Hunter Green, part 3
Oct. 6th, 2008 05:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceWhy can't I have thesis bunnies, instead of Teflon coated adamantium plot ones?
(working, okay, I've given up on coming up with another name) Title: Hunter Green (Part 3)
'Verse: G1 Transformers.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Same as before. Now with mention of slash.
”I can’t believe you let a security breach like this happen!” Their security director was, as could be predicted, throwing a fit.
“Red, calm down.” Ironhide was trying to be patient. Really. He understood Red Alert’s fury. Even from his point of view, letting the… mech (he didn’t know exactly how he felt about Hunter. He didn’t trust the A.I. yet, but Jazz had been right, Hunter was too aware to be a drone) out of their sight left him feeling… uncomfortable.
“Calm down?! You have Prowl’s chassis in the base, online and fully functional, with only Primus knows what embedded in it, and you want me to calm down?! The rest of the crew will be too caught up in the return of ‘Prowl’ to notice in time should that impostor decide to sabotage anything!”
“Ratchet scanned him Red. He didn’t find sleepers or Trojans or anything. Hunter’s clean.”
“One does not need programs or viruses to coerce the willing! You’re blinded by your optics! You see what you want to see, and you want to see Prowl, not whatever’s currently inhabiting his body! You saw a familiar face, heard a familiar voice, and swallowed whatever fairy tale it fed you! You’ve made it more than easy for this ‘Hunter’ persona to fool you, slip past our defences and work its way into the Ark! It could be terminating mechs as we speak!”
He stifled a growl, choosing to continue being reasonable for the time being. Without Prowl, they were short-staffed, and having to find a replacement Security Director while Red Alert got his processors un-fried (and… other things un-damaged) by Ratchet would put even more stress on their already strained command element, not to mention get him bawled out by an unhappy medic.
Ironhide had not truly appreciated the number of duties Prowl had handled until they had to reassign them. While a single mech could conceivably do everything their former SIC had done, they were splitting these tasks amongst mechs with respectable workloads of their own, and the end result, while workable, was not feasible for the long term. “Jazz is with him now. The mech is head of Special Ops, he can handle it if Hunter really does go rogue.”
“This A.I. can access Prowl’s tactical programming, his battle computer and his accumulated data on all our fighting styles. And I’m not allowed cameras in the living quarters.”
“I didn’t say he would definitely win. But he’d at least be able to sound the alarm.”
“For all our sakes, he’d better.”
Optimus cleared his vocaliser, interrupting their disagreement. Both mechs fell silent, turning to look at their commander.
“Your points are valid, Red Alert, and I did take them into consideration. I asked Jazz to accompany Hunter to his quarters to see if our new acquaintance would try anything. It would be a simple matter for Hunter to neutralise one mech and sabotage the Ark before any of us realised it. Jazz knows this, and I trust him to take the proper precautions while keeping Hunter from realising he’s doing so.”
Red Alert seemed like he was about to set off on another tirade, and Optimus cut him off. “However, we will implement more security measures. As much as I dislike the idea, you may install two cameras in Prowl’s quarters.”
“I want it tracked at all times.”
While Ironhide didn’t particularly like the continued use of ‘it’ in reference to the newcomer, that was a battle he chose not to fight. Just yet. Optimus cycled air resignedly and nodded. “Speak to Ratchet about placing a transmitter on Hunter.”
“It wears an inhibitor claw.” Or perhaps he’d fight it right now.
“That’s taking it too far! Hunter’s not a fragging ‘it’! The mech disarmed before coming with us. He shot Megatron in the face, took down the other high ranking fraggers and directed a damn good slagging of the ‘Cons! There’s no way they’d let him do that just to get him into our good graces!”
“I’ll call ‘it’ what it is, and it is not a mech! And how do you know?! That could have been a ruse to lower your defences, not that they needed much convincing. Prowl knew us, knew our personalities. With that kind of data available to it, deceiving you would have been simple to plan and accomplish. And I was watching the Med Bay. It doesn’t need any of the weapons you took.”
“I was there, you paranoid glitch! If the ‘Cons hadn’t run when they did, we’d have them all in the brig, offline, or deactivated right now! No leader, not even one as fragged in the processor as Megatron, would risk his troops or himself like that just to plant a spy! And even in the unlikely case that they were, it’d be a whole slagging lot easier for to let us continue thinking he was Prowl, instead of coming right out and saying he wasn’t and practically guaranteeing suspicion.”
“Red Alert! Ironhide! Enough! We don’t need to fight amongst ourselves.”
The security mech subsided, still not fully appeased. “At least the ‘Cons didn’t get much useful data from him. We’ve almost finished reworking everything Prowl touched, you have no idea how grateful I am that he insisted on archiving everything, and they already know how we fight.”
“Thank Primus for small mercies.” At that, Optimus’s comm. crackled to life, the mech on the other end sounding tense.
//Prime! Jazz here, we got an issue. Bluestreak’s found us.//
========================================
“Jazz?! Jazz please, open the door!”
“No can do kid. Prime’s orders, no one not authorised gets to see him.”
“Please Jazz, the twins said Prowl was back. I need to see him with my own optics! Just let me see him and I’ll go. Please.” The mech outside the room sound close to tears, as close to tears as they could get, anyway. The saboteur groaned quietly, leaning his forehead against the door.
“Blue’, let me see what Prime says first, ‘kay?” The gunner mumbled agreement and, from what they could hear from inside the room, settled down against the wall to wait.
“Perhaps you should agree to his request. I can stay at the back of the room, and if you’re at the door, you can stop him from coming closer.” Jazz angled his head to look at the other mech out of the corner of an optic, noting that Hunter seemed to be staring a hole through the wall, a look of concern on his faceplates, before straightening and moving closer to avoid having Bluestreak overhear them.
“I don’t know what’ll happen once he does see you. Skyfire could tell you weren’t Prowl just by looking at you, and Blue’s not been doing well since Prowl got taken. He’s been off the battle roster, and just started getting back into light duty. They were close, which surprised a lot of the other mechs.”
“Why?”
“Heh. Prowler’s not the most demonstrative of bots. Quiet, efficient and dedicated, yes, and half the time he’s downright mechanical. Emotion repression protocols and the like working overtime. If he cracked a smile, we threw a party.” A faint grin flickered briefly across Jazz’s faceplates in reminiscence.
“Yet, from the response I’ve seen to his ‘return’, the crew of the Ark care deeply for him.”
“Yeah, well, it’s hard not to care for a mech who’s only doing all he can to keep your spark and chassis together. We’d find him still at work on his plans and tactics and analysis after too many cycles in a row. Repeatedly.” Jazz scrubbed a hand across his helm in frustration, whether at Prowl or the current situation, Hunter wasn’t sure.
“He wasn’t given to wearing his spark on his chassis in the first place, but he got more distant as the war continued. I think, no, I know it started to hurt too much. I tried to help. Told him to remember he wasn’t perfect. Stupid of me, spoke without thinking. Know what he said?” The Porsche was about to answer his own question when Hunter cut in on the self-recrimination.
“‘I know. I’m reminded of that every time I walk past the Medical Bay.’” At Jazz’s stare, he shrugged and looked away, shifting backwards on the berth. “Your words triggered the memory data. If it helps, he knew what you were trying to do, and appreciated you trying.”
“… It does. I never dared bring it up again. Thought I’d made things worse, when he stopped smiling altogether. Then there was no more time to hash it out, what with the ‘Cons and the war escalating and everything going to the Pit. Then, boom, we’re here on Earth, and too set in our habits to do anything about it. And then… Primus, I thought I’d wasted all that time, and lost something I never had. Now, I have a chance to do something.”
“We don’t know when his mind will resurface, if it will at all.”
“A chance is a chance. And it’s thanks to you that I even have that.” Both of them started when Ironhide's voice boomed through the door.
"Jazz, we’re coming in."
"Gah! A little more warning would have been nice!"
Then, there was the muffled sound of metal meeting metal, and words that neither bot in the room could make out. The door opened to reveal Ironhide with a cube of energon, some equipment and Optimus, who had a hand on Bluestreak’s shoulder, simultaneously comforting and restraining him.
“Prowl!” The grey mech had spotted the form of his mentor, and was straining against the Prime to get a better look. Before anyone could stop him he broke free, and was in front of the other doorwinged mech, reaching out disbelievingly to him. Almost automatically, Hunter rose off the berth and allowed Bluestreak to cling to him, one hand tracing soothing patterns over the mech’s helm as the gunner babbled softly.
“Oh, Primus, you’re real, thought you were… couldn’t believe the others when they said… please be real, please.”
========================================
With the mech’s face buried in his chestplates, Hunter turned a helpless look onto their audience. They looked back, equally unsure as to how to proceed, and he shuttered his optics and remained silent, just letting Bluestreak hold him.
//Prime, what do we do now?!// Jazz’s comm. was worried, and Ironhide echoed that quality with his edgy stance and the fact that he never took optics off the two mechs in from of them.
//The crew would have found out eventually. Perhaps it’s for the best we get this out of the way when we can control it, and not when we next have to face the Decepticons in battle.//
“Bluestreak.” At Optimus’s call, the mech in question halted his litany and turned his head to look at the Prime, though his grip on ‘Prowl’ didn’t loosen. “Yes sir?”
“Please let go of the mech, I think he’d like his arms back.” There was an odd quality about their leader’s tone. Bluestreak immediately released the black and white mech, gasping out apologies which halted when Hunter placed a hand on his shoulder. Eyeing ‘Prowl’ uncertainly as the mech exchanged a look with the three behind him, the gunner stiffened as ‘Prowl’ seemed to receive whatever confirmation he needed and looked back at him, optics hesitant and uncertain.
“Bluestreak, I’m sorry. But I’m not Prowl.”
“What?” Bluestreak’s audios had to be malfunctioning.
“I’m not Prowl.”
“You are.” His desperate insistence was matched by the other’s pained declaration.
“I’m not.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Then where is he?! What did you do to him?! Bring him back!” The gunner had both hands on the mech’s chassis now, and was shaking Hunter back and forth in an attempt to get answers. Jazz and Ironhide were across the room immediately, reaching for him when Hunter gripped his wrists and spoke, tone sharp and commanding.
“Bluestreak. Stop and focus.” The mech obeyed, instinctively reacting to the familiar words and tone Prowl had often used to calm him down. Once he was still, Hunter released his hold and Bluestreak backed away cautiously.
“You sound a lot like him.”
“I know.”
“You act a lot like him.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“But you’re not him.”
“I think we’ve covered that more than adequately.” There was weary, resigned humour in the black and white mech’s optics, and Bluestreak found himself responding to it with a weak smile.
“You must’ve gotten that a lot today. I’m sorry for shaking you.”
“You have no idea. I’m sorry for not being Prowl.”
“I don’t think that’s your fault. I’m Bluestreak, though I think you know that already.”
“And I don’t blame you for shaking me. Call me Hunter.”
Sounding relieved, Optimus spoke again. “Bluestreak, you understand this is a rather sensitive matter. I must ask you not to speak of this until we have a chance to brief the entire Ark.”
The gunner nodded in acknowledgement. “Yes sir. I won’t sir.” There was a pause, during which Ironhide mused that things were going too well.
“Sir?” He ought to learn not to jinx things like that.
“Yes Bluestreak?”
“What happened to Prowl then?”
“... It would be best if you waited until the briefing to find out. Go get some recharge Bluestreak, Smokescreen reports that you’ve been having trouble with that.”
“Yes sir.” Meekly, the mech left the room, and as the door shut behind him, Jazz exhaled quietly at the reprieve.
“Well, that went better than I expected.”
To which Ironhide grumbled in reply (completely ignoring that fact he’d done the same thing earlier) as he set up Red Alert's cameras, “Frag. Don’t jinx us. Hunter.”
At the sound of his name, the bot jerked to focus on the rust-red mech. “Sir?”
“That’s for you.” He jerked a thumb at the cube glowing pale pink where he’d left it on the desk. “Security measures mean we gotta lock you in here until Ratchet places a tracker on you, and we get a proper, Red Alert satisfying look through that noggin of yours. Prowl’s got bookfiles and such if you’re bored, but we can’t leave the console in here with you. Sorry.”
“Quite alright. I think I remember some of the protocols Prowl came up with.”
“Hah. Red’s gone above and beyond them ever since Prowl got nabbed by the ‘Cons. We’ll work on him; see if we can’t at least let you wander between the rec room and here.”
“Thank you, Ironhide.”
(
'Verse: G1 Transformers.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Same as before. Now with mention of slash.
”I can’t believe you let a security breach like this happen!” Their security director was, as could be predicted, throwing a fit.
“Red, calm down.” Ironhide was trying to be patient. Really. He understood Red Alert’s fury. Even from his point of view, letting the… mech (he didn’t know exactly how he felt about Hunter. He didn’t trust the A.I. yet, but Jazz had been right, Hunter was too aware to be a drone) out of their sight left him feeling… uncomfortable.
“Calm down?! You have Prowl’s chassis in the base, online and fully functional, with only Primus knows what embedded in it, and you want me to calm down?! The rest of the crew will be too caught up in the return of ‘Prowl’ to notice in time should that impostor decide to sabotage anything!”
“Ratchet scanned him Red. He didn’t find sleepers or Trojans or anything. Hunter’s clean.”
“One does not need programs or viruses to coerce the willing! You’re blinded by your optics! You see what you want to see, and you want to see Prowl, not whatever’s currently inhabiting his body! You saw a familiar face, heard a familiar voice, and swallowed whatever fairy tale it fed you! You’ve made it more than easy for this ‘Hunter’ persona to fool you, slip past our defences and work its way into the Ark! It could be terminating mechs as we speak!”
He stifled a growl, choosing to continue being reasonable for the time being. Without Prowl, they were short-staffed, and having to find a replacement Security Director while Red Alert got his processors un-fried (and… other things un-damaged) by Ratchet would put even more stress on their already strained command element, not to mention get him bawled out by an unhappy medic.
Ironhide had not truly appreciated the number of duties Prowl had handled until they had to reassign them. While a single mech could conceivably do everything their former SIC had done, they were splitting these tasks amongst mechs with respectable workloads of their own, and the end result, while workable, was not feasible for the long term. “Jazz is with him now. The mech is head of Special Ops, he can handle it if Hunter really does go rogue.”
“This A.I. can access Prowl’s tactical programming, his battle computer and his accumulated data on all our fighting styles. And I’m not allowed cameras in the living quarters.”
“I didn’t say he would definitely win. But he’d at least be able to sound the alarm.”
“For all our sakes, he’d better.”
Optimus cleared his vocaliser, interrupting their disagreement. Both mechs fell silent, turning to look at their commander.
“Your points are valid, Red Alert, and I did take them into consideration. I asked Jazz to accompany Hunter to his quarters to see if our new acquaintance would try anything. It would be a simple matter for Hunter to neutralise one mech and sabotage the Ark before any of us realised it. Jazz knows this, and I trust him to take the proper precautions while keeping Hunter from realising he’s doing so.”
Red Alert seemed like he was about to set off on another tirade, and Optimus cut him off. “However, we will implement more security measures. As much as I dislike the idea, you may install two cameras in Prowl’s quarters.”
“I want it tracked at all times.”
While Ironhide didn’t particularly like the continued use of ‘it’ in reference to the newcomer, that was a battle he chose not to fight. Just yet. Optimus cycled air resignedly and nodded. “Speak to Ratchet about placing a transmitter on Hunter.”
“It wears an inhibitor claw.” Or perhaps he’d fight it right now.
“That’s taking it too far! Hunter’s not a fragging ‘it’! The mech disarmed before coming with us. He shot Megatron in the face, took down the other high ranking fraggers and directed a damn good slagging of the ‘Cons! There’s no way they’d let him do that just to get him into our good graces!”
“I’ll call ‘it’ what it is, and it is not a mech! And how do you know?! That could have been a ruse to lower your defences, not that they needed much convincing. Prowl knew us, knew our personalities. With that kind of data available to it, deceiving you would have been simple to plan and accomplish. And I was watching the Med Bay. It doesn’t need any of the weapons you took.”
“I was there, you paranoid glitch! If the ‘Cons hadn’t run when they did, we’d have them all in the brig, offline, or deactivated right now! No leader, not even one as fragged in the processor as Megatron, would risk his troops or himself like that just to plant a spy! And even in the unlikely case that they were, it’d be a whole slagging lot easier for to let us continue thinking he was Prowl, instead of coming right out and saying he wasn’t and practically guaranteeing suspicion.”
“Red Alert! Ironhide! Enough! We don’t need to fight amongst ourselves.”
The security mech subsided, still not fully appeased. “At least the ‘Cons didn’t get much useful data from him. We’ve almost finished reworking everything Prowl touched, you have no idea how grateful I am that he insisted on archiving everything, and they already know how we fight.”
“Thank Primus for small mercies.” At that, Optimus’s comm. crackled to life, the mech on the other end sounding tense.
//Prime! Jazz here, we got an issue. Bluestreak’s found us.//
“Jazz?! Jazz please, open the door!”
“No can do kid. Prime’s orders, no one not authorised gets to see him.”
“Please Jazz, the twins said Prowl was back. I need to see him with my own optics! Just let me see him and I’ll go. Please.” The mech outside the room sound close to tears, as close to tears as they could get, anyway. The saboteur groaned quietly, leaning his forehead against the door.
“Blue’, let me see what Prime says first, ‘kay?” The gunner mumbled agreement and, from what they could hear from inside the room, settled down against the wall to wait.
“Perhaps you should agree to his request. I can stay at the back of the room, and if you’re at the door, you can stop him from coming closer.” Jazz angled his head to look at the other mech out of the corner of an optic, noting that Hunter seemed to be staring a hole through the wall, a look of concern on his faceplates, before straightening and moving closer to avoid having Bluestreak overhear them.
“I don’t know what’ll happen once he does see you. Skyfire could tell you weren’t Prowl just by looking at you, and Blue’s not been doing well since Prowl got taken. He’s been off the battle roster, and just started getting back into light duty. They were close, which surprised a lot of the other mechs.”
“Why?”
“Heh. Prowler’s not the most demonstrative of bots. Quiet, efficient and dedicated, yes, and half the time he’s downright mechanical. Emotion repression protocols and the like working overtime. If he cracked a smile, we threw a party.” A faint grin flickered briefly across Jazz’s faceplates in reminiscence.
“Yet, from the response I’ve seen to his ‘return’, the crew of the Ark care deeply for him.”
“Yeah, well, it’s hard not to care for a mech who’s only doing all he can to keep your spark and chassis together. We’d find him still at work on his plans and tactics and analysis after too many cycles in a row. Repeatedly.” Jazz scrubbed a hand across his helm in frustration, whether at Prowl or the current situation, Hunter wasn’t sure.
“He wasn’t given to wearing his spark on his chassis in the first place, but he got more distant as the war continued. I think, no, I know it started to hurt too much. I tried to help. Told him to remember he wasn’t perfect. Stupid of me, spoke without thinking. Know what he said?” The Porsche was about to answer his own question when Hunter cut in on the self-recrimination.
“‘I know. I’m reminded of that every time I walk past the Medical Bay.’” At Jazz’s stare, he shrugged and looked away, shifting backwards on the berth. “Your words triggered the memory data. If it helps, he knew what you were trying to do, and appreciated you trying.”
“… It does. I never dared bring it up again. Thought I’d made things worse, when he stopped smiling altogether. Then there was no more time to hash it out, what with the ‘Cons and the war escalating and everything going to the Pit. Then, boom, we’re here on Earth, and too set in our habits to do anything about it. And then… Primus, I thought I’d wasted all that time, and lost something I never had. Now, I have a chance to do something.”
“We don’t know when his mind will resurface, if it will at all.”
“A chance is a chance. And it’s thanks to you that I even have that.” Both of them started when Ironhide's voice boomed through the door.
"Jazz, we’re coming in."
"Gah! A little more warning would have been nice!"
Then, there was the muffled sound of metal meeting metal, and words that neither bot in the room could make out. The door opened to reveal Ironhide with a cube of energon, some equipment and Optimus, who had a hand on Bluestreak’s shoulder, simultaneously comforting and restraining him.
“Prowl!” The grey mech had spotted the form of his mentor, and was straining against the Prime to get a better look. Before anyone could stop him he broke free, and was in front of the other doorwinged mech, reaching out disbelievingly to him. Almost automatically, Hunter rose off the berth and allowed Bluestreak to cling to him, one hand tracing soothing patterns over the mech’s helm as the gunner babbled softly.
“Oh, Primus, you’re real, thought you were… couldn’t believe the others when they said… please be real, please.”
With the mech’s face buried in his chestplates, Hunter turned a helpless look onto their audience. They looked back, equally unsure as to how to proceed, and he shuttered his optics and remained silent, just letting Bluestreak hold him.
//Prime, what do we do now?!// Jazz’s comm. was worried, and Ironhide echoed that quality with his edgy stance and the fact that he never took optics off the two mechs in from of them.
//The crew would have found out eventually. Perhaps it’s for the best we get this out of the way when we can control it, and not when we next have to face the Decepticons in battle.//
“Bluestreak.” At Optimus’s call, the mech in question halted his litany and turned his head to look at the Prime, though his grip on ‘Prowl’ didn’t loosen. “Yes sir?”
“Please let go of the mech, I think he’d like his arms back.” There was an odd quality about their leader’s tone. Bluestreak immediately released the black and white mech, gasping out apologies which halted when Hunter placed a hand on his shoulder. Eyeing ‘Prowl’ uncertainly as the mech exchanged a look with the three behind him, the gunner stiffened as ‘Prowl’ seemed to receive whatever confirmation he needed and looked back at him, optics hesitant and uncertain.
“Bluestreak, I’m sorry. But I’m not Prowl.”
“What?” Bluestreak’s audios had to be malfunctioning.
“I’m not Prowl.”
“You are.” His desperate insistence was matched by the other’s pained declaration.
“I’m not.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Then where is he?! What did you do to him?! Bring him back!” The gunner had both hands on the mech’s chassis now, and was shaking Hunter back and forth in an attempt to get answers. Jazz and Ironhide were across the room immediately, reaching for him when Hunter gripped his wrists and spoke, tone sharp and commanding.
“Bluestreak. Stop and focus.” The mech obeyed, instinctively reacting to the familiar words and tone Prowl had often used to calm him down. Once he was still, Hunter released his hold and Bluestreak backed away cautiously.
“You sound a lot like him.”
“I know.”
“You act a lot like him.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“But you’re not him.”
“I think we’ve covered that more than adequately.” There was weary, resigned humour in the black and white mech’s optics, and Bluestreak found himself responding to it with a weak smile.
“You must’ve gotten that a lot today. I’m sorry for shaking you.”
“You have no idea. I’m sorry for not being Prowl.”
“I don’t think that’s your fault. I’m Bluestreak, though I think you know that already.”
“And I don’t blame you for shaking me. Call me Hunter.”
Sounding relieved, Optimus spoke again. “Bluestreak, you understand this is a rather sensitive matter. I must ask you not to speak of this until we have a chance to brief the entire Ark.”
The gunner nodded in acknowledgement. “Yes sir. I won’t sir.” There was a pause, during which Ironhide mused that things were going too well.
“Sir?” He ought to learn not to jinx things like that.
“Yes Bluestreak?”
“What happened to Prowl then?”
“... It would be best if you waited until the briefing to find out. Go get some recharge Bluestreak, Smokescreen reports that you’ve been having trouble with that.”
“Yes sir.” Meekly, the mech left the room, and as the door shut behind him, Jazz exhaled quietly at the reprieve.
“Well, that went better than I expected.”
To which Ironhide grumbled in reply (completely ignoring that fact he’d done the same thing earlier) as he set up Red Alert's cameras, “Frag. Don’t jinx us. Hunter.”
At the sound of his name, the bot jerked to focus on the rust-red mech. “Sir?”
“That’s for you.” He jerked a thumb at the cube glowing pale pink where he’d left it on the desk. “Security measures mean we gotta lock you in here until Ratchet places a tracker on you, and we get a proper, Red Alert satisfying look through that noggin of yours. Prowl’s got bookfiles and such if you’re bored, but we can’t leave the console in here with you. Sorry.”
“Quite alright. I think I remember some of the protocols Prowl came up with.”
“Hah. Red’s gone above and beyond them ever since Prowl got nabbed by the ‘Cons. We’ll work on him; see if we can’t at least let you wander between the rec room and here.”
“Thank you, Ironhide.”
