Ep. 1.5 - The Bad Nights - (Closed)

[Deleted]

Set during Week 2, Day 4!

--------


There were good nights, and there were bad nights.

The bad nights were... he tried not to think about those.

But the good nights were all right. Those were the nights when he walked the halls of the base without fear, letting his feet steer him through a routine long beaten into him after centuries of duty at the prison. Nights when he worked hard to inspect the abandoned chambers of the old missile silo for Red Alert, shining a light into the dark and rusting places that the Security Director's cameras could not reach. Nights when he tested locks and sealed hatches and almost felt like he had a thousand years ago.

Good nights and bad nights. That hadn't changed, not since he had woken out of a five year nightmare at Delphi. But there were slightly more good nights than bad ones these days, with the possibility of better ones to come. He supposed that was enough.

Fortress Maximus allowed his feet to guide him towards the control room. His rifle was secured to the small of his back, a reassuring presence. The halls were empty. It had to be nearly oh-two-hundred hours by now. All was still.

Good.

He was tired. It had been a long night. Maximus had spent much of it down behind the blast locks of the old control centre, inspecting its ancient air filtration system. No one went to that part of the missile complex any more, not since it had been decommissioned. Much of it was falling into ruin, a layer of grime and chemical mould upon every corroded surface. Ratchet had struck upon the idea that the old centre could be used as a fallback shelter in the event the base was overrun. Maximus had his doubts.

He'd replaced a few filters while he was down there. Righted a collapsed water tanker. The dome-shaped ceiling had echoed every clank and screech of metal back down at him. Things had dripped and rumbled in the gloom.

It was dirty work, and to see the missile silo when it was at its darkest and emptiest was unsettling. But at least it was something.

Better than nothing.

Ventilation fans hummed gently behind the walls. Maximus closed his optics as he walked, his footsteps trudging. The hour was late. He supposed this self-appointed inspection duty could wait for the daylight hours, when his mind was less clouded by fatigue. But it was quieter at night. Most of the other Autobots were either resting or working a midnight shift. He avoided them when he could, reluctant to mingle. Too many faces, too many unfamiliar mechs. It made him uncomfortable. Not a word he liked to associate with himself.

Besides. He had a lot to think about these days. A lot to process. That wasn't something he wanted company for.

Green light fell through the doorway that led into the control room. Maximus pinched between his optics and steered towards it. Someone had to be on monitor duty. With luck it was Ratchet, with another task to be done.

[Carbine]

Cleaning!? REALLY!?

Carbine wasn't too pleased that he was being assigned to cleaning when he was a fully trained police officer before he was convicted and sent to Garrus-1. He could fight, he was smart despite playing stupid, and he had a fully programmed and trained police dog cassette that could track, fight, and just generally help out. But no no... because he couldn't read due to his damage? He was stuck doing menial work.

He couldn't read instructions to fix stuff; he couldn't look at blueprints or calculate stuff like how Thunder could to do cobbled repairs. He couldn't even do monitor duty because if something did go wrong? He couldn't hit the right buttons to trigger the proper responses. He'd just face roll across the keyboard and end up unintentionally reporting a full-scale Decepticon attack or other nonsense and send the base into an unfounded flurry of panic.

He would be lying if he said that wouldn't be funny though... at least until one of the officers or Optimus himself would chastise him for screwing up so badly... But that was assuming he would have been given a chance, which no... no he wasn't. He just was handed a degrading janitorial task while Thunder of all people got an opportunity for the easy job of lazily spying on people. How did he even get this opportunity!?

Carbine stood towards the back of the control room, frowning dismissively behind his riot helmet. He had not taken it off since he arrived, other than when he was in private to refuel when none could see his face. It felt odd to have it on all the time again, but he was getting adapted to it once more, his luminous optics creating generalized shapes across its opaque surface. These pupil void eyes shifted over to peer at Thunder in dismay, while he pushed a mop across the flooring.

This task made him think back to Garrus-1, when he among others would be tasked for such menial labor to keep them occupied during the day. What had they done? Why did they come here!? He and Thunder got trapped back up in a new prison all over again! Granted... the ex-convict may consider anything with ridged rules a prison out of emotional bitterness by now.

The duo had been chatting for awhile, but conversation only lasted so long, and soon it had been nothing but silence between them. From there? It didn’t take long for Carbine to hear a sound all too familiar to him, and he paused in his work to take a few backwards steps in order to view the other Mech. Thunder appeared to be in recharge, peds plopped up upon the console, leaned back in the chair with arms loosely crossed and helm eased back. This caused Carbine to pause, his brow plates hooking up before he gradually set the mop aside and lightly clicked his white fingertips together in thought.

Oh oh... oh this is great... revenge...

The ex-cop moved over to the basin he had been using as a sort of mop bucket, having been dragging it around behind him when he was doing his work. Now? He grasped its side, lifting it up before his chest so he could look inside. It was filled with once soapy water turned a murky festering mass of oil and dirt, and an unseen grin of pure wicked cunning pealed back on his unseen faceplates.

Casually, he started lightly spilling and dumping the soapy murk water around between Thunder and the doorway, splattering it as if pouring gasoline on a bonfire that was being prepped. He made sure the mixture coated the floor in a film, leaving a good half or so of the water left in the bucket. With this in hand, he lifted his right ped, the panels shifting as his toe plate folded back and into his shin, placing down so the left could follow.

Now upon two wheels, and the floor prepped, he heaved the bucket up and over his head like a grand trophy, glaring down at Thunder with an optic twitching with a gleeful vengeance and wild joy in anticipation. A split moment later? And he slammed the bucket upside down over Thunder's head, causing the rest of the liquid to splatter down on him. A fraction of a second later? His right hand swung to slap the side of the basin, so on top of being so rudely awakened? And covered by the fowl soapy water? It would be paired with a reverberating 'BANG'.

Carbine reeled around, not waiting to see the result of his labor, before his wheels revved and he kicked off as hard as he could. He was rather skilled on his wheels, using them to chase convicts back in the day, as such he leapt and landed sideways as he slid out the door, permitting him to kick off and launch at a near perfect 90 degree turn. He was counting on the soapy water tripping up Thunder and making him fall, feeling he would get a great head start. As such, without looking? He kicked off as hard as he could...

...Right into Fortress Maximus

[Deleted]

Thundercloud was not exactly a heavy sleeper. He couldn’t afford to be, back in Garrus, not when sleeping heavy meant it would be all the easier for someone to get the jump on him and introduce his internals to a shank. Granted, that wasn’t something he had to worry about often; there wasn’t some sort of pandemic of mecha getting their fuel-pumps ruptured in the middle of the night by stab-happy nutjobs with too much time on their hands. It was just a constant, albeit quiet concern in the back of his mind, reminding him that he was living in close quarters with murderers, thieves, and worse, and that you just couldn’t tell when one of them was going to snap and decide they took umbrage with your lack of perforation.

That being said, it was wholly unnecessary for Carbine to smack the bucket after overturning its contents onto his head - he had woken up with a startled shout the very moment the water hit his plating, optics flying online, frame jerking back, his legs falling from the console to the floor as he was rudely and abruptly awoken. His first instinct was to lash out, fist swinging blindly to hit a mech who was no longer in front of him. It took a moment for his his freshly-woken processor could catch up with the situation and fully realize what was going on, so the bucket remained on his head for a moment or two until he had the sense of mind to tear it off and throw it carelessly (and violently) to the side, heedless of where it landed or what it hit along the way.

He stood abruptly, optics blazing as he whipped around, filthy water dripping from his frame as he turned just in time to catch Carbine cackling as he raced out the door.

Livid, he clenched his hands into fists, jaw twitching as his outrage latched itself onto a target and promptly put blinders on him so he could not focus on or think of anything else - not the fact that causing bodily harm to a teammate was generally frowned upon, not the fact that what he was planning to do would likely cause enough ruckus to wake up the entire base, and not the fact that the floor beneath his boots were slick with soapy, oily water.

This would prove to be his undoing. Unsurprising, given how frequently his temper got him into trouble in the past. Without bothering to watch before he leaped, or rather, check the floor to see whether or not Carbine had laid a trap out for him, Thunder charged towards the door at full speed, shouting obscenities at Carbine as he promised to murder him, then promptly slid across the slicked floor.

---And straight into a wall.

He slammed into it as ungracefully as he possibly could, wings splaying out as he lost his balance and attempted (in vain) to regain it, optics going wide as he realized there was no way to prevent the oncoming impact.

In the moment post-impact, Thundercloud (and likely half the residents of the base) learned what sound of 61,000 lbs of pissed-off jet demonstrating Newton’s first law of motion made. As it turns out, it was mostly growling and incomprehensible swearing.

[Deleted]

Maximus heard the commotion before he reached the control room. He scowled and lengthened his strides, a lecture already forming in his mind. It was two in the morning. Whoever was on monitor duty did not sound as if they were taking their job all that seriously.

He strode through the doorway, and something noisily collided with his chest.

The impact was so unexpected that he staggered back a step. In anger he lashed out, seizing hold of the culprit by one shoulder in order to bring him to an abrupt halt. By god, he was going to blind this idiot if he and his watch partner were roughhousing on the job.

An instant later Thundercloud hit the soapy floor and crashed into a wall.

Maximus froze.

The wings. The paint. The foul mouth.

A cold horror swept over him. Reluctantly, Maximus looked down at the mech he held pinned beneath one fist.

The blank visor of the riot helmet looked back up at him

His spark painfully contracted in his chest. A hollow rushing filled his audials, making the rest of the noise in the room sound distant and faint. As if in a trace Maximus stared at it. Of all the mechs he had to run into at this time, at this hour, when the base was empty and dark and its myriad of late night sounds reflected back back at him in chuckling echoes, it had to be the convicts. The only two mechs he had been fighting so hard to avoid. It had to be.

Damn it. Damn it. This had been a good night.

Maximus inhaled, closed his optics briefly, and forced himself to let go of Carbine.

"What," he growled, "are you two doing in here? This does not look like productive work - whatever it is."

[Carbine]

While Thunder was not a heavy sleeper... Carbine? Most definitely was. It was something he really should have considered when he did this prank, because he slept so hard? Dropped so deeply into recharge? That Thunder could have probably revved a chainsaw to carve through the door to whatever room he was using as shelter and he would never be any the wiser until it was far far too late to avoid the chaos. But hey, he didn't always think ahead any longer, and it isn't like Thunder would KILL him. Smack him around? Sure... Throw him down the hall like a damn javelin? A possibility... But kill him? Nahhh...

Carbine had to try to keep himself composed, but damn he wanted to laugh and just drop down to the ground on his knees when Thunder woke. This want to do so? Only amplified with the knowledge that the jet would probably fall next. But no he had to keep focused so he could run, get some distance so the initial rage-out could be avoided. He had long since learned that being caught within the first few moments? Were always the worst, unless he cheated and went into 'scared puppy' mode in self defense. It was with this limited reign on his laughter, he kicked off expecting to launch down the hall...

...only to ram into something.

The ex-cop let out a heave as air had been smacked out of his vents, frame colliding with all of his limited, but still built, momentum and force with a raucous of a bang. His legs continued to roll forward despite this impact, due to the fact that they were still in the wheel based shape with no ped attached to it. This left him with his legs swiping between Fort Max's, which almost caused a limbo sort of swing backwards, before he was grasped by his shoulder.

Carbine's processor spun from the shock. At first he thought he had hit a wall, but... there was no wall there. Next he knew it had to be a mech, and his spark sunk thinking it may have been Optimus with how big the individual was. While he wouldn't have CARED about running into him, he didn’t want to get in trouble. But nope... it was perhaps the worst option of all, though Carbine wasn't aware it was the worst option.

The mech opened his mouth to speak, a couple crackles signaling he was about to throw out some quick words, when Thunder collided with the wall behind him. Instantly both optics widened into perfect circles, and he started to let out a barking cackle of static and joy. His hands swung up while he did so, looping over Fort Max's wrist to supply some stability while he tried to pull his legs back and under him so he could support his own weight once more. He was oblivious to the stress flicking through the other mech, simply trying to get upright and on his two feet... or... wheels. As he did so, he reeled himself back emotionally to some extent, and finally spoke in a forced leveled tone as if he was giving a report.

"Fun while on aa-a?ct-ac?-k?z?z?t-energetic duty can significantly improve focus, joy, and p?r?-pro?d?-?output."

It was almost like he was reciting something from way back when he was a cop, falling back on the formal approach to things to try to snake around getting in trouble. Carbine could be rather quick witted when cornered, and he used this to his advantage here, even if all he wanted to do was slip away and run before Thunder regained his composure. Because of this? Once he had his footing back? And Fort Max had let go of him? He straightened upright, angling the wheels in a way to drift idly towards the tank's side.

"If one is having time a k???z???z??t? ?? good, they are going to work harder, more e-k?z?z?t-ef?fi?c?-well, and react better if something goes astray."

His right hand had snaked behind his lower back, while left raised up to flick idly, almost like he were giving a lecture formally. However the moment he was clear? The moment he could see a gap between Fort Max and the wall? His frame bucked down and he kicked, trying to launch between the opening to slip past and flee.

[Deleted]

Thundercloud was used to hitting walls. Or, more accurately, being thrown into them. Or drunkenly stumbling into them. Or--nevermind, point was, he hit walls a lot. Often enough to have a pretty solid understanding of how physics worked, and how if he didn’t want to land flat on his aft, he had to find a way to catch his balance after his own momentum bounced him off the wall like rubber off a blacktop.

That being said, Thunder spent a few undignified moments flailing his arms out to keep his oversized aft from toppling over like a Jenga tower, before finally finding his footing - which was no easy task, considering the floor was slick beneath his feet and the increasing desire to MURDER Carbine until he died to death was making it incredibly difficult to focus.

Once he was no longer in danger of losing his footing, Thundercloud turned slowly to glare at Carbine, yellow optics flashing with anger. It was at that point he finally noticed the presence of Fortress Maximus, and his expression faltered briefly, his anger giving way to surprise. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the other mech since their first meeting a few weeks prior, and he had honestly half-forgotten the mech was even around. They had never really introduced themselves to each other, and for the most part, Thundercloud hadn’t really been interested in getting to know him. He couldn’t even remember what the mech’s name was - he remembered asking someone what it was in passing, and they had only given him a nickname.

It was...frag he had already forgotten. It apparently it had seemed so inconsequential it had just completely slipped his mind. Ah well, it wasn’t like forgetting names was anything new. Part of the reason he made up nicknames for people in the first place was because half the time he couldn’t remember what their actual designations were. The other reason was because it was just fun.

He would have to come up with something suitably insulting for the mech later on--after he had dunked Carbine’s head in a drainage ditch.

Grinding his jaw as the mech in question spouted off bullshit excuses of the highest order, Thundercloud rolled his outer plates, flexing them in and out to flick the water off of them, while giving his arm a solid shake towards Carbine for good measure, in an effort to fling some of the murky water droplets on him.

“Yeah, you just keep on ridin’ his leg, Patches.” He growled in reply, sending a glare the other mech’s way before looking down to examine the runoff dripping down his shoulders and chest

“Over there pretendin’ like you didn’t just ‘bush me, you little shit.” He muttered, as he raised a hand to swipe a cluster of suds from his side.

[Deleted]

Globs of suds hit the floor at Maximus' feet.

He bristled.

Turn around, his inner voice urged him. Turn around now and put them behind you. Get away. Go somewhere quiet, sit down, calm down, and regain control. Don't get drawn into anything foolish. Don't let fear or anger get the better of you. Even as he thought it he felt the hate flow through him. The hollow rush in his audials was turning into a dull roar.

They were convicts. They were in his base - in his base. Someone had trusted them. Vouched for them. Someone had actually been soft-hearted enough to trust them with important duties, as if they were part of the crew - and they repaid it with disrespect.

Carbine was trying to slip past him. Maximus didn't know why. He didn't care.

He stuck out his arm like an iron bar to block the smaller mech's path. His red optics remained fixed upon Thundercloud.

"You," he said, his voice low. "You, the flier - Thundercloud, wasn't it? And you."

He turned his glare down upon Carbine. "Carbine. Thundercloud and Carbine. Thundercloud and Carbine, of Garrus infamy. Now moping floors and sleeping at the monitors as if they were just a part of Team Prime. What a joke. What a god damned joke. And it's being played on me. That's what irritates me the most. Because I'm supposed to say nothing about it. Just turn my head like it was nothing."

[Carbine]

The ex-cop also didn’t recall Fort Max's name. He didn’t even know if it had ever been mentioned to him... but oh well... It didn’t really matter did it? I mean, 'hey you' can work just as well in any given situation. All he really remembered on the other mech, was that he seemed so grumpy, and dismissive, yet he was good enough to not harm Bolo. He had been attacked by a dog, had every right to smack him aside and injure the comparatively little animal, yet he didn’t. He treated Bolo like the misguided beast he was.

When Carbine would find out the other was a Warden if a Prison however? All this would change. But until then? He didn’t have any ire towards him, and instead? Was under the wrong assumption that he was very much OK with Fortress Maximus. This burly tank could be someone else he could look to in order to seek help, as they were level minded enough to not jump to conclusions like the sword happy spazz that had hacked off Thunder's thumb.

Because of this? He was not immediately concerned when his path was blocked off, seeing the arm stopping his retreat, as an act to keep him back to sort out what had happened, more so than cage him. Carbine was trapped between a beat down, and uncertain disembowelment, and he was too blind to see the latter.

While Thunder may have retained a lot of the 'paranoia' and spatial awareness to threats? Carbine sometimes lost the skills when it was inopportune. Really, it was mostly in social situations though. His code, his original function, WANTED him to be a part of a larger team. He was built to work with an entire squad of other cop mechs. He craved that... he wanted the team aspect badly again even if he didn’t admit it, so he had made himself blind to the maw of death he was looking up at.

It was a bit harder for his processor to remain in denial though when Fort Max spoke, his unseen expression contorting from a grin, down to a bit of confusion, and then a grimace. At first he wondered if his glitch was presenting itself, if Fort Max was saying something else instead of repeating their names over and over, but it soon became apparent there was something else wrong not related to his own helm.

"Well ac?tu?ally... what I did was aimed at Thunder, you just kinda... ma-m?ate?r?-?a-kz?zt?-appeared in the hallway..."

He stated this matter-of-factly with a wee bit of apprehension. He wanted to push humor back into play, bring back the amusement and joy that he had been coasting on not long prior. He wanted things to level out to the chaotic banter and laughter. As such he forgot Thunder's insults as fast as they had fell upon him.

"But don’t feel left out! If you be to k?z?z?t want targeted I can arrange that!"

A joke, paired with an unseen grin as he rolled at a leisurely pace again. He slid backwards on his wheels, arms drooping back to fold at his lower spine casually once more. He knew Thunder was behind him, and had known some of the water was flicked at him, but he had Bolo docked, so the canine took the brunt of the retaliation ((How could you Thunder! The dog is innocent!)) Nonetheless, he coasted a bit twords Fort Max's other side.

"You can say a?ll y?ou? ?wa?n?t?! Thunder is good at lis?te?n?ing! Go for it!"

He motioned to Thunder over dramatically with a flourish of an arm motion, hoping Fort Max would look up and at him, only for Carbine to act again. He kicked forward once more, trying now the opposite side to run past. The gap was a bit bigger, so he hoped he would make it this time. Either he would skate past and get behind Fort Max to 'hide', or he would closeline himself on the arm.

[Deleted]

Unlike Carbine, Thundercloud was not compelled by coding to desire the company of others, and as such, he was not blinded to the clear and present hostility Fortress Maximus was displaying towards them. When the larger mech bristled, his anger rising, he had expected a lecture, to be yelled at for slacking and goofing off instead of diligently working like good little tools.

Instead, Fortress Maximus fixed them with a glare, shooting his arm out to block Carbine’s path, before dropping one hell of a non sequitur on them. The mech spoke with derision, his tone contemptuous. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he had some sort of problem with them. Judging by the way he specifically mentioned their stint in Garrus (and damn it, he knew word of that would get out eventually) Thundercloud figured it probably had something (read: everything) to do with the fact they were convicts.

Frowning, Thundercloud cocked his head slightly to the side and cast an uncertain glance between Carbine and Fortress’ arm, before fixing his gaze on the mech himself. He tilted his head back a bit, chin lifting as he looked down his hypothetical nose at Fortress, his shoulders squaring as he straightened from his slouch and stood to his full height. He did not respond at first, simply staring hard at the other mech, sizing him up, his weight shifting from one leg to the other as he moved his feet a bit further apart. The changes in his posture were subtle, and entirely subconscious. Whether he had any intention to make himself come across that way or not, his body had decided to arrange itself in a way that clearly stated he was anticipating an altercation: “I’m ready to throw-down, motherfucker, are you?” in simple non-verbals.

However, when he finally spoke, there was no aggression in Thundercloud’s tone, no threat, no intention to provoke. Just a calm, albeit somewhat frosty tone.

“I dunno about infamy, mech.” He replied, paying no mind to Carbine’s words since the mech clearly did not recognize what was actually going on here--didn’t realize the potential problem they had on their hands.

“Far as felons go, I’m pretty tame. And Patches over there--well, frag, mech, look at ‘em. He’s hardly the worst thing to crawl outta a Garrus.”

He jerked his head towards the mech in question, hoping Fortress would see Carbine like he did and realize how utterly non-threatening the spindly little glitch was.

“But you know what?” He asked rhetorically, lifting his arms from his sides to facetiously welcome whatever response Fortress Maximus might have.

“If you got somethin’ to say, you can say it to me. You wanna bitch to someone about me bein’ here, I’ll pull up a chair and listen to you all fraggin’ day.”

[Deleted]

"All right," breathed Maximus.

He moved.

This time he did not settle with sticking out his arm. It roared in as Carbine tried to skate past, Maximus' upper body twisting behind it to power the swing. The crumpling impact of his hand hitting Carbine's throat like an axe echoed around the dim control room.

Maximus heaved.

Carbine was not a small mech, and solidly built. But his wheels left the floor as Maximus hoisted him aloft, spinning against empty air. There was no shriek of metal under pressure as the warden lifted him, his hand gripped like a vise beneath Carbine's chin. No gears creaked in the massive shoulders, no hydraulics groaned. There was only the quiet whir of a freshly forged warbuild in motion, a combat frame performing exactly as it was designed to.

Arm straight, Maximus studied Carbine's face as he held him up against the green light of the monitors.

"No, you're hardly the worst thing to crawl out of a Garrus prison," he said softly. "Do you want to know how I know that? Because I saw the worst of the worst. Every day, I saw them. In the Rig, in Rehab. The war criminals, the executioners. The mass murderers, the gestalts, the violators. The monsters. I saw them all. And I watched them as they murdered my Autobots, my guards. I watched them gather under a red sky and yell for my blood. I watched them turn my prison into an abattoir."

Slowly, his armoured fist began to tighten around Carbine's throat. The red optics did not waver.

"And you... are hardly one of them. You are... a walking insult, a noisy slap in the face. You are the thanks I get for a thousand years of service in - what did they call it? Fortress Maximus' little corner of Hell. And I'm suppose to ignore that. To forget everything that happened, because it's in the past now and it's irrational to dwell on the past. I'm the one expected to look the other way, to keep my distance. To endure it in silence. But do you know what I think?"

Something twitched through Maximus' face, contorting his jaw into a grimace.

"I think you two - you two convicts - just happened to wind up in the wrong place at the wrong time tonight."

[Carbine]

Carbine may have expected getting close-lined... I mean, the mech did try to block him once already with an outstretched arm, however? This was not just a bar thrown out to snap his helm back so he ended up sliding below it on his knees on the ground. This wasn't just a barricade to hit his chest and leave him in place with a sudden halt like when Thunder had hit the wall. No... This time his throat was actually grabbed with violent force, and the full weight of the situation came crashing down around him.

An unflattering sound squawked out, Carbine's glitch in full play, mixed with general distortion brought on from his throat pipes being smashed into at such a velocity. It made the sound not recognizable as any word, or even a traditional element such as a 'hurgh' or 'gack' or anything else. Laced in with this distortion however was a yelping sound akin to a canine, feeding through the combined frame of the Carrier Cassette. It was as if Bolo was trying to vocalize what his master could not for him in this moment of shocked horror, picking up the slack even though he really wanted to undock.

The ex-cop's hands pulled up, white fingertips grabbing onto and digging down into Fort Max's wrist to try to take some of the weight off of his throat. While he was lean for a mech of his height, perhaps a bit spindly in the legs, he was still heavy all things considered. His neck protested to having all of his mass hang from the thin junction, and so he was trying frantically to relieve it by clambering at the forearm. In tandem with this? His legs shifted back into their root frame, the toe peds folding out of the shins with a hiss, stretching down to try to claw and find purchase on the flooring below.

No... no no... what had they done?...

Carbine's optics were wide in terror, the pupiless shapes staring back at Fort Max with anxious fear and perhaps a bit of betrayal. He... he had thought he was someone he would be able to eventually trust on the same team. He had been so patient with Bolo, how could someone that was so understanding before, turn so violently into this?... Because of this he didn't speak, or rather... he didn’t TRY to speak, as he would not have been able to formulate anything properly anyway.

Bolo flexed in his dock, wanting to disengage and protect his owner, he wanted to launch out and turn against the assailant, but he wasn't being permitted too. The canine snarled a silent growl through their link, it intertwined with worry and fear of his own as Carbine had locked down on the bolts that kept Bolo from ejecting himself. The mech had the mindset to know sending a dog out into the impromptu battlefield would be bad, though... he still wanted to at some extent... his head rolling back some from the strain on his thin neck components as they were put under more pressure, teeth gritting in pain.

A spinning processor struggled to chug through what Fortress Maximus had said, the words revealing much that made his tank feel like it was churning. This mech, he worked at a prison? No... he had referred to it as his corner of hell... it would have made him think of another convict's territory they laid claim too, but the word 'service' had been used. So he was a guard that owned a territory?... he was someone that worked there that had a chunk of it?... or did he have it all?... was he someone that oversaw the entire place?...

No... no... no...

They had pissed off someone that used to be a warden?... they had crossed paths with someone with serious hang-ups over prisoners?... True the duo had been judged poorly in the past for their time in Garrus-1... but this? This was something else entirely. It sounded like this mech was ready to instigate another confrontation, though this one on completely different terms, raised to new levels of violence and aggression.

Carbine's helm twisted to the side, as he strained out a static spackled cry, the sound intertwined with another yowl from Bolo who was acting as his voice to some extent. There were quite a few things he could try to do to get free from this... but instead of fighting back? Instead of throwing his leg up to try to hit Fort Max? Instead of using Bolo to attack? His riot armor engaged with a hissing slam.

The panels popped up over the junctions of his elbows to hide the more delicate wires, while two panels on either side under his main 'ribcage' slammed down over side vents just over his hip struts. The one large plate on his collar bone? Tried to slam up, but was blocked by the hand on his throat, the armor pressing against Fort Max's wrist. In addition to the armor being engaged, Carbine went complete passive, his hands pulling up closer on the other's forearm towards the hand, and his legs pulled back a bit... It was almost like he was trying to become small and get as far away from him as he could... because quite frankly?... he was...

He knew a damn bulldozer was coming and he didn't need his arms getting snapped off in the crossfire.

[Deleted]

Thundercloud was no stranger to being looked down upon. With a history like his, with the status he had...it came with the territory. He was used to it. How could he not be, when no matter where he went, someone always came along to remind him of who he was and what he did, (as if he could ever forget) lest he slip up and make the mistake of thinking for a single moment that he was someone who could be trusted, someone who deserved respect.

He had been certain that nothing Fortress Maximus could say possibly to him would be anything he hadn’t heard countless times before. Same line, different phrasing, an endless amount of ways to tell him he was scum, that he had no right to be an Autobot, or to even be alive when better mecha than him had gone gray.

He had been wrong. As it turned out, Fortress had a few things to say that no other mecha had before him, personal experiences shared by no one but him.

The warden had moved before he spoke, his hand reaching out to seize Carbine by the throat and hoist the mech off his feet and into the air. Then he said what Thundercloud had invited him to, his words arranging themselves piece by piece until they formed a greater puzzle.

Thundercloud’s optics brightened in alarm when he realized who the mech in front of him was - he had lunged forward a half-step when the mech first seized Carbine from the throat, but he had stopped himself from immediately advancing on him as his instincts urged him to. He was glad he hadn’t listened to them. Knowing now who Fortress was, he could only imagine what the mech would have done to himself or to Carbine had he attacked him and given the mech a solid reason to become violent against them.

Thundercloud had had enough of that bullshit during those first few years of parole. There was no three strikes policy - if he acted against one of his comrades even once, he’d be dishonorably discharged and shipped back to Garrus before he could blink. That particular set of rules didn’t apply to him anymore, but even without the threat of being sent back to prison looming over his head, Thundercloud knew where he stood in the optics of the higher ups. If he got into an altercation with a teammate, he knew where the fingers would be pointed, where the blame would be placed. He had been harassed numerous times before my mecha trying to provoke him into a fight, trying to get him shipped out or punished for fighting back.

It seemed like Fortress Maximus was doing just that, trying to provoke them. Trying to get him to throw the first punch so he could beat them down without much consequence from the higher ups, or maybe even to give the command cadre an excuse to evict them from the base.

Well. Thundercloud wasn’t gonna play that game. As much as he wanted to crack Fortress Maximus’ optic for laying his goddamn hands on Carbine, he wasn’t about to set himself up to be labeled a “dangerous, unstable felon.” Been there, done that, got the t-shirt and marks on his record to prove it.

Gritting his teeth, Thundercloud worked his jaw for a moment, his field bristling with anger and indignation as he took a half-step back and raised his hands in an attempt to diffuse the situation before things got worse.

“Look, mech.” He said, trying for calm and succeeding at thinly-veiled disdain.

“You get your hands off him, alright?” It was more of a demand than a request.

“You take your hands off him, and I won’t put mine on you. We don’t gotta do this.”

Frag, but he just wanted to punch the mech’s teeth in - an urge not at all helped by the sight of Carbine dangling in his grasp, making static-laced vocalizations of distress as he engaged his riot-armor to protect himself from what he rightly considered to be a threat. It was hard, resisting the urge to do something, to rush forward and free Carbine from the mech’s massive grip, but Thundercloud knew better than to try. It was just too risky.

One false move from him, one slip up, and Carbine’s head could be popped off his neck like a dandelion from its stem. In the time it took him to reach Fortress Maximus, the mech could easily dispatch his entire reason for wanting to knock him around in the first place.

[Deleted]

Maximus laughed, a harsh sound of contempt. But his red optics slid down to fix upon Thundercloud.

"You'd better make your first blow count," he said. "Because you won't get a second one."

He released Carbine.

And as the mech fell back towards the floor his other hand lashed out. Carbine would catch a glimpse of it eclipsing his vision before Maximus slammed his palm into his face, his fingers hooking cruelly around his helm. The rest of his body crashed into the floor with a noisy clatter of plating.

Breathing heavily, his shoulders heaving, Maximus stepped forward.

Carbine dragged from his grip as the big mech walked past Thundercloud and into the control room. On his back the tank treads spun jerkily, smoking, his expression locked in a rictus of fury. Water splashed beneath his feet as he trod through the spreading pool on the floor, scattering ripples of green light. Carbine's heels skidded through it, scraping trails of water behind them.

Maximus reached the ground bridge control and seized the lever with his free hand.

"You filthy little beasts," he grated. "I will not stand this any longer. I want you out - out! I want you out of my base, I want you out of my sight! And since no one else here will stand up to make the hard decisions before it's too late, it falls upon me to act upon them myself. And whatever happens to you out there, well. Too bad."

He threw down the lever.

The ground bridge exploded outwards, engulfing them all in green light. Maximus let go of the lever and staggered towards it, hauling Carbine with him. He did not look back.

[Carbine]

Thunder...? Yeah... Thunder?...

Carbine choked further, it feeling like Energon lines were getting pinched off which made his head swim and mind chug roughly forward at a limped gait. His optics which had been wide in fear, had started to narrow some, as if trying to squint to force the mechanics to still see clearly. He was demanding that they not fizzle out into static from lack of proper fuel to the biological mechanics.

Hey... yeah... I am kind of hanging here still... guy?... help?...

When Thunder started to speak, a strained whine began to whirr out from Carbine, struggled as he was trying to cry out to his friend to express what he wanted, or NEEDED to have happen. His arms which had pulled to Fort Max's wrist to get out of the way, then looped further down on the forearm, realizing he wasn't going to get an immediate tackle out of the massive jet. Because of this, his thin fingertips ground down, feeling for any seams he could find, anything to wrench his fingers into to try to cause pain.

No stop, don’t negotiate... I am blacking out here! Get him off me!

He clawed more at the arm, his head spinning as the rotors on his back spazzumed and flicked momentarily. He was starting to lose the grip on Bolo, the locks needed to keep him downed needing some conscious control to have in place. This meant there was a hissing crackle from the dock, the backpack like armor lurching out a few inches before it was halted.

...Thunder?

There were some hazy words, some distant phrases he couldn't pick up on, until he was falling. The sensation was awkward, and he wondered if he was temp shutting down from lack of Energon in his processor?... no no... he had been 'choked out' before, he had been knocked out from severe head smacks in the past, both before and after the traumatic injury that took his language capabilities. No this wasn't that... he was actually falling? Oh yay! Did Thunder free hi-

SMACK

Carbine's head lurched back from the impact, just as his feet touched the ground. He tried to catch himself, he tried to land properly so he could act, but his spinning processor and the heavy blow to his helmet threw off his balance. In turn, his one leg lurched out to try to compensate, spinning to grate with a squeal across the metal flooring to try to hook behind his leaning back frame. It wasn't enough though, and the small amount of spilt water, soap, and oil that had gotten on his peds? Caused him to slip entirely, ending up crashing to the ground.

Confusion rocked through his frame, for all he could visually see now was a palm clasped over his helm. But what he couldn't see? He started to gain back some cognitive processing capabilities, as the pinched lines were released. It didn't matter if he was conscious or not however, as he was drug across the ground roughly.

The ex-cops spine arched up and away from the ground, legs trying to scramble for purchase on the slick flooring below. The wheels cut through the soapy water, creating long grooves, while the rubberless material skidded and scraped loudly. While his legs frantically lurched, his arms had hooked back up to grapple at Fort Max's arm, once more seeking anything he could grab onto. If he could get hold of any wires? He would pull and tear them out.

Hard cycles of ventilation ripped through Carbine's frame, each more violent than the last, as if his internals were revving up to something. This was paired with a crackling sound, as if static was shooting and jumping between panels in his internals. This amped more and more the longer he was drug forward, before a subtle growl that had manifested, erupted into a full blown roar of anger.

Carbine's right hand pulled away from Fort Max, his fingers splaying out a moment as the mechanics of his hand lurched down at the wrist, as if dropping down a step. This exposed the end of his forearm strut, which split open and flared apart with sudden arches of electricity jumping and surging across the maw of the weapon. It shuddered and roared with the power he had amped up within himself, and with it fully charged? He tried to ram the taser with all of his strength into the Tank's limb.

[Deleted]

...This was one of the reasons why Thundercloud did not put much stock in diplomacy. He had tried to be cordial, to take the more civil response, and look where it got him. There he was, trying to negotiate, only to have his efforts thrown back into his face as the madmech he was attempting to reason with turned his back on him and began dragging his friend---by the face--towards an open groundbridge.

Thundercloud was done being nice. He was done trying to play by the rules. He was done with this whole fragging situation, and most importantly he was done with Fortress Maximus’ bullshit.

He charged after the mech, footsteps booming as he rushed forward, teeth gritted and fists clenched. He was gonna beat the ever-living slag out of the son of a glitch, rip his damn arm off and beat some sense into his thick skull with it.

But first he needed to help Carbine. Getting him out of harm’s way was his first prerogative.

As such, Thundercloud made a b-line for the groundbridge controls, despite how very much he wanted to continue chasing after Fortress Maximus and tackle the mech to the floor, and seized the control lever in a too-firm grip before throwing it back up, abruptly shutting off power to the bridge, causing its swirling green lights to flicker, then die. For good measure, he slammed his hand down upon the console, and sent a surge of charge through his hand to temporarily scramble the controls, so Fortress Maximus couldn’t go back and try to open the bridge again. If he fried anything, he’d take full responsibility for repairing it later on - at the time being, he was too concerned with the other, more pressing matters to really give a damn about whether he damaged anything.

Task completed, he turned sharply to round back on Fortress Maximus, optics flashing. He was darkly pleased to note that Carbine was trying to electrocute the slag out of the mech.

“Alright, fragger.” He growled, as he stalked towards the two, his wrist flicking as he retrieved a shank from his subspace - homemade, jagged-edged. Perfect for breaking off in some unlucky mech’s plates.

“You want us outta your sight? Fine. Get over here so I can take your goddamn optics out, ‘cause we’re not goin’ anywhere.”

He was bluffing, posturing, trying to get the mech to back down by making himself seem like the bigger threat. Given how batshit insane and beyond reason the mech seemed to be, he wasn’t even sure if it would work.