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 9



He'd only look on this place once more.

Thrusters struck high into the sky, peeking out from the rubble that covered the base, where they connected to the rest of the ship. Open doors underneath showed orange walls, darkening as they led further into the shuttle, where the rest of the crew would be. Ignorant as always....

Then why did he feel almost sad to be going?

Leaves rustled quietly behind him; canting his helm slightly, he acknowledged the other's presence quietly. A red gaze was fixed firmly on his backstruts, burning a cold heat into the metal. “I know.....,” he whispered, speaking to the silent demand.

Warmth encased his servo as the new-comer grasped it, slowly tugging him away from his remorseful vigil over the Ark across the plain. He did not protest the action, nor the arm winding about his waist possessively. He had after all agreed to this.

“Come,” beckoned the flat voice, and he obeyed, not sparing even the smallest glance backwards.

xxXxXxx

Optimus stared at the mech behind the bars, burdened by disappointment and disbelief. “Do you have any remorse, whatsoever?,” the truck-former asked, hoping for some sort of confession.

Wheeljack's optics darkened, the engineer clenching his fists between his thighs. “No,” he snarled through his blast mask. His helm fins flashed a dark red. “Why should I? I've done nothing wrong. If you've forgotten, I was the one that was viciously attacked, for no reason at all! I don't deserve to be locked in the brig- that monster does, and so do the rest of you!”

At the Autobot leader's side, Prowl actually flinched.

The white mech scoffed, his accusing glare still fixed on Optimus. “They've changed... all of them. They've become poisonous, and look at how they're affecting you! Everyone -they've all started to pander to Ratchet's manipulations, going around weak and whimpering. It's no wonder the Decepticons are winning,” Wheeljack coldly said. “We should have just left those four to rot.... instead of bringing that disease back into our base and paying the consequences.”

“Why ya fragging-,” Jazz growled behind them. Silence quickly followed, and Optimus could only assume that Prowl had intervened before the saboteur could say anything more. For that, he was grateful.

Slowly, the truck crossed his arms behind his back, struggling to keep the coolant from rising to his optics. “I..... am sorry that you feel that way, Wheeljack,” the larger Autobot said. A touch of static laced his tone, which he avidly ignored. “But you will remain here until either you can forgo your misplaced hatred, or until an appropriate punishment has been decided. This..... incident, has affected much, but for you, the cost seems to have been too much.”

The engineer did not reply; turning his helm down and scowling at the floor of his cell.

There was nothing else he could do. Bowing his helm slightly, Optimus tried to muffle his sigh as best as he could, feeling as if once again he had failed. “We'll leave you alone then,” he announced, turning in place. He paused, waiting to see if Wheeljack would make some sort of comment or repentance. But of course, the engineer did neither. “You are a good mech, Wheeljack,” Optimus attempted to assure, “But even we are just as lost as how to react to the horror our friends have suffered through. Maybe you should think about that some more.”

Prowl and Jazz followed behind silently as their leader exited the brig. Only when the doors had closed behind them, depositing the trio out into the empty hallway, did Optimus let his shoulders sag -the only outward sign of the immense suffering the valiant mech bore.

“Sir....,” Jazz piped up gently. “Sir, ya shouldn't blame yerself. 'Ow could ya have known anybot, let alone 'Jack, would have act'd up like that?”

“Nonetheless... I should have been here. I should have done something,” the truck-former replied weakly. Quickly, he started marching forward, forcing his officers to match his long strides.

This time, it was Prowl that spoke. “Jazz is correct, sir: No one could have predicted this outcome. The chances were astronomically low, considering the crew's prior evaluated responses to various situations. Sadness and anger are typical emotions involved in a case like this.... but who could have guessed that Wheeljack would turn those things on the others, and henceforth, himself as well? Indeed, it-”

“Primus-slaggit! Stop making this sound like a fragging statistic, Prowl!,” Jazz snapped suddenly, startling his two comrades. The saboteur blanched after his violent outburst, dim gaze dropping to the floor ashamedly. “A-a-ah..... Ah'm so, so s-sorry, I-i....”

“It.... it's alright, Jazz,” the SIC cut off the other's broken stuttering. “I'm sorry.”

Optimus looked down on his two officers, not for the first time feeling as if he had asked too much of them. “You two should get some rest. I'm relieving you of duty for the time being; go, take some time to meditate or recharge. Whatever you need at this moment,” the great mech informed. Stunned, the other Autobots turned to look at him.

“And what about you, sir?,” Prowl asked. “We only just got back from New York as it is, and we've yet to debrief with Smokescreen on the ship's status with the exception of Wheeljack here. Not only that, but you single-handedly have been dealing with all human liaisons and participating in every response call for Decepticon activity since the beginning of this ordeal. You need rest and energon, just as much as Jazz and myself do.”

“Yeah, sir,” Jazz politely added. “Yer not sup'r mech, ya know.... M-maybe, maybe we should have told the humans the situation? A-ah mean, they c-could probably help, ya know; they've git people bett'r equip'd fo' this stuff, y-ya know.....”

The truck shook his helm, staring off at a point down the hall. “No. This is not the humans' war; I don't wish to involve them any more than they already are,” Optimus replied. “This is my crew. I should have made them my main priority.”

The saboteur's visor dimmed sadly at the statement, and even Prowl's usually stoic expression softened. “Optimus....,” the Datsun started kindly. “Sir, you've done more than you think. You've done everything you can to keep the crew's morale up, always keeping them first in your thoughts, even when we rode out to deal with Decepticon attacks. You've made certain that no one had to go into battle unless absolutely necessary, and you've remained silent about what's happened to our comrades, so as to preserve their dignity. I know you don't want them to be seen or treated less than what they are: good, brave and tender-sparked individuals.”

“Sir,” Prowl continued, “With all due respect, you've offered everyone -not just the victims- the same amount of kindness, patience, care and concern that they've needed. What could you possibly have done beyond that?”

“Nobot could have done more than ya have, sir, and they should be asham'd o' themselves fo' doin' less,” Jazz added. “Ah don't think Ah could ev'r fully explain 'ow much yer guidance means 't meh, 'specially now.”

Hearing such spark-felt words, the great Autobot leader felt himself become overwhelmed by the tears he'd been holding back for so long now. Turning slightly to disguise the sight from his officers, Optimus said in a raspy tone, “I..... I think I will go talk to Ironhide for a bit.”

The two black and white mechs nodded in understanding. “Ah think he's in the control room, sir, talkin' wit' Blue at the moment,” the saboteur offered. The truck-former made a wet sound of acknowledgement, before starting off in that very direction. Together, Jazz and Prowl watched him go, respectively giving their leader the space he needed. Mechs like him were always under the pressure to remain strong before their soldiers.... but even Primes needed a friend to be weak with.

“Ya...uh....ya want t' git some energon then?,” the Special Ops mech asked quietly. He looked at Prowl discreetly, waiting to see what the SIC's response would be. The Datsun turned his helm to Jazz, a tired smile pulling slightly at his lip components.

“I wouldn't mind a cube, Jazz. It'll give me some time to sort out everything's that happened; save me the trouble of crashing as well,” Prowl replied. At the attempted joke, Jazz smiled himself, his servo reaching outwards slowly and nervously closing around a couple of the other mech's fingers. Prowl said nothing to the action, moving his servo in response so that it was cupping the saboteur's completely; fingers entwined and palms pressed together in silent reassurance.

“Well, Ah guess we should-,” the third-in-command started, one pede moving forward to fall into step. The sychronised beep of their comms startled both of the officers. Frowning in confusion, Prowl lifted a servo first, opening the link.

“Prowl here,” he said. Jazz hurried to access the call as well.

“Ahh.... Prowl, sir,” Inferno's voice came across the other line. There was a momentary pause, followed by a grunt and a barely heard squeal. “Ah, Ah think yah should come on down 'ere ta the secur'ty hub. We've gotta, uh, lil' -ouch- problem.”

“Where's Red?,” the saboteur asked.

“H-he's, oww....,” Inferno cut himself off again to grunt as something clanged in the background. “He's 'ere....Umm, A-ah really sugges' c-comin' down 'ere, sir. It's n-necessary.”

“We'll be right there,” the SIC replied. Closing the connection, he turned to look at Jazz, who nodded back at him. Together, they turned, heading towards the security hub.

xxXxXxx

Optimus never made it to the control room. Sharp voices started echoing down the halls; worried about his soldiers, the Autobot leader turned and started walking down the opposite corridor, finding himself heading towards some of the crew's quarters instead of the main area. His spark pulsed weakly at the implications.

“Tracks?! Tracks, p-please...pl-please, answer us!”

“Percy, calm down, please!”

“We can't get in; the lock's been fried.”

“TRACKS!”

“Slaggit, would you just-”

Loud, angry banging started up next, just over top of helpless sobbing. Spark pulsing erratically now, Optimus quickened his pace. The sight that met his optics when he turned the corner was of Perceptor wailing and struggling desperately, trying to fight his way out of Sunstreaker's hold and claw for the door that Sideswipe was currently trying to break down. Caught off guard by the scene before him, the larger mech could only stand there, dazed.

“....what is going on here.....?”

Sideswipe tripped on his next charge at the door, slamming into it face first, while Sunstreaker turned and scowled at their leader. Optimus paid the look no mind; he knew by now, that most of the frontliner's anger was never directed at him usually, and with circumstances like these, the yellow twin had much to be upset about. Perceptor was the only one who did not turn to face the truck, instead struggling weakly to get out of Sunstreaker's arms, his gaze fixated on the door as he sobbed loudly in distress.

“S-sir,” Swideswipe piped up slowly. Optimus gave the red warrior his fullest attention. Self-conscious, the other clenched his fists at his sides. “Sir.... Perceptor hasn't seen Tracks in the past few orns. In fact, neither have I. And the last person that went missing.....”

The lamborghini trailed off, but the message was already clear to the larger Autobot. The last mech that had gone missing was Mirage.... and he was discovered a few hours later with a crude dagger protruding from his open chestplates. Slowly, Optimus looked from Sunstreaker trying to somehow console a distraught Perceptor, to the dented door that Sideswipe had been throwing himself at.

“Boys....,” the truck-former said, “Stand aside.”

The red twin opened his mouth to comment when his optics suddenly flashed in surprise, leaping out of the way just in the nick of time as the big mech came barrelling down the rest of the hallway. Without slowing down or concern for himself, Optimus slammed into Tracks' door -the metal screeched, for maybe an astrosecond, before the door buckled and flew inward with the force of the Autobot leader's impact. With a grunt, Optimus hit the floor within the room, vents heaving a little at the cloud of dust that had been kicked up with his fall.

Perceptor let out a gasp, elbowing out of Sunstreaker's arms and rushing into the room, uncaring about the truck that he trampled back into the floor in his hurry. “S-sir.... you alright?,” Sideswipe asked, coming to Optimus' aid. Sunstreaker joined his twin, both warriors holding out a servo for the other to take. “Here, let us help you.”

The bigger mech let himself be helped up, dusting himself off as he shakily rose to his pedes. Carefully, he pressed fingertips to his helm, where he had dented the metal during his charge. “I'm fine, really. You need not worry about me,” Optimus assured. “We need to-”

The hiccuping shriek of dismay from the scientist cut off the rest of his words. Whirling around, all three mechs turned to see Perceptor running back towards them, slamming into Sideswipe's open arms. “H-h-he.... he i-isn't here? Wh-why? Why i-isn't he h-h-here?,” the smaller mech wailed, pressing tighter to the lamborghini. “O-oh, please.... pl-please tell me h-he's okay! T-tell m-me he's ok-okay!”

Sunstreaker stroked the crown of Perceptor's helm quickly, walking further into the room alongside Optimus. Indeed, there was no one to be seen -dead or alive- and the truck had a hard time deciding if he was relieved or more worried about this revelation. The two of them slowly walked around the small space, taking note of the forlorn desk and berth, all richly covered in dust and looking as if they'd been abandoned for some time now. Frowning, Optimus touched the desk, noting the faintest impression at one corner of the metal where the dust had been disturbed. Him and the yellow warrior shared a troubled look before turning back to the door.

“He's gone,” Sunstreaker confirmed, walking back to his brother and lover. He took the microscope from Sideswipe, cuddling Perceptor close and mumbling words of comfort against his audio receptor. The scientist had quieted now into simple sobbing, still begging desperately to know what had happened to the corvette.

“But where?,” the red lamborghini asked, looking at his twin. “Where could he have gone?”

“That is something we need to find out,” Optimus piped up. The frontliners turned to the truck, confused. Raising a servo to his helm, the Autobot leader accessed his comm link, sending out a call to his top officers. “Jazz,” he said when the connection had gone through, “We have a problem.”

“Ah could say the same thang ov'r here, sir,” the saboteur answered on the other line.

“What? Where are you?”

“Security hub, sir. And, sir.....,” Jazz hesitated, making Optimus' fuel tanks drop further. “Ya should probably hurry. There's somethin' ya gotta see.”

The larger mech swallowed slowly, nodding his helm subconsciously. “I understand. I'll be there shortly.” Ending the call, Optimus turned to his soldiers. “Take Perceptor somewhere he can calm down. I'll find out where Tracks is, but right now I'm needed at the security hub.”

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker nodded back in understanding; the yellow lamborghini picking the microscope up and carrying him out of the room. Following after their pedes, Optimus pulled the fallen door back up, leaning it haphazardly in place, before hurrying back down the hall and to the security hub.

xxXxXxx

Optimus stared in horror at the screens before him.

“W-what..... what happened here?,” he asked, turning to Prowl. The SIC was currently flipping through  a file folder, scowling, doorwings hitched high behind him. Jazz cursed from his spot at the terminal, fingers flying across the keyboard rapidly, ignoring both of the 'bots behind him.

At the inquiry, the Datsun lifted his helm, following Optimus' previous line of sight to the monitor screens lining two thirds of the security hub's walls. His optics glanced quickly at the static-laced screens, the word 'vengeance' smeared across the glass in dried energon. Prowl was quick to tear his gaze from the monitors, returning to his work.

“We don't know exactly....,” the officer confessed.

“And Red Alert?”

Prowl pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor, grimacing. “He was off duty last night. Part of his written agreement; every three orns he must take the night off and get some proper recharge, even if that means Inferno has to wrestle him out of the room and to his quarters. This is what he discovered when he came back to the security hub this morning,” the Datsun sighed. “Inferno has already taken Red Alert back to his room, and I've notified First Aid that he is to see to our security director in a couple cycles.... after Inferno has managed to calm him down some.”

Optimus absorbed the news with his own anxious frown, turning his attention back to the security terminals as Jazz rolled his chair to another part of the computer across the room. Black fingers went back to work, clacking away madly. The truck watched the saboteur go, trying his best not to glance back up to the gruesome display someone had painted across the monitors.

“Who was on duty last night?,” the Autobot leader asked, to distract himself.

“Beachcomber was on the roster for shift change,” Prowl replied, flipping through the files angrily now. “But he never made it the hub. Hoist is with him at the moment. Apparently he got a good de-frag.... so good, in fact, he doesn't recall what happened to him at all last night, or even that he was supposed to be here, keeping an eye on the monitors.”

The Datsun slammed the binder shut, throwing it carelessly towards the counter in his ire. “But the database shows that someone was in here last night, yet precisely who or when is so conveniently unknown!”

Prowl paused for a moment to cycle a deep intake, continuing in a calmer tone, “At the moment, Jazz is trying to gain access to Red Alert's security feed. It's our only way of figuring out exactly who was in here last night, and what happened to Beachcomber as well.”

Optimus turned his helm to the officer. “There's something else you should look into,” he informed. “I just came back from the second level quarters, where Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were with-”

“FRAGGIT!”

The curse grabbed both mechs' attention; turning, they looked at the saboteur who was beating at the terminal with a fist. “Jazz, what's wrong?,” Prowl demanded as the third-in-command continued to spit a string of curses worthy of Ratchet at the computer.

“What's wrong? What's WRONG?!,” Jazz shouted, whirling around in his seat to face his superiors. “What's wrong is that Ah jus' spent the last cycle o' so hacking inta paranoid Red's ov'r-complicat'd, ub'r-fo'tifi'd, secure-up-the-auxiliary comput'r, 't find.... 't find.... well, frag, nothing! Zip, nada, zero, zilch.... ya take yer pick, it's not there!”

“Nothing?,” Optimus said tensely. “There can't be nothing at all.”

Jazz got to his pedes, moving out of the way as the bigger mech approached the terminal. “Yeah, well,” he replied snippily, “There actually is nothan'. But Ah mean go ahead, take a look if ya don't believe meh. After all-”

“Jazz,” Prowl cut in quickly.

The saboteur bit back the rest of his words, engine huffing angrily as he crossed his arms over his chestplates, turning his scowl to the floor. “Sorry..... Ah'm sorry,” he mumbled, tone still rife with a bit of ire, “Anyways, Ah've checked. Slag, Ah double-check'd and then triple-check'd, and quadruple-check'd fo' assurance. There is no footage o' even security records from last night. Not even the faintest trace o' a ghost left in the memory core eith'r....”

“How is that possible?,” Prowl asked, frowning.

“Frag.... Ah don't know, Prowler,” Jazz sighed, throwing his servos up into the air. “The core is completely whole, an' neith'r it o' the comput'r is showin' signs o' corruption. Whoev'r was at it, was a pro an'-”

“Prowl, Jazz.....,” came Optimus' voice, interrupting the officers' discussion. “You need to look at this.”

The two mechs shared a look before approaching their leader, standing on either side of him as they too  stared at the monitors. It was then that they noticed only one had been spared from vandalism, and it was on this small screen that the background had gone black; white words flickering on its face.

The Demons Are No More, it declared coldly, sending a chill down their backstruts.

“Where did it come from?,” Prowl asked, leaning forward, just as Jazz took his seat once more. “Jazz?”

The saboteur tapped away furiously, delving into the terminal's mainframe. “It was set on a tim'r,” he answered, visor dimming as he frowned. “It was told 't appear aft'r someone tried accessin'.... last.... night's..... footage.....” Jazz's fingers came to a deathly pause, as the black and white mech turned to his companions. Shock registered in the blue light of his optical band.

“Sir....”

“Yes,” Optimus muttered lowly, “This could only be the work of Soundwave. If he has managed to infiltrate our base, then we have much to worry about. Doubly so, as Tracks seems to be missing as well. His room has been empty for who knows how long....”

Both Prowl and Jazz turned to glance at the security monitors and their macabre message with new-found horror.

“Prowl,” the truck continued, his tone rising in authority. “Inform the other officers and all personnel you believe capable that we're on high security alert as of this moment. Gather together a search team and comb every inch of the Ark for either Soundwave, his creations, or Tracks. Primus be willing, we find him.... and alive.....”

The SIC nodded his helm, marching towards the door; a servo already up to his comm link.

Optimus turned his attention next to Jazz, opening his mouth to give his second order.

“No need, sir,” the saboteur grinned tightly, getting to his pedes. “Ah know what needs 't be done. Ah'll git yer answers, Optimus.”

“Come back safe....,” the truck said softly as Jazz passed by him next, sprinting down the hall and to the unknown.