Of Bindings – An Explanation and a Rescue
Nov. 29th, 2008 04:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luce*putting leash on bunny* Quit hopping on tangents, please? I can't deal with multiple variations of one scene.
Title: Of Bindings - An Explanation and a Rescue
'Verse: 2007 movie Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing
As far as missions went, this one was not going well. A Special Ops team had gotten captured by Megatron’s recently formed rebel forces. Of course, High Command couldn’t let that things stay that way. It was bad for morale, made the already chary Ops division tense and intractable, and allowed their enemy an inconvenient advantage. This particular team was also carrying vital information, even more reason to relieve the Decepticons of them.
Hence why he was out here. Tacticians rarely saw the front lines (though he had a feeling that was going to change, and fast. His tactical programs calculated that they were losing mechs and ground far too quickly for his liking), and were scarce enough that they were generally assigned to major bases, not squads.
This mission, however, had been of high enough priority that they’d decided to include him with the squad being sent in. The mechs, all Ops bots, had groused. He didn’t blame them. It was a personal affront to lose one of their mechs, much less a whole team, and it stung even more to have Command insist on non-Ops assisting in the recovery.
Worse, the stereotypical tactician was no frontliner. Few were even combat rated at all. But he’d earned their grudging respect by having a quiet, frank discussion of the situation and his acknowledgement of his intrusion, and again by not only keeping up, but by pulling his weight on the mission. They’d gotten into the base where the mechs were being held with little incident, and were steadily making their way to where all the data indicated the operatives would be.
And it was at this stage that the not going well portion of the mission reared its head. The operatives they had found so far had been deactivated, often cruelly. Ops were a tight knit group by nature and design. Every loss was felt keenly, and the squad accompanying him had gotten more and more vicious with their opponents with each empty shell they encountered. Once or twice he’d had to order the mechs to focus on the mission, and not on revenge.
To be honest, they’d been lucky. The place had been lightly guarded; the Decepticons had likely thought the Autobots would not risk such an extraction. Prowl was inclined to keep them thinking that way, to retain some element of surprise, and the mechs under him had agreed (and here he thought their pleased expressions when he brought this up were at once gratifying and somewhat insulting).
They split up to search the premises for the last missing operative. He crept along what looked like the Decepticons had used as a torture chamber. It… was gruesome, to say the least. Dried energon stained the floor. He looked up, and saw chains hanging down above the largest stains, and grimly deduced their purpose. It wasn’t difficult. Similar chains, deactivated mechs dangling from them, lined the walls like some twisted attempt at decorating.
Movement out of the corner of his optic had him whirling ‘round, weapons at the ready to confront the threat. The sight that met his gaze instead froze the energon in his lines. A mech shuddered in his bindings, a weak, stuttering whine escaping his air intakes, still alive. His paint job was a silvery grey, which explained why he hadn’t noticed him amongst the deactivated.
He commed for the medic and hurried over, realisation of the mech’s true condition sickening him even more. Plating had been gouged into, struts were shattered, as was one optic, and energon coated his entire frame, patches here and there still almost fresh. Self repair had sealed off most of the leaks (the wounds also bore signs of hasty patching, Prowl inferred that the ‘Cons had probably not wanted their ‘guest’ to offline as quickly as his team mates), so the mech wasn’t in danger of bleeding out, but… his chestplates…
The mech’s chestplates were gone, exposing his sparkchamber. And even that had been tampered with. Prowl's temper stirred, cool and barely restrained as he took in the sight. One’s spark was one’s entire being, and exposing it was not a lightly made gesture. To force such an action on another…
Then he realised that something else was wrong. The mech’s spark was too faint, flickering weakly in its violated chamber. The exposure was causing the mech’s spark to dissipate, a slow and now illegal method of execution. He commed the medic again, and received a verbal reply as the mech appeared beside him. The bound mech flinched, too weak to do more than hang in place. Prowl rested a comforting hand on the mech’s shoulder.
“Peace, I am designated Prowl, tactician for the Autobots. Let’s get you out of here.”
“… Much… obliged. Name’s Jazz.”
========================================
“How is he?”
“Bad. His spark’s almost half gone. If we can’t stabilise it, he’s going to join the rest of his team mates in a few cycles or less.”
“I ought to be with them anyway.” They started at the quiet misery in the mech’s tone, having thought he was still offline. The medic snarled in reply.
“Don’t talk like that. We didn’t risk our plating to get you out of there to let you croak under my watch.”
“Come off it. You know as well as I do that I’m not gonna make it. Frag, I think the only reason I’m still alive is ‘cos I need to tell High Command...” Jazz trailed off, and the medic spoke to prompt him, keeping him awake and lucid.
“Tell them what?”
“Y’ain’t got the clearance, medic-mech, sorry.”
“If you would leave us for a moment, Spanner?” Clearly reluctant, the medic did so.
“Thank you.” Prowl turned to the mech lying on the ground of their hastily set up camp. His wounds were tended to, but their biggest problem, his spark, now protected by its casing once more, was the one they could do nothing about in their current state. “What clearance level do you require?”
Jazz’s vocaliser hissed static, and his good optic was flickering erratically. Prowl gently tapped the mech’s shoulder again. Hopefully the operative wouldn’t fade before they could get his information.
“Sorry, getting harder to stay with ya.”
“Understandable, however, I must press the issue. What clearance level does your information require? I am rated for the information your team carried.”
“S’not that info, something else…” Jazz broke off with a gasp as his spark spasmed once more. “Frag. Alpha level.”
The tactician stilled, doorwings stiffening in apprehension. That level was reserved for the Prime alone, and not used lightly. His tactical programs whirled furiously, and he voiced the most likely option.
“A turncoat. In Ops?”
There was a surprised warble from the operative, before the mech’s one good optic raked over Prowl in a considering manner.
“Yeah.” Jazz shut off his optic.
“Don’t fade; you need to tell the Prime.”
“You know, you can tell him.”
“I don’t have all the information. And your comrades suffered my presence on this mission under duress. Accusing them of treason, which my telling Prime would appear to be, would not go over well.”
“Y’not Ops?” Jazz stared at him again, and the tactician shuttered optics briefly in surprise. He’d told Jazz as such when they rescued him. The damage to the operative’s systems must be worse than they thought. All the more important that they stabilise him, or at least, retrieve his information, both the info he’d been sent to get and this new, Alpha level data.
“No, I’m not. I’m a tactician, my name is Prowl.”
“Whoa. Heard of you. Up and coming new tactics bot. They pulled out the big guns for us?”
“I’m hardly what you would call as such.”
“Hah. Y’figured out what I needed to tell the Prime, didn’t you?”
“It was a logical extrapolation, and only the basic premise.” Jazz chuckled weakly.
“Fine, since you know already. S’how we got snared. No way we were careless enough to be noticed. Gotta rep to maintain. Someone knew where we were going, and knew how Ops thought well enough to know how we were going to get there. It’s gotta be an inside job, as unexpected as it seems.” Prowl mulled over this. Jazz’s team had been newly formed, but were already gaining a reputation as one of the best. He agreed that it was unlikely that one of that crew had been careless.
“Technically, it would be the best place to hide an enemy agent. Ops mechs are screened so rigorously that no one would expect to not find them.”
“Makes a twisted sorta sense, now that y’mention it. Welp, this operative can go to Primus easy now. You don’t have to waste resources keeping me alive any more.”
“It would not be a waste. Every individual is important to the Autobots.”
“Y’sound like you really believe that.”
“You sound like you don’t.”
“Been there, been left. You sure you’re a tactician? Y’sharp and all, but aren’t you supposed to be making the ‘difficult’ choices about sacrificing a few for ‘the good of the whole’? Pretty measly pickings for all the effort y’must’ve put in, particularly since you rescued a dead mech.”
Prowl fell silent, considering his next words carefully. “That is true, but every bot is still important. We are too few, and mindlessly throwing bots at the Decepticons would only be counter-productive. The attempt to retrieve your team was not a waste. We now know of a major security breach. And if we can keep you online long enough your spark will regenerate eventually.”
“Hah. That’s not gonna happen. It’d take too long for them to bother. Call the medic back, he can tell you the same.”
Frowning, the tactician did so, and the medic reluctantly concurred with Jazz’s statement. “Although, there is another way we could stabilise your spark. You’d only have to heal physically then.”
Jazz’s optic flashed on, an unreadable glint in the blue light. “Y’serious.”
“Truly. What do you know of spark bonds?”
“What?! No.” The flat refusal did not deter the medic.
“A bond will keep your spark stable, and allow it to regenerate faster.”
“I’m an Ops mech. What makes you think I’m gonna spark bond with any random bot?!”
“There are blocks you can put up…”
“Blocks don’t work until you put them up. Th’initial connection is gonna be completely unfiltered.”
“It’s not like it has to be forever. And you can ask any one of us Ops mechs on this team. Or don’t you trust your own colleagues?!” The medic’s frustration at losing a patient that, to him, could be saved was evident, and kept him from noticing Jazz’s cringe at the mention of bonding to another operative. Prowl wasn’t as distracted, and cut in to divert Spanner’s attention.
“Spanner, we can’t force him. It is his choice. Mayhap his spark will stabilise by itself.”
“The odds of that are miniscule!” The silver mech’s resolute glare answered the medic. “Argh. Fine. Be it on your stubborn head then.”
The medic stalked off to tend to his other team mates, muttering to himself, and the tactician sighed, glancing back at Jazz.
“You don’t want to bond to an Ops mech, because you don’t know if you can trust them.”
“Not taking that risk. This leaks, and the turncoat’s gonna be gunning for you as well.”
“You don’t know that any of these mechs is the turncoat.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
“Bond to me then.”
“What?”
“If you trusted me enough to tell me, you’d trust me enough to bind to me. I will not lose a mech who I could have saved.”
“You’re a good mech, Prowl, but ain’t happening.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a fragging spark bond. You’re taking a big risk, new bonded pairs don’t survive each other, and I’m an Ops bot. Odds of me living long enough for you to avoid that aren’t encouraging. And it’s a huge security risk as well. Anyone finds out you, a tactician, got a bond, you’ll be dumped out of the army so fast your head will spin, and the Autobots need a smart mech like you.”
“It’s not forever, I’m pretty good at keeping bots alive when they’re not being stubborn like you, and we can keep it quiet.”
“Still a fragging big risk to be taking for some mech you just met.”
“We need every bot.”
“Still on that, aren’t you.”
“How can I convince you to take what may be your best chance of survival?” Prowl gritted his denta in frustration, hands clenching into tight fists, before sighing. He didn’t want to, but it seemed like he had no choice. Quietly, he murmured his next comment.
“If you survive, you could take down the bot responsible for the deaths of your team mates. Avenge them, so to speak.”
For a while, the only sound was of Jazz’s systems labouring to keep his spark stable. Then…
“Frag, you fight dirty, tactics bot.” Prowl hid a relieved smile.
“I fight to win, Jazz. And winning generally requires I keep as many Autobots alive as I possibly can.”
“I’m gonna lose every argument I have with you in the future, aren’t I?”
“I prefer to hope we’d not argue.”
“Yup. Gonna lose, every single time. Might as well get used to it. Help me up and let’s get this over with.”
Title: Of Bindings - An Explanation and a Rescue
'Verse: 2007 movie Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing
As far as missions went, this one was not going well. A Special Ops team had gotten captured by Megatron’s recently formed rebel forces. Of course, High Command couldn’t let that things stay that way. It was bad for morale, made the already chary Ops division tense and intractable, and allowed their enemy an inconvenient advantage. This particular team was also carrying vital information, even more reason to relieve the Decepticons of them.
Hence why he was out here. Tacticians rarely saw the front lines (though he had a feeling that was going to change, and fast. His tactical programs calculated that they were losing mechs and ground far too quickly for his liking), and were scarce enough that they were generally assigned to major bases, not squads.
This mission, however, had been of high enough priority that they’d decided to include him with the squad being sent in. The mechs, all Ops bots, had groused. He didn’t blame them. It was a personal affront to lose one of their mechs, much less a whole team, and it stung even more to have Command insist on non-Ops assisting in the recovery.
Worse, the stereotypical tactician was no frontliner. Few were even combat rated at all. But he’d earned their grudging respect by having a quiet, frank discussion of the situation and his acknowledgement of his intrusion, and again by not only keeping up, but by pulling his weight on the mission. They’d gotten into the base where the mechs were being held with little incident, and were steadily making their way to where all the data indicated the operatives would be.
And it was at this stage that the not going well portion of the mission reared its head. The operatives they had found so far had been deactivated, often cruelly. Ops were a tight knit group by nature and design. Every loss was felt keenly, and the squad accompanying him had gotten more and more vicious with their opponents with each empty shell they encountered. Once or twice he’d had to order the mechs to focus on the mission, and not on revenge.
To be honest, they’d been lucky. The place had been lightly guarded; the Decepticons had likely thought the Autobots would not risk such an extraction. Prowl was inclined to keep them thinking that way, to retain some element of surprise, and the mechs under him had agreed (and here he thought their pleased expressions when he brought this up were at once gratifying and somewhat insulting).
They split up to search the premises for the last missing operative. He crept along what looked like the Decepticons had used as a torture chamber. It… was gruesome, to say the least. Dried energon stained the floor. He looked up, and saw chains hanging down above the largest stains, and grimly deduced their purpose. It wasn’t difficult. Similar chains, deactivated mechs dangling from them, lined the walls like some twisted attempt at decorating.
Movement out of the corner of his optic had him whirling ‘round, weapons at the ready to confront the threat. The sight that met his gaze instead froze the energon in his lines. A mech shuddered in his bindings, a weak, stuttering whine escaping his air intakes, still alive. His paint job was a silvery grey, which explained why he hadn’t noticed him amongst the deactivated.
He commed for the medic and hurried over, realisation of the mech’s true condition sickening him even more. Plating had been gouged into, struts were shattered, as was one optic, and energon coated his entire frame, patches here and there still almost fresh. Self repair had sealed off most of the leaks (the wounds also bore signs of hasty patching, Prowl inferred that the ‘Cons had probably not wanted their ‘guest’ to offline as quickly as his team mates), so the mech wasn’t in danger of bleeding out, but… his chestplates…
The mech’s chestplates were gone, exposing his sparkchamber. And even that had been tampered with. Prowl's temper stirred, cool and barely restrained as he took in the sight. One’s spark was one’s entire being, and exposing it was not a lightly made gesture. To force such an action on another…
Then he realised that something else was wrong. The mech’s spark was too faint, flickering weakly in its violated chamber. The exposure was causing the mech’s spark to dissipate, a slow and now illegal method of execution. He commed the medic again, and received a verbal reply as the mech appeared beside him. The bound mech flinched, too weak to do more than hang in place. Prowl rested a comforting hand on the mech’s shoulder.
“Peace, I am designated Prowl, tactician for the Autobots. Let’s get you out of here.”
“… Much… obliged. Name’s Jazz.”
“How is he?”
“Bad. His spark’s almost half gone. If we can’t stabilise it, he’s going to join the rest of his team mates in a few cycles or less.”
“I ought to be with them anyway.” They started at the quiet misery in the mech’s tone, having thought he was still offline. The medic snarled in reply.
“Don’t talk like that. We didn’t risk our plating to get you out of there to let you croak under my watch.”
“Come off it. You know as well as I do that I’m not gonna make it. Frag, I think the only reason I’m still alive is ‘cos I need to tell High Command...” Jazz trailed off, and the medic spoke to prompt him, keeping him awake and lucid.
“Tell them what?”
“Y’ain’t got the clearance, medic-mech, sorry.”
“If you would leave us for a moment, Spanner?” Clearly reluctant, the medic did so.
“Thank you.” Prowl turned to the mech lying on the ground of their hastily set up camp. His wounds were tended to, but their biggest problem, his spark, now protected by its casing once more, was the one they could do nothing about in their current state. “What clearance level do you require?”
Jazz’s vocaliser hissed static, and his good optic was flickering erratically. Prowl gently tapped the mech’s shoulder again. Hopefully the operative wouldn’t fade before they could get his information.
“Sorry, getting harder to stay with ya.”
“Understandable, however, I must press the issue. What clearance level does your information require? I am rated for the information your team carried.”
“S’not that info, something else…” Jazz broke off with a gasp as his spark spasmed once more. “Frag. Alpha level.”
The tactician stilled, doorwings stiffening in apprehension. That level was reserved for the Prime alone, and not used lightly. His tactical programs whirled furiously, and he voiced the most likely option.
“A turncoat. In Ops?”
There was a surprised warble from the operative, before the mech’s one good optic raked over Prowl in a considering manner.
“Yeah.” Jazz shut off his optic.
“Don’t fade; you need to tell the Prime.”
“You know, you can tell him.”
“I don’t have all the information. And your comrades suffered my presence on this mission under duress. Accusing them of treason, which my telling Prime would appear to be, would not go over well.”
“Y’not Ops?” Jazz stared at him again, and the tactician shuttered optics briefly in surprise. He’d told Jazz as such when they rescued him. The damage to the operative’s systems must be worse than they thought. All the more important that they stabilise him, or at least, retrieve his information, both the info he’d been sent to get and this new, Alpha level data.
“No, I’m not. I’m a tactician, my name is Prowl.”
“Whoa. Heard of you. Up and coming new tactics bot. They pulled out the big guns for us?”
“I’m hardly what you would call as such.”
“Hah. Y’figured out what I needed to tell the Prime, didn’t you?”
“It was a logical extrapolation, and only the basic premise.” Jazz chuckled weakly.
“Fine, since you know already. S’how we got snared. No way we were careless enough to be noticed. Gotta rep to maintain. Someone knew where we were going, and knew how Ops thought well enough to know how we were going to get there. It’s gotta be an inside job, as unexpected as it seems.” Prowl mulled over this. Jazz’s team had been newly formed, but were already gaining a reputation as one of the best. He agreed that it was unlikely that one of that crew had been careless.
“Technically, it would be the best place to hide an enemy agent. Ops mechs are screened so rigorously that no one would expect to not find them.”
“Makes a twisted sorta sense, now that y’mention it. Welp, this operative can go to Primus easy now. You don’t have to waste resources keeping me alive any more.”
“It would not be a waste. Every individual is important to the Autobots.”
“Y’sound like you really believe that.”
“You sound like you don’t.”
“Been there, been left. You sure you’re a tactician? Y’sharp and all, but aren’t you supposed to be making the ‘difficult’ choices about sacrificing a few for ‘the good of the whole’? Pretty measly pickings for all the effort y’must’ve put in, particularly since you rescued a dead mech.”
Prowl fell silent, considering his next words carefully. “That is true, but every bot is still important. We are too few, and mindlessly throwing bots at the Decepticons would only be counter-productive. The attempt to retrieve your team was not a waste. We now know of a major security breach. And if we can keep you online long enough your spark will regenerate eventually.”
“Hah. That’s not gonna happen. It’d take too long for them to bother. Call the medic back, he can tell you the same.”
Frowning, the tactician did so, and the medic reluctantly concurred with Jazz’s statement. “Although, there is another way we could stabilise your spark. You’d only have to heal physically then.”
Jazz’s optic flashed on, an unreadable glint in the blue light. “Y’serious.”
“Truly. What do you know of spark bonds?”
“What?! No.” The flat refusal did not deter the medic.
“A bond will keep your spark stable, and allow it to regenerate faster.”
“I’m an Ops mech. What makes you think I’m gonna spark bond with any random bot?!”
“There are blocks you can put up…”
“Blocks don’t work until you put them up. Th’initial connection is gonna be completely unfiltered.”
“It’s not like it has to be forever. And you can ask any one of us Ops mechs on this team. Or don’t you trust your own colleagues?!” The medic’s frustration at losing a patient that, to him, could be saved was evident, and kept him from noticing Jazz’s cringe at the mention of bonding to another operative. Prowl wasn’t as distracted, and cut in to divert Spanner’s attention.
“Spanner, we can’t force him. It is his choice. Mayhap his spark will stabilise by itself.”
“The odds of that are miniscule!” The silver mech’s resolute glare answered the medic. “Argh. Fine. Be it on your stubborn head then.”
The medic stalked off to tend to his other team mates, muttering to himself, and the tactician sighed, glancing back at Jazz.
“You don’t want to bond to an Ops mech, because you don’t know if you can trust them.”
“Not taking that risk. This leaks, and the turncoat’s gonna be gunning for you as well.”
“You don’t know that any of these mechs is the turncoat.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
“Bond to me then.”
“What?”
“If you trusted me enough to tell me, you’d trust me enough to bind to me. I will not lose a mech who I could have saved.”
“You’re a good mech, Prowl, but ain’t happening.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a fragging spark bond. You’re taking a big risk, new bonded pairs don’t survive each other, and I’m an Ops bot. Odds of me living long enough for you to avoid that aren’t encouraging. And it’s a huge security risk as well. Anyone finds out you, a tactician, got a bond, you’ll be dumped out of the army so fast your head will spin, and the Autobots need a smart mech like you.”
“It’s not forever, I’m pretty good at keeping bots alive when they’re not being stubborn like you, and we can keep it quiet.”
“Still a fragging big risk to be taking for some mech you just met.”
“We need every bot.”
“Still on that, aren’t you.”
“How can I convince you to take what may be your best chance of survival?” Prowl gritted his denta in frustration, hands clenching into tight fists, before sighing. He didn’t want to, but it seemed like he had no choice. Quietly, he murmured his next comment.
“If you survive, you could take down the bot responsible for the deaths of your team mates. Avenge them, so to speak.”
For a while, the only sound was of Jazz’s systems labouring to keep his spark stable. Then…
“Frag, you fight dirty, tactics bot.” Prowl hid a relieved smile.
“I fight to win, Jazz. And winning generally requires I keep as many Autobots alive as I possibly can.”
“I’m gonna lose every argument I have with you in the future, aren’t I?”
“I prefer to hope we’d not argue.”
“Yup. Gonna lose, every single time. Might as well get used to it. Help me up and let’s get this over with.”
