Crime and Punishment

 

Major Prowl looked out over the horizon with the same, piercing blue optics that he used as a police officer all those millennia ago. Even through the darkness of midnight between the steel high rises, he could see the billows of smoke coming from the front lines. It didn’t take vision as good as his to see it, either. The midnight sky had lit up with plasma fire, laser fire, missiles and just about anything else that could maim, explode, pierce or burn over the course of the past few hours. The lights made it seem like it was happening only a few blocks away, but the sounds of the battle were far off. It was probably from the city over, one by the name of Kalis. The battle was too far out to be an immediate risk, but still close enough to worry about.

The metal city that Prowl currently stood in, Altihex, hadn’t been built like a fortress like Kaon or Iacon had, so it had fallen fairly quickly after the war started with neither side wanting to hold it for lack of resources for upkeep. It wasn’t tactically or culturally important — it was just a few rows of buildings, really. No one sane lived in its unsecured, steel high rises, and the ground was still burning from the last skirmish that spilled over from Kalis, but even with all of that, it was still standing. It was still there.

Prowl was a little surprised to see the Decepticons coming en masse to take Kalis, however. They wanted a decisive victory, or at least an overwhelming one to be sure, but Kalis wasn’t exactly a major stronghold, either. It wasn’t a pushover, but it wasn’t exactly important to either the Autobots or the Decepticons. Perhaps the Decepticons were making a play that required absorbing the cities of lesser importance to be used as staging grounds? If that were true, then they had less time than he initially calculated.

Prowl’s metal face turned to a frown as he realized that the Autobots positioned at Kalis would likely be evacuating, and the only logical place for them to evacuate to was, unfortunately, Altihex. That meant the Decepticons were more than likely on their way to cut off the fleeing Autobot forces to capture any loose ends.

If there was one thing that Major Prowl could commend the Decepticons on, it was that they were efficient with those around them. Everyone had a role to play, from Megatron himself to the lowest underling; but especially prisoners of war. Megatron had always been a bit… Lax when it came to scientific boundaries, and that allowed Shockwave, Megatron’s cyclopean second-in-command, to toy with whatever he couldn’t to make what any sane person probably wouldn’t.

Prowl had witnessed the end result of one of Shockwave’s more outlandish experiments, and he could still hear the screaming.

His frown deepened. He was still a cop. He was still on the streets of Altihex, his old patrol. He didn’t just turn into a car, he turned into a police car. The streets may have been burning, and had mostly collapsed from repeated air strikes in the past, but they were still his streets. They were still his responsibility. To serve. To protect.

But it seemed that every day on Cybertron, something inside of him died just a little more. He had always known that wars took their toll, but he had always assumed it was physical, not mental. But even as he stood, watching through a zoomed in visor, he felt death take just a little more away from him. Millennia upon millennia, every day, another piece fell, another violation of his creed.

Maybe it was small, like a minor infraction on one of thousands of laws or their consecutive sublaws. Driving through a red light, parking in a red zone without a permit when the blue zone was just a few meters away, or perhaps illegal possession of controlled firearms without a permit. Other times, the war took more than its fair share. Unsanctioned surveillance, entering without a warrant, firing without first being fired upon, cybercide… His once pure white and black paintjob had grown more gray as the war went on.

He leaned forward against the makeshift bunker that had been set up mere moments prior and rubbed the red crest on his forehead with a sigh. It was little more than overturned tables and broken cargo barges that weren’t being used to ship the Energon Cubes out from Altihex, sure, but it could take a few hits from a null-ray or two and that was enough. Erector and Grapple had certainly done well by setting it up as quickly as they did, that was for sure, but they hadn’t much time to set up the other specifications that Prowl had requested, like support beams, portholes or… Well, anything that wasn’t just an overturned plate of steel to hide behind.

“Think there are any survivors?” a small voice said to his left, and Prowl recognized it instantly.

Prowl didn’t look at his friend as he responded, “I don’t know, Stakeout. Shockwave doesn’t like spending life he doesn’t have to, but I can’t say the same for his troops.”

Stakeout looked up to Prowl, his short stature coming to Prowl’s thigh, “Like… The crawly ones?”

“Especially the crawly ones.” Prowl savored the moment to crack a slight smirk, but remembered himself and let it fall to an unwavering frown.

Like Prowl, Stakeout used to be a police officer, but unlike Prowl, Stakeout’s optimism hadn’t exactly run dry for the past few thousand years or so. Prowl subconsciously ran a few simulations to figure out how long that would last.

Stakeout leaned his smaller stature against one of the barges, “At any rate, Fixit and the others are just about done loading the barges. If we can, we should hang back to pick up any survivors. No sense in leaving people behind.”

Energon. The lifeblood of the Transformers and their weapons alike, Energon was a composite mixture of hyper-dense, ever expanding matter and energy that was quite literally lightning in a bottle. Energon made the world go-round in more than one way, with it not just sustaining life for the Cybertronians, but by powering the infrastructure and the weapons used to defend them. Energon was both oil and ammo, and both sides had to have it. Cybertron was once full of natural springs of liquid Energon, but after the war started, it became barren and dry, each side collecting and creating as much Energon as they possibly could. Proper resources were not infinite, however, and the war always took its toll. Always.

They couldn’t stay behind and wait for survivors if it meant risking the cargo. The scrounged Energon Cubes were simply too valuable. Plus, it wasn’t exactly a pleasure cruise they were taking after they pushed off. The only logical thing to do was to leave as soon as they possibly could, and sacrifice the few for the many. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t pretty. But it was the only thing that could keep the Autobots going. If the Decepticons captured that cargo… Prowl didn’t want to think about it, but ran a few subconscious simulations regardless. He didn’t like what the results were.

It was logical to leave — hell, it was probably correct to leave. No one would blame him. He was a Major because he could make those hard choices that no one else wanted to make, that no one else could make. The Autobots needed to survive as a whole, and if that meant sacrificing a few soldiers, then that was a sacrifice that he’d be willing to make. Would Optimus Prime make that choice? Would Ultra Magnus? Prowl thought not, of course, but they weren’t there and the Decepticons almost definitely were. He had to make the correct choice, even if it wasn’t the right one.

He turned to Stakeout to give the order. But as he started to speak, his voice caught itself in his throat. He was there to serve, to protect. He was there to save people. That’s what Autobots did; that’s what police officers did. He wouldn’t lose another piece of his soul. Not today.

“I… Agree. Tell Fixit that he’s to take the loading crew and leave as soon as they’re done. We can’t afford the time it will take for all of us to get to the docks and load. The Decepticons would have too much of a chance to either steal the Energon or detonate it.” Prowl said, taking a quick moment to collect his next thoughts, “Tell Fixit to leave a barge with as much space as possible on it. I can use that for survivors, and myself.”

“What about you, Major?” Stakeout said with more than a little surprise in his voice, “Doesn’t seem, erm, logical for a Major to risk himself like this.”

“I’ll manage.” Prowl spared Stakeout a smile, “I know these streets.”

“Are you implying I didn’t used to patrol this place, too? C’mon, Prowl. This self-sacrifice shtick is fine and all, but you’re gonna need backup, and I’m giving it to you.” Stakeout gave him a smirk, and through Stakeout’s visor, Prowl could see his earnestness. There wouldn’t be any point in arguing.

“Fine. You can stay. But everyone else needs to load the barges or it won’t matter. We’re outnumbered, outgunned and most certainly underprepared. The only advantage we have is the defensive one, and most of our numbers are just dock workers. Making everyone here fight is a suicide mission at best.” Prowl said bitterly, puzzling out his plan as he spoke.

Stakeout simply waved off his commanding officer and looked through a small pair of binoculars to scan the surrounding area for any approaching Decepticons. Being a Micromaster, Stakeout was one of many Transformers of smaller stature, but his alternate mode dialed that up to 11. Not only was a Micromaster small in terms of height, but their alternate modes were practically microscopic. One could fit a Micromaster in alternate mode in the palm of one’s hand, and no one would even notice them. Size-change technology was always on the up-and-up, especially during the war, and the Micromasters weren’t any different. The size was a boon in most cases, but being as small as they were, Micromasters had to work twice as hard to be even remotely as powerful as their larger Transformer brethren. A double-edged sword, as it were.

Prowl continued, “We’ll have to draw the Decepticons away from the barges. It won’t be easy, but if they find the Energon, it’s all over anyway.”

There was silence for a moment. It was brief and stiff. He could feel the weight of his words, and what he was asking Stakeout to do. He didn’t know what was a harder order to give: Leave people behind, or make others stay.

“Ah, yes, the old run-and-gun. The shoot-and-scoot.” Stakeout said with a grin, looking up through his sky blue visor.

Prowl knew where this was going, “Please stop.”

“The drive-and-jive. The skid-and-bid. The wheel-and-heel.”

“Wow.”

Stakeout stopped to let out a chuckle, before quickly adding another addition to his growing list of insubordination-fueled jokes.

“… The old eradicate-and-evacuate.”

“Stop talking. That’s an order.”

The two took a moment to let the silence fall again, and for a moment, the only sounds were the distant firefight and the loading of the barges down the road to their right. But now there were more noises that he hadn’t heard before: Thunder, from the sound of it. The dark clouds forming over the city was probably the source. But there was more to it, a hidden texture underneath the rumble of thunder and the flash of lightning, a mix of sounds. Another rumble of thunder rattled the remaining windows on the derelict buildings and shook the pavement beneath Prowl’s feet. There. Mixed in with the thunder. It was unmistakable at this point: The sounds of blaring engines. That could be anyone, either the Decepticons or the fleeing Autobots. Probably both.

It wouldn’t be long now.

“Stakeout, radio Fixit. We’ve got company.”

“You got it, boss.”

Stakeout turned away and put two fingers to the side of his head, activating the comm link between he and his commanding officer. Turning his attention away from his subordinate, he scanned the horizon for signs of danger, but found it far closer to home than he would like as more thunder rumbled through the streets. Distantly, he could hear the sounds of distant laserfire and explosives. He could see flashes of explosions reflecting on distant high rises, then a closer high rise. They were moving, and a quick, subconscious calculation told him how fast. Whatever was coming, it was coming in a hurry, and there was no time to wait around. Couldn’t have been more than a handful of miles away, and at those speeds, it wouldn’t be long until they were upon them.

Prowl flexed the car doors that jutted from his back like wings, then checked his sidearm. It was nothing more than a pistol, the same sidearm that he used in his early days as a police officer, but it was energy efficient and that was what mattered. Plus, laser fire — no matter how small — was still laser fire. Never do with ten bullets what you could do with one. This fact was of small help to ease his nerves. Thunder shook the world around him again, rattling pieces of rusted steel free from where they were lodged in the road. The deafening roar of thunder shook Prowl’s frame as the storm grew closer. This was no ordinary force of nature. Things rarely were when the Decepticons were about.

Decepticons. Oh, how far they had come from simple picket lines. He looked up and down his sidearm and frowned again, remembering himself long ago.

*****

All those millennia ago, the streets of Altihex would have been far cleaner if Sublaw #385-B was enforced like the city council had wanted. Prowl had made a habit of enforcing the sublaw, but no one really seemed to care until he put them in handcuffs. Sure, arresting someone for littering was a bit… Far as far as offenses go, but if you enforced the small laws, then everyone would obey the big laws without question. Sitting parked in his alternate mode, Prowl’s shining white paint reflected off his hood and sparkled in the windows of the high-rise across from him. Even the black highlights on his police car mode seemed to glisten like oil. This was a fact that Prowl was proud of. After all, it was Sublaw #742-F: “A member of the police force must be a shining example for their community.”

Sure, a “shining example” meant letting your actions speak for themselves, but there wasn’t a reason why that law couldn’t have been taken literally. Besides, a golden police badge on his car doors had to be kept pristine, so why not the rest of him? Of course, sitting in an alley watching the passing traffic roll, float or simply walk by wasn’t exactly a formal affair where one needed to preen themselves as much as Prowl had, but showing care for one’s looks brought respect and envy from onlookers. Envy from onlookers often led to a higher rate of recruitment into the police force. It was easy cause and effect.

A suave, grumbly voice grumbled to Prowl’s left, “Could you roll a couple meters backward? That glare is going to burn out my optics.”

His partner, Barricade, wasn’t as concerned with preening himself to be an example, and was rather more concerned with making examples out of other people. He was a big-picture kind of transformer; he didn’t care about nearly any sublaws and instead focused on the major laws that people were violating. Prowl was of the opinion that jaywalking was an epidemic, where Barricade was more concerned about federal policies. They didn’t agree on politics often, and instead focused their lengthy discussions on recent gladiator fights or perhaps the most recent episode of “The Moonbasers” sitcom. But if there was one thing that Prowl definitely agreed with Barricade on, though, it was that he was parked just a little bit far forward.

 

Prowl threw his gear into reverse and pulled back a bit, finally relieving the bright glare on Barricade’s windshield. The black police car sighed as the light rolled off him, his purple police sirens seeming to pulse with relief.

“Thanks.” Barricade said with a chuckle, “Thought I was going to go blind.”

“No problem, ‘Cade.” Prowl replied with a bit of a laugh.

The two hadn’t spoken much that day. The day before, one of Megatron’s cronies got so riled up by one of Megatron’s speeches that he decided to go blow himself up out front of the senate building, taking two senators with him. That was the problem with being a race of transforming machines: No one could really tell if you turned into a bomb or a tank, and aside from having a solid military career path, it made it nearly impossible to control certain weapons when they were literally fused to certain transformer’s bodies. At least, impossible short of mutilation or segregation. Judging from the group of Megatronian protesters across the street, picketing their signs and yelling their catchphrases, those were definite eventualities.

Megatron had been a rising star in the political scene lately, being a senator himself. He wasn’t exactly popular to half of the planet, but to the other, Megatron was a gift from Primus himself. Sure, Megatron had spoken about peace and equality where one didn’t need a permit to change their alternate mode, or how practical it would be to simply consolidate the government from a widespread parliamentary bureaucracy that was choking itself with red tape, to a more centralized system with a more streamlined form of government with a singular figurehead that didn’t have the word “Prime” after their name. But Prowl knew a dangerous man when he saw one. As long as someone could stir a political stew, their followers would riot and wage their war for them. It was clean, and plausible deniability was an impenetrable shield.

But Barricade… He didn’t see it that way.

“They’re talking about either disabling all military Transformers’ weapons, or just segregating the cities altogether with ‘safe zones’ where no military vehicles are allowed.” Barricade said after a moment of staring at the protesters.

“Could you blame them after what happened yesterday?” Prowl responded, watching as people either grabbed one of the many fliers that the Megatronians were passing out or simply passed them by offhandedly.

At the head of the group seemed to be a young fembot — perhaps no older than a few thousand years — with a visor and a stout stature. Looking at the spires jutting up from her back, it was clear to Prowl instantly that this fembot did, in fact, transform into a tank of some sort. The people who passed her by seemed to take notice of this and gave her a wide berth. Prowl wanted to check if the Megatronians had a protest permit, one required under Law #23 — and that was “law” with a capital “L” — but now just didn’t seem like a good time, given his partner’s political leanings.

“Yes, I can. You can’t tell me that you think handicapping and segregating innocent people is a good idea.” Barricade’s smooth, rumbling voice seemed to get louder for a moment.

“Of course not. All I’m saying is that people are scared, and they’re going to lash out at pretty much anyone who has something that they don’t, right or wrong. Military vehicles have a distinct advantage for defense against crazies like that guy who blew himself up, and it’s hard to tell the difference if someone is protecting themselves or looking to make a scene. It’s not like they’re wearing a big symbol on their body that reads ‘evil’.” Prowl said, watching the protesters across the street.

He watched in awe as another protester transformed into a hovercraft so that his fellow protesters could stand taller than the crowd. That was a violation of two laws at once! Prowl felt Sublaw #76-J: “Improper Transformation Location” and Sublaw #76-M: “Indecent Public Use of Another’s Alternate Mode” as they crumbled to pieces in Prowl’s mind. Watching the protesters climb aboard a hovercraft that was far too small for the lot of them should probably have been classified under a form of torture, Prowl was sure. They were going to get themselves hurt at this rate, or worse.

“That doesn’t justify condemning a good chunk of the population just because they transform into something that people don’t like.” Barricade said with a sneer in his voice.

“I know that! It’s wrong! I just think that they’re blaming the wrong person.” Prowl said before waiting a moment to collect his thoughts, then continued, “Megatron wants his followers to feel the pressure of the senate so that they’ll rally behind him. It’s simple politics.”

Barricade’s car form unfolded as he stood to face Prowl with a mechanical whirr. The two were quite similar in body type, that much was for certain, but the dark, gritty paintjob of Barricade was far and away a radical change from Prowl’s pristine white. Barricade crossed his arms and frowned at the now transforming Prowl.

“You’re blaming Megatron for not just yesterday’s attack but the senate’s response? Come on, Prowl, your bias is showing.” Barricade frowned, mirroring the fat, yellow crest on his forehead, “Megatron wants peace, not violence.”

“I’m the one who’s biased, here? Megatron is dangerous, ‘Cade.” Prowl unfolded to stand before Barricade, crossing his own arms, “I don’t trust him.”

“You know what your problem is? You don’t trust anyone. You put your faith in a legion of laws made at the dawn of time when you refuse to realize that times change! You’re so busy picking everyone apart for some fine print that you forget that sometimes the law isn’t always right!”

Prowl took a step back as if he were physically impacted by Barricade’s words. The law was always right. The law was made to be right. If one law wasn’t right, then the entire system wasn’t valid. The laws were written by the first Primes — how could Barricade doubt them?

Seeming to sense Prowl’s distress, Barricade seemed to ease his tensed servos and let out a sigh.

“Listen, Prowl, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s just that you’re so quick to judge people without understanding them. Maybe if you listened one of Megatron’s speeches, you might change your mind about him.” Barricade said with his grim, smooth voice, “Take this. Listen at home.”

Barricade pulled out a small pocket processor and passed it to Prowl. Prowl didn’t need to turn it on to know what it had inside.

“Just think about it, alright?” Barricade’s voice had an irregular pleading about him, “Things are changing around here, and I don’t want you on the wrong side of this.”

He wasn’t sure what Barricade meant by “wrong side of this”, but Prowl didn’t much like it.

Prowl took the processor with a sigh and put it into his thigh compartment, “Fine. I’ll take a look.”

The high pitch whine of a stressed engine caught Prowl’s attention as the hovercraft protester seemed to struggle to keep his piling comrades onboard, especially one so dense as the tank fembot. All of that armor was going to weigh that hovercraft down more than a normal passenger might. If they didn’t act now, then the hovercraft’s engine could blow out and — if it wasn’t a spectacular explosion — then it would at least collapse and get someone hurt, hovercraft included. That was another three — no, four violations of Senate Law.

Prowl’s steel teeth grated together as he finally turned his full attention to the protesters, “But for the love of Primus, I’ve been holding it in for as long as I can. Can we please just get those people off that hovercraft? They’re violating a law an astrosecond!”

Barricade gave a knowing smile, “All right.”

*****

Prowl holstered his sidearm to cross his arms, looking with his piercing blue optics out over the streets where he once called his home. Rain began to trickle down and splash onto the road, where it began to smoke and burn through what it touched. More drops fell, and the world began to quiver. It was clear to Prowl what it was: Acid rain. A drop struck his chest, the outstretched hood of his car mode, and the paint began to bubble and rot under the corrosiveness. He — like most transformers — was corrosion-resistant, but certain chemicals were an exception to that rule, such as the rain currently falling from the sky around them. They couldn’t stay out in it for long.

A screech of tires caught his attention. There, just down the road, was a group of cars. They were a variety of colors, but at the head of the group was a blue, dome-shaped car and a green sports car. Trailing behind them was a handful of others: Trucks, tanks and everything in between. The rumble of their engines sounded like a rally, and the speed of their approach was like a drag race. If it had been anyone else, they might have taken a step back at the roaring approach. Not Prowl. He’d seen enough speeding cars for a lifetime.

“Better speed them up, Stakeout. We’re gonna need more room on that barge.”

“Aye aye, chief.” Stakeout seemed to be a bit bewildered at the sheer mass of the survivors.

As the group of survivors approached, Prowl could make out more detail. Six of them. Two trucks, one tank and three cars. They were a motley crew, but they seemed to be more civilian than Autobot. He couldn’t see many insignia on them — even the tanks — which meant that they hadn’t an allegiance. Not every transformer could fight, and not every transformer wanted to. The neutrals weren’t exactly friends to the Decepticons, but they weren’t Autobots either. They mostly just wanted to be left alone and to wait out the storm, but these were on the run. That was one thing about neutrals: They also made extremely good disguises. Prowl considered how easy it was for a Decepticon to hide amongst them, and immediately regretted how he holstered his sidearm mere moments prior. Instinctively, he rested his hand on his holstered weapon. He couldn’t take any chances, even on civilians.

Moments later, the group arrived a few yards from their makeshift bunker and transformed all at once. Prowl felt his hand tighten.

The domed, blue car stepped forward and spoke in a feminine, businesslike tone, “Are you in charge here?”

“Who’s asking?” Prowl said curtly, looking her up and down. She had an Autobot insignia emblazoned on her chest, but everything else was setting off alarms in the back of Prowl’s mind. If she had just arrived from the sieged Kalis, then where were the scratches in her paint, scorch marks, dents, anything amounting to damage from a Decepticon raid?

She responded quickly, and he could tell that she was glaring at him from behind her yellow visor and golden mask, “My name is Glyph. Now that that’s out of the way, I’ll ask again. Are you in charge here?”

“I am. My name is Prowl; I’m an Autobot Major. Where did you come from?” Prowl didn’t relax.

“I thought that was obvious. But since you’ve clearly only just begun to walk upright, let me explain: I’m an Autobot, and I’m from Kalis. I require evacuation for myself, Tap-Out—”

The green Autobot gave Prowl a jovial wave, of whom Prowl presumed was Tap-Out, “Hey. I’m her bodyguard.”

Stakeout stammered for a moment, “Bodyguard? Just who the hell are you people, anyway?”

Glyph seemed to glare at Stakeout for a quick moment, “Classified.”

Stakeout scoffed, “Isn’t that just convenient. Do you think we were built yesterday? C’mon Prowl, these guys aren’t survivors. It’s obvious they’re hiding something.”

The group seemed to grow uneasy at Stakeout’s words. They all seemed to pass around suspicious glances to each other, realizing how easy it would be for one of them to betray the other. This realization seemed to point toward their legitimacy as a group, but their true nature was still something murkier than the sky, now black with thick, inky clouds. The sky seemed to ache and churn, spilling more drops as the sky filled with acid. Whatever resolution they would reach, they would have to do it quickly lest they get caught in the acid rain.

That’s when Prowl noticed something clutched in Glyph’s hand: A rather large napsack, which, due to her short stature, had been clearly dragged a few times.

“What’s in the bag?” Prowl asked. He felt his fingers tighten around his weapon as she seemed to instinctively hide it behind her thigh.

“That’s also classified.”

Stakeout sneered, “Oh, c’mon, he’s a Major, second only to Optimus himself. Something tells me that he’s got clearance.”

Tap-Out peered out from behind Glyph again with a jovial grin, “Hey, man, if the lady says it’s classified, it’s classified.”

Glyph put her face in her hand, “I know you’ve all just been forged, and all of these big words are just too difficult for your misshapen minds, but we don’t have time to argue! We need to get evacuated as quickly as possible. I trust you haven’t filled your barges yet, Major?”

Prowl had to fight the urge to draw his weapon, “How did you know about that? This operation has been under wraps for weeks.”

The blue paint on Glyph’s body shined as she crossed her arms, “I’m privy to anything going on in my excavation area, including your operation, Prowl. How else do you think I found you in this ghost town? Pure luck?”

It was a good point; the odds for Glyph and her compatriots to find the barge crew in a city, especially one with high rises like Altihex, were minuscule at best. They had been air-tight about their scavenging operation so that the Decepticons wouldn’t send raiding parties. Clearly, things were not as air-tight as he thought. But that could only mean one of two options: Either someone in high command had leaked their information — something Prowl doubted — or Glyph was telling the truth.

Prowl relaxed slightly. He was still a police officer. He still had to trust the people he had to protect.

“All right, load everyone up. We have a barge waiting down that road.” Prowl said, looking out over the group, “Some of you might have an Energon Cube or two in your laps, but you’ll be safe.”

The group had started to walk down the road to Prowl’s right, when the thunder suddenly let out a terrible boom. Lightning began to crackle out of the clouds and strike at building tops. The wind began to heave, and the rain began to burn. Sheets of rain began to fall down the road, rushing them like a wall of daggers. This storm was no natural storm. This was a force of nature of another kind.

Suddenly, purple laser fire screamed from the depths of the murky clouds and struck the street in rows, blasting the plating at the edge of their makeshift bunker in a brilliant magenta explosion. The group of civilians turned and watched in horror as asphalt showered everyone in a thick layer of mud, caked with the burning, acidic rain. The street before them erupted into flames as purple laser fire again burst from the murky depths of the clouds, another strafing run. Prowl and Stakeout ducked for cover, putting their backs to the overturned barge for some sort of cover. Acid rain washed over them in harsh, stabbing waves as the skies heaved. Lightning bolts pierced the sky and stabbed at the high rises about them, bursting windows and cleaving steel from the walls.

Thunder bellowed over a symphony of brilliant, purple laser fire, and the winds danced a harsh ballad in return. Some civilians stumbled backwards in the wind, petrified as the chaos drew closer, then closer, until finally a fact became painfully clear:

The Decepticons had found them.

“Damn the cubes; save the artifact!” Glyph cradled her napsack and began to run down the roadway, followed closely by Tap-Out and the others.

Stakeout made to follow her, but Prowl put a hand on his shoulder. They had a job to do.

Some of the civilians screamed, others transformed and sped down the alleyway, but all moved as a group away from the battle. All but Glyph.

*****

Glyph stood with bitter shock as she realized just how much time had been wasted by simple infighting. If they only knew how important her mission was, and if only she knew how to explain it. Perhaps it didn’t matter anymore, if they were all to die there. Perhaps nothing mattered at all; perhaps there was no afterlife and all meaning in life was just a hopeless, vast comedy of existence as they all hurtled into the void of death. That was still something up for scientific debate, of course. But so long as she dug up artifacts, then perhaps she could prove to herself that there was meaning in life regardless of whether Primus or the Allspark even existed in the first place.

If she survived the next few minutes, of course.

“Let’s go, Tap-Out. We have to get this to Optimus, with or without his soldiers.” Glyph passed the weight of the napsack to her left arm, letting her right rest.

Tap-Out wiped the black, caked asphalt from his normally matte green chassis as he dashed forward, “You got it, Glyph. Let’s—”

They both skid to a halt as piercing purple headlights cut off the path ahead.

A suave, rumbling voice echoed forth, red optics piercing the blackness, “Going somewhere?”

*****

Prowl ducked as another purple laser blast from the clouds thumped against the overturned barge. He twisted, drew his pistol and held it steady in the general direction of the blasts. The acid rain made it nearly impossible to get a scan on whoever was firing upon them, but he couldn’t afford to make potshots with Energon being as scarce as it was. He just hoped that the Decepticons didn’t start to wonder why they were there before he could get a bead on them. But with a quick flash of lightning that burned through the sky, he saw it: Three tetra jets, effectively flying triangle fighters, circling in the storm, each taking shots when it suited them. It was like they were just… Toying with the Autobots. A horrid realization crept into Prowl’s mind, punctuated by a scream from the alley to his right.

They were the diversion.

The group of survivors bolted from the alleyway, skidding around the corners and darting to whatever seemed safe. Another strafing run proved that to be futile. A row of purple explosions thumped in rows as they spat from the clouds in massive balls of energy. The tank, far too bulky to hide in the nearby buildings quickly, was struck head-on and sent asunder in a brilliant purple, yellow and red explosion. He stumbled, then another blast from the strafing tetra jet caught him in the chest. Then another. Then a fourth. Prowl could do nothing as the Energon coursing through the tank transformer caught flame, and with a fiery, thunderous, sickly explosion, the tank was no more. Two of the other civilians yelled in horror at the sight, while a third simply stood in shock.

The strafing jets parted from the clouds and swooped through the buildings, revealing their detail. A large yellow and white jet screamed forth and fired a salvo of purple laser fire, striking another of the fleeing survivors. He heard a feminine, shrill laugh from the jet as the survivor let out a howl of pain, then collapsed dead under her firepower. Two other jets — one orange and black and the other purple and green — brought up her rear, bombarding the bunker with another barrage of laser fire.

Prowl and Stakeout drew their weapons and fired almost immediately, blasting as fast as they could while they had the opportunity. The first jet screamed overhead, twirled and ducked back into the clouds. Stakeout struck the second, bursting the golden cockpit on the green and purple jet and making it cut from its strafe early. The final jet was for Prowl. As he brought his pistol to bear, he aimed down the sights to see the cockpit. It was clear that wasn’t the best way to take it down — the best way to take down a tetrajet was to aim for the fragile wings.

As he trained his weapon on the wing, he tugged the trigger. The weapon leaped to life, blasting a bolt of orange energy in a rumbling lash of compressed Energon. The bolt struck the wing of the orange and black jet, and the following explosion sent the jet tumbling out of control. Transforming midair, the jet folded his burning wings to his back and kicked on the thrusters on his boots.

“Hey! That fragging hurt you Autoscum!” he barked, aiming the cannons on his shoulders to unleash a salvo of purple laser fire in response.

It… Hurt? The Decepticon Seeker jet had just complained that, after killing two innocent people, that he was hurt? Prowl felt a blind rage building in his very Spark. The awe of it washed over him and cut at the laws and limitations that he had followed like a second religion. Cracks ran through the foundation of a house of laws built in his mind, glass cracking and crumbling. Supports buckled and groaned in protest as rage cut at every edge of Prowl’s defensive mind. Realizing quickly that he needed to focus, he blinked the rage from him. No. The war would not take its toll. Not today.

Coldly, Prowl aimed his blaster to fire at the Seeker’s head. With a blast from his sidearm, the Seeker’s head exploded in an orange detonation, and with a sputter, the Seeker fell to the street motionless. Now that the Autobots had killed one of the Decepticon’s numbers, he didn’t need to think hard about what was coming next. Decepticons might act aloof, but they certainly liked finding a reason to be angry — and the death of a comrade was definitely one of those reasons.

Before he could prepare for the next strafing run, he heard screams, then the squeal of tires. Prowl looked to his right, and skidding out from the alleyway — from what should have been safety — Glyph and Tap-Out skid past their makeshift bunker and screeched around a corner. Prowl turned to look, trying to piece together just what had happened, but what he saw next made him freeze. There was a blur, a mass that had just cruised by them, engine rumbling, shifting and groaning as it chased its prey. Prowl’s optics widened. The purple sirens, the black paintjob, the white highlights… No. Not here. Not him. Not now! It couldn’t be! It… It shouldn’t be! Logic fell to pieces in his mind as pure, blind rage took over.

“Stakeout, stay here! I’m going after them!” Prowl said quickly, “With any luck, the Seekers will follow Glyph. They shouldn’t care whether or not a few refugees make it out.”

With that, Prowl transformed and folded into his police car mode. He spun his tires, his engine roared in protest and inertia took over. He threw his stick shift into gear, racing through first gear, then second, then third as he gained speed. Stakeout, for what it was worth, only stood with mouth agape for a few moments before focusing back on scanning the horizon. But Major Prowl didn’t have time to worry about that. Right now, Prowl had to pull over a speeding, reckless driver for some questioning.

He threw the emergency brake on and kicked out his back tires, tossing himself around the city corner and into the next street over. The road was cratered from battles past, folded steel and asphalt drenched in acid rain all combined to make his pursuit like trying to follow someone on the surface of a rocky moon during a sandstorm. It was different than the sleek streets of Antihex that he was used to seeing, but Cybertron’s cities had never been the same since the war started. Some cities still burned for weeks after the most minor of skirmishes, and Antihex was no different.

There, ahead of him, he saw the purple lights that were once so familiar. Throwing his engine into high gear, he raced forward and slowly pulled alongside the fellow police car. Acid rain dumped in sheets across his windshield and burned at his paint, bubbling it and rusting the metal beneath. Prowl felt like he was on fire, but his mind burned brighter. His engine roared, and so did his mind. Racing down the street, right to his side, was Barricade. For the briefest moment, he heard Barricade’s groaning engine falter as he seemed to realize that he was being followed, and by whom. This was all the reprieve that Prowl needed. With a quick jolt of his front wheels, Prowl slammed into his former partner and sent him swerving for the, tall, gray buildings to the right.

Barricade transformed mid-swerve and tumbled, hurtling through the air and coming to a sharp stop on the side of a skyscraper by the road. Prowl hit the brakes hard and skid to a halt, transforming a few moments later in a whirl of servos and plates. He drew his sidearm and stomped into the center of the street, acid rain pouring over his frame and running down his silver, metal face. The piercing, sky blue of his optics narrowed as he watched Barricade stand. Barricade’s windshield that had moved to his back had cracked in the impact, and the left siren had smashed entirely. A small trickle of Energon ran down his cheek where something had scraped him, and at the taste of it, he smiled.

The two of them regarded each other for a moment, looking each other up and down to take in how the war had changed them. The two of them seemed to pause just a bit longer on the Autobot and Decepticon insignia emblazoned across their chests, what was once the fronts of their car modes.

Barricade let his smooth, grave voice pierce the silence, “Well, well, Prowl. Been a while.”

Prowl said nothing.

“First a cop, then a Major, and now… A diversion. How far you’ve fallen, old friend.” Barricade said bitterly, matching Prowl’s glare with his own.

“Look who’s talking, traitor.” Prowl replied with a smug snort.

“The only ‘traitor’ I can see is you. I’m still trying to save Cybertron — you Autobots are just trying to save yourselves.” Barricade seemed to relax into his stance, crossing his arms.

“Oh, spare me. You’re just regurgitating the scrap that Megatron feeds you.” Prowl sneered back, feeling his servos tighten just slightly.

Barricade grit his teeth, “That’s rich, coming from someone who follows poorly designed laws written by malfunctioning bureaucrats millions of years ago; at least Megatron is alive to back up his words.”

Prowl laughed for a moment, “Look around you, Barricade! Do you really think that Megatron’s vision for Cybertron will ever happen? Do you really want it to? We’re standing in acid rain on the ruined streets of our old patrol! Megatron and the Decepticons did this, not the Autobots!”

“You’re just afraid of change.” Barricade spat.

Prowl barked in return, “’Change’? The world is on fire because of your ‘change’!”

“The world is on fire because you didn’t let it change!” Barricade shouted, balling his fists.

The two stood for a moment, then looked away from each other. Barricade let out a huff, then stepped a few feet forward and dispensed a pair of shackles from a hip compartment. Prowl looked back with a pang of shock, then took an instinctive step back. In a flash, Prowl drew his sidearm at Barricade and trained it on his former partner’s head.

Barricade didn’t seem to mind, “You’re coming with me. You know you’re outmatched and outgunned. Maybe we can make a Decepticon out of you yet, after Shockwave’s done with you.”

“Not if I have a choice in it,” Prowl said, “Back off.”

The purple highlights on Barricade glowed as he sighed, “Well, the way I see it, you have three options. Either you run and you probably die, I kill you and you definitely die, or you come with me and you only might die.”

“Big talk for someone with a gun trained on ‘em.” Prowl said with a wry smirk.

“Oh come on, Prowl; I know you’re not going to shoot me.” Barricade said with an annoyed scowl.

Prowl mused aloud, “You’re an enemy combatant. Might be the logical thing to do.”

“Be my guest.” Barricade opened his arms in a challenge.

If the roles were reversed, Prowl knew that Barricade wouldn’t give him the chance. It was quick math. An Autobot and a Decepticon in a standoff. Opposite sides, with the line between as clear-cut as day and night. It would be easy — too easy — to blast Barricade’s head clean from his chassis. Just a twitch of the finger, a subtle squeeze for a hair’s width, and then it would be done. With their commanding officer gone, the Decepticon raiding party would leave and the Energon and civillians would be safe. There were a couple dozen laws and sublaws to stop Cybertronians from killing each other — especially when one of them was unarmed — but right now… Breaking them would be so, so easy.

Barricade laughed and looked up to the sky, letting the acid rain run over his face in a cleansing, corrosive shower, “You know, that’s your problem, Prowl. You never could make the hard choices.”

“Better than the ‘hard choices’ making me.” Prowl replied, the acid rain running down the red crest on his head.

A loud squeal of tires caught their attention down the street to their left. It had to be Glyph and Tap-Out. If they were still that close, then something must have gone wrong with their escape. Or better, something must have brought them back toward the Autobot encampment. Prowl flit his optics instinctively to look at the noise, leaving just enough time for Barricade to try something rash. Barricade made a move, and Prowl whipped his eyes back, just in time to see Barricade drop his arms in a thrust. Twin cannons flipped out from Barricade’s shoulders, and in a flash Prowl responded, training his pistol back to his former friend.

Their faces lit with the colors of their laser fire.

 

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Disclaimer: This is a work of free fan fiction, not officially licensed material. Respective characters, names, locations, images and titles are copyright Hasbro and Wizards of the Coast.