn’t mean anything by asking a designation.” He winked at Prowl through his opaque visor as he threw himself into the booth next to Blaster. “Now as to this table, we can share as it’s really reserved for the musicians. And as Blaster’s here and seems to know Prowl, no harm in sharing.”

“Easy on ‘em Sync, these guys don’t do crowds well.” Blaster bumped his shoulder lightly against the silver mech’s. “And they’re still on edge.”

“No, definitely not fond of crowds, and as they say, three’s a crowd.” Red Alert drew a deep vent as he stared across the room, but there were no open booths or seats. As much as he hated too, it would be too suspicious to simply leave, and they needed fuel. Curse the moran to the Pit and back that made that stupid rule that one couldn’t take meals up to their rooms.  He inhaled sharply and pulled his shoulder into a half shrug as he trailed a long digit up Prowl’s arm. “I guess six is at least an even number. We can sit here for a few breems and then we’ll leave. That ok with you, Prowl?”

Prowl’s armour tickled where Red Alert had touched him. Was that supposed to mean something? He caught Red Alert’s optic and the mech smiled and raised his ridges. Was Red Alert requesting permission? Or should he agree? He pressed his lips together. Red Alert had stated they should remain a few breems. That settled it.

“Yes.” He nodded as he filed Red Alert’s words and actions away to ask him about later. Red Alert was acting off…again. “Are you well?”

Red Alert rolled his optics and gently pushed Prowl towards the seat. “Yes, I’m fine. Just need to refuel and then we’ll go rest.”

Prowl indicated Red Alert to slide in first. He needed manoeuvrability if the mech opposite – designated Synchro – turned out to be a threat. He would be better able to protect Red Alert if he could quickly get up from the booth. He took his seat once Red Alert had settled.

The table fell into awkward silence as the parties stared at each other.

It was Blaster who broke the silence first as he relaxed back into his seat, ignoring the squawking Rewind as the avian settled on the booth’s faded backrest. “So Red Alert, you feeling better? You look a slagging lot better than the last time I saw you. Poor Prowl here was nearly out of his processor with worry. He nearly attacked me, too.”

“Oh, you were our kind benefactor.” Red Alert purred as he linked his arm through Prowl’s, cuddling close. “Prowl mentioned someone helped us. And good thing he didn’t attack, Prowl is quite capable when it comes to defending us. And, as you did help us, I…uh…apologise for my bad behaviour earlier. We’re…still a bit skittish. I’m sure you’ll understand.”

Prowl glanced down at Red Alert clinging to his arm. His field was calm. This must be part of the mission parameters of ‘mates’.  ‘We can hold hands. I’ll sit close to you. You can drop your doorwings over my shoulder. Mates do that in public.’ He glanced up at the silver mech across from them. The mech was still watching him like a cyberhawk. When he saw Prowl glancing at him, he quickly pursed his lips at Prowl.

Prowl drew a deep vent and draped his doorwing over Red Alert. Not only did this fall into acceptable parameters, but it would protect Red Alert from their scrutiny. The silver mech was acting off. There was a 24.4% chance that the mech was ill. There was a 76.6% chance that Prowl was interpreting the situation wrongly. That did not bode well for his mission parameters.

“So from what I can gather, you were hurt. What happened?” Synchro’s face morphed into concern as he leaned back, joining Blaster in lounging on the plush booth seats. His attention stayed focused on Prowl.

Red Alert gently laid his hand on Prowl’s leg underneath the table. “Prowl, drink your fuel or you’ll forget to.” He rested his helm on Prowl’s shoulder, his optics narrowed at Synchro. “We were on our way to the village when we were attacked. There was no reason. They were probably bandits hoping to get something.”

“I thought they were Cons?” Blaster scratched Steeljaw’s audials, the feline purring loudly at the attention.

“Decepticons.” Prowl stated as he picked up his lightly coloured energon. It certainly looked different than the blue energon he had been consuming. He sipped it. The thick liquid sparkled over his glossa. It was an odd sensation, but “This is pleasant.” He took another sip.

Red Alert slowly turned his helm up at him and blinked. “Glad you like it.” His hand squeezed Prowl’s leg, but before Prowl could ask the reason the silver mech spoke.

“What makes you think it was Cons?” Synchro folded his hands on the table in front of him, but glanced at the room to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

Prowl shifted his doorwing as he scanned the room as well. He was still monitoring the movements of all the mechs, but none had made any movements that set his alarms off. The greatest threat level was currently seated across from him and within reach of his ally. “The purple face. We are neutral.”

Red Alert’s fingers dug into Prowl’s leg. Prowl turned towards him. “What are you – ”

“Prowl, let’s not assume.” Red Alert’s voice was clipped and high. His field held the tendrils of fear. “Besides, with the war brewing we don’t talk about things like this. Bandits could easily have branded themselves.”

“We’re neutral too.” Synchro chipped in. “Me and my troupe. We know the dangers. You ain’t the first mechs robbed by them. A lot of the Cons are bandits. Where did this happen though, we’d like to avoid the area.”

“I don’t recall. It was on our way. To be honest we’re heading north.”  Red Alert took his drink and downed most of it with one gulp. He drew in a quivering vent, his field unsteady. “I don’t even remember how we got to this little town.”

“Makes sense. I carried you. You were beat up pretty bad. Your helm still shows some lesions.” Blaster pointed out as he dipped his helm at Red Alert. “We’re heading North too. We should maybe band together. It will be safer to go in numbers.”

“We’re not sure when we’ll be starting on our way.” Red Alert straightened, his frame tense. Prowl drew his doorwing tighter around his smaller companion. It would not do for Red Alert to fear while they were surrounded by so many mechs.

“Of course,” Blaster placed his hand on Steeljaw’s neck as the feline inched closer to him, nudging him to continue scratching him. “I’m sure with your injuries you’ll be staying a few orns. It won’t be wise to continue until your fully recovered. A relapse out there can be deadly.”

“True.” Red Alert quipped as he took another sip of his cube. “Prowl, you should drink.”

Prowl nodded and swallowed a mouthful of his cube, enjoying the electric sparkles on his glossa. He would prefer more of this energon.

“So where are you from?” Synchro leaned back as a service bot dropped a tray of drinks on there table. He grinned at the waiter. “Thanks mech, thought you’d never come.”

“Been busy. That all?” The younger mech asked as he looked at the table. He paused as he encountered Red Alert’s glare and Prowl’s cold stare. “Ok, well, I’ll be going now. Be sure to call if you need anything.”

Red Alert flared his plating as his optics threw daggers at the retreating form of the service bot. He shook his helm. “This place actually has a waiter? This is the crapiest service I’ve ever received.”

Synchro chuckled as he slid his full cube from one servo to the other. The glittering green fluid caught Prowl’s attention. Would it taste the same as his? He watched as Synchro took a sip and placed it back on the table.

Synchro leaned his elbows on the table. “So where you two from?”

“It doesn’t matter where we’re from. What matters is where we’re going.” Red Alert hugged Prowl’s arm and gently pushed into him. His field flared then withdrew sharply. Prowl blinked. Red Alert continued to act oddly and yet the mech had ordered him not to ask anything in front of others. He would need to better define parameters when they were solitary again.

Synchro raised his cube in a salute and dipped his helm. “Very philosophical. One should let the past rest in the past.”

“Precisely” Red Alert said as he tipped the remainder of his cube into his mouth.

“So are you partners?” Synchro asked Prowl as he continued playing with his cube, his gaze visibly skimming over Prowl and his doorwings.

 “We are mates, but we don’t interface.”

Red Alert gagged at his drink and his optics rounded. He clasped a hand over his mouth as his intakes sputtered. He wiped the drops of energon from his mouth.

The table fell into awkward silence. Blaster dropped his optics to the table, rubbing nervously at his olfactory. Synchro suddenly found the glittering green of his drink to be very interesting, but there was no denying the smile he was trying, but failing to suppress.

“I really hate you right now.” Red Alert whispered, tight-lipped as he glared daggers at Prowl. He swung round to their two unwanted guests, cheeks burning crimson as a distinct buzz sounded in his audials. He drew a deep vent, nostrils flaring as he raised his chin. “Excuse my mate. He is socially inept. I’d go as far as to say socially ‘retarded’. And to clarify, our interface life…is none of your business. And Prowl, dear, we will talk about this later. In fact, I think we should leave. Now. I would like to go rest.”

“You could go on and Prowl could stay for a while longer if he’d like.” Synchro flashed his denta at Prowl as he propped his chin up in his hand.

“No fragging way. He’s mine.” Red Alert shoved Prowl towards the end of the seat. “No interfacing because it’s the doc’s orders. So frag off. Prowl, let’s go.”

Prowl raised his doorwings and took Red Alert’s hand as he stood. Red Alert’s field flared against him, brimming with anger. What had he said to invoke that reaction? He raised an optic ridge at Red Alert.

“Let’s go.” As they passed the seated duo, Red Alert glared back at Synchro and bared his denta as he looped his arms around Prowl’s waist.

Synchro watched them go until they slipped out the front doors and into the foyer. He burst into laughter and slapped the table as he bent forward. “Frag, that was…entertaining. And interesting.”

“Awkward if you ask me, mech.” Blaster snickered as he pressed a hand over his optics. “Weirdest couple I’ve ever met. If they are a couple.” He dropped his hand and leaned towards Synchro. “What do’ya think?”

Synchro drew a deep vent and leaned back into the bench, drumming his fingers on the worn tabletop. “I think we need to keep an optic on them.”

“I’m interested in Prowl. Can’t really lay my finger on it, but he’s just…weird. And I’m not sure it’s because he is socially inept. Though he certainly is.”

“Good looking and weird, but oblivious to social cues. He didn’t really react to my flirting at all, though his ‘mate’ certainly did. It’s like his clueless. Not sure if we’re looking for a clueless mech.” His visor darkened. “But I wouldn’t underestimate him. There’s an undercurrent running. He was armed when I approached.”

“Serious?” Blaster cocked his helm as he rocked back. “Didn’t see that.”

Synchro snorted. “It’s a miracle you ain’t dead yet. He sheathed the dagger once I was close, but didn’t make him any less wary.” He rubbed at this chin before grabbing his cube and downing the contents. He smacked his lips and he plonked the empty cube down. “Get one of your bitties to keep an optic on them. I don’t trust him, but I can’t confirm he's our target. We need more info.”

“What about Red Alert? We’re looking for one mech, not two. If they teamed up then we gotta know.” Blaster petted Steeljaw. “You sure you got the right info?”

“I trust my mech.” Synchro got up. “Time to start up the band again. Chat later.”

Chapter Text

“Slagging idiot.” Red Alert grumbled as he trudged over uneven ground. The glaring sun beat down on his pounding helm, but he refused to stop. They needed to get as far away from that inn as they possibly could. Even if it kills him.

Which you are well on your way to doing.

“Shut up!” He snarled as he wiped the condensation from his helm.

“You should rest.”

“You shut up too!” Red Alert swung round and flared his plating wide. His jaw worked as he stared at Prowl. “It’s because of your irresponsible actions that we are on the move again. I can’t believe you! You totally screwed everything up and I didn’t even leave you alone for five breems! Five slagging breems! How can you mess up so completely!?”

“I kept within mission parameters.” Prowl replied coolly as he stopped next to Red Alert and stared down at him. “You keep changing the parameters.”

“Oh screw you!” Red Alert spun around and tucked his arms over his heated chest. His pedesteps dragged forward as he continued his trudge over the uneven ground. What an idiot! Socially inept little scraplet! “We are buying you…some kind of…I don’t know. Just a patch. Or basic sparkling chip. I can’t deal with you not knowing the basics of society.”

Red Alert stumbled.

Long grey fingers wrapped around his elbow and swung him round.

Oomph!

Red Alert Pushed off Prowl’s chest, rubbing his olfactory. At least it had been his chest and not the ground. He vented heavily as he jerked his elbow out of Prowl’s hold.

“Thank you.” Red Alert turned and marched on, although the stumble had taken most of the steam out of his engine.

“You should rest.”

“Oh for Pit’s sake!” Red Alert rubbed his hands over his face as if to scrub the irritation off. “I know I need to rest, but we can’t rest so close to that town. It’s dangerous!”

“I kept within mission parameters.” Prowl strode next to him, his pedesteps sure over the rough ground.

One…two…three….keep calm. Red Alert’s denta clenched. Four….five….six…. He’s got no skills. Don’t get angry with him. He’s incompetent – an idiot. You can’t blame an idiot for not thinking right?

“Fine. Fine. You were right.” Red Alert threw his hands in the air as he came to a stop. His shrewd gaze roved over the barren plateau. The past few joors had seen the landscape changing dramatically from lush vegetation to waning grasslands. The highest thing he could see was the blasted rocks that barely came to his knees peeking between tuffs of brown grasses. No shade at all. And he was so fragging hot. He wiped again at the condensation.

“I wonder where we are.” Red Alert pressed his palm against his forehelm. “According to my HUD we should be relatively close to the next village. It’s a secondary trade route, so let’s hope it’s better than the last.”

“You should – ”

“Don’t!” Red alert held up a single finger and squared his shoulders. “I will rest at the next village.”

Prowl blinked at him, his optics turning a shade darker as his doorwings inched up. “At the next village, you will rest.”

Red Alert raised his optic ridges at Prowl. “Threat noted.” He swallowed and drew a vent. “Well then, let’s go. Hopefully we’ll reach a place before nightfall.

The first sun was just dipping beneath the horizon when they entered the small village. Calling it a ‘village’ was being kind to it. It appeared more to be a trade outpost, with stalls lining the single, pock-marked road.

A sign at the entrance of the town welcomed them to ‘Crux’.

“Well, this is nice.” Red Alert wiped his arm over his forehelm as he stopped close to the first stall. Would they even be able to find what they were looking for? He vented. “We should probably find a place to recharge.”

“Affirmative.” Prowl came to a stop next to Red Alert, his doorwings fanning to take in the hustle and bustle of the late-evening market. “We should have energon.”

Red Alert nodded. “Yes,” he glanced at Prowl. “And we need to find you a basic chip so that I don’t have to explain every second word to you and that you have the basics of acting in society.”

Prowl cocked his helm. “Basic chip?”

“Ugh, exactly.” Red Alert waved his hand through the air. “We need to get someone to download the basics of Cybertron on to a chip that we’ll download into you. We can’t take the risk of plugging into the system.” Drawing a deep vent, he walked towards the busy market.

Red Alert knew what to look for, had looked for it often enough before his time at the Institution. The only question he had was what would it cost – not only for the chip, but for the silence. That was what bothered him the most. No one could be trusted – information was given to the highest bidder. The key lay in not being memorable.

He glanced at Prowl and grimaced. Anybot that talked with him would remember him. He stopped and waited for Prowl to catch up.

“Ok, new parameters. You don’t talk to anybot, and you stay behind me.” He turned away then paused, leaning back towards Prowl. “You are the rear guard.” He nodded and continued meandering through the crowds, searching for the little signs that would give away a black marketer. He hoped he didn’t have to look long, exhaustion was creeping into every strut and his helm beat in rhythm with his pedes.

Twenty breems later, he finally found what he was looking for. He ambled towards the second-hand parts store and waited for the keeper to finish haggling with a customer over some second-hand decrepit piece of hardware. Finally the shopkeeper turned his red optics to Red Alert.

“Welcome to me shop, mechling. Wha’ can I do fer ya?” He rubbed his hands together as he studied Red Alert. “I ain’t got no meds here.” He shrugged and shook his helm, pointing towards the east. “Docs thata way.”

Red Alert bristled at the mech, then caught himself. Good. Let him look ill and let the mech draw his own conclusions. He smiled and slowly raised a finger and trailed it over his chest armour, right above his spark. He smiled as it caught the mech’s attention. “Actually.” He leaned closer and dropped his voice. “I’m looking for a base programming chip, but one that includes social interactions and etiquette.” 

The keeper grinned at him, his sharp fangs pressing into his lower lip. “Me thinks a doc would’ave one.”

Red Alert smiled back, but it was as cold as the icy wind that whipped through the darkening streets. “Me thinks you have one.”

The keeper eyed him, then cast quick glances to the milling crowd. “Who’re yer masters?”

“None of your business. The chip?”

“I ain’t getting in no trouble.” He wrinkled his olfactory as he glanced at Prowl standing stoically behind Red Alert.

“Then don’t ask too many questions. I’ll give you two hundred Shanix.” Red Alert kept his optics pinned on the mech.

The keeper chewed the inside of his cheek and rested his helm back. “Three hundred.” His optics flashed at Red Alert.

“Two-fifty.” Red Alert shot back, his tanks clenching. They couldn’t afford more than that. It was already a ridiculous price to pay, but they needed it. His spark pounded, but he raised his chin.

“Two-eighty.” The keeper folded his arms over his chassis.

“Two-fifty and no trouble.” Red Alert straightened and held out the valuable chip with the shanix on it. He hoped his hand held steady.

The mech arched his neck to look at the small chip, then made to grab it.

Red Alert yanked it back, closing his fist over it. “The chip.” He whispered through clenched denta. Behind him he sensed Prowl moving closer and prayed that the mech wouldn’t try to intervene.

The keeper sneered as he nodded briskly and turned on his heal, heading towards the back of his small stall. He pulled a curtain away and disappeared.

“Red Alert.”

“Not now Prowl. Just stay where you are and don’t intervene.” Red Alert tried to relax, but he was nervous. More nervous than he should be. His armour started clattering and he pulled his armour taught. He squeezed his optics shut and opened them wide. Primus if he could only get rid of this blasted headache!

A few breems lather, the curtain parted and the keeper stepped out. He leaned towards Red Alert and held out a small chip. “Basic chip with social interactions and the eti-things.”

“Scan it.”

The keepers red optics blazed. “You don’t trust me.”

“Would you accept the shanix without checking the chip?” Red Alert shot back, mimicking the keeper’s stance.

The keeper suddenly burst into chuckles and shook his helm. “Me feels sorry for yer masters. Here, scan it.”

Red Alert quickly placed his palm over it and scanned, satisfied when it showed all the files in place and none corrupted or damaged. He held out the chip to the keeper who grabbed it, turning the small chip round and round in his paws.

He pursed his lips. “Good doin’ business with ya.” He winked and turned his attention to the thinning crowds. He was done with them, and from this point forward, he didn’t know them.

Red Alert released his vent and turned back, grabbing hold of Prowl’s arm and tugging him along. “Come on, we need to get someplace safe.”

 ***

The place they had gotten was even more shabby than the place they were at previously, but Prowl held his comments. Red Alert needed to recharge. This place would suffice. It was quieter than the other inn, and had no commons room. The apartments stretched out in a single file along a quiet road. It offered reasonable escape avenues, and the sidewalks offered enough distance from the road to give fair warning should anyone approached.

They had been able to secure the room towards the end of the block. From there they could see the entire street, but were close enough to the edge of town to make their escape should it be needed.

After checking the perimeter once more time, they entered their small, musty little room. Prowl watched closely as Red Alert ambled towards the berth, ducked to check beneath it, then flopped down groaning. Prowl flared his doorwings and scanned the room. To his left was a small washrack situated in the corner, cardoned off by half a wall and a transparent sheet. To the right sat a small desk with a terminal on it. He glanced up at the patchy roof. The ceiling, despite the holes sloppily covered by some metal sheeting, showed signs of rust in the corner. No doubt a side effect of the washrack within the room.

Prowl turned to lock the door, but paused. Where was the locking mechanism? He stared at the contraption attached to the door and generally ran his finger over it. It had a small chain with a rounded head at the end. Prowl took it in his hand and eyed the mechanism on the door. Slowly he placed the rounded part in the small rounded slot and slid it to the left. He cocked his helm. Would this be security enough? He spotted the small desk and moved it to barricade the door. It would buy them enough time to defend themselves should the need arise.

He glanced over his shoulder at Red Alert. The mech appeared to be recharging. Good. He needed to recharge. The medic had given those orders, and he had defied them.

Prowl frowned. That did cause a dilemma. Red Alert habitually ignored orders, but then who was his superior? Prowl shook his helm as a sharp twang lanced through his processor. His expression blanked and he turned towards the berth.

He would guard while Red Alert recharged.

He sank down on the berth and folded his legs to sit cross-legged, doorwings slightly flared to allow his sensors to detect movement. He stared at the door and the strange locking mechanism. Gradually the room darkened as the second sun dipped beneath the horizon. Outside a streetlight flickered and replaced the natural light with a sickly yellow hue. It was nearly the same hue as the lights at the inn. His thoughts wondered back to the mechs at the previous inn. He reviewed his conversations with them. He had followed orders. He had not spoken out of line, and yet Red Alert was displeased. His doorwing flicked.

He paused at the involuntary movement. Why had it done that?

He shuttered his optics and replayed the actions. It had happened when he noted Red Alert was displeased. There was something there…his brow furrowed ever so slightly as his processor chased the action. It was because he felt something. Like when his spark sped up. He was…he felt…

Suddenly pain as sharp as a laser point lanced through his helm. He grabbed his helm and sucked in air. White dots danced across his vision as the pain subsided. He pried his optics open, squinting at the bright light.

“Prowl?”

He raised his doorwing at Red Alert and felt the berthpad give way next to him.

“Lights on! Prowl, are you ok?”

Gentle hands took hold of his wrists and pulled his hands away from his helm. He dropped his helm, still sucking air in to calm his racing spark.

“Prowl, what happened?” Red Alert took his face between his hands and stared at Prowl.

What happened? Prowl ran the question through his processor, but he shook his helm. There was nothing. Nothing. He blinked as his spark stilled and he kept staring into Red Alert’s swirling green optics.

The mech must recharge. He needed his rest to function optimally.

“I am well.”

The green optics narrowed. “I didn’t ask you how you felt, I asked you what happened?” The firm hands tilted his helm this way, then that. The florescent light flickered before it filled the room with a low buzz. “You seem fine.” Red Alert murmured.

“I am well.” Prowl repeated, but allowed the physical examination. It satisfied Red Alert.

Finally, Red Alert released him with a huff and sat back. He chewed his bottom lip, then took the chip he had gotten out of subspace. He held it between two fingers and glanced at it. “We need to get this into you. I can’t deal with you like this.” He sighed and dropped his hand into his lap.

“I’m going to ask one last time, what happened? Why did you grab your helm?” Red Alert asked gently.

Prowl cocked his helm to the side, staring unblinkingly at Red Alert. He ran through his thought threads. “I was examining movement in my extremity.”

“What?” Red Alert scrunched up his olfactory as he shook his helm. “Your extremity? What’s that your arm, leg, fingers, pedes – “

“Doorwing.” Prowl straightened. That was right, he was examining the flick of his doorwing. “It moved on its own accord.”

Red Alert’s optic ridges shot high and he pursed his lips. “Ok so it just…moved on its own. It’s not hurt, or damaged or anything?”

“Negative.”

Red Alert vented and shook his helm. “We are getting this chip into you. As in now. Then at least we can have a conversation like two adults on not a – ” He cut himself off and drew in a deep vent, glancing to the side. He held out his hand. “Give me your arm.”

Prowl did as requested and placed his right arm in Red Alert’s hand. Red Alert tapped a port just below his wrist.

“Open it.”

As if his words had some power, or perhaps it was the two taps, the port slid open to reveal a slot. Prowl watched as Red Alert slid the chip into the port. “Close up.”

And once more, as if his words could control Prowl, the port slid closed. A small notification popped up in Prowl’s HUD. Without thinking, he ordered his systems to scan the chip. The process was vaguely…familiar. As if it was routine. Prowl relaxed.

The scan completed and a small green light flicked in his HUD. The chip was clear. “Negative for viruses. Negative for corrupt files.”

“Oh, you scanned it already? That was rather quick…” Red Alert frowned.

“My systems are optimized for rapid dissection of big data.” Prowl responded.

“O-k.” Red Alert cleared his throat. “Forgot you are some bad-aft weapon, but let’s not dwell on that. Can you download the data and incorporate it into your system? It might make you feel a little…whoozy. Uh, like dizzy or tired. You’ll also need to get some recharge in as some of the files will only be integrated during recharge.”

Prowl nodded and as if by remote sent the command for the chip to integrate into his systems. A chill washed over his frame and his armour clattered. Then the pain started. He swallowed as his olfactory flared. His sucked air through his burning frame. The pain in his helm grew and he bent forward, pressing his helm into his hands.

“Ok, this is not really normal. Prowl? You ok?” Red Alert placed his hands ons Prowl’s shoulders.

Prowl curled into himself more. The pain in his helm blossomed. He squeezed his optics shut. Sounds started to retreat. He whimpered as condensation broke out over his frame.

“Ok, this is really not good…”

Red Alert’s words drowned out as the pain in his processor converted to a high whistle resonating through his helm.

Finally, the whistle and the pain ended abruptly.

 ***

Red Alert caught Prowl as the mech slumped forward, his frame blazing hot. “Oh slag. Slag. Slag. Slag.” He rolled Prowl onto his side and knelt before him, checking his systems. “Damn it!” He ran a hand over his helm.

I fragging should have scanned it!

Yeah. Good going you just killed him. Death by chip. That’s a new one for you.

“Shut up!” Red Alert ground out between clenched denta as he scanned the room. He needed to cool Prowl down. Why was he reacting like this? It wasn’t normal? Unless the mech had planted some hidden virus in the thing that wasn’t detectable. Yet, Prowl had scanned it, and he had sounded so confident when he had stated negative for both corrupt files and viruses. It wasn’t like he acted ignorant.

Or maybe he only new the basics of scanning a file. That was maybe why he scanned it so quickly. Should have scanned it yourself.

But then I would have had to insert it into my wrist port.

And of course you weren’t willing to do that.  

Red Alert pushed off the floor and grabbed the mesh from the bed. He hurried to the washracks and put the sprayers on their highest setting until the mesh was soaked. He grabbed it and without wringing it out rushed back and draped it over Prowl.

He was rewarded with a groan as Prowl’s hand slowly slid up the berth to touch his helm.

Well, at least he’s not dead. Yet. Primus. What if it’s slow acting?

“Prowl?” Red Alert laid his hand on the mech’s shoulder, relieved to find his frame cooling. He pulled the mesh higher up and tucked it in around his neck. Steam drifted into the air as the mesh continued to cool the Praxian’s hot frame.“Prowl, come on, say something, anything.”

Another groan escaped the monotone mech as he turned his helm into the soft pad of the berth. His hand covered the side of his face as if to block any form of light.

“Ok, I need to know if you understand me or if there is some kind of stupid virus munching away at your processer! It’s pretty fragging important!” Red Alert sucked in air as a small spark stirred at the tip of his horn. “Ok, don’t panic, his moving, his venting, his grunting. Not dead. Ok. Easy.”

He slapped the berthpad hard. “Slag it all Prowl!” He sagged down on the floor and sat staring at Prowl. What should I do? What can I do? He rubbed a hand over his face, stalling over his mouth. Maybe I should just leave him? Maybe he needs to recharge to integrate the files? He dropped his hands and leaned forward again, touching Prowl’s frame.

The wet mesh he had draped over him was nearly dry, but his frame seemed to be regulating his temperature again. “Ok, that’s a good sign.” He reached out and grabbed Prowl’s wrist, gently prying it away from Prowl’s face.

“Prowl?” Red Alert peered at his face. His shoulders sagged in relief as Prowl’s optics flickered online. “Are you ok?”

Prowl scrunched his optics closed then stretched them wide. Slowly he placed his hand underneath him and pushed up, the mesh slipping off his frame.

Red Alert reached out and helped him to sit straight, then took his face in his hands and turned it from side to side, watching his optics intently. “Can you respond to me? Verbally?”

“Yes.” Prowl swallowed and grabbed Red Alert’s wrists. “Do not do that.”

Red Alert stilled and then as if burned yanked his hands away from Prowl’s face and stepped back. He cleared his throat, spark pounding as he ran his hands down his side. Did it work? He bit his lip. “Did the files…?”

“Yes….Though it was thoroughly unpleasant.” Prowl dropped his helm into his hands, his doorwings sagging behind him as he wobbled.

“You don’t seem ok. Usually a chip isn’t supposed to have this kind of reaction. Unless it had something to do with your earlier reaction.” Red Alert tapped his pede and folded his arms, looking about the room. “Ok, well at least it seems as if you’re understanding me a lot better, and you were actually able to construct a sentence. Let’s hope you’ll be able to construct complex sentences and concepts as well.”

“There was an error message with integration. There is a non-critical block on my memory.”

Red Alert frowned. “That is odd. Did it cause you pain?” but even as he asked the question Red Alert knew that it had been exactly that that had caused the reaction in Prowl. And a memory block was never a good sign.

Just one more layer to this mystery mech that would probably end up killing you.

Shut up! He cleared his vocaliser. “Do you know what a memory block is?” Red Alert asked as he slowly stepped forward and sank stiffly to sit on the edge of the berth. He spied the damp mesh and pulled it off the bed. No need to have the berthpad wet as well.

Finally, Prowl lifted his helm and dropped his hands to rest on his legs. His complexion was pale and dotted with condensation, but his optics were regaining their deep golden colour. “I am not sure.” He turned to look at Red Alert.

Red Alert shrugged. “It’s usually part of a medical procedure. When there is a memory that might cause damage, then it’s blocked. So we should leave it.” At least that’s the innocent reason for the existence of a memory block, but Red Alert was well aware that it was customary to use it on mechs illegally, especially if trafficked. If a mech couldn’t remember who they were, well then, you had less chance of being caught. There were also very few mechs willing to remove a memory block.

“Can it be removed?” Prowl asked.

Red Alert opened his mouth, then vented heavily. “It’s…difficult to say. It depends really on how old the block is, why the block was placed and then most importantly you need a very, very, very good medic to remove it. If you remove a block incorrectly, you could end up frying your processor.”

Prowl’s lips thinned and he nodded, but his armour drew tight to his frame.

“Hey,” Red Alert folded his hands onto his lap, fighting the urge to lay a hand on his shoulder. He’d done enough touching for one orn. “There are a lot of mechs that have memory blocks. Some even have blocks put in voluntarily. It’s not necessarily bad.” Yeah right. If Prowl was any other mech I’d maybe have thought it was innocent…but not after that reaction and especially not knowing where he’s coming from. Red Alert wet his lips. “Look, don’t break your helm over it.”

Prowl blinked slowly. “Break my helm over it?”

Red Alert looked at him, then burst out laughing. “No you idiot. You won’t break your helm over it. It’s just a saying. Primus. Seems like we still have some concept training to do. But I can work with…” he waived his hand up and down Prowl’s frame, “you.” He huffed a smile. “Primus it feels good to actually have a conversation with you.”

“You need to rest.” Prowl stated as he pushed off the berth. He wobbled twice and Red Alert ducked to avoid getting hit by a doorwing.

Prowl braced his hand against the wall to steady himself. “I am going to use the wash racks. You need to take your medicine and recharge.”

“Yes sir,” Red Alert half-joked, the tone falling flat. “You should get some recharge too. It will help the chip to integrate. You’ll need to do it to complete the cycle.”

Prowl hesitated only briefly, then nodded, but continued heading to the small washrack, gaining his balance as he went.

Red Alert watched him for a few more clicks before his own frame reminded him that Prowl’s orders might not be such a bad idea. He did need rest, and he did need his medicine. And above that they needed to get some more credits.

He crawled onto his side of the berth and collapsed. He squinted at the door. Prowl had already locked and barricaded it, and they had bought energon so they didn’t have to leave this room for the time being. They could both get some recharge. Maybe if he dropped off soon enough, he’d be able to guard while Prowl get some needed recharge.

He vented and rolled onto his other side. He watched Prowl stand under the hot solvent. At least they weren’t at a busy motel, though it was very quiet. He shuttered his optics and focused on the sounds. Apart from the solvent as it hit Prowl’s frame and gurgled down the drain, it was eerily quiet. He vented again and rolled onto his back, optics opened.

Great. Welcome back insomnia. How I’ve missed you. His mouth pulled down at the corners and he rested an arm over his optics. He really felt drained, and he knew he should try to get some more recharge.

Why is it so quiet? It shouldn’t be so quiet.

His spark sped up as he tried to discern more sounds.

Don’t go there. Don’t follow that path. It’s nothing. You’re exaggerating things again.

Was that someone moving quietly down the street? Something scraped across the pavement.

He bolted upright as he heard the door jolt.

They found us! Condensation broke out over his forehelm as his spark double-timed. He stood stock still, wishing that Prowl would turn the solvent off so he could hear properly. His optics locked on the door.

The door inched forward then back again.

Red Alert balled his fists. How could he warn Prowl without alerting the intruder they were on to him? He sucked in his vents and held them, listening intently. The door pushed forward again, only to be sucked back. Something scraped outside.

The solvent stopped and Red Alert snapped his helm towards Prowl. He lifted a finger shakily to his lips and signalled him to be quiet.

A small frown creased Prowl’s ridges, then his helm turned towards the door. He flared his doorwings.

Red Alert slowly released the vent he held, but his spark still spun sickeningly in his throat. He tried to swallow it down.

Prowl fluffed his doorwings and stepped out of the washrack and towards the door. He shoved the door closed until it clicked and moved the desk closer to the door. “There is no one. It is…” He cocked his helm to the side. “Wind.” He looked at Red Alert. “The movement of the atmosphere from a high pressure area to a low pressure area.”

Red Alert pressed his fist against his temple and groaned, relief making his knees go weak. He sat on the berth. “Wind, Prowl. Just wind. You don’t have to follow it with a definition.” He glanced up. Perhaps it hadn’t been as much of a definition as a request. “But you’re right. It’s wind. My poor shattered nerves.” He chuckled nervously as he glanced at the door again. “You sure there’s…nobody?”

“Yes.” Prowl grabbed a towel from the rack and continued to dry his frame. “You have taken your medicine?” He hung the towel back on the rack and walked towards Red Alert, seating himself on his side of the berth.

“About to.” Red Alert quipped as his spark approached something like normal. Primus he was strung so tight it would be a miracle if he could get some recharge. He glanced back at the door. “I’ve recharged some, it’s your turn. I’ll watch the door.”

Prowl watched him. “Take your medicine first. Wake me if you need to.”

“Ok.” Red Alert drew a calming vent. Prowl continued watching him. He huffed and unsubspaced his medicine. He opened the port in his arm and drew out a line. Under Prowl’s hawkish optics, he injected the fluid. He threw the needle back into his subspace. “There, carrier, I’m done.” He smiled sweetly.

Prowl’s optics focused. “I am not your carrier.” With that, he lay on his side, doorwings off the edge and shuttered his optics.

Red Alert waited until his vents evened out, only a tad jealous that he could fall into recharge so easily.

The door clicked again and Red Alert jolted. The wind wailed pitifully outside. In the distance thunder rumbled.

Red Alert pulled his knees up to his chassis.

It was going to be a long night.

 ***

“What d’ya mean “They’re gone?”

“I’m telling you, Jazz, they ain’t in this town. Steeljaw’s been all over the place. He found their scent headed east, towards the plains.” Blaster shrugged as he placed his hands on his sides. The inn’s suite felt stifling as he was intense study of his friend’s piercing gaze. “They must have high-tailed out of here right after our little conversation.”

“Frag!” Jazz slapped the table and grit his denta. He should probably tell Blaster to use his code, but pit he didn’t care right now. What he did care about was losing the Praxian. There was something off about that mech and he needed to know. He sighed. “I don’t have the mechs to send after them.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, and Jazz could see the fight on the mech’s face. His spark sank. This wasn’t Blaster’s fault. The mech wasn’t an agent. He was an old friend who was willing to help to get a ticket to the North.

“I could always go.” Blaster rubbed at his neck, then jerked his helm to the side, popping his neck.  

Jazz shook his helm. “No way, mech. You’re a comm specialist. Besides, I ain’t risking you and the bitties. I made a promise.”

The room descended into silence as Jazz leaned back in his chair. His troupe sat in the suite’s small lounge cleaning their weapons, but he could see them listening in. He could send one of them, but what if it was simply a wild cyberfox chase? Then again, what if it wasn’t? His gut told him he was on to something.

“But what if this is our mech? What if this is who the message was referring to? If he knows where that weapon is, can we afford to let ‘em go?” Blaster yanked out another chair, and turning it backwards, sat down and leaned his arms and chin on the backrest. “If this weapon is one of ol’ Shocky’s inventions, we can’t ignore any clue that might lead us to it.”

Jazz remained silent as his processor ran through the pro’s and con’s. “Mech, I really appreciate the offer, but no. It’s simply too dangerous. We risked a lot to get you out of Con territory. I ain’t sending you back.”

“I could go.”

Jazz and Blaster both turned in their seats at the silky voice. His second base, Silvermist, came towards them and pulled out a seat. “Sync, your instinct’s always been top notch.” The silver Iaconian purred. “If this is a mech of interest, then allow me to follow.”

Jazz rubbed his chin and drummed his fingers on the table’s smooth steel surface. “I don’t like breakin’ up the band…” his visor flashed as he glanced at the rest of his troupe. “But I’m interested in this mech. Too many red lights.”

“I can set out in a joor.” Silvermist continued. “Considering the state the Gygaxian was in, they couldn’t have travelled far and they would no doubt have gone to a nearby village to rest and hopefully heal.”

“Hmm.” Leaning forward, Jazz cleared the table from the few empty cubes. He doubted that they would have stopped at the nearest village. If they made their escape after a few innocent questions, he had no doubt they’d be paranoid and stupid enough to push their limits. “Yo Bee, bring the ‘gen. Cliff, you get yer aft here, too.”

His rookie agent sprang up from his seat and subspaced his gun. “Sure thing.”

“Do I really have to join?” The red Polyhexian moaned, but pushed off the couch as if it was the most laborious thing to do.  

“Yeah, mech. We need all our helms.” Jazz tapped the middle of the table to indicate where Bumblebee should place the map generator. The yellow bot complied and activated the map. A hologram appeared above the table top, giving them an overview of the Tarn Provence.

“You sure it’s yer helm your following?” Cliffjumper yanked a chair out and plopped himself down, arms folded across his chassis.

Jazz glared at him. “You question’n my orders?”

“Not yet an order.” Cliffjumper pointed out, but his tone had lost the whiny edge to it.

“Sync has always had superb instincts, and that is why he is mission commander and not you. Besides, this will not be influencing you. Now, shall we continue?”

“Thanks Misty. Cliff, you and I will chat later. Right now I need us to think like those two mechs. The Gygaxian, Red Alert, if that is his designation, was wounded in a Con raid few orns back. If he ain’t careful he’s bound to get infection which would compromise his ability to travel. I also take they are traveling on pede, which makes things easier. So,” he pointed at the small town they were at, “they have at least a 24 joor head start.”

Bumblebee input the time and distance parameters into the map generator. The map shrunk to a sizeable circle, revealing the local terrain, but more importantly the villages and major towns.

“So if those two walked continuously since the last time we saw them, which was yesterorn, then they could have reached…” Bumblebee quickly counted the villages to the east, “at least 6 villages.” He grimaced as he flicked his optics at Silvermist.

“Hm.” Jazz input some more parameters and the map shrunk once again. There were only three villages left. “My guess is those two would follow the trade routes. They would have to if the Gygaxian is in need of medical treatment.”

“Trade routes?” Blaster asked as he stared at the map.

“Yeah.” Jazz nodded as he examined the map. He highlighted three routes. “My guess is that they’ll head to some of the major cities. It’s either Tarn, Corumkan or Blaster City. If they headed directly east, it’s likely to be Tarn. That leaves us with three villages close to our 24 joor mark that have medics. Nuan, Crux and Kanum.”  He turned to Silvermist. “By the time you catch up with them, they might not be at any of these villages anymore, but you’ll be able to gather info. Not every orn someone sees a Praxian in these areas. If you can’t and their lead time extends to over 48 joors, head to pick-up point C. We’ll meet you there.”

Silvermist steepled his hands and leaned his chin against them. “Your orders if I find them?”

“Tag them. Don’t reveal yourself unless absolutely necessary. They could simply be mechs trying to get away from this war, but be warned they are skittish. Especially the Gygaxian. Also, be wary of the Praxian. I’ve got a feeling he knows combat and he knows how to spot a threat.” Jazz stated softly. He had no doubt that the Praxian had been suspicious of him, and that in itself was a red flag. The mech couldn’t be trusted.

Silvermist nodded curtly, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Communicubes to rendezvous points?”

Jazz thought about that. “Updates. If it’s urgent, ping me a long-com and we’ll get safe communications up and running.”

The map flicked off and Bumblebee subspaced it again.

“Hey Misty,” Cliffjumper leaned back in his chair and cocked his helm. “Tarn ain’t a nice place. Especially not with the arenas. But if your there, see if you can grab me a pick of the Terror Twins?”

Silvermist smiled at Cliffjumper. “You know Optimus wouldn’t approve, but I’ll do my best.”

Jazz chuckled as he scooted back in his chair. “Frag you, Cliff. Alright mechs, let’s get our gear and head our separate ways. We’ve got a job to do.”

Chapter Text

 The click-click of the door penetrated Red Alert’s overheated processor and he sluggishly dragging open his optics. Primus he hated that door. He turned around and stretched, the last dregs of recharge stubbornly clawing to his muddled processor. How much recharge had he gotten? A joor? Maybe two? Thunder rumbled in the background, and he could hear the spatter of rain drops as they pelted the roof. Somewhere in the back of his processor there was nagging thought that he should have been watching the door…well, better get up. His mouth opened wide in a lazy yawn.

A firm hand clamped down hard over his mouth.

Red Alert’s optics shot open as his frame jolted. He grasped at the arm that pinned him. His vents sucked in air.

In the darkness, two golden pinpoints of light blazed down at him.

Every line in him froze.

Oh Primus he’s going to kill me!

He caught a small flash of light as Prowl’s blade withdrew from his subspace.

Do something!  His processor screamed, but his frame lay paralysed.

Red Alert braced himself as the arm swung back, but in the same motion Prowl released him and spun away. The dark form crouched at the end of the berth.

Thunder cracked and Red Alert bolted into a sitting position, frame shaking and spark pounding as he stared at the dark outlines of Prowl’s frame. He patted his chest down, but no dagger protruded. He swallowed at the dryness in his mouth and wiped a hand over his sweaty face. Primus….fear morphed into anger and he glared at Prowl, but instinct held him from screaming at the mech. Something was off.

The Praxian’s doorwings tucked low behind him, the silvery feathers slightly flared. They were focused on the door.

Click. Click. Click.

He snapped his helm to the door, just barely keeping himself from demanding the lights to switch on. The click-click of the door stopped. The putter-putter of the rain intensified, and thunder rolled again. Red Alert made out the howl of the wind as it slithered past the corners, but why wasn’t the door moving?

Lighting flashed and caught on something wedged between the door and the opening. A blade.

Red Alert’s world stilled to that one point on the door.

The blade slid up until it reached the ball-and-chain locking mechanism. It paused as it caught, then silently withdrew.

They found us!

Red Alert clutched at the mesh on the bed, his knuckles white as dizziness assaulted him. He should have watched the door….they should have left. But Prowl could fight? Would he be able to fight? His optics darted to the Praxian.

As stealthily as a cybercat, Prowl slid off the berth and softly moved towards the door, poised and ready to attack.

Yes! Yes you should move too. You need to…you need to find a hiding place! Too exposed! Red Alert wet his lips. Forcing his stiff limbs to work, he pressed down on the berth and slid his legs over the edge, crouching to keep the berth angled between him and the doorway. He swayed as nausea clawed at his throat. Already the buzz was building in his fever-laden processor.

The door slowly pushed open until it bumped against the table barricading the door, but it was room enough. A thin, laser blade slid up and easily cut through the ball-and-chain locking pin.

Prowl crouched even lower as he slid to the side of the door.

Help him. I’ve got to help with…something…But as much as Red Alert’s processor was screaming at him to do something…his frame refused to budge now that he had found shelter. He pressed a hand over his mouth as a small whimper escaped. The pressure built as a small, blue spark twitched his audial.

Prowl’s doorwings flicked back at him, then pressed close to his frame. The blades were held perfectly still as he moved to the side of the door.

Red Alert saw a thousand ways that this could go horribly wrong. Dammit why didn’t they check for a different place? They shouldn’t have stayed in the village after he’d gotten the chip. Stuped! Stupid! Stupid! How many more mistakes are you going to make? His optics misted over as he tucked his arms into his side.

The door moved again until it gently bumped into the table. It halted for just a click, then with a deafening explosion the door burst in, toppling the table.

Red Alert screamed as he fell to the floor, covering his helm with his arms as he rolled into a ball. He sobbed as grunts, groans and screams filled the air. A loud crash jarred him out of his stupor even as the tell-tale sting of charge burned his audials. Not now, please not now…come on, come…He sucked in a deep, stuttering vent…come on…don’t give in!

“have…to…help…” He forced his optics open as his heavy chest heaved, audial horns sparking, but his frame was taught as the glitch invaded his motory system. Please….you have to…

A frame flew past him and crashed into the wall, crumbling into a pathetic heap. Energon poured from the gaping hole where an optic used to be.

The sight and smell of the warm energon flowing towards him spurred Red Alert into action as he sprang to his pedes, knocking into the berth as his wide optics locked onto the dead frame. Lightning flashed and Red Alert barely registered the frame behind him. An arm clamped around his neck and Red Alert screamed, clawing at the mech as he dragged him over the berth and towards the door.

“Pr…wl” He chocked out as he searched the room, his frame being pulled across the floor with barely enough time to get his pedes underneath him. No movement stirred the darkness. The hot frame behind him kept dragging him. Dread tightened his tank. “PR..” The arm pulled tighter, cutting his vocaliser off. Prowl?! Nonononono! He struggled, kicking and prying at his captor. His optics caught two lifeless forms, but he was swung around before he could see if it was Prowl.

“Uck…” Spots danced in front of Red Alert’s optics as his frame tingled. Not now! Don’t! He was going to crash. He knew it. He could feel it. His desperation grew as sparks flew off his audials.

“What the frag?!” The arm loosened its death grip and Red Alert grabbed his chance.

“PROWL-ack!”

His captor clamped down as he pushed him out the door and into the howling storm. “You little gli-

Grey filled his vision and his frame jolted at the same time as he was thrown to the side. “Agh!” He hit the wall and slid down. He shook his helm, the pelting rain streaming down his face. Thunder cracked. Free…I’m…free..Run! RUN! He pushed up, but stumbled, falling face down in a puddle of water. He pushed up on his arms and drew his legs underneath him. “Prowl?” he panted and clutched his helm. The charge was still building. Danger…have to…move…He leaned against the wall. No…have to…help. “Prowl?”

“I am here.”

He jerked his frame as a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He onlined his optics and squinted at the blurred form…Prowl…relief flooded him as he collapsed against the wall. “Prowl.” He breathed.

“We cannot remain. We must leave now.” Prowl grabbed his arm and pulled it over his shoulder, helping him up.

Red Alert shook his helm and prayed to Primus that his legs would hold him up. Stupid glitch. Why can’t you just give me a boost when I need it? He leaned against Prowl as they pushed through the rain, not caring where they went. All the while the pressure built.

Prowl dragged Red Alert into the alley way and let him slip slowly down until he was propped up against the wall. The stench of old fluids and rotten garbage assailed his senses.

Prowl straightened and fluffed his doorwings out, cramped from carrying Red Alert. He glanced down at the unconscious mech. Red Alert had passed out shortly after leaving the village, and Prowl had been forced to either abandon him or carry him.

Abandoning him would have been wiser. The mech had proven to be a liability in a fight, yet despite this he was an asset when interacting with other mechs. Prowl had the basic chip inserted and fully integrated. He would understand basic cues and interactions with other mechs, so why had he decided to keep Red Alert? It was a mystery that ended with another sharp pain to his processor. Prowl had decided to end the query and bring the mech with him.

Now, a few joors later, he was confronted with an anomaly. He needed to find a medic, yet medics required credits. Credits they currently did not have because it had been used to procure fuel and Prowl’s chip.

He drew a deep vent and released it slowly. His first priority was to find a medic. How he would compensate the medic could be determined later.

He spun round to face the back of the alley and flared his doorwings, scanning to even the darkest corner. Nothing bleeped on his scanners. They remained alone in this alley.

Nodding, he turned towards the open street and stepped out. The afternoon suns shone brightly on the busy, pock-marked streets. Other than the trade posts they had encountered on their way to Tarn, this city was bustling with a mixture of the high-tech and the archaic. Above Prowl large electronic billboards flashed, their images those of mechs fighting and designations flashing. On ground level small stalls set out on the pavements proudly displaying their traders wares’, while the more formal shops had sign posts hanging from their doors. There was a constant flow of mechs in and out these stores.

Prowl’s sharp optics took all of this in as he blocked the alley way. He needed a medic. That was his mission. None of the shops displayed the same cross that he associated with medical aid, so he would require assistance.

He turned his attention to the mechs flowing past him. He grabbed an amber-coloured mech’s arm and jerked him back. “Where can I find a medic?”

The mech, instead of stopping, drew a dagger and swung towards Prowl.

Prowl easily caught his wrist and twisted, a small howl escaping from the amber mech. Curious mechs quickly glanced at them before dropping their helms and continuing on their way, ignoring the commotion.

Prowl paid them no heed. The mech he held was obviously fearful.

“P-please! I d-don’t have any c-credits! I gotta f-family mech!” He swung his helm round and tried to dislodge Prowl’s hold on him. His shoulders slumped as mechs kept sailing past.

“Where can I find a medic?” Prowl repeated, dismissing the previous statements. Why the mech thought he had enquired about credits or family made no sense.

“A m-m-medic?” The mech stammered and his optics rounded. His trembling frame stilled. “You, uh, you don’t want my credits?”

Prowl flicked his doorwing. This mech was delusional or stupid. “Negative. I require a medic.” He repeated slower, still holding the mech’s wrist firmly in his grasp.

“ O-ok. Uh. C-clos-sest medic is two blocks down. T-take a r-right and then you should s-s-see the s-s-sign. It’s hanging over the door. On the right. Yeah. The r-right.” The mech nodded his helm.

Prowl studied him, the abruptly released him. The mech stumbled back, bumping into another two or three mechs who snarled and cursed at him. The mech slid away and disappeared into the throngs moving past.

Prowl lifted his chin and waited for another two breems. He backed into the alley way, keen optics fixated on the opening of the alley. He knelt next to Red Alert and finally turned his attention towards the mech.

A small frown pulled at his optic ridges. Condensation drops littered his helm and Prowl was distinctly aware of Red Alert’s fans wheezing softly. His palette was pale as he sucked air in.

Prowl grabbed Red Alert’s arm and hoisted him up. The mech groaned as his helm rolled forward and against Prowl’s chest.

Prowl looked down at him. “You should take your medicine when I say.” He snorted as he half-dragged, half-carried Red Alert out of the small alley and into the busy street. He curled his doorwing around the smaller mech. This placed him at a disadvantage, but he was confident in his skills to defend. More important is it kept prying optics away.

Either that or his aura had mechs dodging him, but thirty breems later they arrived unharmed at the medical practice. It was exactly as the mech had said.  Two blocks down and situated on the right. Prowl entered the doors and into a cool room that had a row of chairs to the right with mechs seated in them. Some held energon-stained cloths over their frames while others wheezed loudly as they slumped in the chairs. They all stared warily at him as he entered. He paid them no heed as he walked towards the front counter.

A green, spindly mech with an extra pair of optics greeted him with a curt nod. Two optics blinked slowly as they looked at him before focusing on Red Alert.

“Tsk. Why do ya always bring ‘em in when they’re ready ta die?” The spindly mech rounded the counter and stared at the others sitting in the waiting room. “Ok folks, seems like I got a ‘mergency, so y’all just wait a bit.”

Murmurs erupted from those seated, but they made no move so Prowl ignored them. The spindly mech walked towards Prowl, his long legs placing him at least a helm taller than Prowl. “Lemme help ya with that.”

He rounded to Red Alert’s side, but Prowl draped his doorwing over Red Alert. “Unnecessary.”

The mech paused, then smiled. “Tsk. I understand, sweetie. Well, let’s get him to the room through here. The good doc will be with ya in a breem.”

They entered a small examination room with a single berth placed against the wall. Various tools lay locked inside a see-through cabinet to the right of the berth, while a small wash-basin was towards the left.

“Lay ‘em on the berth woulda dearie?” The spindly mech pointed toward the examination berth. “Ya can wait here with him, or ya can pay up in the front. How do ya wanna do it?”

Prowl laid Red Alert down then turned to the mech. “We have a limited number of credits. You may state the full amount.”

Four optics blinked in turn as the mech stepped into the room fully, closing the door behind him.

Prowl raised his doorwings in warning as he analysed the mech. He did not move with the grace of a fighter, neither did he possess the self-preservation for it, yet Prowl’s systems analysed that the mech posed a threat.

The spindly mech folded his arms across his chassis. “How much ya got dearie? Ya don’t look like street scum.”

“We have ninety-six point five-eight shanix.” Prowl stated coolly.

“Hmmm.” The mech tilted his helm back and pursed his lips. “That ain’t enough. Visit it 250 Shanix, and then there’s the meds.”  His four optics squinted at Prowl, roaming freely over his frame… “Ya seem to be in good condition…” his optics darted to Red Alert…”While yer SO seems to be not so good.”

The spindly mech dropped his arms and clutched his wrists behind his back, pede tapping. “Now, I can cover the bill for ya in total, but there’s a price to pay to me. What are ya willing to do save him?”

Prowl blinked at him trying to make sense of the strange dialogue. He cocked his optic ridge. It must have been the right response as the mech smiled.

“Good to see ya catch me.” The spindly mech nodded. “I got a friend at the arena that does daily intakes. Nothing formal. Newbies get pitted against each other. Winner gets some shanix and the crowds get entertained. Win-win. If you win, the shanix should be more than enough to cover all the medical bills.”

Prowl considered the mech before him. The billboard of the fighters popped into his mind. The arena was an area where mechs fought. Fighting was …natural. Prowl nodded curtly.

“Good!” The mech rubbed his hands together. “It’s not yet noon for the second sun. If you head to the arenas within the joor you’ll get into the matches scheduled for this afternoon.” He withdrew a small card and held it out towards Prowl. “Take this card with you and tell them ‘Fenris’ sent you.”

Prowl eyed the card, then plucked it from Fenris’s hold. “I will not leave Red Alert.” He held the card up.

Fenris’s smile faltered, but then he chuckled. “Believe me sweetie, tis the safest place for ‘Red Alert’ to be.” He laid a hand over his spark. “I swear on my spark nothing will come to ‘em. We’re willing to keep ‘em here until you have paid what you owe in good faith, otherwise you’ll have to take ‘em somewhere else, and they might not be willing to keep ‘em until you can pay. I’m offering to keep ‘em here, give him meds and heal him till he’s all better and all you have to do is join one little match. You can come straight back after that.”

Prowl held the mech’s stare – there was something there that... he blinked as his tactical systems pinged him with a report. Automatically he opened the file, absorbing the analysis of the mech. His optics grew harder. Apparently his tac systems had compared the mech’s mannerism to those on file and determined that the mech was being deceitful.

His doorwing flicked. Deceitful was to misrepresent facts. He drew in a vent. This is why he required Red Alert. He was useful in determining the mannerisms of mechs. In order for Red Alert to be functioning optimally, he required the medic. To have the medic assist him, he required credits. He would not be able to take Red Alert with him. It would be too dangerous and the mechs at the location would be fighters. Red Alert was not a fighter.

Prowl nodded. He had no alternative than to leave Red Alert.

“How much credits will this arena provide?”

Fenris grinned as he shrugged. “Depends on the show, but believe me if you win it will be enough to cover the medical expenses of your SO and then some. And really, it’s easy credits.”

Red Alert groaned as his helm lolled to the side, mumbling, before stilling again.

Prowl turned his helm enough to see Red Alert.

“The doctor’ll be here soon.” Fenris stated softly as he turned towards the door, placing his hand on the doorhandel. He watched Prowl, helm tilted sideways.

Prowl glanced at the card his hand. There was no alternative plan, so he would agree to this. He required Red Alert’s knowledge. He nodded and subspaced the card.

“State the location of the arena.” He planted his pedes wide and arched his doorwings.

Fenris’ optics lightened as he slid the door open. “Come with me and I’ll give you the directions on a pad. You can give that to the arena master, Clench, as well.” He walked out.

Prowl knelt next to Red Alert and touched his shoulder. “I will return.” Red Alert groaned, but didn’t open his optics.

Prowl nodded curtly, accepting that as acknowledgement and swept out of the room and into the lobby. The mechs seated against the wall casually glanced at him, but once more Prowl ignored them. He took the datapad held out to him.

He subspaced it without a glance as he stepped up to Fenris, his golden optics darkened and his voice dropped. “If he is in any way harmed, I will kill you.”

Fenris swallowed hard and took a step back. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He nodded as he folded his arms across his chassis.

Prowl tucked his doorwings and turned towards the doors.

The mechs lining the wall pushed back as far as they could, none of them dared look at Prowl.

The arena was silently gloating in the hot suns, its golden walls reflecting the light and heat away from its dark interiors that hid as many dark sins. An oppressive, hot wind blew from the southeast, carrying with it the stench of mech energon mixed with the stench of desperation and poverty.

Prowl stopped a few metres in front of the large golden-arched gates, the wind whipping the silvery feathers on his doorwings.  Sharp optics examined every aspect, from the mechs entering to the mechs exiting. At the gates leading in two brutes stood, their optics locked on Prowl.

Prowl tilted his helm as he examined them in return, then flicked his doorwings in dismissal. He had nearly completed the first part of his mission, the remainder being to find a mech designated ‘Clench’. This mech would enrol him in a ‘match’, which was nothing more than a battle of fighting skills. Prowl harboured no doubt of his ability to win.

He marched towards the brutes and halted as they crossed their spears to bar his entry.

“What do you want?” The first brute sneered as he glanced at his companion.

“I seek Clench.” Prowl stated.

“Clench? Huh, and what do you want with him?” The brute waived his hand over Prowl’s frame. “You’re a whelp.”

“Hey, if this mechling wants to see Clench, let ‘em. We need a few more for the pre-games.” The brute lifted his spear and beckoned Prowl to follow him. He set a lumbering pace into the arena.

Prowl passed underneath the arches and into a long, tall hallway. He flared his doorwings as he took stock of his surroundings. To his left and right openings led either up or down, and to the front beyond the brute he could see natural light filtering through.

The brute led him straight to the end of the tunnel which opened to give him an avian’s view of a soil-topped arena. He paused at the top of the stairs and watched the display. Mechs stood in pairs as they trained in the hot suns – parrying, dodging, striking and feinting in turn as if it was an orchestrated dance. From the few clicks he watched he knew that these mechs were not trained professional killers.

“Oi, I don’t have all fragging orn.” The brute turned to him from a few stairs down, motioning with his spear to where a small tent was erected on the steep arena walls.

Prowl descended the stairs after the brute who had by this time pulled back the curtained draping of the tent.

“Master Clench, there’s a mechling here who’s looking for ya.” The brute nodded over his shoulder at Prowl.

“You should know I don’t speak to every mechling that comes here. Get rid of him.”

The brute hesitated, and then nodded. He turned to Prowl. “Get lost.”  

“Negative. I will speak with Clench.” Prowl spoke as he pushed past the brute and slipped into the tent.

The brute snarled as he grabbed for Prowl’s doorwing, only for a sharp pain to strike his chest and then suddenly his world toppled. He blinked in surprise as he stared up at Prowl, who’s knee pressed uncomfortably hard onto his chest above his spark. The cold steel of Prowl’s dagger pressed into a vulnerable main line.

“I will speak to Clench without your permission.”

The sound of blasters whining up gave Prowl pause as he cocked his helm and glanced up.

A well-armoured mech with optics hidden beneath a lime visor stared at him. Guards around the mech had blasters trained on Prowl. “You are Clench.” Prowl stated without releasing the pressure that held the brute beneath him captive.

“Who’s asking?” Clench folded his bulky arms over his broad chassis, the glittering paint at odds with the dull mechs surrounding him. The smile that curled his lips was those of a calculating mech. He leaned forward as he watched Prowl.

Prowl blinked at him. He had not asked a question, he had simply stated an observation. The mech had also clearly seen who had stated the observation, so what did…his processor pinged him with the correct response. He nodded curtly. “I am designated Prowl.” If the mech wanted to confirm his identity then there was no harm.

“Hmmm. Prowl. Doesn’t really have a wring to it…even though you are an exotic exhibition.” Clench rubbed his jaw and his voice dropped to a lower timber. “So, now that you have gained my attention, what do you want? I doubt it’s some enertea.”

The mechs surrounding him chuckled, but there was a nervous edge to the laugh as they kept their weapons armed and locked on Prowl.

Prowl stilled his movements as well. If they were determined to harm him, he could defeat them, but he would be damaged. He was not faster than a blaster shot. However, his mission had not been to fight these mechs. His mission was to attend a match to get the credits required for Red Alert’s recovery. He settled his doorwings from their arched position.

“I was informed by Fenris to seek you out. I wish to get into a match.”

“Ah, so ol’ Fenris sent you.” The visor brightened and the smile grew. He stepped closer to Prowl, but kept well out of arms’ reach. “Did he perchance give you anything to give me?”

Prowl gracefully released his prisoner and stepped back, unsubspacing both the card and the datapad given him. The brute scrambled to his knees, glowering at Prowl as he rubbed his neck and slowly got to his pedes.

“Sylum, hand me those.” Clench waived a pointed finger at the datapad and card.

The lumbering brute growled as he stepped up to Prowl and grabbed the items. He bared his fangs at the Praxian as he handed the items to Clench.

Prowl waited for Clench to read through the datapad. He would either get into a match or he wouldn’t, in which case he would need to find an alternative to fund Red Alert’s medical fee. He was not adverse to releaving a mech of credits, though it would disappoint Red Alert. Also, the files labelled this interaction as ‘theft’ and ‘illegal’, and therefore was socially unacceptable. He needed to get into the match.

“Put your weapons down mechs.” Clench subspaced the items and walked towards Prowl, his superior height and bulk dwarfing the Praxian.

Prowl stood his ground. If the mech intended him harm there were numerous vulnerable spots on his armour. Prowl would easily get back to Red Alert.

“Walk with me.” Clench smiled lazily as one of his guards pulled the curtains to the side. “Seems like you will be competing in a match this afternoon.”

“Master, there are no more slots open for this afternoon.” One of his guards growled.

Clench cocked an optic ridge. “Pit this youngster against one of the competitors. Whoever wins gets to compete this afternoon.”

Clench sat in his plush throne-like chair overlooking the arena and watched as energon-thirsty hordes rushed to fill the seats. It was two orns before the Games officially started, and mechs were excitedly betting on which of the competitors in the open games would be selected to join in the prestigious Games and bet their lives on a chance at fame and riches.

Clench snorted as he raised his expensive cube of Vosian high-grade and sipped. For vorns the undisputed champions remained the Terror Twins. Few mechs could survive Sunstreaker’s berserker mode. Even fewer knew how to trigger it.

And therein lay the glory of the matter. That fame and riches was nothing more than a dream. The truth was glorified slavery and the exploitation of weakness.

“You appear to be in a rather good mood.”

Clench rolled his helm to the side and straightened, lifting his cube in salute to the large mech entering the tent. “Evening Colussus.”

Colussus glared at him as he took his seat in the centre of the podium. A scantly-armoured slave quietly knelt before him and held out a large, ornate cube filled to the brim with a dark blue liquid. Colussus took the cube and lazily drank while he stared at the gathering crowds, motioning the slave to the back.

“I hear you recruited an exotic.” Colussus said over his cube.

“Praxian named Prowl. A gift from Fenris. Apparently his mate is being kept at the practice until the mech can pay for the medical expenses.”

“A soft spark.” Colussus sneered as he took another sip at his cube, his fangs piercing his lower lip. His dark purple armour seemed to absorb the light as his crimson optics turned to Clench.

“They are the easiest to control. Although there’s something off with this mech. He is precise in his movements and knows how to kill or maim. He floored Sylus within a click, and took down his qualifying opponent within thirty clicks.”

Colussus placed his cube on the side table as the chants and chatter of the crowds grew louder. The buzz of anticipation filled the space and Colussus smiled as the orator waddled into the middle of the arena. The hot, dry wind rippled the curtains of the tent and carried the words of the orator to his audience.

“He fights this evening.” Clench motioned to the gates on the other side of the arena. “It will be a process of elimination. We’ll leave a total of 20 mechs to qualify for the Games. Fenris of course is his sponsor, so a portion of the winnings will be forwarded to him.”

Colussus folded his hands over his taught abdominal. He drew a deep vent. “You are rather sure the Praxian will win.”

“I’ve seen him fight. He’s a trained warrior.”   

“They don’t always make good entertainment.”

“No, but they might if pitted against the Terrors.”

Colussus leaned his broad frame towards Clench, his smile soft as a keen light lit his crimson optics.  “Then let us see what this exotic can do.”  

The crowds fell into silent anticipation as the whining creak of old gates echoed over the now empty arena.

Then as if released from their bounds the crowds erupted into roars as hundreds of mechs bolted out the opened gates and streamed towards the centre of the arena.

Colussus watched passively as the mechs fought each other for the weapons, their dying and pained screams mixing with the frenetic screams of the crowds. He leaned forward as he spotted the Praxian. The mech moved like liquid silver and escaped every blow aimed at him. Somehow, he had managed to get two short blades and was incapacitating his opponents one by one.

“Interesting….” Colussus squinted and rubbed his jaw. Yes, this Praxian indeed had military training behind him. He struck at his opponents with short, precise movements. They dropped like stones, albeit not dead. His lips turned down. Was the mech unwilling to kill? Or did he simply not take this match seriously?

“Did you give him any orders prior to this match?” Colussus asked. “He’s not killing his opponents.”

Clench shrugged as he waved a slave closer to hand him a cube. “I told all of those wannabees that killing is optional.”

Colussus leaned back in his chair and waited for the match to end. Finally, the tally reached twenty mechs left standing. The siren sounded and the mechs dropped their swords and stepped back. The Praxian did not relax his stance, but kept his doorwings raised and trained on his opponents.

Colussus grinned as he stood up and walked towards the front of the tented box. He stopped at the small balcony and raised both arms into the air. As if by some unseen force, the crowds hushed until only a whispered buzz ebbed and flowed through them.

Colussus dropped his arms as the new combatants made their way towards the dais. He smiled as he saw another combatant – a Gygaxian – watch the Praxian warily before he also marched towards the dais. Only once the last combatant had turned his back on the Praxian did the mech follow.

Colussus smiled. Yes. This mech had potential. He raised his chin.

“Combatants. You fought well, but to truly have a winner, I will choose two combatants who will partake in another match.” His bouldering voice carried over the crowds. The crowds erupted into excited screams as they started pounding on the floors and walls until their screams morphed into a chanted rhythm.

Colussus chuckled as their chants reached his audials and he dropped his gaze towards the mechs standing in the arena.

Death-match! Death-match! Death-match!

Some of the mechs glanced worriedly at the crowds, then at each other. Only the Praxian and the Gygaxian appeared unmoved.

He raised his arms once more and the crowds fell silent. He turned and beckoned a slave holding a datapad. He browsed through the list of names. He wouldn’t choose the Gygaxian. He could already see the mech being good entertainment in the games and more importantly, he had no sponsor. Colussus scrolled down until he found a designation he didn’t like. He handed the pad back to the slave.

“Deathmatch between Reworks and Prowl. No mercy.”

A broad-shouldered, orange mech turned towards Prowl and levelled his axe at the Praxian while displaying a shorter dagger. The others gave them a wide berth as Prowl walked towards the centre of the circle as if taking a stroll in the park. At his side he held two short, bent daggers.

Colussus smiled and signalled the fight to begin. Reworks ran at Prowl, his battle cry drowned out by the gleeful roar of the crowds. Reworks swung his axe and at the same time readied his dagger, but at the last moment swerved. For his bulk and strength he had surprising agility, but not nearly as much as the Praxian. Prowl crouched and instead of springing back, he blitz attacked and caught Reworks unprepared and open on his left. Reworks tried to parry and block, but his momentum worked against him.

Prowl’s dagger slipped into a seam above the left leg, and with a harrowing scream from his victim, the dagger was drawn up, splitting the mech’s abdomen and chassis wide open. Prowl twisted in time to avoid the bulk of the mech toppling over him. He spun and dropped into an attack crouch as Reworks dropped to his knees, his arms hugging his torso as energon and fluids spilled onto the dry arena sand. Prowl stood and walked towards the mech. He grabbed the mech’s helm and yanked it back, exposing his vulnerable lines. Without blinking Prowl slit his throat. The mech’s optics sparked, fluid pouring from his neck as his frame went dark and limp, falling in a heap at Prowl’s pedes.

A hush fell over the crowd, then an entire new energy overtook them as they screamed and jumped and pointed.

Colussus grinned and clapped. He turned towards Clench. The mech was rivetted to the scene before him.

“Clench, buy his sponsorship from Fenris and lock his mate in the inner court. Change his designation to Nightstalker. This mech…has potential.”

He turned back to the Praxian, his smile morphing into a chuckle. Yes. He might just have someone to finally topple that arrogant Sunstreaker from his little self-important throne.

Colossus raised his helm to the sun. “Welcome to the Pit.”

Chapter Text

“Hmm”… Red Alert’s face scrunched up as he stretched his arms up and over his helm, gliding against the soft mech as he rolled onto his side.

Soft mesh!? That comes from where?

Red Alert bolted upright and off the berth, optics flashing. Mouth agape, his helm whipped from side to side, the panic building like a compressor. “Where am I?” He whispered as he turned. White-washed metal walls greeted him on each side. He was in a small box, no bigger than a closet.

The Institution.

Coldness engulfed him and his frame trembled as he backed into a corner. He shook his helm “No, no I can’t be back there…” He had escaped…he had escaped with Prowl. Gone through a tunnel and into a field…into towns…had injuries.

He reached for his helm, but the metal was smooth. There was no wound. He felt his throat, but there was no pain. He swallowed and closed his optics, drawing up memories. Prowl was there. Prowl…

A mech with no memories. Are you sure he was a mech?

Red Alert shook his helm as his pulse quickened. “No, it was real. It was real.” He opened his optics again as he slowly sank to the ground with his back in the corner. His pale optics roamed the room. He hugged himself against the chill that crept into his struts.

“It was real.” He whimpered. It had to be.

Does it have to be? Won’t be the first time you’ve played tricks. And besides…you’re in the box again.

“This isn’t a trick. It wasn’t a trick!”

Really? Then where are you? Where you last?

Red Alert’s mind raced. Where had he been? He’d been in a room with Prowl. A room in a little town. He hadn’t checked the lock. There had been mechs coming for them. He had failed.

Yes. They had been coming for you. You hadn’t placed the proper security measure in place. You failed. You failed the simulation. You are worthless. Why didn’t you use your sensors? Worthless! You’ll get yourself killed! They’ll have to tweak you again. Fiddle in your processor. Sharpen your net. You can’t fail.

Red Alert shuddered as he curled into a ball. “I won’t fail. Please…Please.”

Memories clawed at him. Bright lights blinding him as he lay splayed on a cold concrete slab. Restraints biting into his wrists and ankles as electric pulses frayed his sensitive neural net. The pain of his raw vocaliser as he had screamed and shrivelled under that monster….

Condensation broke out on his forehelm and his tank churned. “I’m sorry…I won’t fail.”

You’ve already failed. Failure! You should be discarded. Useless! Worthless!

The bolts being slammed back jolted Red Alert as he sat straight, optics round as colour drained from his cheeks. His vents came in short, painful puffs through his tight chest. They were coming to get him.

The door pulled back and a large burley Tarnian stepped into the room, his gaudy orange armour thick and dented.

Red Alert paused. This…this wasn’t anyone he recognised. His elbows pressed into his sides as he pushed back into the wall. Was this a new guard? Where was the surgeons in their pristine white armour? He drew his legs under him. The mech hadn’t closed the doors. What if… wait. The gap was big enough. If he could make a run for it…

The Tarnian’s rigid gaze landed on him and the mech sneered. “What the frag he sees in you…” The mech lumbered into the room and big paws made to grab at Red Alert.

Red Alert shrieked as he ducked and dove in between the mech’s legs. The large mech swore as Red Alert launched himself at the door. He grabbed the post and swung himself round the entrance using his momentum.

A lasso sung through the air and neatly circled him. Red Alert was too late to stop as the lasso pulled taught and yanked back.

“Ack!” Red Alert’s helm hit the paved floor hard enough to set spots dancing in front of his optics.

When the spots cleared, two large Tarnians loomed over him.

“Let’s go.” Each grabbed an arm and hauled Red Alert to his pedes. The brute he had nimbly dodged slammed him into a wall.

His cheek pressed against the cold metal as his hands were quickly shackled behind his back. The mechs yanked him back and pushed him forward and down the dark, narrow hallways.

Red Alert grit his denta, fighting against the rising panic. This wasn’t the Institution, although not exactly a comforting thought as he had no idea of where he was. His optics darted round as he was led up a dank stairway framed by roughly quarried stone walls. Dim, yellow lights burned at distant intervals. As the small group moved in and out of the shadows, Red Alert couldn’t shake the feeling that he had stepped centivorns back in time.

This place is…primitive. Maybe it’s another game. Another trick. Don’t trust anything.

Red Alert drew a deep vent and wished everything to normal. But the dank, slimy stones of the steps were cold beneath his pedes, and the shackles bit into his

He swallowed the thick lump in his throat.

I can survive this. Whatever they throw at me…I’ve been through worse. I’ve been to the Pit and back. I’ll find a way out. I’ll find their weakness.

Yes, because that was why they experimented on him – so that he would find the weaknesses.

A rough hand on his shoulder stopped him as they reached the top of the stairwell and he braced himself for what lay beyond. No doubt hideous and ancient tools to inflict all kinds of torture or experiments against a backdrop of energon-stained walls.

I can survive this. He thought as a shudder ran down his spinal strut.

The large Tarnian threw the door back and pushed Red Alert into…a very bright, pristine hallway.

Red Alert blinked as the archaic atmosphere ended abruptly. Before him a honeycomb of whitewashed, clean halls spread out in three directions. He frowned, reality clashing with expectation. The mechs marched him towards an elevator on the right. Red Alert grunted as he was sandwiched between the two mechs and they rode the smooth elevator.

This wasn’t making sense. Where was he? Was he…was he maybe still in the Institution? Was he in induced status? Was this another one of their experiments? Or was this real? And if it was, where in the Pit was he?!

It has to be a simulation.

Then why can’t I wake? There must be some way out of this?

No. It has to be real.

Red Alert shuttered his optics against the conflicting thoughts. He focused on the thrumming of the elevator’s floor under his pedes. The elevator pinged and they got off into another curving hallway. Red Alert stumbled as he stared at the wall to floor windows overlooking a sprawling, smoggy city that made up the left wall. Rays of the suns shone brightly through the windows and hit the opposite wall, on which murals of fighting mecha were depicted.

The knot in Red Alert’s tank tightened. This wasn’t a simulation. This wasn’t induced status.

Unless they’d gotten a new programmer.

At the end of the hallway they entered a richly decorated apartment. By the looks of it, the mech who lived here must be quite large. He was dragged over to the living room and pushed down onto a soft, mesh-covered couch that was pushed against the wall. It gave him a good oversite of the living quarters, which were obviously built for entertainment.

Red Alert tried to adjust his seat so that it was more comfortable, but the shackles were numbing his arms. He settled for rolling his shoulders forward and backwards.

“Do you have the rope?”

Red Alert blanched and stilled. Why do they want rope? His helm swam at the possibilities that raced through his processor, haunting thoughts from his past looming on the edge of his conscious. Do something!

He glanced at the door and the windows. They were possible sources of escape…but Primus they were at least six floors up. He’d be killed from that height. He shuttered his optics as he focused on extending his scanners.

Six beeps came up as the room materialised in his processors. He opened his optics. There were six hidden camaras in this room. But were they tied to a network or individual? AI or manual?

“Wha!”

The orange Tarnian pushed him forward and wound the rope through the shackles, breaking his train of thought. The mech then proceeded to bind it to a round hinge welded into the wall.

Red Alert sucked in air. Obviously he wasn’t the first guest to have received this kind of treatment. He licked his lips and wondered how long he was supposed to stay like this.

“Let’s go.” The Tarnian called to his partner and headed to the exit.

“What!?” Red Alert’s helm snapped round to watch them leave. Dread lanced through him at the thought of being alone in some unknown mech’s chambers. Why were they leaving? Who lived here? More worrisome, what did that mech plan to do with him?  

“Where are you going!? You can’t leave me here?!”

They’re gone. No use crying over spilled energon. Better prepare yourself. You know what it means to be tide up in another mech’s living quarters.

Red Alert yanked his frame forward, but the rope didn’t have enough leeway to allow him movement. His spark raced. “Ok. Ok. Calm down. Calm down. Think.” He yanked again and hissed as the shackles bit into his wrists.

“Ok. That’s not going to work.” He stared over the room, looking for anything to help. The décor was rich and vibrantly covered. Murals depicting various scenes of every orn Cybertronian life decked the walls. Heat crept into Red Alert’s face as he noticed some rather erotic scenes. He skipped over those quickly, not focusing on the queasiness they aroused. The murals wouldn’t help him. There was no kitchen, only a counter with a well-stocked bar at the back. The his left and towards the door were the windows.

He puffed and dropped his aching shoulders. The embedded camaras were watching him, he could feel them zooming in on him. He drew a deep vent. This was going to be interesting. If he could only…

The door wizzed open and Red Alert jumped. He leaned back as far as he could.

A red Tarnian waltzed into the room, whistling an easy tune. The black helm was adored by two small finials. He was a handsome mech. His build was streamlined, yet beneath the pristine armour Red Alert saw the bulking cords of his protoform. The easy liquid movements of the mech reminded him of Prowl. His tank clenched as his frame shuddered.

“Yo, Colossus?” The mech stopped mid-stride as he spotted Red Alert. Sparkling blue optics twinkled as a grin spread across his face.

Red Alert flattend his armour and grit his denta.

“Ah – a new guest.” He cocked his helm, then shrugged and moved towards the bar. “So how long you been waiting? Want a drink?”

Red Alert stared at the mech as the fear morphed into a puddle of confusion. What is this? He blinked and glanced around the room. A narrowed his optics as the red Tarnian helped himself to a drink. It has to be a trap.

“No?” The red mech’s grin grew until it threatened to split his face. He downed his first cube then poured himself another. “This is really good stuff. Anyway. Who ae you?” He leaned over the counter and rested on his arms, his gaze studying Red Alert intently as he slid the cube from hand to hand.

Red Alert’s frown deepened. Perhaps, perhaps this wasn’t real? It was…surreal. If this was a simulation, it was by far the best one they had ever done. Everything was real and surreal at the same time. Ignoring the pain shooting up his arms and into his helm, he stretched his neck forward. “Who am I? Who are you?” He bit back.

The mech fumbled with the glass as his optics rounded comically. “Who am I!?” The jaw slackened and he straightened, rolling his broad shoulders back. “Are you serious?”

Red Alert swallowed. Don’t show fear! Be polite.

I’m not backing down! This is ridiculous. He’s offering you a drink!

He paused as his optics shot to the red mech. This mech…might be his exit. He swallowed and smiled tightly, not exactly the confident charm he wanted to enthuse, but it will have to do. “Yes, I’m new here and I honestly don’t know how I got here or who you are. Everything is a bit muddled at the moment. Say, would you mind uh, untying me? My arms are really hurting.”

The red mech slapped the table as he burst out laughing. “Primus! You are serious.” He shook his helm as he rounded the counter and headed towards Red Alert.

Red Alerts spark jumped. Would this mech help him? Could it be this simple?

No way! It’s never this simple! There’s got to be a catch.

His armour tingled as the mech sat down next to him. In fact, the mech ran his black hand over Red Alert’s shoulder and leaned in.

Red Alert straightened his back and ducked to the side, but the fragging rope arrested his movement with a painful reminder. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

The mech paused, his helm inches away from Red Alert’s audial. “I’m checking if I can help you.” He whistled through pursed lips as he shook his helm. “Sorry little mech. No can do. You are shackled and I don’t have the key.” He leaned back, displaying his strong frame, as he smiled at Red Alert.

His fear channelled into irritation as Red Alert watched the mech. His arrogance was palpable. Red Alert despised arrogance.

“So who are you, Mr Keyless?” Red Alert quipped as he lifted his chin. Careful. The little voice in his helm piped up, but Red Alert squashed it.

The mech snorted and bit his lip, his optics never lost the mischievous sparkle. It was this more than anything else that irked Red Alert.

The mech wasn’t there to hurt him, but he was obviously having fun at Red Alert’s expense. And it wasn’t like Red Alert wasn’t in a pit-load of trouble. Why else would he be chained to the wall like a fragging mechanimal? Yes, the anger towards this imbecile would give him strength.

“Designation’s Sideswipe.” The mech folded his hands across his tight abdominal. “Yours?”

 Sideswipe. Side…swipe. It had a familiar ring to it. Red Alert glared at him, then sighed. He didn’t know the mech, but…. “Siren.” He might still need an ally when whoever came into this room, but the pit would rust over before he gave the mech his real designation.  

He paused as his optics slid to Sideswipe. He might be keyless, but he probably wasn’t clueless. Best gather information. The more information the better equipped to be able to get the pit out of here. “So who are we waiting for?”

Sideswipe threw his helm back in warm laughter that floated through the room. Shaking his helm he leaned forward as he rested his forearms on his legs. He grinned toothily at Red Alert, his mirth reflected in the bright glow of his crimson optics. “You really don’t know me.” He nodded slowly, as if the very thought that someone didn’t know him was too much to fathom.

Red Alert clicked at him and rolled his optics. Did he not hear him already state three times the he didn’t know him? Was it that incomprehensible?

“Huh. Well, that’s a first. Don’t have many firsts left.” He scratched his jaw. “Ever heard of Sunstreaker?”

Red Alert shook his helm, then paused. Sunstreaker…wasn’t that? An uneasy ball knotted itself in his tank.

Sideswipe mistook his pause as another confirmation. The mech chuckled. “That will definitely piss him off.” Sideswipe slapped his knees as he got up. “Well, I’ll leave Colossus to tell you who we are. He’s the mech you’re waiting for. I’ll chat to him later.”

“Who’s Colossus?!” Red Alert shouted after Sideswipe’s retreating form, afraid that they might be where he really hoped they wouldn’t be. He had to get more information.

Sideswipe ignored him until he reached the door. Leisurely he palmed it open and leaned against the doorframe. The easy-going grin had morphed into a predatory smile as the crimson optics darkened to hide even the smallest spec of mirth.

Red Alert drew back into himself, the knotted ball bouncing round in his guts as realising slowly downed on him. His optics darted past the red fighter to the windows and the cityscape beyond.

Tarn.

The steady rumble of the mech’s engines drew Red Alert back and the mech flared his plating. “Colossus is the Grand Master of the Tarnian Gladitorial Pits. Enjoy your stay.” He winked then disappeared.

Red Alert sat frozen as he stared unblinkingly at the smoggy cityscape.

His armour tingled and energy buzzed beneath his armour. He could feel the charge building in his horns.

Gladitorial Pits of Tarn. Sunstreaker. Sideswipe. The Terror Twins.

There wasn’t a single mech on Cybertron that weren’t aware of the Terror Twins ferocity in the arena. Older than Red Alert by a few vorns, they had dominated the arenas ever since their younglinghood. Rumours abounded that they had been specifically bread and modified for the arena, others yet that they were sparked in the gutters of Kaon. Survival of the fittest had honed their skills until they joined the arena.

They were invincible.

Sunstreaker dominated as champion every vorn at the Games. He was undefeated and showed no mercy.

Red Alert drew a shaky vent as the charge rattled his armour and pricked his protoform. “Please let this be a simulation.” He begged Primus. He grit his denta as he renewed his struggle against the shackles. Warm energon slicked his hands, but the shackles held. A cry of anguish tore through his lips as as the pain became unbearable. A ragged, sob escaped his lips. He was going to die. “Ok. It’s ok.”

Ok!? Are you insane?! It’s not ok! This is the Pits! You’re going to die here! You can’t fight! What are they going to pit you against terracons?  You have to get out of here!

“I know. I know. Please. Calm down.” His armour clattered as sparks flashed from his horns. “Don’t panic. You are ok. Not in a cell or in the arena. Draw in vents. One. Two. Three.”

Oh yes you’re in the Grand Master’s personal apartments. That’s sooooo much better! Maybe he knows who you are and wants a little taste? Hmm? So entertaining!

“Shut up! You can’t panic now.” Red Alert grit out as tears blurred his vision. “It’s ok. It’s ok. You’ll figure something out. Just vent. Just…focus on that.”

So this is real. Red Alert nodded. Acknowledge the situation. This wasn’t a trick. Slowly he drew a shaky vent, held it, then just as slowly let it escape. He repeated this until his helm felt light and airy, but thank Primus he wasn’t feeling on the edge of a praecipes.

The tingling across his protoform receded to the edge of his field, but the tightness remained. “Ok, so you are here. Right. That is fact. Focus on the here and now.” He shuttered his optics, trying to ignore the pain in his arms. If he was in here, then where was Prowl? And how did they get to Tarn? More importantly, how did they end up in the pits? Were they captured?

Muffled voices broke through the myriad of thought processes. Red Alert snapped his helm towards the door, his systems running cold. This was it. Whoever walked through that door would once more hold himself master over Red Alert’s life. He steeled himself as the door swished open.

Two large mechs entered the apartment and glanced at him. The larger of the two stopped and smiled at him. His dark purple armour seemed to absorb the light and any small warmth it might hold. He waved his companion towards the bar as he headed to the opposite couch.

Spark pounding, Red Alert forced himself to sit still and raised his chin to meet the mech’s hard, crimson optics. Don’t show fear. And whatever you do, don’t glitch!

“Clench, pour me the Vosian vinho.” With a satisfied groan the mech lowered his heavy frame to the couch. His mesmeric gaze bore into Red Alert, tearing at his secrets and leaving him tattered.

Red Alert swallowed at the dryness in his mouth as he stared into those cold optics. An ugly scar split across his right optic and ran all the way down where it disappeared beneath his chassis armour. It must have been a horrendous injury to cause that kind of scarring. No doubt a match souvenir that left that optic partially impaired.

The silence hung heavy in the air, the only sounds the clinking of glass and the pouring of engex.

Keep it together. You can do this.

Colussus leaned forward. His mammoth presence seemed to full the space and squeeze everything out until it was only his presence that remained.  

The intensity became too much and Red Alert dropped his gaze, staring at his knees instead. He knew these power-mongering mecha all too well. The more you resisted, the more pain. Complacency brought opportunity.  

“Hmmm.” Colussus finally broke the silence through his gravelly voice as he turned to accept the cube from Clench. The scar must have damaged his vocaliser as well. “You are very unimpressive.”

Red Alert jerked his helm up. Heat flooded his cheeks and his untamed glossa attacked before his processor could filter the words. “I was never meant to impress!” He snapped his mouth shut and glanced away, pulling his armour tight. Keep it cool, Red! We just spoke about it.

“Your vocaliser is just as unimpressive.” Colussus drawled as he sipped at his engex. “Release him.”

Clench did as instructed and Red Alert vented in relief as he rubbed his bruised wrists. To his dismay, the big brute designated Clench sat down next to him. It was a clear threat that he better not try anything.

Not that he would have. By the looks of it these two would easily snap him in half. Red Alert drew a steeling vent. Better hope his processor would overrule his poison-tipped glossa. “Why am I here?” He asked sweetly.

Colussus leaned back and rested his cube on the seat next to him. “You are the mate of my new gladiator. He’ll be competing at the Games in two orn’s time. I need to ensure you know what is expected of you.”

Red Alert blinked. “Prowl?” Prowl was a gladiator? What the frag had happened since that shoddy inn? He had expected being thrown in the pit to the mechanimals, but Prowl? A gladiator? He raised a hand in a stop motion, shaking his helm. “Back up. What do you mean that Prowl is your new gladiator?”

“I own his contract.”

“He wasn’t for sale, and quite frankly neither am I. So whatever contract there is, I want to see it.” Red Alert seethed. So Prowl had somehow gotten them into this mess. Great. Just great. Well, at least they were slaves in the original sense. No that that was a lot of comfort. Wasn’t like this big oaf had invited him politely for a cup of enertea to discuss an employment contract. Unbidden he flared his armour.

Colussus grinned, his fangs piercing his bottom lip. “I see you’ve got some bearing after all. He withdrew a datapad and threw it at Red Alert. His smug satisfaction resonated through his field.

Red Alert fumbled as he tried to grab the pad and caught it just before it slipped to the ground. With another withering look at Colussus, he onlined the pad. His lips pulled down as he read the contents.

According to the datapad, Prowl, now designated Nightstalker, was in debt to a medical practice. The practice had ceded his debt to the arena on the basis that they immediately settle the debt. Prowl would repay the arena in winnings. Red Alert’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the datapad. His optics scanned through the contract again.

“This is invalid.” He stated, tight lipped, as he threw the datapad on the small energon table set between them. “There are no signatures, no timeframe and no stipulated amounts. It’s not even his proper designation.”

Colussus chuckled, the low sound raising the protoform on Red Alert’s neck. The knot in his tank tightened as the feeling cemented that this mech know something.

 “The contract is legal in Tarn.” He lunged forward and placed his hand on the table between them, his optics simmering. “About as legal as a mech designated ‘Prowl’.”

Red Alert paled. Had they run a datanet check on Prowl? Had they used his serial number? Oh Primus….he swallowed the acid clawing up his throat. The arena was the least of their worries. He clenched his hands in his lap. Colussus continued, blissfully unaware of the scraplet’s nest he had unearthed.

“I have witnesses that the Praxian owes Regen Mediclinic for services rendered. That is for your repairs. The payment is dynamic. Every orn the account is not settled, interest is added, hence no amount.” He leaned his powerful bulk back. “The Praxian will fight in the arenas. If he’s good, he’ll win and you will eventually gain your freedom. If he dies, you will serve the arenas until the debt is paid.”

Serve the arenas. Red Alert ducked his chin and pressed his elbows into his frame. He knew full well what serving was referred to, and he’d probably be dead before he’d finish paying the ‘debt’. Primus, just looking at the mech and that contract made it as clear as crystal that the mechs had no intention of releasing them. They would need to get out themselves. And they’d need to do it before the Institution traced that serial number back to these ignorant fools, or it will be over for all of them.

But how? How did he get out of here? And should he even try to bring Prowl with him? The Institution would guess the two were together, but they hadn’t done a search on him, had they? He cleared his vocaliser. “So what is my roll until this farce is settled.” He glanced up and into the crimson optics. He needed to buy some time to think of something. He needed to get into their security net. He needed to find their weaknesses. As if sensing a change in him, Clench moved closer to him, his big bulk dwarfing Red Alert’s smaller frame and sending a clear signal – better not try anything.

Red Alert flicked his green optics at the mech before angling his shoulder away from him. He lifted his chin at Colussus, waiting for his answer.

Colussus stared at him through half-shuttered lids while he swirled the sparkling-blue Vosian vinho around in his glass. “You need to ensure the Praxian wins. If he loses, you get punished. If he wins, you get rewarded. Simple.”

Red Alert huffed as he crossed his legs, back ramrod straight. “So you are using me to manipulate Prowl.”

“Motivate him.” Colussus corrected and finished his vinho. His gaze flickered over Red Alert’s frame. “You will have everything you require in the arenas. Energon, apartments, entertainment, medical care.”

“But not freedom!” Red Alert snapped as he leaned forward. He jumped as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, his plating burning where the unwelcome appendage tainted his frame. Careful Red! You need to buy time not enemies.

Colussus considered him coolly as he reclined on the couch. “You are mine. You will be so till you die.”

And in that single statement Colussus sealed his intent. Red Alert smiled wrily at him, his words dripping with thinly veiled sarcasm. “Or till the debt has been paid or does our accommodations and energon and all our ‘requirements’ add to the open-ended debt-” He hissed as the hand on his shoulder clamped down. Red Alert was sure those big paws dented his plating. He resisted the desire to shrug the hand off.

“Easy Clench, I don’t want him damaged.” Colusses let his gaze drift to the bruises and sticky energon covering Red Alert’s wrists. The vinho flowed warm through his tubes and the site of the dark blue energon aroused excitement in his core. He smiled as he canted his helm. The crimson optics darkened as he studied Red Alert’s petite frame. The little mech before him wasn’t only a pretty face, he had some nerve. His frame warmed. Yes. Clench had made a good choice. He should reward him. “Arrange for Reworx to get that fixed. Then send him for a proper polish and repaint. We want him to properly motivate Nightstalker. Then choose any mech you’d like.”

Icy fingers stuck their claws through Red Alert’s spark. He had seen that wanton look on many mechs’ faces before. He swallowed and hunched over, whatever courage he had fleeing him as old wounds were pried and poked at. A million reincarnations would never rid him of those horrible vorns.

The couch creaked as Colussus stood. His being emanated power as he stooped before Red Alert.

Red Alert’s spark thrummed fast and hot. He couldn’t vent and he tried desperately to suck air in through his too-narrow vents. He jolted as large hands gripped his chin and yanked his helm up. The blunt fingers dug into his delicate protoform.

Red Alert kept his gaze downcast, focusing instead on the thick metal covering the giant’s sparkchamber. For one, sickening moment he wished he had a dagger, but dismissed that thought just as quickly as memories threatened to overwhelm him.

Colussus’ other hand came up and molested a delicate sensory horn. Red Alert shuttered his optics, fighting the bile that rose from his roiling tank. His lips pressed into a thin line. He was powerless. Helpless. The fingers dug in deeper and he winced.

Colossus grabbed him behind his helm and yanked him forward, crushing their mouths together. His glossa, hard and invasive, forced itself into his mouth. Bitterness mixed with the heady aftertaste of Vosian vinho. Red Alert uttered a muffled cry as he struggled, but the mech pulled him closer. Powerless. Helpless. He gasped as Colussus dropped him, angry tears burning his optics as he glared into lustful, crimson optics.

Colussus smiled, his face bare millimetres from Red Alert’s face as the blunt fingers caressed his cheek. “Motivate him, or I will be the first you serve.”

Despite his expectation of being escorted back to that claustrophobic little box he had woken in, Red Alert was taken to a small, windowless apartment on the first subfloor.

He ran a digit over the counter of the compact kitchenette and glanced into the open-plan room. There was a small living room with low-back couches – ideal for winged-mecha. To the right a door led towards the washracks and berthroom. He’d already done a thorough search and had found three bugs and four cameras.

A grimace pulled at Red Alert’s lips. A guilded cage.

Well, at least it’s one of the best you’ve had in...forever.

He wiped a hand over his face and glanced at the innocently placed energon dispenser. His tank growled. He vented and shook his helm. He needed to refuel, but Primus knows what they’ve placed in that energon. What if it was an opioid? What if they became addicted? Then it would just be one more way for them to tighten the invisible chains.

“So close. I was so close to being free.” Red Alert sighed warily as he trudged to the couch, his shoulders sagging. This was all Prowl’s fault. He should have ditched him from the onset.

You’d be dead if it wasn’t for him.

Well, I’m probably going to be dead because of him.

He flopped onto the couch and stared at his reflection in the glistering ceiling. The medic had done a fine job in patching him up again. He felt as shiny as a common whore. He grit his denta as shame flashed through him hot and clingy. He touched his lips and swallowed at the repugnant metallic taste in his mouth. His lips curled as bile rose. Primus damn it!

He bolted for the washracks, barely reaching it in time before he purched what little remained in his tanks.

Dry heaving, he flopped back onto the cold, marble tiles and wiped the condensation off his helm. He needed to shower. He needed to get that awful feeling of mechs pawing their dirty little hands all over his frame off him. He crawled to his knees and into the shower. Using the wall to help him up, he hit the ‘on’ button.

He sucked in air as the cold solvent hit his frame. He bucketed his hand until enough solvent gathered then scrubbed his face. Memories clawed at him. Memories of selling his frame to be awarded half a cube of stale energon. Selling his frame to avoid a beating. Selling his frame to appease his sire. Selling himself piece by piece. Losing himself piece by piece.

He scrubbed harder. He swore he’d never go back there.

You swore a lot of things, but look. You’re still here aren’t you?

The cynical voice crooned in his helm, teasing his brittle emotions. His shoulders sagged as he rested his helm against the wall. The solvent warmed, but his spark felt shrouded in a heavy cloak of depression.

That’s right. You think you’re so clever. You think you can slip away and evade your fate…but you can’t! She’ll always catch up to you. You’re a nothing. A nobody. Scared of everything. Failing in everything. Powerless. Helpless. How are you going to get out of here? You are dependent on another mech. Again. Was it worth it? Was he worth the cost?

Angry tears stung Red Alert’s optics. “I’m not listening to you.”

Oh but you are. More than that, you know I’m just being honest. This is Prowl’s fault.

Red Alert pressed his hands over his audials as his throat constricted. Drops of warm solvent ran down his frame. This wasn’t Prowl’s fault. Not entirely. He should have checked the door. He should have left. He should have made the choice. Not Prowl. Prowl was too naïve. Prowl was….

The reason you are here. What? Can’t deny it? Prowl got you into this. You should never have helped him. But no…worse…you trusted him. And where has that gotten you?

Red Alert shook. “I don’t trust him, and I’m not listening to you.” He whispered as static rippled over his protoform. The beginning stages of his glitch.  

You have to. I’m the only one who’s always been here for you. I’ve never left you. Never betrayed you.

Harsh laughter burst from Red Alert’s lips.

You can’t deny it, can you? As much as you hate me you can’t be without me. I’m part of you. I’m part of what makes you tick. You don’t need anybody! They just hurt you. Abandon you. Tear out your spark. I’m the only one who really cares about you. Did I get you into this mess?

Red Alert turned round and slowly slid down the cold wall, his engine whining. The warm steam from the solvent filled the washroom and clouded his vision like the mists on the Tangenese mountains. He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his helm.

“I’m not listening to you…” Red Alert whispered brokenly as his voice caught. “I’m not listening to you.”

 You have to! If you want to survive, ditch this mech! What you think he’s going to continue protecting you? Do you think he’ll run into Colussus’ apartment and rip the mech off your writhing frame?

Red Alert’s shoulders hunched as tears mixed with solvent. “Please, please stop!” Static lanced painfully through his frame, building towards the top of his helm until finally small bursts of pain sparked at the tip of his horns. He sat, back against the wall as solvent continued to pelt his frigid frame.

There now, it’s ok. I’m here. I’ll get you out of here. We’ll do it together. Look for their weakness and use it. We don’t need anyone. We don’t need Prowl. We’ll get out of here and head north alone.

Red Alert’s vent caught and he wiped at the tears, a strut-deep exhaustion draining his very essence. All through his existence his always had to rely on himself. No one else. Those who had sought to shelter him only ended up dead or betrayed him to save their own plating. But Prowl, Prowl had never demanded anything. He reminded Red Alert of a sparkling. Innocent. Well, innocent until het got a dagger in his hand. But still…his mind went over their journey. He hated to admit it, but “I can’t leave Prowl.” He placed a hand over his optics to shut out the light.

Sure you can. Look where he landed you. Right back in prison. So much for innocence.

“He saved me. I owe him.”

Owe him? Owe him!? He owes you! If it wasn’t for you would he have made it this far?

A wry smile pulled at Red Alert’s lips as memories danced before his burning optics. Prowl had saved his skidplates without hesitation. Not once had he demanded anything in return. Well almost. Red Alert snorted as he thought back to the primus-damned medication. He vented and wiped his olfactory.  “He’d probably be North already. I’ve just been a hindrance. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself.” He closed his optics and rested his helm back against the wall. “I’m weak. I can’t fight. I’m paranoid. And I hear voices.”

And because of him the Institution probably knows where you are now. All your careful planning. Gone! Leave him. You knew from the start that this relationship is bound for disaster. Or have you forgotten so quickly that you are cursed with relationships? Who’d want a glitch as a friend?

Drawing in a ragged, hiccupping vent, Red Alert pushed himself off the floor and shut the shower off. “I don’t have the energy for this.” He was so, so tired. And hungry. And worst of all his stupid glitch was working overtime at chipping away his resolve. Perhaps if there was an opioid in the energon it would drown out his glitch and he’d be free for a few joors. On shaky legs he made his way to the kitchen, using the walls for support. He reached the berthroom door when his glitch needled his way into his processor again.

You’ll also be vulnerable if its drugged.

Red Alert stopped. He looked at the dispenser with longing. Would it be so bad to be vulnerable for just a few breems? But even as he thought it the monster in him rose. Yes. Yes it would be worse than bad. Red Alert shook his helm and backed away. He couldn’t be vulnerable now. He was too vulnerable already. His tank growled again and he bit his lips. The civil war between his processor and frame needs were never-ending, but processor over matter always won. He turned away and headed to the berth. Half of his existence had been spent in starvation. He’d survive.

His sensor net tingled and he paused. Cocking his helm to the side he shuttered his optics and focused all his energy on his audials. Pedesteps, large and lumbering, resonated from the hallway.

Snapping his optics open, he glanced around the room and at the shadows. There was one area the cameras would be blind to. He flung himself against the wall and waited, spark pulsing in his throat. Had Colussus decided that they would have a taste of him now? Had they seen his vulnerability when he had purged his tanks?

The door swished open and his vents caught. Silence hung thick and brittle in the air. The pedesteps retreated, but still Red Alert was pinned to the wall.

Licking his lips, Red Alert extended his powerful sensors to fill the gaps in his visual space. A familiar spark-signature brushed against his sensory net. Relief so powerful it threatened to floor him washed over him and he dropped his helm, venting the hot air that he had held. As the relief receded, a new powerful emotion roared to life. Like a tsunami, anger crashed into him, coursing through his lines like hot, boiling liquid. It might not be entirely Prowl’s fault, but Primus damn him he had the predacon’s share in it! He clenched his fists and marched into the living room.

Prowl stood rooted at the door, doorwings arched high as he inspected his surroundings. He turned as Red Alert strode into the room. His golden optics flashed and milliseconds later a deep-scan tickled over Red Alert’s frame.

Red Alert shrieked and grabbed the nearest object from the counter and flung it at Prowl. “HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU DO. NOT. SCAN. ME!” He grabbed the back of his helm, vents heaving. “Argh! Can’t you just listen to what I say!”

Energon pounded in his audials as he glared at Prowl, his anger fuelled by a maelstrom of fear, exhaustion and stress. “Look where we are!” He swept his arm over the room and stomped his pede. “In a cage Prowl! A Primus-fragging cage! And where have you been!?”

Prowl bent and picked up the cube Red Alert had flung at him and placed it on the counter. He cocked his helm. “This does not suite the definition of a cage. You required medical assistance. They provided it.”

Red Alert raised both hands into the air and made a slashing movement. “Maybe I just needed some rest! What the frag made you come to the arenas! You know we have to remain under the radar and you fragging go to the one place that’s broadcast live over the entire Primus-fragged Cybertron! Are you completely stupid!?” Red Alert spun away from Prowl and pressed his hands against his sparking horns.

“You were unconscious.”

“I was recharging!” Red Alert snapped as he spun again and flapped his arms at his side.

Prowl arched his optic ridge slightly, but otherwise remained as still as a frozen crystal statue.

Red Alert slapped the counter, pain shooting through his wrists. “Look where we are!”

Prowl ran his gaze over the apartment, his placid optics not showing a hint of emotions. “We are in suitable accommodations.”

“We. Are. In. A. CAGE!” Red Alert shouted and curled his fists on the dark counter. “This is barely better than the Institution! We can’t get out of here! We don’t have freedom! We’re no better than slaves here! And speaking of which, do you know they scanned your serial? Don’t you fragging understand the consequences?! If the Institution picks up on that serial number they’ll come get us! And we’re easy pickings! You’ve undone everything!”

“Then we must leave.”

Red Alert burst into hysterical laughter and curled into himself. Leave. As if it was that simple. “Do you have any idea what you did!” The laughter turned into sobs as his sensory net burned. He was stuck. He couldn’t run. They were watching him. They saw his weakness. They saw him powerless. Helpless. The sobs shook his frame until it engulfed his entire being.

Prowl stared at the hunched over form of Red Alert. How did he handle this? His processor ached dully as he searched his databanks. Finding nothing except that mechs in distress required stability and comfort, he walked around the counter and stopped next to the hunched form. After a few moments pondering the situation, he drew Red Alert upright. Perhaps if he was upright he could tell Prowl what the appropriate course of action should be.

Tears streamed down Red Alert’s face, but anger twisted his visage and he pushed Prowl away, wanting distance between them. He hugged himself as he glared at the Praxian.

For the first time Red Alert noticed the darkened optics. He paused and swallowed. Was Prowl…concerned? His spark twisted. He pressed his lips together. Good. He should be.

“Did they harm you?”

Harm you!? Heat flooded Red Alert’s frame and he felt his cheeks turn crimson, but some of the venom bled from his system. Prowl was concerned. For him. He sucked in air. Calm down. Screaming at him won’t help. He doesn’t understand. Get it together.  

Red Alert wiped at his olfactory with his arm, his roiling emotions netted behind his thin, precarious self-control. “I’m fine.” He rasped, refusing to look at Prowl as he wiped his cheeks. Ok. Outburst over. You’ve got this. You’re ok.

Prowl watched the small changes dancing across Red Alert’s face through sharp optics. Fine – satisfactory. Red Alert said he was fine, meaning there was nothing wrong, yet his actions did not align with the definition of his words. There was something wrong. Red Alert was acting off, yet he dared not run another scan. His spark welled, but a sharp sting shot through his processor and he grunted. He raised a hand to his temple and pressed against the pain. “You state one meaning yet your frame communicates a different meaning.”

Red Alert vented as he struggled to control the tide of emotions. He opened his mouth a few times as he searched for words that Prowl would understand. He drew a deep vent. You are the adult here. He doesn’t understand.

And that’s why you’ve got to dump him.

Shut up! He glared at the camera innocently sitting in the corner above the door. Its static optic never blinked or tiring. Shame filled him as he realised they had witnessed his entire chaotic meltdown. He thought back to the bugs. Could they listen in as well? His shoulders sagged. Most likely.

“I’m fixed, Prowl. However, we are back to square one.” He stared through empty optics, the fight completely draining out from him. He was back to being monitored. Back to being constantly watched. Back in a cage. Captured.  “You do realise though that we simply cannot leave here? Hmm?”

Prowl blinked slowly. Red Alert appeared…more stable. He planted his pedes white and nodded sharply. “Affirmative. I need to be champion of the games to obtain our freedom to leave.”

“Do you know what that entails?” Red Alert voice was flat as hugged himself, rubbing his hands over his arms. Prowl made it sound so easy, but what had they told him? And did he even understand what they’d told him. He wouldn’t be able to simply leave.

Prowl closed the distance between them, his gait measured and confident. His smooth field was comforting against Red Alert’s frayed and glitching net. The Praxian draped his silver doorwings over Red Alert and the comforting warmth slowly seeped into his shivering frame. They stood cocooned beneath his wings, safely hidden from prying cameras.

Red Alert had no idea if this was the purpose of Prowl draping his wings over him, but he wasn’t about to complain. The constriction that clamped around his spark eased just that tiny bit.

Prowl searched Red Alert’s face. The frown that had pulled his optic ridges together had eased. He tagged draping his doorwings over the mech as adequate comfort. “I need to defeat the mechs to advance to the next round. You will be provided for and kept safe in that time. I will be required to train during the orn, but have sufficient rest between matches.”

“Did they tell you what would happen if you lose?” Despite himself and his better judgement, Red Alert leaned into the stability that Prowl offered. His HUD lit up that he required fuel urgently. He stole a glimpse at the treacherous dispenser, but it was hidden behind Prowl’s doorwings. He bit his lip.

Prowl pulled his doorwings tighter around Red Alert. “I will not lose.”

“But what if you do?” Red Alert insisted. He had to know if they had told Prowl that Red Alert will be used as the gladiator’s release for all the pent-up frustrations and energon-lust. He shivered at the thought. He’d nearly been snuffed once before; he wasn’t keen on a repeat.

Prowl’s jaw tightened and he raised a hand to cup Red Alert’s face. Unlike Colussus’ touch, Prowl’s touch held nothing but a sincere desire at reassurance that Red Alert desperately needed. “I will not lose.”

Red Alert felt the tears spring into his optics and he leaned into the touch. Whether this was a natural move on Prowl’s part, or something the chip dictated he didn’t care. He needed to be grounded. He hated his weakness. He hated being pitiful, being helpless. Powerless. If only he could be like Prowl.

He doesn’t understand. He probably doesn’t even know.

That was most likely true. The chip would assist Prowl with the basics of interacting in a society, but he’d have no idea of the many complexities that came with developed mecha. He took everything at face value.

“If you lose then they will use me.” Red Alert grit out as he blinked back the tears. He had to be stronger. He had to be like Prowl. Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t make this journey without Prowl. It wasn’t just for his physical protection. He swallowed at that realisation. Prowl was simply becoming another crutch. How long before he too would be ripped from under him? It would be wiser to dump him and get out of here during one of his matches. His spark constricted. It would be.

A small furrow appeared between Prowl’s optic ridges as he sensed the roiling, baffling field that emanated from Red Alert. He tried to make sense of it. He was providing both comfort and stability. Was there something else he should do? Perhaps Red Alert did not understand that he would not be required to fight. “You are unable to fight, so they will not use you.”

Red Alert shook his helm to dislodge Prowl’s hand. The warm doorwings were retracted and a powerful sense of loss flooded Red Alert. Steeling himself against it, he trudged over to the couch. He sank warily onto it, its softness bringing little comfort. “I won’t be used to fight. They will use me to interface. If you lose, then they will give me to mechs so that we can interface.”

Prowl’s doorwings arched high and his optics flashed. “You are not mates.”

Red Alert shook his helm. How did he explain rape to a mech who probably didn’t even know he could interface for pleasure without being mates? He sighed. He wasn’t going to educate Prowl on that. Not this orn. “No, we are not mates. That is what makes it hurt.”

The doorwings extended to their full span and Prowl marched to Red Alert. He went down on his knee to be optic-to-optic with Red Alert.

“If they hurt you I will destroy them.”

Red Alert stared into the simmering golden optics. It was the first time he had seen that depth of emotion in them. Anger. Determination.

Pain lanced over Prowl’s visage and his doorwings spasmed. Just as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. So too, were the emotions simmering in the pools of molten gold.

“Prowl?” Red Alert took his face in both of his hands and studied him. Was it the block? He dared not utter those words out loud. They needed to figure it out. Prowl couldn’t glitch in the arena. Primus, he shouldn’t be glitching anywhere! Was it strong emotions that brought this on? Or was it still part of the chip integration. Primus slag it, he’d completely forgotten about Prowl’s episode in his own murky mire of doubt.

Before Red Alert could continue with this train of thought, Prowl blinked and his doorwings lost their spastic stance. “I will not let them use you.”

As much as he wanted to ask Prowl about the reaction and what he was experiencing, the knowledge of monitoring equipment had the questions die on his glossa. Red Alert would have to figure some other way to ask Prowl about it.

He drew a vent and laid his hand on top of Prowl’s helm as one would a sparkling. Prowl, for all his naivety, was sincere and it warmed Red Alert to think that he meant every word when he said he wouldn’t allow them to use Red Alert, but he also knew the harsh reality that Prowl had no way to reinforce them. He couldn’t take on the entire arena. Pit, Red Alert wasn’t even sure he would be able to take on the Terrors. As skilled as Prowl was, he lacked experience and craftiness. The Terrors were known for both. “Thanks Prowl.” What else could he say?

“I will kill every mech in the arena.”

Red Alert swallowed. “You have strong opponents. They will not be easy to kill.” He drew a shaky vent as tears threatened again. He leaned forward and pressed his helm against Prowl’s. “Prowl,” he uttered barely above a whisper, “we need to escape from this place before the Games.”

And before the Institution traced them.

Silvermist transformed a good distance from the city of Tarn and watched the city as the second sun ducked beneath the horizon. It was safer out here on the open road than in the filthy city, especially during the night cycle.

He wondered if Jazz had received his latest communicube. He had closed his lead on the two subjects. Seems like Jazz’s hunch on their routes were correct and they had spent, or attempted to pend the night at Crux. An unexpected and curios twist was that they had bought a basic chip.

He had relayed the merchant’s story that the two were slaves and that one was carrying - that would explain the chip. He would have stopped his entire mission at that point, except that the merchant had also tagged on how four mechs, in hopes of a bounty from the owner, had been brutally murdered. It confirmed Jazz’s suspicion that the Praxian was a highly skilled fighter.

A basic chip and skilled killers.

That raised more questions than answers.

It might still be a wild cyberhawk chase and not related to their mission at all, but Silvermist couldn’t shake the feeling that they were on to something.

“Out of my way!” The mech sprinted down the over-bright, white-washed hallways clutching a datapad as if his life depended on it. Medics and assistants flattened themselves against the walls as they sprang out of his way, calling curses down upon his helm and hollering threats after his retreating form.

The mech didn’t care. His crimson optics shone with the predatory satisfaction of having found his prey.

He burst into the surgical ward. The pungent smell of anaesthetics and sterilisers slammed into him and he skidded to a halt. He ignored the screaming mech pinned to an examination table as he focused on the medic.

The medic withdrew his hands from his specimen’s entrails and grabbed a cloth to wipe at the dripping energon. The purple face etched into the mech’s chest plating snarled at him.

Over-bright optics bore into him as the medic stepped forward. “This better be important or you will be taking his place.”

The mech blanched, but held up the datapad with a trembling hand.

“I’ve found him.”

Chapter Text

“Ten orns.” Red Alert whispered as he gently rubbed the lathering sponge down Prowl’s scarred doorwing. He had been fighting every orn for ten orns. The only small consolation Red Alert felt was that so far there had been no sign of the Institution’s mechs. Hot steam swirled around and cloaked them in the too tiny washrack.  

Prowl’s doorwings dipped down in acknowledgement that he had heard, but he didn’t say anything. He was tired, and a dull, listless fatigue clung to his frame like lichen.  

Red Alert’s shoulders dropped as he stared at Prowls back. Sometimes he would forget that both he and Prowl were barely into their mech frames. How long would Prowl be able to keep this up? Yes, he was a fantastic, lethal and precise fighter. In the Games he had quickly gained curios attention, then sadistic adoration. The designation of ‘Nightstalker’ had been catapulted to fame and mechs and femmes were practically throwing themselves at him. The fact that he ignored them just ignited their lust to reach frenzied states. 

The ringmasters thrived on both the credits and zeal; ecstatic for having not one but three champions, and the calls to have the champions pitted against each other reached fever pitch. And so they capitulated and had pitted Prowl against the Red Terror. 

Red Alert moved on to Prowl’s left side, careful of the gash that was still healing. He had watched that battle chained to the wall of the small waiting cell. He had recognised the red mech the moment he had stepped onto the hot arena floor and a vice had gripped his spark.  

Red Alert shook the memories from his thoughts as he went on his knees and studied the gash. “Does it still hurt?” He asked Prowl gently, as he cleaned around it. He really didn’t want to think about that fight.  

“Negligent.” Prowl answered as he leaned against the wall. 

Red Alert huffed. “So it still hurts.”  It had been the first time he thought Prowl might not walk off that cursed arena, and he nearly hadn’t. Sideswipe was as nimble as quicksilver, and like quicksilver flowed from one attack to the next. It was to Prowl’s credit that he had held his own, but had the fight continued longer Red Alert would have had his doubts if this gash would have been the most serious wound. His only comfort sprinkled with a touch of his own sadistic pleasure was that Prowl had dealt as good as he had received and had scored a hit or two on the Red Terror. 

Red Alert rose and turned the solvent off. “Let’s get you repainted, fuelled and into the berth. You need all the rest you can get.” He stepped past Prowl and grabbed the towel. He handed it to Prowl as he studied him critically. “I’ll get the paint.” He didn’t dare say how much he hated the new paint job – pitch black with a ruby red chevron and golden optics that seemed to glow. He looked like a Pit-demon. Red Alert’s mouth pulled down at the corners. Probably fitting. He grabbed the paint and the paintbrushes he would need.   

Prowl had proved himself demon enough in the arenas. Spectators loved it. Red Alert hated it. Prowl was oblivious to it.  

Red Alert glanced at him and Prowl caught his gaze, the liquid gold hardening and shooting him a piercing upward glance like lightning that dissected him through and through. Red Alert had dubbed it the ‘scannerless scanning’ look.  

Prowl cocked his black helm and the corner of his mouth dipped slightly. 

Red Alert smiled as he held up the paints. “Let’s get those nanites shining again.”  

“You are concerned.” Prowl stated softly as he walked into the berthroom. His gate was almost normal, but Red Alert could see him favouring the leg by the way he held his shoulders and doorwings.  

Red Alert opened the paint and dipped the paintbrush in the black, sparkling nanites. He didn’t look at Prowl because, yes, he was concerned. He was more than concerned. If Sideswipe was that effective what would Sunstreaker be like? He’d seen the fights. Sideswipe played and toyed with his prey. Sunstreaker, like Prowl, was deadly. If the Twins fought together they were invincible. What if they pitted Prowl against both of them? He knew how to fight, but he lacked experience. 

And then what would happen to you?  

He paused. It was something he preferred not to think about. He’d managed to hack the systems. He knew the ins and outs, but they were no closer to escaping than the first orn. Prowl was jealously guarded by the arena vultures. In turn, Red Alert was also held under close watch. 

He was the weakest link.

Prowl twitched as Red Alert accidentally bumped the gash to his side.  

“Sorry.” He grimaced and moved to the other side. Idly he felt Prowl’s field dipping. He drew a vent and placed the paint on the side table. “You need to recharge. Lie down. I’ll get you a cube and I’ll patch you up while you recharge.” No doubt those fragging vultures would be back soon enough, unless Sideswipe’s match had earned him a small respite.  

Red Alert grabbed a cube and headed to the dispenser. Prowl preferred his energon bland, but Red Alert added some copper and other restorative minerals. Thankfully the energon had proved harmless enough. Seems like the arena masters preferred their mechs sober for the matches. Another bonus point of the energon dispenser was that Red Alert was able to compact some cubes and stash them in a small pocket of his subspace. It would go a long way once they busted out of this prison. 

Prowl’s venting had already evened out when he returned to their berthroom. Red Alert sat next to him and extended his field to prod at Prowl’s.  

“Hey, I’ve got your energon.” Red Alert held it out to Prowl as he lifted his helm. Wordlessly he took it and drank it in one go before dropping the cube and snuggling back into the plush berth. 

Red Alert bit his lip as he grabbed the cube. Prowl couldn’t keep up at this pace. He was exhausted and injured and they really, really needed to find a way out of here.  

Drumming his fingers on the empty cube, Red Alert got up and headed to the small lounge. He was programmed to find the weaknesses. He knew where every camera sat, he knew how to break their firewalls and override security. Pit, he even knew how to lock them out of the systems. His problem was the logistics and the doors that didn’t use electronics to run them but instead relied on manual lock mechanisms. When they had first shackled him, he had thought it primitive and barbaric, but he was beginning to see the value on having a hybrid system, even though it irked him to no end. 

The best time to orchestrate an escape would be during the dark cycle, but Prowl was exhausted and Red Alert would need him to fight. Also, the mechs had blasters. Prowl was fast and precise, but he wasn’t faster than a blaster shot. 

He threw the cup in the disposer and paced the ten steps to the distant wall and back. “Think Red, there’s got to be a way.” He rubbed his hands over his helm, but nothing came to mind. 

The sound of mechs in the hallway froze the energon in his lines.  

Please move past us. He squeezed his optics shut and held his vents. 

The alarm to their door disengaged and Red Alert released a vivid curse as he turned, glanced at Prowl’s room, then headed to the door. 

The door swooshed open and a burly mech walked in. Red Alert sneered as he recognised him as one of Colussus’ personal guards. 

“The boss wishes to see you.” He said and looked around the room. 

Red Alert threw his hip out and folded his arms over his chest. “Prowl’s recharging and we are not going to wake him now.” 

The mech stared at Red Alert. “The boss – “  

“Wishes to see us. Fine. I’ll go.” Red Alert hissed and raised his plating.  

Are you crazy? Do you remember what happened last time? 

Red Alert grit his denta as unease rippled through him. Prowl needs to rest. If he dies, I die. “I will talk with Colussus and then with Prowl, but he is injured and needs his rest.”  

The guardsmech glared at Red Alert a moment before Red Alert picked up the tell-tale buzz of a comm signal. He dialled his sensory net up, not for the first time regretted that he never mastered hacking a comm frequency.  

“The boss will see you.” The guardsmech said and nodded, extending his hand and waiving Red Alert to follow him. 

 *** 

Silvermist slid into the shadows as he watched the two Decepticons lumber through the busy market place. Staking out the arenas had paid off wonderfully when he had spotted these two entering the arenas, only to storm out three joors later.  

He could tell by their agitated movements and angry scowls that whatever they had set out to do they had failed.  

What interested him more in these two individuals than the fact that they were Cons were the fact that they had the marking of the scientific division. As soon as he had more intel on these two he needed to get a comunicube to Jazz.  

The two mechs finally entered a little bar off in a side street. Silvermist waited a breem then followed.  

The bar was mostly dark inside, the walls barely illuminated by the crystals drilled into their sides. A few patrons sat at various tables, and Silvermist spotted his prey in the far corner of the bar. There was an empty table close to them. Perfect.  

He ambled to the bar, ordered the house special and took his seat. He pulled out a datapad and opened the latest gambling tabloid. It would do for his cover while he tuned his audials to the voices behind him.  

“ – will be slagged.”  

“We’ve notified them. Nothing we can do but wait.”  

“Yeah? For how long?” The whiny Con’s voice dropped and Silvermist strained to focus on it. “We can make contact with locals.”  

“We wait.” His companion stated with finality and Silvermist heard the other sigh accompanied by a creak of the mech’s chair.  

“Yes, but we – ”   

“Here you go.” The bar tender plonked his cube down in front of Silvermist, the fizzy fluid sloshing over the edges of the cube. He smiled tightly and took it, but to his annoyance, instead of leaving the bar tender leaned over to get a good look at his tablet.  

“Ah, I see you’re a gambling mech?” He leaned against the table and Silvermist had the sinking sensation that this mech wanted to chat, and he was chatting loudly enough to draw attention but also to cover up more private conversations. Just great. He’d have to mark this as a potential Con contact point.  

Silvermist leaned back in his chair and flicked the datapad. “Jip. Betting on the games.” He sipped his drink and promptly decided never again to order the house special.  

“Arenas? Sure to be interesting this vorn. Heard they are shaking things up with their new champion.”   

“Oh?” Silvermist cocked his helm. The two Cons had fallen silent and Silvermist smiled. There might be something in this after all. “Tell me your thoughts.”  

The bar tender rubbed his hands together. “Well, as I said they got a new champ. Don’t know where they got him. Lotta speculation running round saying they’d been hiding and training him especially for the games.” The host shrugged and scratched his chin. “He’s good alright, but he ain’t fighting like an arena mech.”  

Silvermist felt his plating crawl as the two mechs zoomed in on him. Not exactly the kind of eavesdropping he was hoping for. He shrugged and leaned forward on the table, spinning his glass from hand to hand. “So, ya telling me this is some military mech? Won’t be the first.” It was common for deserters to be flung into the arenas.  

Even as he said it the bar tender shook his helm slowly. “Mech, I’ve been here long enough to know a deserter from a fighter. This one is something else.” He shifted his big bulk and looked into the distance. “He took on Siders and gave him a run for his creds. Sunstreaker should be livid. Heard they’re planning to pit him and Sunstreaker together.” He shrugged as he turned. “My creds will be on Sunny.”  

Silvermist grunted and turned back to his datapad. The Con’s chairs scrapped across the floor. Carefully he slipped a tracking film into his palm. He’d have one chance to stick to one of them. He waited until the Con was walking past him then grabbed his elbow.  

“Scuse me, was wondering if you know where the closest – “ He didn’t get to finish as the Con yanked his arm away.  

“Touch me again and I’ll kill you.”  

Silvermist raised both hands placatingly. “Slag mech! Just wanted to ask a question. Frag.” He sneered and turned back to his datapad. He watched them go from underneath a furrowed ridge. The tracking film should stick long enough to get an idea on where they were heading. First, he needed to send that communicube. Secondly, he needed more info on the new champ.  

 ***  

“Get in there!”   

Red Alert stumbled as he was shoved into the small cell. He turned and hissed at the guard as they slammed and bolted the door.  

“Imbeciles.” Red Alert pulled himself up to his full height and dusted his armour. He flexed his fingers and vented deeply. His neural relay was shot. This was it. The final round. He turned to pace…and stopped short. He blinked at the red mech ogling him.   

“You!” Red Alert shrieked as he stepped back and pointed an accusing finger.  

“Yip. The one and only! You expecting someone else?” Sideswipe swung his legs off the berth and stretched. His easy smile would have fooled many but for the dangerous glint in his optics.  

Red Alert narrowed his optics at the display. If the red hooligan thought he was impressed by his frame, well, think again. He’s seen nicer frames. He lifted his chin and folded his arms over his chassis. “What are you doing here?”  

Sideswipe shrugged as he got up and pointed to the screen at the far wall. “Same as you. They keep us here during the final match. The winner takes it all.”   

A chill ran down Red Alert’s spine and he hugged himself. He had a couple of ideas what ‘winner takes it all’ could mean, and none of them was to his benefit. Although what that could mean for Sideswipe was different. He cleared his vocaliser. “If Prowl wins?”  

He braced himself as he heard Sideswipe shuffling.  

“He won’t.”  

Red Alert whirled round to face the red mech and flared his armour. “Don’t be so sure of yourself!” He hissed, small fins flaring before slicking them back.   

Sideswipe cocked his helm as he watched Red Alert then sighed and leaned back against the wall. “Mech’s good, but he ain’t good enough. I fought him. I know his skill.” He tapped his chassis right above his spark. “Sunny knows it too.”  

“How..” Red Alert started then stopped as understanding dawned. “You’re split sparks. Sunstreaker will know everything from your fight.” He ran a hand over his helm. Primus mech how could you fragging forget that!? Red Alert swallowed the heavy lump stuck in this throat. There was no way to warn Prowl. And Prowl…Prowl would have to figure Sunstreaker’s weakness from feints, while Sunstreaker knew. He Primus-fragit knew!  

“That is an unfair advantage!” He took a few deliberate steps towards Sideswipe and balled his fists. His spark raced and his vents came faster. He swallowed the fear. You’re gonna die. Great. You both are gonna die. 

He sucked in a deep vent and lowered his helm at Sideswipe. No, no you’re not going to die. Keep it together. 

Sideswipe growled and pushed off the wall, the supine grace of a predator evident in every movement. “Frag mech? Unfair advantage? What do you think this is a nobility dual? We don’t survive by slagging fair!”  

Slag! Slag. Prowl’s gonna die. I’m gonna die! No no no no! Red Alert scrunched his face and gripped his horn as a small spark erupted. He couldn’t have an episode now…it wasn’t safe. Not in front of Sideswipe. Focus, keep it together. He drew in rapid vents to calm the rapid heating of his frame. “Got to think of something! Got to…to…” he whirled back to the door, glanced at the cameras. If he could just –   

A hand grabbed his arm and yanked him back. Red Alert shrieked and blindly swung his fist at his attacker. His glitch roared to life. “I’m not dying here!” His fist connected with a satisfying grunt. 

Rough hands grabbed him. The world tilted sickeningly for a moment before his helm connected with the wall. Sparks erupted from his horns and a scream tore from his vocaliser.  

A heavy frame rammed into him, effectively pinning him to the wall.  

Sparks erupted from his horns and his vision flashed. He struggled to suck air into his burning vents. Somewhere above him something was being said, but all he could hear was the screeching voice within.  

Getoutgetoutgetout!  

He had to…somehow…if Prowl died… He grit his denta and flipped his helm back. He connected loudly in a blurry of sparks and lights. An arm snaked around his throat and pulled him back against a solid chassis. His helm pounded as the energon flow was expertly constricted. 

Nononononono!   

He clawed at the crimson arm with the desperation of a dying mech. Low sounds vibrated next to his audio as the room darkened. The pressure in his helm was unbearable and he squeezed his optics shut. 

Please Primus don’t let us die here!  

 ***   

The scorching suns beat down relentlessly on the slick, energon soaked arenas as Prowl faced his latest and deadliest enemy. With singular focus he let the droning cries of the masses fade into the background. 

Sunstreaker stood poised with two deadly sickle knives, ready to attack at the slightest opening. The violet optics held no fear nor rage as had his other opponents, and he was the undisputed champion of the arena for vorns. He was also the twin of the red mech that Prowl had faced off. If Sideswipe’s fighting style was any indication, he would have to be cautious with the golden mech.  

Prowl flicked his doorwings back and up as the golden mech circled him. Prowl matched him step-for-step as they sized each other. 

Should he win this fight, then he and Red Alert would be free to leave and continue to the North. Should he die, then Red Alert would remain the property of the Arena. 

His fists tightened minutely on his daggers. That outcome was unacceptable. 

He darted his opponent a sharp, upward glance. The mech left no opening for him to quickly strike, neither did he let his optics stray from Prowl. 

Like lightning the golden mech struck and Prowl barely had time to block a swipe to his leg. Instead he parried and swept his short dagger to the mech’s left, but like an eel he slithered to the side and landed a nick on Prowl’s right. Prowl disengaged and jumped back, baring his denta.  

The mech followed him and Prowl was forced to defend, being driven back by lightning-quick strikes he barely managed to deflect. Two more steps back Prowl feinted then pivoted. The golden mech was in the middle of a strike which left his left side open. 

Prowl took his chance and lunged. 

An angry hiss and a roar from the crowd accompanied the trickle of blue energon, but Prowl knew it wasn’t a primary blow. It would sting, but not deter his opponent. Pressing his advance, Prowl continued to push for an opening, ignoring the condensation dripping from his helm and the tingling pain in his side. 

Both mechs faded and drew deep vents as the angry suns beat down on them. His doorwing twitched at a high-pitched whistle, but before his processor could adequately tag it as a priority the golden mech attacked. Caught off guard, a sharp stab of pain to his already injured side buckled him and he barely deflected the blade aimed at his main line in time. The momentum of the mech carried him forward and the two blades caught hilt to hilt. Furious violet optics glared into cold golden ones. 

His processor screeched an alarm miliclicks before the whistling registered audibly. Prowl pushed away from the golden mech at the same time an invisible, explosive hand threw him high into the air. 

The impact knocked the air from his vents and static covered his vision. He grunted as he pushed himself off the ground, sounds distant and muffled and the suns three times as hot as they were before. He raised a hand to his helm and shook, trying to dispel the dizziness. He had an opponent. His doorwings registered more incoming projectiles. His helm snapped up to trace them. Without conscious thought his processor supplied him the exact points of impact... 

The stands where the spectators sat.

He glanced around the burning arena and the sudden chaos. Mechs screamed and stampeded pushing and shoving in a desperate attempt to get to safety.

Safety. He needed to get Red Alert to safety. His optics landed on the golden mech holding his arm and glaring at him. His priority tree shifted. He needed to get rid of his enemy before freeing his ally.

The arena shuddered as the next missile impacted and more muffled screams filled his audios. He flared his doorwings and glanced around for his daggers as the golden mech moved, but instead of heading for him, he headed for the fighter’s gate. 

Prowl watched him and, satisfied that the golden mech was no longer a threat, he prioritised getting Red Alert. On shaky legs and a throbbing side, he sprinted after the golden mech even as his sensors pinged him with more incoming projectiles. He grit his denta as he neared the gate. It took a click for his sensors to adjust to the dark interior, but his doorwings sensed motion. Ducking to the right, he narrowly avoided a hand grabbing for him. Retaliating quickly, he jabbed at the mech’s throat. Sparks erupted as the mech stumbled back. 

The purple snarling face glared from the mech’s chassis. 

Enemy.  

Prowl narrowed his optics and attacked with deadly precision. His enemy took two steps back stumbling against the far wall. He slid down, optics dark. Another mech came at him and Prowl turned towards him. He glanced up just as the mech threw a net at him.  

Prowl ducked, but the net snagged and he crashed to the ground. He clawed at the netting, trying to figure the best way to get out of it, but it drew tighter. He snarled as he tried to extend his doorwings, but the net thwarted his attempts. 

The brute that had thrown the net came towards him. “Someone wants their property back.” He cackled and withdrew a shockprod from subspace. The mech jolted, a look of shocked surprise etched into his face a moment before his chassis melted through. Dropping the shockprod, he fell to the ground in a graceless lump, his frame greying.  

The arena shook again and more muffled cries echoed through the halls. Prowl clawed at the net as another figure knelt next to him, producing a small vibroblade. Prowl grabbed his hand through the netting before he could stab. 

“Easy mech, I’m here to get you out before the Cons get you.” The silver and blue mech held completely still as Prowl evaluated him. 

With a curt nod Prowl released him and watched as the mech cut through the layers of netting. A different kind of heat lent itself to the midorn suns and metal around them groaned under the intense swelter of the fireballs. After a few breems, Prowl was able to throw the netting off. 

The mech took a few steps back. Huffing, he pointed down the hall. “We need to get out of here. I’ve a team that can help us.” 

“Negative. I must collect Red Alert.” Prowl shook himself as the high-pitch screaming ringed in his audios. “You have another weapon?” he asked as he bent to pick up the shockprod.  

“There is no time! He isn’t a priority we need to get you out!” The mech glanced at the groaning walls.

“Negative. Red Alert is a priority.” Prowl tested the shockprod. It was not the most efficient weapon, but it would do.

The silver mech hesitated, then with a retinue of curses, he handed the vibroblade to Prowl. “Do not stab me in the back!” The mech pointed a finger in his face as he retreated. “Where is your friend? We don’t have a lot of time.” 

Prowl cocked his helm at the mech as he pushed past, heading down the familiar halls. He had no intention of stabbing a mech that proved to be an ally. He would not hesitate if the mech proved otherwise. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his side, he grit his denta and set off at a jog. Smoke was drifting down the halls, a sure sign of fires elsewhere. 

Sounds of fighting drifted through the halls and as they rounded a corner, the source personified in the shape of the golden mech. Sunstreaker punched through a guard’s chassis, ripping out his sparkchamber. He crushed it even as the fallen mech gave an energon-curling scream. He dropped the frame and turned his attention to Prowl, dropping into an attack stance. 

The mech behind him lifted a blaster, but Prowl raised his servo to halt the other’s movement. The mech might be useful. “Where is Red Alert? 

Another shudder ran through the building. “We don’t have time for a fragging stand-off.” His ally quipped as the blaster whined to life. 

“In the cage.” Sunstreaker snarled and bolted down the hall. Prowl followed the golden mech, the wound on his side pulsing in cadence with his steps. The cage would take them down two levels. It was a big risk given the state of the building and that they were under attack from unidentified enemies, but to leave Red Alert was unacceptable. 

The lights faltered, flickering once, twice, before going steady with only small dips. The building continued to shudder under the onslaught. 

A familiar scream ripped through the halls, followed by maniacal laughter. The golden mech ahead ducked as blaster fire flared over his helm. He swore and threw a punch at the red mech. 

“Friends?” His ally shouted as he once more targeted the Twins. 

“Negative. Neutral.” Prowl quipped as he rounded the corner, giving the Twins a cursory glance. “Red Alert?” 

“Prowl?” Red Alert uncurled, optics wide and horns sparking as his frame vibrated.  

Prowl crouched in front of him and cocked his helm to the side. “You cannot panic now. We must exit the building.” 

Red Alert half-laughed, half-snorted as he shook his helm. “Frag you! Cannot…He…I…” The building shuddered and the lights flickered. Red Alert squeezed his optics shut and drew raspy vents as more blue sparks erupted from his horns. 

“We need to move! This place won’t hold up much longer and we don’t know where the Cons are!” His ally said with an edge to his voice. 

“Red Alert, we must leave now.” He grabbed Red Alert’s arm and yanked him up as he stood. He didn’t let go as he turned to his ally and nodded curtly.  

“Yeah well, uh, hate to break it to you guys, but we ain’t going anywhere.” Sideswipe pointed towards the end of the hall where a blast door had sealed shut.  

His ally cursed softly but headed to the door. On the other side shouts could be heard in between blaster fire. “I can hack this door, but be prepared.” 

Prowl glanced at Red Alert and pulled him towards the door. “Negative. Red Alert will hack the security. We will ready to engage once the doors are open.”  

“Prowl…” Red Alert tugged once on his arm, but Prowl’s fingers tightened. 

“We have prepared for this. We will only have this opportunity.” Prowl pushed Red Alert to the door and, stepping behind him, folded his doorwings over him. “You must hack the system and get us out. You cannot panic now.”

Red Alert dragged deep vents through his tight chassis. “Ok. Ok I can do this.” With trembling hands he pried the casing off the door lock. Jacking in he felt his system engage with the security measures. “I’ve done this before. Many times. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.” Your gonna die. We all are gonna die.

Shut it!

Ok. But doesn’t change that we’re still gonna die.

Red Alert wiped a hand over his face.

“We don’t have time for this!”

“What’s his issue anyway?”

Prowl’s steady hands on his shoulders drowned out the voices. “Red Alert, focus.”  

“Focus. Right.” He shuttered his optics and focused on the system. Layer after layer of firewalls dropped and soon he had optics all through the building.

A very structurally damaged and burning building. Juuuust great.

Just open the door right here first, then we’ll figure the rest. He zoomed in on their current hideout. Ten heavily armoured mechs stood outside the door. His spark squeezed as he recognised the purple emblem and the sign of the Institution on their shoulders. You don’t have to open the door. Better to die here than head back there!

“Red Alert, we are ready.” Prowl’s cool voice came from behind him and he briefly glanced back. Ten to their four – Prowl and the Terror Twins and … he blinked, some other silver mech. He would be useless in a fight, but he could monitor the halls. He nodded. “We got ten mechs, heavily armed with blasters. Two on the left, two on the right, and two centre, high and low. The other four as spread out towards the back and will provide cover fire for them.”

“I’ll provide cover fire for us.” Silver stated and moved back and central, his blaster whining to life as it powered up.

Red Alert tried to ignore the thumping of his spark as he gave the order for the door to open. “Opening in three…two…one…”

Prowl shoved him into the corner as blaster fire erupted and heat poured into the hallway. He pushed into the corner but kept a digital optic on the fight. The Twins attacked without mercy, their moves a deadly co-ordinated dance. Prowl moved like liquid from his downed opponent to the next, his knife finding the mark with accurate precision. Silver provided blaster cover as he advanced, the battery cell already glowing red.

Red Alert pushed his helm back into the wall as the building shuddered and groaned, a low vibration spreading through it as metal dripped until it the entire structure shook. Metal twisted and screeched as the ceiling gave in.

Red Alert screamed as he threw himself into a corner and covered his helm with his arms.

Chapter Text

“Nhh…” Red Alert shoved at the debris covering him and coughed. Dust and grit danced in the air as his  faint headlights pierced the smothering darkness. “Prowl?” he croaked as he clawed and pulled himself out of his tiny hole. His diagnostics popped up; only minor dents registered. Thank Primus he had some luck left! Now where’s Prowl so we can get the Pit out of here?

His helm swung round and he squinted into the orange-tinged darkness as someone moved. There!

“Hang on.” He called. Gritting his denta, he managed to shove the last piece of rock off him. Who in the Pit still uses this archaic nonsense to build with? He crawled across the small space and froze.

That wasn’t Prowl.

Light grey optics stared at him.

He swallowed as his optics ran down the length of the stranger’s frame. Energon rose in his tanks and he swallowed hard.

“Can you…?” The mech’s voice faded and his optics flickered.

Red Alert snapped his attention back to the mech instead of the beam impaling him. His dead. Get out of here.. This isn’t Prowl. He’s a dead mech anyway. He stared at the mech. He should leave. He should. He really should… “You, uh, you ok?” No. Stupid question. Of course he’s not ok..he’s… He licked his lips as he moved closer to the mech. Leave him and run. You’re wasting time.

He needs help.

Help? How?

The mech’s pained whine pulled at him. He couldn’t leave this mech like this. “Uh…”

“Get…the…rocks off.” The mech’s engine sputtered and his optics dimmed.

“Rocks. Right. Ok.” Red Alert scanned the rocks. Just focus on the here and now. Get the rocks off. How the frag am I going to get the rocks off and what about that beam? Ok, just calm down. He drew a deep vent then coughed as dust particles clogged his intake. He wiped his mouth and scanned the rocks. “I’m going to have to start with your arms, then…” he glanced up as loud explosions rumbled through the complex. Rubble dropped from the partially caved-in ceiling, bouncing off his frame. It wasn’t safe.

He needed to get out of here before it collapsed. He needed to find Prowl.

He stared down at the mech. His optics were calm, no judgement, no hatred, nothing, just… The mech dropped his helm back. “It…won’t hold.” He rasped. “Go.”

Red Alert glanced back up. No, it wouldn’t hold. Where was Prowl? He balled his fists and drew in a deep, ragged vent. This mech was going to die. He knew it. The mech knew it. But could he just leave him here? His tanks clenched. He could. He should.

“But I won’t.” He blew out the vent and clawed at the rocks holding the mech down. Damn your soft spark. Prowl would be ok. He was like a cybercat. Slaggin nine lives.  “I know it won’t hold, so we need to try and get you out fast.”

Just don’t ask his designation.

“So what’s your designation?”

Really? You’re asking a dead mech his designation?

Red Alert grit his denta as he freed the mech’s arm. A blaster was clutched in his loose, shattered hand.

“Silvermist. Autobot.” Silvermist hissed as he moved his arm and shoved the blaster towards Red Alert.

“Autobots?” Red Alert glanced at the blaster, but didn’t touch it. He wasn’t keen on weapons. “What are you doing here?”

Silvermist blinked slowly as his frame shuddered. “Looking…for you.”

Red Alert froze as his spark revved into overdrive.

Should have left him under the rubble.

His optics darted towards the blaster. Maybe he should…just shoot him. His fans clicked into overdrive.

Silvermist nudged the blaster again. “They are….also….looking for you. Cons.” He coughed and a small dribble of energon coated his lips.

Red Alert stared at him as millions of thoughts raced through his processor, each one vying for attention, each one offering another thousand scenarios. His horns sparked. The pressure kept building. He couldn’t let his glitch erupt now. Another spark. He grit his denta. “Why are you looking for us?”

“We…help….know you…escaped…” Silvermist’s optics flickered as his voice grew softer with each word. He drew a deep vent. “Find Jazz. He’ll…protect…you.”

Like Pit. They’ll just take you and experiment on their side! You can’t trust this mech! You don’t even know him.

“Red Alert?”

Red Alert’s helm snapped up. “Prowl?” He half stood as another series of explosions rocked the building. A few steps from him rubble moved. He glanced back at Silvermist. The mech’s optics were dark.

He might still be alive.

Red Alert scanned him. He should have scanned him before. Stupid. Nothing registered. He blinked a few times as his throat pulled taught. Gone. Another dead mech in his wake.

“Red Alert?”

He shook himself. The mech – Silvermist – was dead. Nothing you can do about it. With shaking servos he grabbed the blaster and crawled over to the spot where rocks were slowly volcanoeing up.

A hand shot through the debris followed by the mechs helm and shoulders. Time froze as fiery red optics glared into round green ones.

Red Alert screamed and fell back. He powered the blaster up and shot straight at the red optics.

A horrible scream ripped through the air as the mech’s helm exploded, splattering the debris with pieces of processor and energon. Deathly silence followed as Red Alert stared at the decapitated, slumped over frame, the stench of scorched energon searing into his processor.

Oh Primus.

The blaster clattered to the ground.

“Slag, and here I thought you were a wuss.”

Red Alert’s gaze darted towards the dusty red mech and then at Prowl standing next to him. Dust rained from the ceiling and bounced off his bleeding frame.

“Red Alert, we must move.” Prowl hobbled towards him, his normal gracefulness gone as his side dripped with energon. His tattered doorwings flared out to help him balance himself.

“You’ve gone and hurt yourself again.” Red Alert whispered, his voice high and off-kilter and his attention drifted back to the dead frame in front of him. What was left of the frame. He pressed a hand to his mouth. He should probably move. He swallowed the lump in his throat. That was the second mech he…which….

“Negative.” Prowl reached down and grabbed the weapon, checking it before holding it to his side. “We must move, the compound is under attack and the fire is encroaching.”

“Yeah. Ok.” Red Alert nodded. Odd how the energon kept oozing from the dead mech’s cut lines.

Prowl blinked at him before grabbing his elbow and yanking him up. Red Alert grunted as Prowl shoved him towards the place Sideswipe stood.

“How much help you gonna be?” Sideswipe let his gaze sweep down Red Alert slowly. The golden twin thankfully ignored him and stared into the side tunnel.

“Enough.” Prowl cut in and Red Alert allowed his field to ripple with a touch of gratefulness. They came to a stop just outside the entrance and Red Alert finally got to see what the golden twin had been glaring at. The collapse had blocked the exit, but had mercifully left the corridor intact. Explains why they were dirty but not too banged up. The heat though was going to be a bigger issue in a few breems.

Prowl released him and hobbled towards the blockage and spread his bruised doorwings to scan the area. Red Alert’s thoughts went back to Silvermist and he hugged his frame tighter. The mech was dead. Nothing could be done for him. But seemed they had garnered more attention than he had allowed, from the Institution to Cons to Autobots.

Had he killed an Institution mech or a Con? He rubbed at his arms. Present, Red. Or else you’ll be as dead as the both of them.

Present. Right. They were currently stuck in a partially collapsed, burning building with missiles firing on the surface and two insane gladiators who also happened to be super annoying.

Perfect. We are going to die here! See! I told you!

“The heat is from the other side. We must find another way.” Prowl turned and stumbled, grabbing his side.

“Let me first look at your side or we’re going nowhere.” Red Alert forced his stiff limbs to move and the irritating voice to the back of his processor. They could spare a breem. Probably less, but hey. Who’s counting. “One of you don’t have anything on you? Like a patch or something?”

“Hate to break it to you, but we don’t really have time…” Sideswipe’s voice cut abruptly as he glanced at his twin and arched his optic ridges. The golden twin only reacted by glaring. Maybe he was mute.

“Fine.” Sideswipe jogged over and pushed Red Alert out the way.

“What!?” Red Alert grunted as his back hit the wall, something stabbing painfully into his back. “Ow! You fragging aft you could have just asked!”  He turned to glare at the offensive piece of wall and paused, the other aft forgotten. There, sitting innocently, was the digital lock. “Hmm.” This section appeared to have been updated with modern tech. Which meant….

Red Alert pried the cover of the lock open. If he could jack in, he could get a feel for what the frag was going on, and maybe also get some diagnostics going. Maybe his luck had turned and he might even get some maps for this Pit. With trembling digits he finally managed to jack in. He opened his vents as his internal thermometer beeped a warning. He cut the alert.

The soothing coolness of data flowed in and around him. There, that was important, and that was what he needed. He bathed in the feeling of information, of data. His sensor net prickled at movement behind him, but the spark signature was familiar. He brushed it to the side as he delved deeper into the net. Code flew past him and began to take shape.

There were multiple weaknesses in this building’s security. Red Alert brushed it to the side. He wasn’t concerned with breaches but rather with a way out. A blueprint materialised in his processor and he knew exactly where they needed to go.

Colusses’s personal details came up and he paused. “Hmmm.” A devious plan started to form. It had been a while since he had last done this, but payback was so sweet.

As naturally as a vent of air he found his rhythm, the outside world irrelevant until the ground beneath him literally fell out. With a surprised whelp he grabbed for something when a hard frame slammed him into the wall.

“Red Alert, we must leave.” Prowl cool voice pressed against his audial horn.

He came back to the real world with a shock. The building was collapsing. Right. Burning as well and his blistering paint brought the point painfully home. They needed to move. He watched the bar in his HUD, torn. He was so close to completing the transfers. “I need a few more clicks.”

“Negative.” Prowl reached to disconnect him but Red Alert grabbed his hand.

“No! I’m nearly done!” The floor shifted and Prowl pressed further into him. Red Alert felt his quiet engine thrum with an alien and alarming cadence.

“We are out of time. We must go.”

“Yeah like Pit and where the frag do you suggest we go?” Sideswipe’s annoying voice clawed at him as the transfers finalized. Red Alert huffed and disconnected.

“Down! There is a breach where we can get out.” Red Alert turned his helm towards Prowl and wiggled his shoulders to signal Prowl to give him some space. “To the side and down.”

Prowl’s golden optics hardened for only a milisec before he nodded. He pulled Red Alert towards the Twins, careful of the ground as his headlights illuminated a swath of corridor. Who knew how far down this building’s foundation were laid eons ago. T

“And exactly how do you know this?” Sideswipe growled, but followed his golden twin down the shaking corridor, their pace hurried but careful.

“I hacked the system. It warned of a breach that leads to a tunnel with exterior access. I’m just hoping it’s still there!” Red Alert grabbed Prowl’s hand and pulled him after the twins. The Praxian grunted and pressed his hands to his side, but didn’t protest.

Behind them another explosion sounded and scorching heat came bellowing down the corridor. The ground gave way and the four toppled down a broken slab. They landed in a graceless pile, grunting and cursing. Red Alert helped Prowl up as the twins shook themselves off. Prowl nodded. “Keep going”.

Pieces of ceiling and floor trickled down from above as they slid, jumped, ducked and vaulted over debris, going deeper and deeper into the belly of Cybertron.

“Are you sure this is the way?” Sideswipe griped, his tone sharp and Red Alert caught the undertones of worry and anger. They were blindly trusting him. Not that they had a choice, but it probably counted for something.

“Yes, we are nearly there.” Red Alert glanced back and paused. Prowl was struggling to keep up. He glanced forward, then up. He could barely make out the rumbles from the bombs. They had probably descended a good two or three floors by know. If the exit was blocked, they were screwed good and proper.

Condensation trickled down his helm and his spark thrummed. Was this the right way? What if he was leading them to their death? He glanced towards where they needed to go. It was dark, their headlights barely illuminated enough of a path for them.

Prowl grunted as he climbed over a skewed slab of what used to be a corridor and joined their small, tattered band.

Red Alert bit his lip and drew ragged vents. Prowl’s slick hand caught his arm and squeezed gently. “We cannot wait.”

Red Alert shuttered his optics briefly and pressed his lips together. “Ok, let’s go.” Prowl would know his limits and even if he did need to rest, they had neither the time nor the luxury. A few, achingly long breems later they rounded a corner and Red Alert stopped. “It should be here somewhere.” He dragged his hand along the cold, slimy wall, flashing his headlights. “It will be a round port. We can get through that into the sewage system which will take as directly opposite the stadium.”

“Sewage?”

Red Alert paused at the deep, unfamiliar voice. It took a moment to register that it had been the golden twin. “Problem?” Red Alert bit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d escape through the gunk of other mech’s living.

A low growl was the only answer he received and he shook his helm. A way out was a way out. The distant sound of rumblings and rocks falling still echoed through the darkness. “Got it!” Red Alert’s spark skipped a beat as he saw the latch. He grabbed it, twisted, and with a satisfying clunk the round lid slid open. He gagged as putrid air slammed into him and dissipated into the small space. Optics watering he turned towards Prowl, eyeing his doorwings.

 “It’s going to be a bit of a squeeze.”

“Acceptable.” Prowl pushed past the arguing and visibly upset Twins and shone his headlights into the dark tunnel.

“I’ll go first, you follow.” Because it had been his idea. And really, he’d rather have Prowl staring up his exhaust than Sideswipe. Red Alert hoisted himself into the tunnel, crawling on hands and pedes through the slimy gunk. These tunnels had been built for minibots, not full-sized mecha, but even minibots allowed for some size. He glanced back. Prowl looked pained and crowded, but at least he fit and it was a way out. He could hear the twins following them.

The tunnel vibrated under his hands as the haunting echoes of the building under siege reverberated around them. How did the outside look? What if there were mechs waiting? He shook his helm. They needed to get out of here first and then worry about getting out of Tarn.

The fetid air grew thicker and finally Red Alert dropped down with a splash into a larger, rankid sewer system. The waste engulfed his hips and he groaned as it oozed into seams. He pressed a hand over his olfactory. Primus this was worse than the first sewer.

“I am not going in that.”

Red Alert rolled his optics as he turned to help Prowl down. Let Sideswipe mollify his brother. Not like they had a choice.

Prowl hissed as the waste sloshed over his open wound. His gripped Red Alert’s arm and grit his denta. Slowly his vents eased out before finally the Praxian sucked in a vent or two. He slowly released his deathgrip on Red Alert.

“I’d ask if you were ok, but…” Red Alert glanced back at the two Twins. Sideswipe gestured rudely at his twin, his annoyance seeping as rancid as the waste around them.

“We’re heading out, if you two decide to join.” Red Alert called and slung Prowl’s arm over his shoulder. “Lean onto me, we have about a kil to go before there’s an exit.” He glanced down at Prowl’s hip where energon was mixing with the waste around them. “And we need to check that. There’s no telling what this gunk will do to you.”

A splash and low growls alerted him that Sideswipe had somehow convinced his twin to join them and the two were catching up.

“This had better lead to an exit.” Sunstreaker snarled as his headlights illuminated the walls around them.

“I haven’t been wrong so far.” Red Alert quipped and narrowed his optics. He adjusted Prowl’s arm, pulling him more across his shoulders as he set his jaw. Primus, Prowl was heavy and it wasn’t exactly the easiest walking. But they could do this. They had to do this.

The trip through the miry channels were thankfully uneventful – save for the grumblings of the twins - and Red Alert exhaled quietly as they squeezed through the minibothole and into fresh, cool air. The coolness of night fell over them like a blanket. The alley was quiet.

Too quiet. Red Alert’s sensory net prickled as he backed against the wall. Prowl followed suite, as did the twins. The gunk dripping from their frames was the only sound breaking the brittle silence.

Red Alert held his vents as he focused on the readings on his sensory net. They weren’t as tuned as Prowl’s, but …. He cocked his helm. Where was the sound of combat and explosions? There should be mechs fighting, civilians scuttling about trying to get out of the warzone.

Why was it so quiet?

He released his vent slowly and inched towards the front of the alley, keeping close to the wall. Behind him, he could barely hear Prowl’s limp as he followed suite. He paused at the entrance as Prowl withdrew the blaster. The Twins had both unsheathed their blades.

Gripping the wall tightly, he peered around the corner and blinked. He stepped back and nearly collided with Prowl.

“It’s completely deserted.” He whispered, frown tugging at his optic ridges. “Why is it deserted?”

It must be a trap. They are probably watching, waiting for you to step out of this alley. Then they’ll catch you. They’ll take you back.

He curled his fist against Prowl’s chest. “Can you sense anything?” He kept his voice low, looking at the twins over Prowl’s shoulder, then back at Prowl. A slight chill crept along his spine and he wiped at his neck. Where were the Tarnians? Where were the fighting?

"Negative." Prowl’s hand curled over his and he yanked his attention back. “We need to go.”

“Uh, exactly where are you planning on going?” Sideswipe stepped up to them, mercifully keeping his voice low as he scanned the street. He shrugged. "No idea how long we've been down there. They might have gone to the hub to get there afts the frag out of here. So?"

Prowl dipped his chin at Sideswipe and raised his doorwings. His hand tightened minutely over Red Alert’s. “North.”

“North?” Sideswipe repeated. “Why?”

Red Alert tensed and stared at Prowl’s chest. Please Prowl just shut up.

“There is nothing for us here.”

Huh. Red Alert arched his brows. Not a bad answer. Prowl was improving.

“Hmmm.” Sideswipe drew a deep vent and turned to his twin. Red Alert watched the silent conversation, fifty parts nervous and fifty parts intrigued. Were they considering tagging along? If so why? What were they up to?

“How do you plan on getting there?” Sideswipe cocked his helm.

“No-”

“By any means possible.”

Red Alert snapped his helm up at Prowl before glancing away. He pursed his lips. It was probably a more polite answer, but was it wise to kind of maybe invite the twins along to the North because that was exactly what Prowl was seeming to do and he had other priorities. Like getting Prowl fixed again. Then getting the two of them as afar away from the Institution, Cons and - now newly added to the list - Autobots.

“Any means?” Sideswipe huffed and moved closer to Prowl looking his wounds over. “Well, you’re a good fragging fighter, so think we’ll throw our lot in with you until we reach where we wanna be.”

“Agreed.”

“Wait just – ” Prowl squeezed Red Alert’s hand and he fell silent, seething as a spark snapped from his horn. How dare he just make the decisions without his input! Exactly who was the worldly-wise mech here?

“Red Alert, trust me.”

Red Alert balled his fist tighter and frowned at Prowl. Trust? Seriously? Prowl he'd trust but that idiot? He glared at Sideswipe. What was Prowl's reasoning? Was there even reasoning? he drew a vent. They couldn't keep standing here. They ad to leave. "Fine." he grit through clenched denta. He looked at Sunstreaker.

The mech seemed as enthusiastic about this prospect as he was.

“Great.” Sideswipe slapped Prowl lightly on the arm and winked at a fuming Red Alert. “Now let’s see if we can get some transport and head to a pal because frag knows I’m itching to have my T-cog unlocked and at this stage I think you are more fragged up than fragging good. Let’s go mechs.”

The red mech turned the corner followed closely by a snarling golden one. Prowl blinked at the disappearing forms then leaned towards Red Alert. “T-cog?”

Just. Great.

Chapter Text

The lab was quiet as Nostrum sat brooding at the data that scrolled past his screen. To his left lay a datapad with news streaming in from Tarn. A low growl reverberated through his pitch-black armour. He couldn't believe this! It was ludicrous! How could they let this happen?

If this part of the project had been terminated it would set them back vorns. Lord Megatron would no doubt be displeased. His hand grabbed the datapad and he brought it up close to his face. Greedy optics scanned the news feeds, hoping for just the tiniest scrap of information. He was sure the latest champion of Tarn was his pet project. No news about the death of him had surfaced, and neither had any news of the Terrors reached public feeds. They were all assumed dead, but with no frames found… it was the only thing at this point and that gave him any sort of comfort.

With a curse he slammed the datapad back onto the tabletop. When he found who had ordered the bombing of the arenas he was going to kill him personally.

The door to the lab swished open, but Nostrum ignored it. He had bigger issues to worry about. He needed to either find his project or find another mech that was both capable and compatible, and where on Cybertron they thought he was going to find one when he had specifically had to spark one was –

“Well, well, well, and what do we have here? Looks like something got dragged in….”

The smug voice floated through the white lab. Nostrum sprung up and round, face snarling as he faced the newcomer. The datapad creaked in his tight fists as his armour flared.

The lithe red, blue and grey seeker strolled into the lab. Competence laced with arrogance permeated every step as he ran his long, clawed digits over consoles as if they were the armour of lovers. Except that this delinquent in his lab was no gentle bird.

“Air Commander.” Nostrum swallowed his disgust and jerked his helm in what barely passed for a respectful nod. Pity he couldn’t hide his disdain better.

“Yes, air commander is a fitting title. One that I earned on my own I might add.” Starscream sauntered deeper into the lab, his nimble digits picking up vials and placing them back haphazardly. “Yet, never forget that I was first and foremost a scientist. Head of the science division before they replaced me with that drone. Unfortunately, I can’t clone myself and they needed a competent air commander.” The crimson optics sharpened as the full lips turned smug.

“Unfortunately, it seems that not all departments can be as competent if they order attacks on our own mechs.” Nostrum sneered as he puffed his armor. He pushed past Starscream and picked up the vials, replacing them in the same order.

“Yes, that department and it appears the science department as well. Your delays will cost us. If they had allocated the project to me I'm sure we would have been further along.”

Nostrum ground his denta as he replaced the vials. “Well, when I was allocated this project you were still galivanting the skies with your beloved Skyfire, I’m sure you would have gotten the -aack!”

Nostrum clawed at the hand crushing his throat, optics bulging and mouth agape as he was slammed against the wall.

Starscream pressed his lips to Nostrum’s singing audials. “At least I won’t ever sink as low as to use my own spawn as an experiment.”

Starscream flung him to the ground and splayed his wings as he stood over Nostrum. “See that there are no more delays. The project is to be deployed with or without your precious tactician. You have three quartexes. Make it work.”

Nostrum gasped as he gently touched his bruised throat. The Processor was vital to the success of the unit. Dil- no, the project – was vital to the successful integration and deployment of the team. He balled his fists. Without it the rest would be ticking time bombs.

He had to find his project.

“What, exactly, is this place?” Red Alert mutters as they slithered through the dark streets of the Altihex warehouse district. He jumped over a puddle left by the recent acid rains and stayed close to the walls. He hated the darkness. Hated feeling watched. Hated alleys. Nothing good ever came out of dark, stinky, slimy allies. He glanced into the dark corners.

It’s ok. You’re not being watched.

He glanced towards the corners, then back and straight into Sunstreaker’s glowing purple optics.

Red Alert jerked his helm round again and swallowed. Ok, I am being watched. It’s fine. It’s fine. He’s just a murderous psychopathic gladiator. Great. Don’t panic. No need to panic. It’ll be fine. He jumped over another pothole and ran his optics over the buildings again.

They had flown into the warehouse district in the very early joors of the morning, skilfully evading the mechs who were reinforcing the curfew. That both Twins knew how to evade patrols, and find and quickly and thoroughly disable the shuttle’s tracking and signal systems had only confirmed Red Alert’s suspicions that these miscreants had been smugglers in either a previous life or moonlighting whilst enjoying their gladiatorial careers. Neither option sat well with him and Prowl was too slagging naïve to grasp his concerns. And concerns he had a-many. 

Especially as Sideswipe stopped in front of a delipidated warehouse that was shrouded in darkness. No lights; no life. Just one more concern. It’s fine. We’re fine.

In which life is this fine? They could be trading you for parts! Maybe you are the goods being trafficked! If you go in there, who says you will be able to get out!?

Red Alert licked his dry lips and hugged himself tightly against the chilly morning air. Calm down! You’re fine! He sucked in a ragged vent and glanced up and down the streets, then ran his optics over the tops of the building before finally settling on Sideswipe’s lithe form as the mech waited for them. Despite a few scratches, the mech was in fine shape and whether he wanted to admit it or not, neither himself nor Prowl were in any shape to take him on, net even to mention his psycho twin. As Sideswipe had so aptly said, Prowl lacked both health and experience and well, the twins had each other. Between himself and Prowl? He…he could scream with the best of them but don’t ask him to fight.

The image of the decapitated mech from under the arena floated across his vision. Well, guess he could fight if he was startled enough.

Red Alert paused as he waited for Prowl to limp towards him. Face pale and optics tight, Prowl dipped his doorwings at Red Alert.

Clicking his glossa, Red Alert slid underneath Prowl’s arm. “Don’t nod like your fine. You’re not fine. Not at all. Lean some of your weight on me. You look like you are about to keel over and you are not leaving me alone with them in a dodgy area heading into a dodgy building!”

A grunt was his only answer, but he accepted that.

Having overhead his whispered words to Prowl, Sideswipe grinned at him as they finally stopped before the barred warehouse door. “We’re here.” He tapped the intercom next to the door.

Red Alert ran his optics over the warehouse. “And what exactly is this place?” Red Alert asked sweetly as he adjusted Prowl’s arm over his shoulder. Condensation trickled down Prowl’s temple as he leaned into Red Alert.

“Oh it’s hard to say exactly what this place is. Bit of that, bit of this. What I can tell you is just don’t touch anything. As in…nothing. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

“Huh?” Red Alert stared at Sideswipe. “Why? What’s in there?” He hugged Prowl closer and glanced down at the Praxian’s damaged leg. There was no way they could run. He bit his lip and glanced down the way they had come. See! You See!? I told you they were dodge! You need medical care! Now they’re bringing you to a warehouse and say you shouldn’t touch anything! Are you crazy!?

“Oi!” Sideswipe leaned forward and flicked Red Alert on the helm. “Hey don’t get all sparky on me, Red. Explosives.

“Explosives?” Red Alert whispered as he stared at the door. Why…explosives? What the frag?

“Yeah. What else would it be?” Sideswipe shrugged and walked towards the door. “You can touch me though.” He wiggled his optic ridges as he knocked twice, paused, then beat out a staccato pattern. He leaned back against the door and folded his arms as he stared at a scowling Red Alert.

 Sunstreaker came up to Prowl’s other side and stopped. He flexed his claws as he stared up and down the street. “It’s quiet.”

“My sensors are not detecting anything.” Prowl flared his doorwings and tucked Red Alert closer to his side. “Red Alert?”

“I’m not sensing anything either.” Red Alert decided to ignore Sideswipe. He bit his lip as his spark spun faster. Was this normal? Why did Sunstreaker say it was quiet? Wasn’t it supposed to be quiet? Was it just abnormally quiet? What if…

“Calm down, Red Alert.” Prowl gave him a quick shake. “There are no enemies. The absence of mechs are concerning. We are too exposed. We need cover.”

As if on cue, the bolts to the warehouse doors pulled back and Sideswipe pushed off the door. His cheerful demeanour had slipped and Red Alert saw the predator in him analysing their surroundings.

“Prowl’s right. Let’s get inside.” The door slid open and Sideswipe slithered into the darkness.

Two breems and three ominous blast doors later, the small group came to a halt in front of yet another set of steel blast doors. Just what exactly was with this place?

Sideswipe spun round and placed his fists on his hips. “Ok, so this is Jack’s lair. Rule one. Don’t touch anything. Rule two, even if he gives you something, don’t touch anything. Rule three. Don’t ask to touch anything. Got it?”  

“What? That’s basically the same.” Red Alert panted as he braced his hands on his knees. Prowl was getting heavier and heavier and he could really do to put Prowl down somewhere safe.

Light spilled into the room as the blast doors slid open.

“Sideswipe! Primus! You’re alive! What are you doing here?” A green and white mech stepped into the room, wiping his hands on an old, oily rag which he threw to the side as he clasped hands with Sideswipe. “See you brought more than the usual company?”

‘Usual company?’ Red Alert frowned.

Wheeljack stepped round and paused as he ran his gaze over Red Alert and Prowl. “Ah.” He nodded and rubbed his chin. “I’m Wheeljack. My medbay’s through there.” He threw his thumb over his shoulder and indicated the lab. He went over to Prowl’s wounded side and expertly slid his arm underneath the Praxian’s doorwings and transferred his weight off Red Alert.

Red Alert heaved a sigh of relief as he followed a chattering Wheeljack into the lab. The pungent stench of chemicals wafted through the air and Red Alert froze.

That smell…

No! No! No! no please not here! He clasped his hand over his olfactory.

Nausea slammed into him harder than a convoy-class Iaconian. He shuttered his optics against the harsh white lights and grit his denta. He clutched at Prowl’s arm as the world spun and dissolved into static. Echoes of laughter drizzled in pain and confusion flooded his processor. Pixels morphed into images, screeches into words.

Looks like it’s integrating.

Pain.

They’re going to kill me!

Pain.

Trust me.

Pain.

Turn it up.

Pain.

Don’t touch me!

Pain.

Have to get out!

You can’t escape me ever.

Pain.

Increase energy.

His neural net can’t handle it.

Pain.

They’re killing me!

Get out. Getoutgetoutgetoutoutoutout…..

Pain.

I’m going to die.

The single console light blinked orange in the silence of the cold, boxed concrete room. The thick walls couldn’t quite keep the coldness from slinking in, no matter how hard the little heater whirred in its lonely corner.

Jazz stared at the little cube sitting innocently in his palm. It was Silvermist’s last communicube. He blinked and closed his fist over the cube. He should destroy it.

But it was all they had left of Silvermist.

He sighed and opened his palm again.

He glared at the offending innocent cube.

A shrill beep echoed through the cold room. Blaster tilted his helm and peered at Jazz through troubled optics.

“I’m ’’K”. The chair squeaked in objection as Jazz straightened. He glanced at Blaster as the terminal light blinked orange twice then switched to green. “Patch me through.”

“You’re good to go. Five breems max.” Blaster said as he got up and stepped away. He hesitated next to Jazz, then vented and patted Jazz’s shoulder before moving towards the door. “I’ll be outside and keep it clean.”

Jazz rubbed his forehelm as he waited for the call. He needed to pull himself together. His team was quiet, even Blaster. They were a family sparked from spilled energon and tightly knit secrets. The loss of even a single mech was enough to rattle them all. Silvermist had been a good agent. Observant. Keen. Careful.

What the frag had gone so terribly wrong? What had he missed? Had he sent his agent into a death trap?

Venting deeply, he subspaced the cube and steeled himself. They would destroy it later. He’d miss Silvermist’s voice. He’d miss his cautious nature. But this was ops and if you survived more than a few vorn you were one of the lucky few.

“Hey. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Hey Smokes.” His lips twitched into a half smile but the frown stayed put. His check-in wasn’t scheduled with Smokescreen, not that Smokes was an unwelcome change. Just odd. And Jazz did not like odd. Still. “Didn’t expect you.”

“Missed you too much.” – change in plans. That’s what Smokescreen really meant.

 There was a moment’s delay as Smokescreen cocked an optic ridge at him. “All the gears in place?” Smokescreen flicked his doorwings in greeting and a dip as apology for the change. His keen optics sharpened as he studied Jazz.

Jazz let the frown drop. The mech might seem aloof and a free-spark, but Smokescreen was a dangerous operative. Jazz missed him in his team, but he was stuck between Tactics and a hard place.

“We lost a gear. Don’t think it’s replaceable.”

Smokescreen shuttered his optics briefly and ducked his helm. Gathering himself, he activated the datapad he held. “They never are. OP wants a word. We’ll keep it to a breem at most.”

The new Prime that had taken over after Sentinel’s assassination at the hands of the Decepticon extremists. An uncomfortable sensation swirled through Jazz’s tank. “Was wonderin’ why you were on. Line’s safe for a few breems.” Jazz nodded. The screen split in two and the face of the new Prime appeared. It was still odd seeing another mech instead of Sentinel, and it added to the complexity of the situation. Optimus was a relatively unknown variable, but as far as gutfeel went, Jazz preferred him. Didn’t explain why his superior wasn’t sitting in. Didn’t explain why the Prime would want to talk with him in what was obviously a very risky move. To Jazz’s knowledge, the new Prime had no experience with spec ops.

“I will not keep you long.” He began in his deep timbre, “The bombing of Tarn is being laid at Autobot’s pedes. I need to know if we had anything to do with the destruction of the rings.”

And right there the distrust in the Prime’s voice crept in. Jazz got it. Sentinel hadn’t exactly been the epitome of morality a Prime was supposed to be. Even so, Jazz shook his helm. He had heard the rumours. It was no secret that many mechs – Autobots predominantly – considered the fighting in the rings to be barbaric, unethical and savage. It was said that Autobot zealots had bombed the arena, ensuring a permanent end to the games and a removal of dangerous practices.

“Wasn’t our mechs.” Jazz leaned his arms on the desk. “Can’t deny we didn’t have a…mech on the ground, but said mech communicated Decepticon activity as well. Wasn’t our handywork.”

Optimus studied Jazz through the screen and Jazz held his gaze. Jazz liked the new Prime, he really did, but damn if they still needed to find each other in the murky waters of trust. The fan whirred even louder in the heavy silence as if the tension reached even to it.

After a few seconds, Optimus released his vents slowly and squared his shoulders. “Whether it was Autobots or not, Tarn has used this incident to formally align itself with the Decepticons. Senator Shockwave has closed the borders.” He nodded at Jazz as if finally coming to a hard decision. “Get our mechs out of there. I want you back in Iacon within the septorn.”

Jazz stilled, the unease sweeping into a fast and dark torrent. He shook his helm. Pulling a mech from a vital mission? Seriously? And more than that pulling all their mechs? What the frag did he want to undo vorns of hard work with a single sentence!? His optics flicked to Smokescreen and the set of the mech’s jaw told him he wasn’t happy with this development either. Jazz rolled his shoulders back to loosen the cables. “Sir, with all due respect I ain’t doing that and I’m needed here.”

The blue optics tightened and Jazz wondered momentarily if he had overreached, but cutting them from a mission – that had consequences of its own. And sure as frag he wasn’t going to pull his deep cover agents. Optimus held his gaze a few clicks longer then nodded.

“Then only your team. You are needed here more. I will see you within the septorn. That is an order.” And with that the Prime’s transmission cut.

Smokescreen flicked his doorwings but didn’t quite look at Jazz. “I can buy you five orns. Wrap up the loose ends.”

Jazz took a deep vent, trying to rein in his anger. What was that!? Did the new prime think he’d roll over and be thankful with a small compromise? Was that supposed to make happier hauling aft to Iacon? He glared at the screen. “Smokescreen, what. The. Frag?” He slammed his fist on the desk and the small fan bounced and teetered on the edge.

“I know, Jazz. But I can’t deny that we need you here.” Smokescreen’s optics held a glint that said there were things he wanted to say but couldn’t say over comms. “Trust me!”

Jazz vented again and sat back in frustration. “We need the intel. Primus Smokes, I can’t blast my own mechs. And the intel’s good. Activity has been picking up and I am damn sure the bombings are related. I need more time.” The crystal with Silvermist’s last transmission burned in his subspace. He was missing something and he was on the brink of finding it. Pulling them now? What was going on in Iacon?

Smokescreen glanced down at a datapad he was holding, knuckles white. “We have no proof that the mechs of interest are still alive after the bombing of Tarn’s arenas. We also have no proof that they are what we were looking for. It is all circumstantial.”

“Circumstantial my aft.” Jazz slapped the counter and jerked to his pedes, sending his chair flying over the cold floor into the far wall with a satisfying bang. He leaned closer to the screen. “They are mechs of interest for a reason and letting it slide like this is a mistake. Everything inside of me is screaming that we need to find them!”

“I’m not letting it slide!” Smokescreen snapped back. “OP’s orders were clear that you were to return to Iacon.” He drew a steadying vent and flared his doorwings before bringing them to a rest against his back trying for calm. “I do have it on good authority though that there is a certain bounty hunter in the area that is not formally aligned.”

Jazz clenched his fists. Smokescreen had already known the Prime was pulling his team, had contingency in place. Maybe that’s why Blackhawk wasn’t on the line.  He didn’t agree but had been overridden.

Jazz clenched his jaw and dropped his gaze. The Autobot insignia was currently well-hidden, but even without its glaring red presence reminding him of the oath he had taken and the side he chose, Jazz knew he would obey orders. He still had to learn to trust the new Prime, but Smokescreen – he trusted Smokescreen.

Blaster sent him a tight comm. ‘Time’s up. Network’s lighting up brighter than the Crystal Gardens.’

“Fine.” Jazz grit out and leaned back once more on the squeaky chair. “I’ll arrange for extraction of our team and see you at the end of the septorn.” And with that he shut the connection. He clutched at his helm as he padded around the small room.

Blaster entered the room and quietly shut it behind him. He gave the dark, brooding form of Jazz one look, the downed chair another, and pulled over his own chair. He fell into it and focused on sorting and dispersing the last of their communication lines, antennae twitching every few seconds.

Jazz finally let go of his helm and dragged himself over to right his chair. He flopped into it and rubbed a hand over his face.

The silence stretched. Jazz tapped a discordant rhythm on his arm. Blaster’s antennae twitched and he shifted in his chair.

“Sooooo….” Blaster cocked his helm and ran his hands over his keyboard. His boxy red shoulder hunched forward. “Any specific orders?”

Jazz grunted and rubbed a hand over his helm and down his neck, staring at the ceiling. “Tarn aligned with the Cons.” His pede tapped the floor. Frag! Should’a seen this coming.

Blaster swore as he shook his helm and swung his chair round to face Jazz. “Why would they? Cons likely blew the place! Unless Shockwave is a complete moron.”

“Whether they planned it or not, the masses in Tarn are blaming Bots. You’ve heard the rumours yourself, and you know to which side they’ve been leaning. This was just an excuse.” He picked up a stylus and ran it between his fingers. “Our mission has been pulled.”

“What?!” Blaster straightened as his face contorted. He wrung his hands. “No no no! Pulled!? You serious, mech? That…that ain’t right. How many mechs we gonna jeopardise?” He gestured towards the outside.

“I know!” Jazz snapped, “but we’ll only be pulling those that can be pulled. I’m not risking lives or webs. I need to get my aft back to HQ though.”

“I can’t think Blacky approved!” Blaster wiped his mouth and glared at the little, struggling heater. He stood and marched over to it. He jabbed at the ‘off’ button. “And what about those mechs Silver was chasing? We gonna give up on him and them? He was onto something. You know it. I know it. Everybody knows it. We just gonna give that up?”

Jazz’s visor darkened and he raised his chin. “No, but we’ll follow orders. I need you to keep an audio on the net for a mech designated Devcon.”

“Devcon?” Blaster leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. “Why’s the deg sound familiar?”

“Bounty hunter. Not formally aligned.” And only used for missions when they were spread too thin or it was not viable to use the special operations resources. Or when Sentinel had a pet peeve against someone. When Smokescreen had been transferred to Tactics he had told Blackhawk to recruit the mech as a replacement, but Blackhawk had refused. It was better to have a mech on the outside that didn’t have to follow orders. Once more he proved right.

Jazz bit back a snarl as he glared at the now black console. He should have stuck this mission out. He shuttered his optics and thought back to that night at the inn. The Praxian had caught his optic as soon as he walked into the room. Something was off about the mech. Socially awkward, but he moved with the grace of a predator and his optics had a sharpness to them that placed Jazz on edge. That mech was their mech. He knew it. He clenched his fist. Their only lead might be dead and buried beneath the rubble, but maybe not.

“Jazzy, tell me honestly, do you think they survived the arena?” Blaster asked softly as if his processor had wondered the same pathways. “I mean, survivors were few and the looting that happened afterwards got a lot of mechs killed. Also, Silver’s ping terminated.”

Jazz shook his helm. “Devcon will have to confirm. Praxians are rare in Tarn. If a Praxian frame was found, then this mission is back to square one, if not…well, let’s hope Dev is worth the creds we pay him.”

“So, what’s your story?”

Prowl stared at the flashing finials of the mech checking the repairs on his leg. The finials were not a common design and served no logical purpose. Why would he have them?

“Not the chatty type? You remind me a lot of Sunstreaker. Though he usually does the growl thing which...” he pointed a wrench at Prowl, “you don’t.” He cocked his helm to the side and the strange finials flashed blue. “I like that.”

Prowl blinked. The finials seem to pulse in four colours depending on the situation. White – 10%. Uncertainty. Orange – 7%. Concern. Red – 3%. Panic. Blue – 80%. Neutral.

The mech’s big blue optics blinked. “Are you in any pain or perhaps your vocalizer has been damaged? I haven’t checked that yet.”

“Nah, he speaks just fine, just not often.” Sideswipe sauntered into the small medbay and leaned against the medberth currently occupied by a very sedated Red Alert. “How far are you, Jack? Itching to have my T-cog unlocked. And some weapons too.”

Prowl raised his doorwings in interest and turned to Sideswipe. Red Alert had informed him of the use of a T-cog. A T-cog would improve their chances of reaching the northern border by 32%, which pushed the mission into acceptable success parameters.  

“Sideswipe, there are more important matters at the moment.” He waved at Red Alert and Prowl. “Once I’m done with them I’ll give you a once-over and unlock your cogs.”

Sideswipe sighed and turned to look at Red Alert. He flicked his limp pede and cocked an optic ridge. “What’s with him anyway? He totally freaked.”

Prowl narrowed his optics at Sideswipe. Red Alert would not approve being touched without his consent. Especially not when he was not functioning.

The audials flashed white again. Uncertain.

Wheeljack scratched the back of his helm. “I think something must have triggered a past trauma. Haven’t seen it often, but I know Ratch sometimes had to deal with it and referred those patients to Rung. Could be anything.” He shrugged and turned back to Prowl. “You don’t know what it is?”

“Negative.”

Wheeljack blinked at him with his large blue optics. “Ah. Good.” He blinked again and cocked his helm to the side. “You military?”

“Negative.”

“If you say so.” Wheeljack’s blast mask slid across his face as he turned to Sideswipe. “A word?”

The finials pulsed orange. Concerned.

Sideswipe folded his arms and glanced at Prowl. “Sure. Lead the way.” At Prowl he nodded. Just hang tight there until we get to you.”

Prowl frowned. Hang tight? He was lying down. He glanced at Red Alert. Perhaps he would wake soon and he could interpret the red mech’s strange use of vocabulary.

The medbay doors slid shut behind Wheeljack and Sideswipe but they kept walking. Wheeljack lead them into a small room at the back of the lab. A single berth was set against the far-left wall, while a small kitchenette dominated the right wall.

Sideswipe eyed the berth. “Reason we need to talk in your room?” He leered at Wheeljack. “Not getting any since you and Ratch split?”

“Still a sore topic, Sides.” Wheeljack slid back his mask and smiled at the red twin. “Praxians, like seekers, have excellent sensors in their wings. I don’t really want to have our conversation heard.”

Sideswipe flung himself onto the berth and rested his hands at the back of his helm. “Cool. Well, what do you wanna talk about?”

“Who are they?” Wheeljack hoisted himself onto a clean counter, pedes swinging as he folded his hands.

“Not sure. Mechs are strange.” Sideswipe snorted. “I mean, frag. You’ve seen how strange they are.”

Wheeljack rubbed his chin as his finials pulsed orange. “Yeah, that’s what’s bothering me. Pit, I have so many questions I don’t even know where to begin. I kinda expected you to pitch after the bombings, but it’s not like you and Sunny to have company. So why these ‘strange’ mechs?”

Sideswipe stared at the ceiling. After a moment he shrugged. “We’re tired of this game, Jack. We’re heading North. I want to find Ratch, irritate the slag out of him. Maybe get reformatted into a chair. Maybe do something honest for a change.” He pushed himself up. “Red’s pretty useless, not entirely, but mostly. Prowl can fight though. Our odds are higher to reach the border.”

“You do something honest?” Wheeljack snorted. “Ratch’s preaching finally reached you?”

Sideswipe shrugged a shoulder and closed his optics. “Maybe.”

Wheeljack let the topic slide. “You hoping to go over as refugees? Can’t really see them allowing you through. You might wanna give being ‘honest’ a try, but your not exactly an upstanding citizen. And you’re a Southerner and Tarnian to boot. And Tarn has just announced they are formally aligning with the Decepticon extremists. Things are turning bad real quick.”

Sideswipe pursed his lips. “Remember the bit about Red not being entirely useless? I’ve seen him hack a secure system in under a breem. Think he might be of use as well.”

“Your path to honesty sounds pretty dishonest at the moment.” Wheeljack shook his helm as he turned and opened a cupboard. He grabbed two sealed cubes.

“It’s a work in progress.”

“No slag.” Wheeljack tossed Sideswipe a cube, watching the red mech catch it with no effort even as he lay with his optics closed. “But back to your companions, Red Alert and Prowl. Who are they?”

“Not quite sure. Met them at the arena.” Sideswipe opened his optics and swung his pedes off the berth as cracked his energon open. He took a swig and wiped his mouth with his arm. “I thought he was military too, but, agh, I don’t know. He’s a fragging good fighter, but no experience. Though he learns fast.”

“He looks military. I mean a normal mech would just say ‘no’ if someone asked him a question. I only heard ‘negative’ while serving. And the way he holds himself and carried his injuries. Slag, even Iron Hide would have gotten tears of pride in his dry optics.”

“Maybe he was aiming for military but decided to go against it? Went AWOL? I don’t know he acts pretty caring with Red Alert. Maybe…..” Sideswipe wiggled his optics. “they’re eloping. Mean, that’s how they controlled him.”

“Red Alert?” Wheeljack sipped his energon as he cocked an unbelieving optic ridge at Sideswipe. “Reeeeally? Elope? Who does that? Not like they are nobility.”

“Maybe not elope, but definitely think there’s more going on there. The slaggers would throw him in the cage when Prowl, or Nightstalker or something like that – he was called something else in the arenas can’t really remember – went to fight. He’d always give his best and then they’d, you know, share their room. And my flirting ain't getting me any.”

“Hmmmm.” Wheeljack hunched over his cube, frown deepening as his finials pulsed a dark blue. “No, I don’t think they are eloping. Military, yes. If they had been mercenaries you would have known them. They might be new recruits for the Decepticons.”

“Probably. I know the slaggers were after us, but can’t say if it was in general or well, specifically those two. Red did freak out, but he freaks out when he walks into a stupid lab so yeah. Can’t really go on that.”

“Sides…”

Sideswipe held up a hand defensively. “Just saying! But hey, let’s add to the mystery. I don’t think they’re registered, like ever. I mean I know Sunny and I are flagged on multiple ID’s. Just popping up somewhere is bound to get us noticed cause we’re celebs you know, but these two – it’s like they don’t exist. And Prowl, pit. The slagger sometimes looks completely clueless. Like a sparkling. Sunny’s been noticing it more and more. It's...odd.”

“Huh. Sunny is real perceptive.” Wheeljack straightened and rolled his shoulders back. The room fell into a pensive silence.

“If you want to head North and try your luck at living honestly, I can put you in contact with the Autobots and you can atone for your sins. Maybe we can even get you four new IDs. I mean, I walked away from…all of that, but I still have my contacts.”

“You mean Ratchet?” Sideswipe rolled his cube from one hand to the other, staring at the pinkish liquid before settling his knowing gaze on Wheeljack.

“…Yeah. We… don’t really talk a lot anymore.” Wheeljack took another sip of his drink, finials pulsing a dull grey as he hunched over his cube.

“You’re a moron.”