Vengeance

Summary: Broken, beaten, defiled... Living, let alone moving on, from this point is a challenge not many are strong enough to accomplish. Dark fic; Rape, Language, Mech/Mech
Rating: M

Chapter 10



The emptiness was like a cold fog. Wrapped in its cold clutch, Jazz slipped into the hallway, closing the duct up behind him as he did so. He looked first up and then down the corridor, expecting, anticipating some sort of commotion or other sign of life.

Nothing came.

Slowly, the saboteur slunk down the left, keeping to the wall, his sensors turned to the highest notch. The darkness deepened as he headed further down the ship; lilac neon lights dimmed or flickering half-dead in their fixtures along the wall. The way they sputtered caused the shadows to leap and dance like slithering pit-spawn, making Jazz pause for a moment as something glinted in the corner of his visor.

But when the Autobot turned to see better what had caught his attention, there was nothing to be seen. A chill running down his spinal struts, Jazz faced forwards again, quickening his pace down the hall. The silence seemed to only grow, forcing a worm of paranoia to dig into the officer's processor. Jazz did not even have the chance to rid himself of its infectious grasp, before his pede knocked against something dropped on the floor; the item rolled off into inky blackness, clattering like a million wheels against a subway track.

Flinching, the saboteur froze in place, his spark pulsing so erratically in his chestplates that it felt as if the luminescent orb would implode suddenly.

...He could still hear the sound echoing down the hallway and further below the floor....

Yet, he heard nothing else. Jazz stayed where he was, pressed to the wall, intakes stalled and fingers dug deep into the seams of the walls. Like some sort of infallible predator, the silence circled back into the corridor, overtaking the air; compressing it, overwhelming even the dim lights weakly fighting for a chance to live. He did not know how long it took for him to move again, but pushing aside his terror was a battle in itself. Even afterwards, the unease stayed with Jazz as he forced himself to continue down the rest of the hall.

He only had to make it the command deck, he told himself. Everything he needed to know would be saved in the ships' database.

Down, down the black and white mech went, his pace increasing with every level.... every empty corridor.... every shallow breath of dead stillness.... Madness threatened to undo the usually cool Special Ops officer. Reaching into subspace, Jazz withdrew his blaster, holding it between his shaking servos as he rounded the last corner, spotting the door for the command deck just ahead.

His pedefalls were like the slow, single drumbeat to an unfortunate mech's execution.

Coming up to his destination, Jazz shifted the weapon into one servo, fumbling through the dim, dreary lighting for the keypad. A bulb overhead suddenly blew out, startling the Autobot, who ducked his helm against the rain of sparks that showered down on him. From under his arm, he thought he saw something move, touched with a thread of violet, but when he lifted his helm darkness descended again and there was nothing to be seen on his scanners. Unable to quell the strangling terror beneath the surface this time, the mech wildly scratched the wall for the keypad; finding it, he pried it apart, fingers subconsciously twisting at wires, exposing their innards, before hot-wiring the lock into opening for him.

Air came rushing back into his overheating systems as Jazz got the door open; white, pixelated light filling the corridor. Slumping against the doorframe weakly, the saboteur lifted his helm to survey his new surroundings, feeling his relief flee back to the depths of his being once more.

A sea..... a sea of magenta painted the world before him....

Fear prickling at his back struts, Jazz slowly turned back around, visor flaring in horror as he took in the demons he had just marched past moments before. Processor crashing, the Autobot sunk to the floor, servos resting in the carnage that surrounded him.

xxXxXxx

“Ratchet, please....”

“I said 'leave me alone'!” Skyfire ducked his helm as the medic threw a tray of tools at him; their pristine metal first bouncing off of his chassis before clattering to the floor below. Slowly, the shuttle bent down to pick them up, collecting them in one large servo. Sighing softly, he straightened back up, his optics lifted slightly to stare at the irate 'bot.

“I know you don't wish for my company, Ratchet,” he replied, carrying the now dirty tools over to the nearest counter. “But I wanted to be here for you.”

Ratchet snarled, spinning around and marching around the side of Mirage's berth. Skyfire did not attempt to follow after him, knowing that the ambulance was using his comatose friend as a last resort barrier. “What....,” the medic asked testily, “Are you talking about? What could you possibly do for me?!”

That response made the shuttle cringe. He turned his helm towards the defensive mech slowly, his optics dim and his chin dipped to better display his lack of aggressiveness. “Ratchet.... do you not know?,” Skyfire asked hesitantly. The idea that Ratchet was unaware of what was happening around the Ark was preposterous..... or so he hoped. But it became horribly clear as the CMO remained silent to the question, his glare increasing and his servos clenching at the sides of the berth, that he knew not what the other Autobot was talking about.

“What are you talking about?,” Ratchet repeated darkly. His servo inched towards a wrench by Mirage's berthside.

Immediately, Skyfire backed down, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“You-”

“Ratchet, I.... I don't believe I should be the one to...”

“Tell me!,” the medic roared, coming around the berth, wrench in servo. He stormed up to the shuttle, slamming the tool's head into Skyfire's side painfully. “You were set on keeping me company with your mindless chatter -don't you dare fall silent on me now!”

Skyfire tried to ignore the jabbing pain piercing his side, his optics lighting on the enraged Autobot. “But Ratchet...,” he replied softly, grasping the other's servo and pulling the wrench away from his plating, “I had thought you knew.... honestly, that Tracks....”

Shrill beeping from Teletraan I's speakers echoed throughout the medbay, cutting off the rest of what the larger 'bot had been about to say. “All personnel report to the command deck,” the monotone AI program said, “All personnel report to the command deck immediately.” Turning his helm up to the ceiling, Skyfire sighed, cold unease slithering through all of his circuits as he dropped his gaze back down to the medic standing stock-still before him.

Afraid that he had done something to upset the smaller mech, Skyfire gently grasped Ratchet's elbow, bending low to look the other Autobot in the optics. “Ratchet, maybe....,” he started quietly, “I think we should go to the command deck.”

“What....,” came the dead words, halting the shuttle as he turned to escort them both to the door. Glancing down, Skyfire was torn to see that once spiteful face looking back at him, nothing but fear and grasping denial reflecting in the medic's optics. “W-what.... what a-about Tracks....?”

“Ratchet, I-”

“TELL ME!,” Ratchet screamed, his former ferocity returning as his terror mounted. Skyfire could not move, both his forearms trapped beneath the white mech's caging fingers; trapped, unable to turn his helm away from this beautiful 'bot cracking before him.

Resigned to being the messenger, the shuttle released a small, heavy vent, clenching his servos tightly as he connected gazes with that of the CMO. “Tracks..... has been missing,” he answered wearily. “For the past week. No one....no one knows where he is; they've been searching since a couple days ago. I thought.... I had thought you'd been informed. Perceptor, he knew and-”

Skyfire was unable to finish his sentence as he was shoved back viciously, Ratchet throwing himself away from the bigger mech and sprinting for the doors. He ignored the pain as he slammed a little too quickly into the metal, writhing through the gap impatiently, uncaring to the worried voice calling out to him as he desperately bolted down the halls. Intakes heaving and processor swirling, the CMO flew down the orange corridors, tripping as he turned suddenly into the command deck. He missed the way the silence tightened as he entered, still lost in the moment when he had been flying down the hallways, urged on by the pressing need to get where the others were, where the truth could be found.

Turning his helm up to the front of the group, where the officers stood before Teletraan I, Ratchet's optics flashed violet before he was storming up towards them, fists clenched at his side. “You!,” he snarled.

Perceptor jumped out from the crowd, scrambling into the medic's path. “R-ratchet,” the microscope hiccuped, on the verge of tears again, “P-please, Ratchet, do not be rash!”

“Liars!!,” Ratchet screamed, trying to side-step past the smaller mech. “How long? How long did you know that he was missing?! How long were you going to keep the truth from me -until you found Tracks bleeding out onto the floor, or worse, dead?! You rotten, insensitive, conniving gli-”

“Ratchet! PLEASE!” The CMO startled at the frantic shout, turning his helm down to the sobbing scientist grasping at his arms desperately. Perceptor cycled a rattling intake, dropping his gaze weakly to the floor. “P-please....,” he begged again, “P-please, d-don't..... don't be mad with t-them. Th-they didn't k-know....”

Mechs shifted around the room uncertainly, gazes lifting and sliding off to the sides. Quickly, Ratchet scanned all of their faces, glaring; his own cheekplates darkening before his optics fell contritely as they landed on the Autobot leader. Optimus stared back at the medic unflinchingly, sadness and understanding glimmering in his glossy gaze. “I do apologize Ratchet,” the truck said. “If we had paid a little more attention, were not so afraid of what actions we might take ourselves, perhaps we would have noticed sooner what was happening before everything fell apart. As it stands, we only discovered that Tracks was missing but a couple orns ago.... we've been searching ceaselessly for him since, hoping that we would have only good news to bring to you.”

“We tried, Ratchet,” Optimus continued softly. “Please, if nothing else, at least remember that.”

Coldness seeped into the medic's circuits as he turned his helm up to the bigger mech; coolant coating his optics as he tried to process information through his rising despair. “W-what..... what are y-you saying....?”

“It's over.” This time, Prowl stepped forwards; his doorwings held at half-mast behind him, even more rigid than usual. From out of the shadows, Jazz sidled into view, slipping around the SIC's regal form and stepping towards the two victims. “The war as we know it.... is no more,” the Datsun finished.

Gasps and murmurs of confusion circled around the room. Skyfire, stepping into the room just then, paused. “The war?,” his gentle voice asked perplexedly. “I do not understand. How....?”

“What about Megatron? He's never stayed down for long -even when we've thought he was dead!,” the shuttle pointed out. “How can you be certain that we no longer have to fight? Not just for ourselves, but for the survival of others?”

“He lives,” Prowl confessed, “But it will be vorns before he will ever awaken from stasis. As for his army.... Well, there is no army to speak of.”

“But....”

“It was all his doing,” Jazz continued. He spoke softly, his gaze fixed on Ratchet and Perceptor only, but around the room, silence fell. Everyone hanging onto the mech's words. He smiled, half-brokenly as he came to a stop before the two Autobots, holding out a simple datapad. He visor dimmed and his smile twisted apologetically as the scientist took the risk, reaching forward to accept the item from the saboteur. “His last effort....,” the Special Ops officer mumbled, “....and all for you....”

The crowd waited anxiously as Perceptor cradled the datapad closer, his fingers fumbling to turn the dingy screen on. Slowly, a few of the bystanders stepped forward; Bluestreak, Bumblebee and Hoist, to name a few, coming closer to their estranged comrades. Distracted as he was, Ratchet did not notice, his attention glued to the little screen that flashed into life. Carefully, he leaned over the microscope's shoulders, reading the words typed across its face. The silence stretched on, all optics witness as horror, then absolute sorrow overtook the two reading the datapad and its mysterious message.

“N-no....,” choked Perceptor, his servos dropping as the datapad clattered to the floor below. “Wh-why..... why would he....? I-i-i mean, we.... w-we didn't.....” The red mech sunk to the floor slowly, vocalizer spitting static as the tears splashed down his face unhindered. “T-tracks... y-you didn't.... you....you.....”

Like water, sorrow flowed from every mech there; tears collecting in optics and intakes stuttering. Unable to fight it any longer, Ratchet too collapsed. But he did not hit the floor. A warmth pressed to his side, holding him upright. Onlining his optics through his tears, the medic turned, gasping through a sob as he saw Bluestreak staring back at him. The young gunner smiled softly at the older mech, unashamed about the tears spilling down his own cheekplates as he reached down to clasp Ratchet's servo. Overwhelmed by the compassion that he had so needed, the CMO sobbed loudly, his helm turning back to the floor as the tears came harder. Grey doorwings fluttered, rising protectively about him as Bluestreak rested his helm on Ratchet's shaking shoulder plating. On his right, another presence settled in, gently lifting the ambulance's servo into a much larger one.

From his spot, Optimus watched as his crew broke down completely; discarding firewalls and false bravado, allowing themselves to finally be as weak as they felt and have the chance to comfort and be comforted in return. From his own optics came a few tears; the coolant trickling heavily down the sides of the truck's battle mask.

A soft touch on his elbow drew the Autobot leader's attention; cycling an intake wearily, he turned his helm to Smokescreen, unsurprised to see that the psychologist had sought him out during this moment. The multi-coloured Datsun could see past his facade well enough, mask or not.

“It.....it will be a struggle,” Smokescreen said thickly, the faintest trace of static in his tone. “B-but.... but I think they might be able to make it, sir.”

Optimus smiled, folding his servos behind his back as he returned his gaze back to the rest of his soldiers. No..... not soldiers anymore, he told himself. Today, the idea of peace and freedom were more of a reality than just a longed for hope. “Yes.... I know they will. I have faith in them.”

xxXxXxx

Let me start with, 'I'm sorry.'

I'm sorry for the pain, I'm sorry for the anger, I'm sorry for the things that I have destroyed or have been destroyed by the others.

I can never erase what happened, but I can do my part in making sure you are never reminded of it again.

I leave you now, with the knowledge that I have made every single one of them pay. I have sold my soul..... but in exchange, vengeance has been exacted. I'm sorry that it wasn't sooner.

Do not follow me; I will not be found. I can not return. I am content with the choices I have made, so please do not fret.

I will be okay where I go.

Ratchet, Perceptor, Mirage.......

Take care.

-Tracks

C.M.D: This is where the story ends. Sexual abuse, in any form, is a crime that is so indescribable, words are useless, and the things it ruins in its wake are very rarely mentioned. I started this with the hopes of exploring how four different individuals would be changed, how they would recover (if ever they did), and what would become of the others around them. I succeeded.
The ending may not have been one that you were looking for, but it is the only honest and true ending that could give any of the Autobots hope. If you've made it this far, thank you for joining me on this ride; I hope this comes back to your minds every once in a blue moon.