Hunter Green (Part 10)
Nov. 7th, 2008 02:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceThesis is done, now all that's left is the seminar and viva. 74 pages of summing up the past 8 months, and all I can think is, 'It's probably not a good sign that I have little to no clear idea as to what my thesis was about, and I think nearly half of it is held together with the metaphorical equivalent of bubble gum and twist ties.'
What in the name of shiny was I doing for the past year?!
In other news- *mobbed by bunnies*
There's not that many neurons left for them to poke into fic though. So I guess they'll lose interest in a bit.
And I finally get to post on LJ again. Worked on this whenever the thesis decided it hated me and stopped making sense (which was a lot of the time, is it obvious?).
Title: Hunter Green (Part 10)
'Verse: G1 Transformers.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Same as before.
He woke in what still looked like his quarters.
Familiar objects and settings, but on closer inspection, things were just a bit… off.
His computer terminal was missing. That stood out the most. The other, more subtle differences seemed to be there to mock him.
It made no sense. Being here made no sense. The chances of him escaping had been lower than his battle computer could calculate, and the probability that Prime would have put an end to any retrieval attempts after what Mirage had most likely reported was a high 92.2 percent.
He had failed. The Decepticons still had him. This was a trick to break him when their previous attempts had fallen short.
He would not give them the satisfaction.
Walking to the door, he tried opening it.
Locked, from the outside.
He was still trapped.
That made sense. It was the most logical scenario.
So why did his spark feel like it wanted to go out?
Sinking heavily onto the berth, he curled into himself and felt the darkness encroach. Half-willing, he fell into its oblivion once more.
Hunter’s optics flickered on. Quietly, resignedly, he huffed air out of his intakes, and tried to go back into recharge. Skyfire had been adamant over him trying to get more, especially after the jet found out about all the interrupted cycles. After a while he gave up, and left for the rec room, strangely restless and unable to stay in his quarters for any longer. Maybe Bluestreak would be there as well.
In the glow of his monitors, a mech frowned and once more sent off a terse message to another.
========================================
The door buzzer for his office sounded, and he called out for whoever it was to enter, preoccupied with staring at the maps and plans spread out in front of him. A very familiar tread, distinguished by its relative silence compared to that of the average bot’s, clued him into the identity of the mech entering.
“Morning, Hunter.”
“Good morning sir.” Datapads were set on a desk he’d put aside specifically for them. The rest of the officers had agreed it was the only way to keep him from losing track of all the paperwork he had to go through and sign off on, especially since the number had only grown with the loss of the Autobot SIC. Soft clatters were heard as the pads were arranged according to content and urgency, and Optimus had to bite back an involuntary wince as the memory of the black and white mech who’d done the same hit him.
He was thankful that Hunter was no longer coloured as such, the visual distinction made things much easier. Even with all the good news the science team was reporting, he couldn’t help but want his friend back as soon as possible. But, at least it was possible now, he reminded himself, and with that happier thought he looked up at the mech, a smile hidden behind his battle mask.
“Hunter, take a look at this will you?”
The mech approached warily, and Optimus didn’t blame him. The youngling was still hesitant over things that he considered ‘Prowl’s territory’. Otherwise, the difference the paint job made in Hunter’s behaviour was amazing.
Optimus would have to remember to thank Sunstreaker.
The Lamborghini had shanghaied a surprised Hunter off to Hoist without a word to anyone but his twin, and the next thing they knew, a green coloured mech was in their offices dropping off datapads. He’d asked why, and had very nearly ordered them to repaint Hunter, but the frontliner had growled something about stopping deluded aftheads from using the kid as a Prowl surrogate. Unable to disagree with the mech’s reasoning, the Prime had let things be.
And after the last few days, he knew allowing Hunter to keep his new paint job had been a good thing. Constantly aware that he reminded the others of Prowl, the young mech had been withdrawn and hesitant about interacting with them, even reaching the point of consciously mimicking the SIC’s behaviour. As Hunter’s psyche was still in the more nascent stages, no matter how advanced his programming was thanks to Prowl, such behaviour took its toll on him.
Now, while no social butterfly by any stretch of the imagination (some things were truly just ingrained in the spark, he privately chuckled), without the overt reminder that the youngling was residing in what technically was Prowl’s chassis, the crew were much less awkward around him, and Hunter in turn was not as reserved, finally truly opening up and interacting, according to Skyfire and Ratchet, like a bot at his developmental stage should.
Now all they had to do was figure out how to get Hunter into the new body without turning him into a sparkless drone. Perceptor and Wheeljack had made a great deal of headway in that regard, and were working at a furious pace to solve the problem.
“Sir, what did you want me to do?”
“Take a look at this layout for me; we’re planning on upgrading the sensor grids and defences around the outside of the Ark, and implementing a more thorough emergency lockdown mode. I know something’s off about the arrangement. But I’ve been staring at it for so long, my optics are ready to revolt. Perhaps fresh ones might spot a gap or two.”
“Sir?! You’d trust me with this?” Ah, the youngling was gaping, something he probably wouldn’t have done while still coloured black and white.
“Hunter, Red Alert will go over this as well, and so will Jazz and a number of other mechs. I see no harm in having you run a few scenarios through your tactical programs at this stage.”
When the mech just continued staring at him, Optimus shed his battle mask and revealed a wry smile.
“I know that what you told us when we first met, about not having an option over rejecting the Decepticons, was likely constructed to get us to hear you out fully.”
At the youngling’s apprehensive cringe, the larger mech continued reassuringly. “I do not doubt your denunciation of their ways, but I think we both know that if you wanted, you could be in Decepticon territory before anyone realised it. Megatron would take you back, it was only your first show of betrayal after all, especially if you brought him sensitive data, and your position at his side would be both lofty and secure. But you haven’t.”
The smaller mech broke their staring contest, and started a new one with the floor.
“You don’t know that I won’t for certain.”
“Who knows what another individual truly thinks and feels? Trust must start somewhere, Hunter. I cannot force your allegiance, freedom of choice is one of the Autobot tenets, but I can choose to trust in you, just as I choose to trust in each one of my Autobots, to believe that each one is committed to our cause, to doing what’s right, even if they can be a little unorthodox in the execution. Just as you trust us to hold true to the ideals and beliefs you saw in Prowl’s spark and CPU, and not simply discard you when Prowl resurfaces.”
Hunter had no response to this, and after a brief silence, leant over the table, scanning the displayed information carefully. Then, in a quiet voice, he spoke again.
“You’ve no way to deactivate the system should no one be in the Ark when lockdown is initiated, sir. Not without having to get through all the defences first. Granted, the odds of that happening are low, but stranger things have happened.”
“Thank you, Hunter.”
The green mech met his optics once more. Smiling, the youngling replied. “No sir, thank you.”
========================================
“Mirage, what’s wrong?” Hound had finally caught up with him. Mirage wrapped his arms about himself, looking down at his chestplates. They’d been just leaving the rec room, and had come face to face with the youngling and the still raw memory of his failure at the door. After standing there like a drone, Hunter matching him stare for awkward stare, he’d mumbled some excuse and hurried away.
“Please extend my apologies to Hunter. I did not mean to give offence, or be so abrupt in leaving.” He should do so personally, but…
Hound had rested his hands on the blue mech’s shoulders comfortingly, confused but recognising that the spy was troubled. “Why did you leave though? He still reminds you of Prowl? That new paint job should make things easier for all of us.”
Reluctantly, he answered. “… A little of it is that.”
“And…?” And he really shouldn’t be in Special Ops if Hound could make him talk so easily.
“I was there Hound. I was in their slagging base for ages, and I couldn’t get him out. If I’d just tried a little harder, or stayed a little longer, or-” He cut himself off and glared harder at his folded arms.
“… I wouldn’t have had to report he’d died and the rescue attempts wouldn’t have stopped. We could have gotten him back.” While the mechs that had lashed out at him when he’d returned from that joyless trip had sincerely apologised, the nagging feeling that they’d spoken the truth constantly weighed on his spark.
Though surprised that Mirage had cursed out loud, Hound just gripped him tighter as he countered. “The others were wrong. You couldn’t have done anything more. You’re just one mech, even with your invisibility thing. If you’d tried to get Prowl out you’d likely have been trapped right next to him in the ‘Con base. Frag, we might even have two younglings running around now, Hunter and… whatever we’d call yours. Illusion? Shadow? I’m no good with names, we should ask Jazz.”
His temper flared, and he snarled at the mech. “It’s not a laughing matter Hound.”
“Of course it isn’t. No matter how badly you want a sparkling, there will be no going off on your own to get one planted in your CPU.” The blithe reply only angered him further. How dare this mech make light of this matter. Mirage broke free of the jeep and made to storm off when his arm was caught, holding him back.
“What.” His tone made it abundantly clear he was not in the mood for jokes, and Hound’s expression was just as serious. Mirage had been keeping this locked away for too long. The spy had come back, given a basic, terse report, as brief as he’d ever heard one, and had not spoken about it ever since. Up ‘till now.
“Mirage. It was too dangerous, and losing you would not have helped us any. You couldn’t have known the ‘Cons were able to keep him from deactivation. Nor could you have brought him back with you, not without the giving yourself away.” He turned back to face Hound.
“I should have risked it. Surely the tactician, our SIC, is more valuable to the Autobots than I am.” He should have. Ever since he’d seen Prowl’s chassis up and moving on that battlefield he’d been cursing himself for not doing so.
“I know it sounds cold, but he was beyond your ability to retrieve. What logic is there in losing you as well? Prowl put all of us before himself. He wouldn’t have wanted you to try something with such low odds of succeeding.”
“Like you said. He puts us before himself. Does he not deserve the same from us?”
“That is something you can hash out with Prowl. You heard Optimus. He’s back with us now, and he’s alive, just in a stasis of sorts. If you’d gotten caught…” The hand on his limb tightened, and a green arm encircled him, pulling him close. Mirage could feel the tension in the jeep’s frame, and realised that perhaps he meant more to his friend than he’d thought. And that realisation stunned him, because of how his spark leapt at the notion.
“We need you.”
“We need every mech on the Ark. It’s not like we can call home for reinforcements.” His answer was dry, and perhaps a little harsh in the light of what Hound’s body language was implying, but Mirage was treading on uncertain, new ground. As a spy, caution had saved his plating on more than a few occasions. But he didn’t pull away, and that told Hound all he had to know. Quietly, the admission was made into the blue mech’s audio.
“I need you.”
His lips making contact with Hound’s were all the reply either needed.
========================================
The tracker found the youngling outside the Ark, staring wide opticked at his surroundings. Along with Prime’s declaration of faith in Hunter, he’d also reminded the mech that being permitted to wander freely through the Ark included the external grounds as well. Having been brought in offline, he’d only seen it from memory fragments, which, as he’d been finding out was very true indeed, did not compare to actually doing so in person.
“Hey, Hunter?” At the somewhat hesitant call he turned to see another green mech approaching him.
“Yes Hound?”
“Um, sorry ‘bout Mirage, and he says he’s sorry too for running out on you back there.”
“It’s not a problem.” Hunter’s reply did not have the expected result on the jeep. If anything, Hound just looked more uncomfortable.
“If you don’t mind me asking, do you know why he did that? He’s normally always in control and mannerly and everything, but just seeing you shook him all the way down to the wiring. I know it’s something from when he went to the ‘Cons to try and rescue Prowl, but he won’t tell me, and I’m locking up my neural circuits just worrying over him.”
“… I don’t know.”
“You don’t? You’re in Prowl’s head and everything, it didn’t come up when you saw him?”
“My original programming seems to be getting overwritten, according to Skyfire, so I no longer get random memory data playing in my processors. And… I don’t want to just rifle through his memories.”
“Fair enough, I understand. Sorry.”
“I’ll try retrieving the data if it really comes down to it, but might I suggest you first try talking to Mirage once more?”
“You’re a good kid Hunter. Don’t, I’ll ask ‘Raj again, and if he doesn’t open up I’ll just have to break out the heavy artillery.”
“And that would be?”
“Hah, no need to look so concerned. I’d get Bluestreak to teach me his bumblepuppy, oh-please-pretty-please optics, and see if I can pull the look off.”
“That is a matter to be concerned over. Most of the crew are incapable of resisting that look, and him teaching you would give… certain others… ideas.” Door wings fluttered in what Hound knew was amusement, although Hunter’s tone was perfectly apprehensive.
“Nah, the mech already tried. Didn’t work for him. Still, it probably won’t come to that.” Hound patted Hunter on the helm, then shifted in mock uncertainly, playing along. “I think.”
========================================
He had datapads in his arms.
He was in the Ark. Outside the offices of the Ark’s High Command.
He had no memory of how he got to this point.
… He was green. A prank?
Logic processors and tactical programs began churning out possible explanations. They were slow, as if dealing with too much information, or were being given conflicting commands.
It was another attempt to weaken his defences. Or he was hallucinating from whatever the Decepticons were trying this time.
But hallucinations were not this… realistic, and no deception could be this detailed. The datapads had information he hadn’t known, information that tallied throughout the few datapads he’d rapidly scanned to check. The air was different from that he remembered at the Decepticon base, drier and less rank.
Discarded. Next option.
He was with the Autobots, but had suffered heavy processor damage and was having trouble storing memory data.
Not logical, Ratchet would never leave him unaccompanied, nor let him out of the Med Bay with a malfunction of such magnitude; much less allow him to resume his duties. Red Alert would have thrown several fits over the security hazard if he did.
Discarded. Next option.
He was with the Autobots, but under Decepticon control, control that he seemed to win free of on occasion, like right now, and his comrades did not know any better.
The last possibility caused his processors to stutter. He checked his chronometer, and his spark quailed at the length of time that had passed since his last lucid memory in the Decepticon base.
What? His next thoughts seemed sluggish and foreign, before clarity returned. His CPU was not working at full capacity. This realisation only served to heighten his apprehension.
He could be a danger to them.
Then, a wave of confusion and not a little fear hit. Why can’t I move?!
Datapads fell to the floor as he staggered back into the wall for support.
“ –ter?”
He jerked in the direction of the sound. How long had he stood here? Jazz. Using that infernal nickname again. The mech looked concerned, and was drawing closer.
Shaking his head frantically, vocaliser suddenly unable to voice a warning, the confusion and thoughts that didn’t seem to be his nearly overwhelmed him. Avoiding the hand that reached for him, he bolted, barely hearing or comprehending the Porsche’s strange cry.
“Hunter!”
Couldn’t stay. Not safe for them. His tactical programs were flashing warnings through his hazy CPU about the threat. If he could muster the sense to do it he might even laugh. He was warning himself about himself.
Why am I running? Bewilderment echoed through his processors, and he wondered why he was questioning his actions when he knew very well why he ran.
Not safe. Notsafenotsafenotsafe. Remove the threat. Get out of the Ark.
What’s happening?! A stronger curl of fear, definitely foreign.
Featureless walls sped by as he took a route that would bring him outside, calculated to avoid as many as possible, and to shake whoever was chasing him. And they would chase him. They were Autobots, his mechs, and he knew they would try to come for him.
His internal weaponry was not functioning; he didn’t bother with checking for the rest.
His comm. was out. Sensors flared as someone tried to lunge for him. Bluestreak. Trajectory plotted. Likely travel path mapped. Avoided.
He couldn’t transform to go any faster.
At least they had still followed protocol and taken the proper precautions, even if whatever controlling him had managed to fool them.
He would have to thank Red Alert, if he ever got the chance.
A wave of tiredness swept over him. No! He couldn’t give in again!
Sensors screamed once more. There was an obstacle ahead, but he saw nothing. Trailbreaker’s forcefields. No gaps he could slip through. Side corridor. Duck in.
Muffled cursing. Sounded like Sideswipe had hit the forcefields, unable to stop in time.
He stumbled.
His chassis… wasn’t responding?
His limbs were heavier, fighting his directions.
He fell, jerking in spasms as he tried to remain in control of his body. Voices.
“Ratchet! We’ve got him. ETA 5 minutes.” Skyfire? Skyfire!
“C’mon kid. I wasn’t serious about you glitching.” Hands holding him down as he struggled. Ironhide. Kid?
“Hunter, stop! What’s wrong?!” Jazz again. Who was Hunter? His optics locked onto the black and white’s, the confusion in them evident. Jazz stared, then whispered in near disbelief. “Prowl?”
Straining to speak, he managed a nod and an inarticulate cry as he lost the battle and fell into darkness again.
========================================
The mechs glanced at each other over the limp, offline form. As the mech slowly onlined and stirred, they tensed, ready to grab hold of him again.
“’Fire? Blue’?” A shaken Hunter stayed very still under their regard, and was immediately pulled into a close hold by the jet, one that served to restrain him in case he (and here Skyfire was not exactly sure of which 'he' that was, even if Hunter seemed to be the one in control at the moment) ran again, as well as calm him down.
“We’re here. Let’s get you to the Med Bay.”
~ Yes, lack of sleep can make me hyper. Why do you ask? *crashes*
What in the name of shiny was I doing for the past year?!
In other news- *mobbed by bunnies*
There's not that many neurons left for them to poke into fic though. So I guess they'll lose interest in a bit.
And I finally get to post on LJ again. Worked on this whenever the thesis decided it hated me and stopped making sense (which was a lot of the time, is it obvious?).
Title: Hunter Green (Part 10)
'Verse: G1 Transformers.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Same as before.
He woke in what still looked like his quarters.
Familiar objects and settings, but on closer inspection, things were just a bit… off.
His computer terminal was missing. That stood out the most. The other, more subtle differences seemed to be there to mock him.
It made no sense. Being here made no sense. The chances of him escaping had been lower than his battle computer could calculate, and the probability that Prime would have put an end to any retrieval attempts after what Mirage had most likely reported was a high 92.2 percent.
He had failed. The Decepticons still had him. This was a trick to break him when their previous attempts had fallen short.
He would not give them the satisfaction.
Walking to the door, he tried opening it.
Locked, from the outside.
He was still trapped.
That made sense. It was the most logical scenario.
So why did his spark feel like it wanted to go out?
Sinking heavily onto the berth, he curled into himself and felt the darkness encroach. Half-willing, he fell into its oblivion once more.
Hunter’s optics flickered on. Quietly, resignedly, he huffed air out of his intakes, and tried to go back into recharge. Skyfire had been adamant over him trying to get more, especially after the jet found out about all the interrupted cycles. After a while he gave up, and left for the rec room, strangely restless and unable to stay in his quarters for any longer. Maybe Bluestreak would be there as well.
In the glow of his monitors, a mech frowned and once more sent off a terse message to another.
The door buzzer for his office sounded, and he called out for whoever it was to enter, preoccupied with staring at the maps and plans spread out in front of him. A very familiar tread, distinguished by its relative silence compared to that of the average bot’s, clued him into the identity of the mech entering.
“Morning, Hunter.”
“Good morning sir.” Datapads were set on a desk he’d put aside specifically for them. The rest of the officers had agreed it was the only way to keep him from losing track of all the paperwork he had to go through and sign off on, especially since the number had only grown with the loss of the Autobot SIC. Soft clatters were heard as the pads were arranged according to content and urgency, and Optimus had to bite back an involuntary wince as the memory of the black and white mech who’d done the same hit him.
He was thankful that Hunter was no longer coloured as such, the visual distinction made things much easier. Even with all the good news the science team was reporting, he couldn’t help but want his friend back as soon as possible. But, at least it was possible now, he reminded himself, and with that happier thought he looked up at the mech, a smile hidden behind his battle mask.
“Hunter, take a look at this will you?”
The mech approached warily, and Optimus didn’t blame him. The youngling was still hesitant over things that he considered ‘Prowl’s territory’. Otherwise, the difference the paint job made in Hunter’s behaviour was amazing.
Optimus would have to remember to thank Sunstreaker.
The Lamborghini had shanghaied a surprised Hunter off to Hoist without a word to anyone but his twin, and the next thing they knew, a green coloured mech was in their offices dropping off datapads. He’d asked why, and had very nearly ordered them to repaint Hunter, but the frontliner had growled something about stopping deluded aftheads from using the kid as a Prowl surrogate. Unable to disagree with the mech’s reasoning, the Prime had let things be.
And after the last few days, he knew allowing Hunter to keep his new paint job had been a good thing. Constantly aware that he reminded the others of Prowl, the young mech had been withdrawn and hesitant about interacting with them, even reaching the point of consciously mimicking the SIC’s behaviour. As Hunter’s psyche was still in the more nascent stages, no matter how advanced his programming was thanks to Prowl, such behaviour took its toll on him.
Now, while no social butterfly by any stretch of the imagination (some things were truly just ingrained in the spark, he privately chuckled), without the overt reminder that the youngling was residing in what technically was Prowl’s chassis, the crew were much less awkward around him, and Hunter in turn was not as reserved, finally truly opening up and interacting, according to Skyfire and Ratchet, like a bot at his developmental stage should.
Now all they had to do was figure out how to get Hunter into the new body without turning him into a sparkless drone. Perceptor and Wheeljack had made a great deal of headway in that regard, and were working at a furious pace to solve the problem.
“Sir, what did you want me to do?”
“Take a look at this layout for me; we’re planning on upgrading the sensor grids and defences around the outside of the Ark, and implementing a more thorough emergency lockdown mode. I know something’s off about the arrangement. But I’ve been staring at it for so long, my optics are ready to revolt. Perhaps fresh ones might spot a gap or two.”
“Sir?! You’d trust me with this?” Ah, the youngling was gaping, something he probably wouldn’t have done while still coloured black and white.
“Hunter, Red Alert will go over this as well, and so will Jazz and a number of other mechs. I see no harm in having you run a few scenarios through your tactical programs at this stage.”
When the mech just continued staring at him, Optimus shed his battle mask and revealed a wry smile.
“I know that what you told us when we first met, about not having an option over rejecting the Decepticons, was likely constructed to get us to hear you out fully.”
At the youngling’s apprehensive cringe, the larger mech continued reassuringly. “I do not doubt your denunciation of their ways, but I think we both know that if you wanted, you could be in Decepticon territory before anyone realised it. Megatron would take you back, it was only your first show of betrayal after all, especially if you brought him sensitive data, and your position at his side would be both lofty and secure. But you haven’t.”
The smaller mech broke their staring contest, and started a new one with the floor.
“You don’t know that I won’t for certain.”
“Who knows what another individual truly thinks and feels? Trust must start somewhere, Hunter. I cannot force your allegiance, freedom of choice is one of the Autobot tenets, but I can choose to trust in you, just as I choose to trust in each one of my Autobots, to believe that each one is committed to our cause, to doing what’s right, even if they can be a little unorthodox in the execution. Just as you trust us to hold true to the ideals and beliefs you saw in Prowl’s spark and CPU, and not simply discard you when Prowl resurfaces.”
Hunter had no response to this, and after a brief silence, leant over the table, scanning the displayed information carefully. Then, in a quiet voice, he spoke again.
“You’ve no way to deactivate the system should no one be in the Ark when lockdown is initiated, sir. Not without having to get through all the defences first. Granted, the odds of that happening are low, but stranger things have happened.”
“Thank you, Hunter.”
The green mech met his optics once more. Smiling, the youngling replied. “No sir, thank you.”
“Mirage, what’s wrong?” Hound had finally caught up with him. Mirage wrapped his arms about himself, looking down at his chestplates. They’d been just leaving the rec room, and had come face to face with the youngling and the still raw memory of his failure at the door. After standing there like a drone, Hunter matching him stare for awkward stare, he’d mumbled some excuse and hurried away.
“Please extend my apologies to Hunter. I did not mean to give offence, or be so abrupt in leaving.” He should do so personally, but…
Hound had rested his hands on the blue mech’s shoulders comfortingly, confused but recognising that the spy was troubled. “Why did you leave though? He still reminds you of Prowl? That new paint job should make things easier for all of us.”
Reluctantly, he answered. “… A little of it is that.”
“And…?” And he really shouldn’t be in Special Ops if Hound could make him talk so easily.
“I was there Hound. I was in their slagging base for ages, and I couldn’t get him out. If I’d just tried a little harder, or stayed a little longer, or-” He cut himself off and glared harder at his folded arms.
“… I wouldn’t have had to report he’d died and the rescue attempts wouldn’t have stopped. We could have gotten him back.” While the mechs that had lashed out at him when he’d returned from that joyless trip had sincerely apologised, the nagging feeling that they’d spoken the truth constantly weighed on his spark.
Though surprised that Mirage had cursed out loud, Hound just gripped him tighter as he countered. “The others were wrong. You couldn’t have done anything more. You’re just one mech, even with your invisibility thing. If you’d tried to get Prowl out you’d likely have been trapped right next to him in the ‘Con base. Frag, we might even have two younglings running around now, Hunter and… whatever we’d call yours. Illusion? Shadow? I’m no good with names, we should ask Jazz.”
His temper flared, and he snarled at the mech. “It’s not a laughing matter Hound.”
“Of course it isn’t. No matter how badly you want a sparkling, there will be no going off on your own to get one planted in your CPU.” The blithe reply only angered him further. How dare this mech make light of this matter. Mirage broke free of the jeep and made to storm off when his arm was caught, holding him back.
“What.” His tone made it abundantly clear he was not in the mood for jokes, and Hound’s expression was just as serious. Mirage had been keeping this locked away for too long. The spy had come back, given a basic, terse report, as brief as he’d ever heard one, and had not spoken about it ever since. Up ‘till now.
“Mirage. It was too dangerous, and losing you would not have helped us any. You couldn’t have known the ‘Cons were able to keep him from deactivation. Nor could you have brought him back with you, not without the giving yourself away.” He turned back to face Hound.
“I should have risked it. Surely the tactician, our SIC, is more valuable to the Autobots than I am.” He should have. Ever since he’d seen Prowl’s chassis up and moving on that battlefield he’d been cursing himself for not doing so.
“I know it sounds cold, but he was beyond your ability to retrieve. What logic is there in losing you as well? Prowl put all of us before himself. He wouldn’t have wanted you to try something with such low odds of succeeding.”
“Like you said. He puts us before himself. Does he not deserve the same from us?”
“That is something you can hash out with Prowl. You heard Optimus. He’s back with us now, and he’s alive, just in a stasis of sorts. If you’d gotten caught…” The hand on his limb tightened, and a green arm encircled him, pulling him close. Mirage could feel the tension in the jeep’s frame, and realised that perhaps he meant more to his friend than he’d thought. And that realisation stunned him, because of how his spark leapt at the notion.
“We need you.”
“We need every mech on the Ark. It’s not like we can call home for reinforcements.” His answer was dry, and perhaps a little harsh in the light of what Hound’s body language was implying, but Mirage was treading on uncertain, new ground. As a spy, caution had saved his plating on more than a few occasions. But he didn’t pull away, and that told Hound all he had to know. Quietly, the admission was made into the blue mech’s audio.
“I need you.”
His lips making contact with Hound’s were all the reply either needed.
The tracker found the youngling outside the Ark, staring wide opticked at his surroundings. Along with Prime’s declaration of faith in Hunter, he’d also reminded the mech that being permitted to wander freely through the Ark included the external grounds as well. Having been brought in offline, he’d only seen it from memory fragments, which, as he’d been finding out was very true indeed, did not compare to actually doing so in person.
“Hey, Hunter?” At the somewhat hesitant call he turned to see another green mech approaching him.
“Yes Hound?”
“Um, sorry ‘bout Mirage, and he says he’s sorry too for running out on you back there.”
“It’s not a problem.” Hunter’s reply did not have the expected result on the jeep. If anything, Hound just looked more uncomfortable.
“If you don’t mind me asking, do you know why he did that? He’s normally always in control and mannerly and everything, but just seeing you shook him all the way down to the wiring. I know it’s something from when he went to the ‘Cons to try and rescue Prowl, but he won’t tell me, and I’m locking up my neural circuits just worrying over him.”
“… I don’t know.”
“You don’t? You’re in Prowl’s head and everything, it didn’t come up when you saw him?”
“My original programming seems to be getting overwritten, according to Skyfire, so I no longer get random memory data playing in my processors. And… I don’t want to just rifle through his memories.”
“Fair enough, I understand. Sorry.”
“I’ll try retrieving the data if it really comes down to it, but might I suggest you first try talking to Mirage once more?”
“You’re a good kid Hunter. Don’t, I’ll ask ‘Raj again, and if he doesn’t open up I’ll just have to break out the heavy artillery.”
“And that would be?”
“Hah, no need to look so concerned. I’d get Bluestreak to teach me his bumblepuppy, oh-please-pretty-please optics, and see if I can pull the look off.”
“That is a matter to be concerned over. Most of the crew are incapable of resisting that look, and him teaching you would give… certain others… ideas.” Door wings fluttered in what Hound knew was amusement, although Hunter’s tone was perfectly apprehensive.
“Nah, the mech already tried. Didn’t work for him. Still, it probably won’t come to that.” Hound patted Hunter on the helm, then shifted in mock uncertainly, playing along. “I think.”
He had datapads in his arms.
He was in the Ark. Outside the offices of the Ark’s High Command.
He had no memory of how he got to this point.
… He was green. A prank?
Logic processors and tactical programs began churning out possible explanations. They were slow, as if dealing with too much information, or were being given conflicting commands.
It was another attempt to weaken his defences. Or he was hallucinating from whatever the Decepticons were trying this time.
But hallucinations were not this… realistic, and no deception could be this detailed. The datapads had information he hadn’t known, information that tallied throughout the few datapads he’d rapidly scanned to check. The air was different from that he remembered at the Decepticon base, drier and less rank.
Discarded. Next option.
He was with the Autobots, but had suffered heavy processor damage and was having trouble storing memory data.
Not logical, Ratchet would never leave him unaccompanied, nor let him out of the Med Bay with a malfunction of such magnitude; much less allow him to resume his duties. Red Alert would have thrown several fits over the security hazard if he did.
Discarded. Next option.
He was with the Autobots, but under Decepticon control, control that he seemed to win free of on occasion, like right now, and his comrades did not know any better.
The last possibility caused his processors to stutter. He checked his chronometer, and his spark quailed at the length of time that had passed since his last lucid memory in the Decepticon base.
What? His next thoughts seemed sluggish and foreign, before clarity returned. His CPU was not working at full capacity. This realisation only served to heighten his apprehension.
He could be a danger to them.
Then, a wave of confusion and not a little fear hit. Why can’t I move?!
Datapads fell to the floor as he staggered back into the wall for support.
“ –ter?”
He jerked in the direction of the sound. How long had he stood here? Jazz. Using that infernal nickname again. The mech looked concerned, and was drawing closer.
Shaking his head frantically, vocaliser suddenly unable to voice a warning, the confusion and thoughts that didn’t seem to be his nearly overwhelmed him. Avoiding the hand that reached for him, he bolted, barely hearing or comprehending the Porsche’s strange cry.
“Hunter!”
Couldn’t stay. Not safe for them. His tactical programs were flashing warnings through his hazy CPU about the threat. If he could muster the sense to do it he might even laugh. He was warning himself about himself.
Why am I running? Bewilderment echoed through his processors, and he wondered why he was questioning his actions when he knew very well why he ran.
Not safe. Notsafenotsafenotsafe. Remove the threat. Get out of the Ark.
What’s happening?! A stronger curl of fear, definitely foreign.
Featureless walls sped by as he took a route that would bring him outside, calculated to avoid as many as possible, and to shake whoever was chasing him. And they would chase him. They were Autobots, his mechs, and he knew they would try to come for him.
His internal weaponry was not functioning; he didn’t bother with checking for the rest.
His comm. was out. Sensors flared as someone tried to lunge for him. Bluestreak. Trajectory plotted. Likely travel path mapped. Avoided.
He couldn’t transform to go any faster.
At least they had still followed protocol and taken the proper precautions, even if whatever controlling him had managed to fool them.
He would have to thank Red Alert, if he ever got the chance.
A wave of tiredness swept over him. No! He couldn’t give in again!
Sensors screamed once more. There was an obstacle ahead, but he saw nothing. Trailbreaker’s forcefields. No gaps he could slip through. Side corridor. Duck in.
Muffled cursing. Sounded like Sideswipe had hit the forcefields, unable to stop in time.
He stumbled.
His chassis… wasn’t responding?
His limbs were heavier, fighting his directions.
He fell, jerking in spasms as he tried to remain in control of his body. Voices.
“Ratchet! We’ve got him. ETA 5 minutes.” Skyfire? Skyfire!
“C’mon kid. I wasn’t serious about you glitching.” Hands holding him down as he struggled. Ironhide. Kid?
“Hunter, stop! What’s wrong?!” Jazz again. Who was Hunter? His optics locked onto the black and white’s, the confusion in them evident. Jazz stared, then whispered in near disbelief. “Prowl?”
Straining to speak, he managed a nod and an inarticulate cry as he lost the battle and fell into darkness again.
The mechs glanced at each other over the limp, offline form. As the mech slowly onlined and stirred, they tensed, ready to grab hold of him again.
“’Fire? Blue’?” A shaken Hunter stayed very still under their regard, and was immediately pulled into a close hold by the jet, one that served to restrain him in case he (and here Skyfire was not exactly sure of which 'he' that was, even if Hunter seemed to be the one in control at the moment) ran again, as well as calm him down.
“We’re here. Let’s get you to the Med Bay.”
~ Yes, lack of sleep can make me hyper. Why do you ask? *crashes*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 05:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 05:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-07 06:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-07 08:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 05:32 pm (UTC)You wouldn't happen to have this posted else where, by any chance, would you? Like on fanfiction.net? I tried searching for it, but I couldn't find it.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 05:46 pm (UTC)I suppose I should consider it though.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 08:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-07 04:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-07 07:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-08 06:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 06:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 06:51 pm (UTC)i do believe this is now my favorite section of the fic. (so far, anyway^^)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 07:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 07:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 07:15 pm (UTC)*cheers for finishing thesis* Freedom! Well, freedom from uni - I turned around and found all the muses grinning at me, it was quite disconcerting. XD And I know exactly what you mean, what on earth did I just spend my entire year doing?? :P
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 07:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 07:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 07:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 07:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-06 10:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-07 04:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-07 12:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-07 04:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-07 12:19 am (UTC)And Hound! *hugs* (sorry, I'm just going to nab him now.... I'll return him to Mirage later)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-07 12:52 am (UTC)Totally agree with all the other opinions above, you did great!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-07 04:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-07 03:19 am (UTC)Loved Optimus's little trust speech, and the explanation for Sunstreaker giving Hunter a new paint job, and Hound and Mirage's interaction, and Prowl's split-second amusement that he was "warning himself about himself" *laughs most amusedly*
Can't wait to see what happens next. Hugs for Hunter and Prowl, poor things, rather traumatizing day it sounds like...
and congrats on the thesis! (those things are supposed to be 'about' something? huh. go figure...)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-07 04:06 am (UTC)Glad you liked this :3
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-07 02:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-08 06:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-09 03:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-09 06:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-09 06:57 am (UTC)I am so happy to see Prowl finally, truly coming back to himself. But... if Hunter needs a new body... what are they going to do about the spark issue? He shares a spark with Prowl.... there are just so many possibilities for this!
Keep up the great work! *hugs*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-09 07:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-10 01:15 am (UTC)So, your thesis is about Wheeljack and things blowing up if you don't pay attention, and if you follow the recipe it won't blow up but the plot bunnies really need to leave your brain alone so you can pay attention The End go write now.
No? Darn. I tried.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-10 02:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-17 09:38 pm (UTC)And awwwww at the Mirage/Hound scene. I love Hound's attempts to lighten the mood and that he knows to sober up at the right moment.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-17 10:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-11 09:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-11 11:35 am (UTC)