Ep. 1.5 - The Bad Nights - (Closed)

[Deleted]

The scratching, the clawing - Carbine's fingers would find no purchase against the smooth joints and plating in Maximus' armoured forearm. The warden ignored him as he walked towards the ground bridge and the dead space beyond it, his face set in stone.

But the taser stopped him dead in his tracks.

The tiny prongs slammed into his armour and discharged their powerful electrical current. At close range the effect was devastating. And immediate.

Maximus stiffened, his back arching as the charge tore through him. It blasted through his frame in a white-hot current that swept all the way out to his fingertips, where it would crackle and ground painfully into Carbine's face before the hand slackened its grip. The red optics flickered and faded, until the blinding charge that had seized the big mech finally winked out.

Maximus staggered.

He nearly fell. Only at the last minute did he catch himself, his feet spread. From his wrist upwards his arm was numb, his circuits frosted white from sparks. Every fibre, every wire in his body felt brittle, stripped bare. His mind was a mess.

He shook his head. The last wisps of electricity rippled through his neural net like ghosts. The flier was advancing on him with menace, a tiny blade in hand. They had him. They would all tear him apart. His words hissed and spat through the static in Maximus' audials. He didn't need to hear the threats. He had heard them once before, just before black gore slashed across a blood red sky. All you have to do is try not to kill him.

The ground bridge was out.

It was the first clear thought to penetrate the warden's mind.

"The bridge!"

Disoriented, Maximus rounded on the two convicts, one hand clapped over his left optic.

"Is that what you want?" he snarled, his voice slurred. "By god, I'll bury you both here if that's what it's going to take!"

[Carbine]

Did he see green?... He thought he had heard the ground bridge, thought he could see slivers of light between the tank's fingers... but it had cut out suddenly? Paired with some electrical sounds that were not his own? He was confused, didn't know what was going on exactly. They hadn't moved far enough to have transferred to a new area right? They didn’t go THROUGH the ground bridge? He would have been able to feel that...

Carbine squirmed and flexed awkwardly, trying to wiggle free before he was forced to rely upon his taser. But boy... when he used it? He had put all of his pent up frustration and stress from being manhandled into it. All the limited pain Max had given him? Was going to be returned tenfold with an act of violent vengeance that lit up with shuddered sparks. Blue and white light arched and surged in the area, causing long shadows to cut through the otherwise darkened room.

His teeth gritted into a savage display that none could see, though his field lapped out with rage and aggression that mirrored the expression. He was not liking this one bit, and he was done playing passive for what blink of a moment he had. He wasn't going to roll over; he wasn't going to be beaten down. He wasn't going to permit this Primus forsaken TANK to push him around just because he was stronger and bigger than him! He had been pushed around far too much in prison! And he was going to fight back against this fragger that used to rule over one of those pits of hell!

This sonofaglitch was one of THEM, one of those that thought just because they had some upper hand in the system, just because they were already established, and just because he and Thunder had done something wrong in the past, they could push them around. It was as if their actions that had landed them in prison to begin with? Made them less than others. Made them just objects or mindless animals chewing at the bit to kill or maim...

No... they were still Cybertronian, they were still sentient, but the broken system only paved a road for assholes like this bastard to rip through and try to display dominance and power. It was like these corrupted 'guards' were clawing for something to become 'top dog'. Because what bigger thrill was there to their kind than the joy of beating down others just because they made a bad decision!? Lashing out and being able to OWN and FORCE them to submit just to vent their own problems and hide from their own issues! Doing so because that is the only thing that can give them solace during recharge.

These thoughts are what fueled Carbine to put everything he had into the taser, his systems running hot and the metal on his own weapon seething and starting to smoke as the prongs burned red. It however also blinded him to other things around him, disregarding Thunder as he was too angry to play a team sport at the moment, wanting to lash out himself.

He wrenched back when the grip on his head had slackened, and the smooth helmet popped free from the others grip, permitting Carbine to drop down to land his weight on his unoccupied arm. The palm fanned out flat, and his legs pulled back in a swoop that was so violent it scraped some of the water to spray out from the edge of the wheel cutting through it. He got the peds under him though, and he ground them down, getting a solid grip on a groove of the floor with the point.

Launching himself, Carbine's limbs and center of gravity pulled back, while he leapt, leading with his shoulder. The shift of his center of balance, violently pistoned forward once in range, launching extra momentum in a hard swing of a shoulder tackle he typically reserved for bashing down doorways back when he served as a cop. The motion hit hard enough to force the tank back a step, which is exactly what Carbine was counting on. Just while Fort Max started to step to catch himself? He tried to step forward himself, overextending his leg to attempt to hook the toe ped behind the tank's ankle joint in a drive to trip him up. If all worked out? If all fared according to plan? It would ideally end with the assailant falling down onto his back.

"I didn't s-st?-?a?-begin this f?i?ght? ?bu?t P?rimus f?ra?g?g?i?ng? wi?ll kz?z?t?? ?I?? ?EN?D? ?it!?"

[Deleted]

Self-restraint was not something Thundercloud possessed in great quantities. He had learned to become reliant on his instincts, dependant even. More often than not, he listened to them without question, following them without hesitation. He acted on impulses, trusting that his senses and subconscious would guide him towards whatever response would best secure his survival. That’s one of the first lessons he learned at Garrus: if your instincts tell you to do something, you’d damn well better listen to them, unless you wanted an early release through back-door parole.

It was fight or flight. His options were to stand his ground, or to withdraw. Given his temper and predisposition towards violence, it should be of little surprise to anyone that he usually chose the former option. However, given the current circumstances---namely the fact that Fortress Maximus was a goddamn juggernaut, and fighting him off even in self defense would result in a metric frag-ton of collateral damage---Thundercloud cast his instincts aside and chose the wiser, but far less immediately satisfying option.

His gut told him to fight. His rational told him trying to fight a teammate, even the teammate in question was the aggressor, would not end well for anyone involved. Particularly not Carbine, who, for all his vigor, could easily be crushed by Fortress Maximus’ superior strength. As much as he wanted to knock the tank around a little, he didn’t want the satisfaction of putting him in his place to come at the expense of Carbine’s physical well-being.

The mech already had one disfigurement. He didn’t need another.

Once Carbine freed himself from Fortress’ grasp, Thundercloud allowed his shoulders to drop a bit, relief allowing him to feel comfortable dropping his aggressive posture a bit. His relief did not last long, however, as soon Maximus recovered somewhat from his impromptu electrocution, and whipped around to face him. He roared some fresh brand of insanity, throwing out another death threat that Thundercloud did not doubt he would follow through on, given the opportunity.

“Mech, all I want is to know what the the Hell is wrong with you!” He shouted back, anger flickering in his field as he stepped forward.

Had he only been a bit faster, he might have been able to pull Carbine back, stop him before he tried to take the disoriented tank on his own and shove him back.

Cursing, Thundercloud lundged forward to grasp Carbine’s shoulder, wanting to yank him backwards before Fortress had the chance to counter the shove with a far more devastating move of his own.

“Carbine--!” It said something about how serious things had gotten, that he had used the mech’s actual name.

“Come on mech, step off. He ain’t worth it.”

[Deleted]

The 'clang' of Carbine's foot striking Maximus' ankle echoed around the control room.

Shaky from the electrical blast, his mind churning, the big mech staggered backwards from the trip. He caught himself before his balance was lost, his rear leg swinging back to plant him into a defensive combat stance. His warbuild frame, combined with his armoured legs and the guns they housed, made him too solid to topple. Millions of years of bitterly earned front line experience did the rest, anchoring the warden in place.

His face twisted in fury, Maximus glared down at Carbine and reared back one forearm.

It hung in the air, power and unspent rage, poised to smash its knuckles into the mech's exposed head. For an instant Maximus watched the crushing blow play out in his mind in exquisite detail: saw the way it crumpled metal and shattered the riot visor until the back of the broken helm sheared into the delicate brain module with a rupturing burst of protofluid. And then once the mech lay crumpled on the floor in clinical brain-death he would turn on the big flier and he would -

- he would -

Maximus hesitated.

Frozen in mid-air, his upraised fist trembled.

The fingers slackened their grip, spilling open. The big mech stared into space. Stupefied, he did nothing when Thundercloud darted in to drag his friend back out of range. He only stood rooted, his red optics wide in horror.

"I..." he said, and faltered.

He backed up and looked around himself, as if seeing the control room for the first time. His wild gaze fell upon the silent ground bridge, then the long access tunnel that lead up to the surface. He stared at it, and all at once the fight seemed to drain out of him.

Without warning, Maximus transformed.

The big grey and blue tank crashed to the floor and fired its engine. The harsh sound roared through the silo in booming echoes. The tank backed up unsteadily, its treads spinning up grey smoke. The turret jerkily swivelled around, bringing the main gun to bear -

Directly upon Thundercloud and Carbine.

[Carbine]

...orrr maybe not.

Carbine's attempt to down the Tank? By trying to use the lingering disorientation and the added strength behind his shoulder slam? Had failed miserably. It was at that moment? He actually considered what he had done, and the implications of what was to come next. He had acted on impulse, acted out of spite, his anger? His seething frustration at the guards of Garrus-1? Had fueled him to lash out of line before he could fully process the news. In a way it was the raw wound being poked, without him prepared to grin and bear it, causing this assault he had regretted soon after.

He should have thought about their size differences. He was never normally so brash as to attack someone so large without a solid plan, and obviously? His plan had not been terribly solid to begin with. The only thing his half baked attack did? Was keep him in range to be hurt. It had kept him in prime distance to see the fist raise, his optics widening in horror.


A hand slowly lifted into the air, green metal shining from old overhead lighting. The clawed fingers gradually curled into a tight fist creating haunting creaks of the internals, before swinging down sharply to be paired with a loud crackle of metal popping and bursting. Small glints of steel flicked into the air, shattered pieces that danced in this eerie haze of slow motion.

The assailant, drifted back into view, the viewpoint twisting to peer upon them. In their wake was a sea of others standing by. They all meshed and molded into solid black shapes that were only broken by piercing optics, and the sharp glint of light dancing across exposed teeth that were gnarled back into wicked grins. Roaring sounds, distant cackles, hollers, yells, the green hand tightened further, before hooking once more from a downward angle, causing more metal to flick and glitter through the air to be joined by splatters of blue and black fluid.

A hiss, a solid exhale sifting between vents, the world spun, viewpoint twisting to break away from the roaring miasma of snarled cackles and savage roars only to dissolve into a view of the ceiling. Scratched metal, recessed lighting, the yellow rays cut down through dusty air clouding surrounding elements. Then the green metaled form came once more, sliding in to breach the shield of the lights rays. A savage maw split open with a shudder, steam sliding between sharp teeth with a low hiss, as its ped rose, blotting out the light above to complete darkness.

Your too slow

Always were too slow

There won't be anything to recover this time

Suddenly his shoulder was grabbed onto, pulling him back violently and away from the raised fist. It felt like the world was being sucked away like air pulled through a breach in a hull, before he landed himself shakily back in reality. He heard his name spoken out by a familiar voice, which helped root him down.

Carbine was drug back and away from Fort Max, and his optics flickered a moment as they reset themselves frantically to claw back to what was actually happening. His internals were roaring in overdrive from a dangerous cocktail of stress, anger, and confusion, ending with him scrambling and kicking off the floor to continue back even further than Thunder had pulled him. In just a fraction of a moment, he was positioned at Thunder's side, though slightly behind him.

He took on a combat stance of his own, however it was more self defense than anything else, as he partly cowered behind his much larger companion for safety. Heavy ventilations ripped though him, as he tried to regain some senses, focusing on Thunder's words while fear rippled on the edges of his field that was pulled back tight against him now. His rotors were folded so tightly one could forget they were even there, if it were not for them jittering slightly in anxiety.

"2?1?7?!? ?S?k?-?sk?ell ?w?as twist to k?z?z?t? going a cap!"

He finally managed to spit this out to his friend as if that fact wasn't obvious. He wanted to fight back still, but was now too clear minded to actually act upon this. Carbine was looking on Fort Max as the proper threat he was, not blinding himself to the fact that... surprise! They were a TANK, something to... you know... NOT charge in against? When Fort Max seemed to finally see what was going on, he hoped they snapped out of it, he hoped the danger was- Oh... oh... he was trans- OH FRAG NO!

Carbine reeled back as absolute horror ripped through him, his processor struggling to try to figure out a way to get the hell out of the way. The boom of the cannon could move, so jumping wouldn't really amount for much, diving out of the way only buying a small extra moment before the tank would turn to re-aim and fire. To charge AT it was an option, to try to get oneself past the maw of the gun so that if it fired? I'd only be a shockwave to hit as the shell sailed behind, but then?... they'd be far too close and in other types of danger. Flying wasn't an option, first he wasn't good at his alt-mode yet, second there wasn't proper room, and third? See option number one. They could turn to run, but... that'd end with them just getting shot in the back. Carbine would be obliterated mentally if he somehow managed to survive that, as Bolo would most likely be dead. They could throw their hands up and 'surrender' but that was banking on this monster finding sanity which.. haha... noo...

There really was only one option that may result in pain more so than instant death via a shell ripped through them, and because of this? Carbine kicked forward in a run, his spark pounding in his chest.

A cry of frantic stress squealed out, and he lunged forward. He was scared the maw of the gun would drop to him before he closed the distance, so he ended up dropping himself upon his knees, swinging his upper body backwards towards the ground while exploiting the soapy floor and his pushed momentum. He skidded with a shriek of metal against metal past the maw on his shins, before wrenching upright and leaping forth. He scrambled, slipping for a fraction before he ended up at the tanks side, looking for close range weaponry it may have.

Did they just get to safety? Did they try to disable? Or did they fight to END this psycho?

[Deleted]

For a moment, Thundercloud almost thought it was over. For a moment, it seemed like Fortress Maximus had finally come to his senses, that he at last recognized how deranged his behavior was, how insane he was being.

But only for a moment. Whatever small hope Thundercloud may have had of the warden seeing reason and ending his mindless assault died as quickly as it came, lasting only a brief moment before being replaced by alarm.

Fortress Maximus stilled his hand, pausing his assault to look around wildly as if he did not know where he was or how he got there. Then, with no warning whatsoever, he transformed, parts shifting and rotating as his body hit the ground and morphed into his alt. Before them stood a tank, engine roaring, smoke filling up the room as its treads dragged it backward. Its turret swiftly swiveled around to face them as Fortress Maximus aimed at the two and prepared to fire.

That’s where the inkling of hope died and the alarm came in.

Immediately Thundercloud bristled, armor-plates flaring out before clenching tightly, protectively, against his proto mass. His optics widened, glowing brightly in shock as he was slapped with the realization that the mech they were dealing with was completely off his goddamn head. He took a half-step back, wondering what to do, how to respond. How was one supposed to respond to a situation like this? Other than by being shocked stupid, which he already had covered.

He didn’t have time to consider all his options. Not that he had many to consider in the first place - well, not many that resulted in him not getting a shiny new hole blasted through his abdomen. He could try to dodge, which, given his size, wasn’t exactly feasible. He couldn’t move terribly fast, weighing as much as he did, and due to his large frame-class, he made a particularly easy target to hit. Fortress Maximus would only need to swivel around a short distance in order to hit such a large target, rendering any attempt he made to dodge nothing more than a futile effort to buy himself a few more seconds of being intact.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, Thundercloud did not have to chose how to proceed. The decision was made for him when Carbine dove forward, attempting to close the distance between himself and Fortress Maximus so the mech couldn’t shoot him with his turret. Though it was a clever move, it put the ex-cop far too close to the raving madmech for Thundercloud’s comfort. He couldn’t just dodge away himself and leave Carbine there on his own, not when Max could easily transform and mangle the mech while he was too far away to do anything about it. There really was no decision to make. As far as Thundercloud was concerned, he only had one option.

He charged.

Fists clenched, he lunged to the side, out from in front of the barrel of the turret, before rushing forward towards Fortress Maximus. He could only hope the suicidally reckless move would be batshit insane enough to catch the mech off-guard long enough for him to close the distance between them, before the warden had the chance to readjust his aim and fire upon him.

Once within striking distance, Thundercloud pulled his arm back, the spikes housed beneath his knuckles unsheathing, sparks of electricity dancing between them like miniature lightning-rods as he swung his fist down towards the barrel of the turret, hoping to bend the damn thing and render it useless, incapable of firing.

[Deleted]

Carbine's bold, frantic move paid off.

That close to the big tank, he would feel the heat radiating off the reinforced armoured flanks, hear the thunderous rumble of its drive train. He would hear the whir of the dual 7.62mm machine guns mounted on the top turret as they wheeled about agitatedly, trying to lock on to him. But he was too close, and they could not lower their muzzles enough to get a fix upon him.

One of the guns fired off a burst above his head, shockingly loud. The cartridges sprayed into the floor, peppering it with holes.

Deep inside the armoured hull, the tank was swearing. The words were snarled, barely coherent. It roared as it swung its turret around, trying hard to seek him out.

And in an instant, Thundercloud was there.

His heavy knuckles smashed into the barrel of the turret with a reverberating impact. Immediately the deadly electrical charge tore through the armour, coursing into every sheet of plating and every length of neural fibre. With an agonized sound the tank's drive train threw itself into reverse in a desperate attempt to fishtail away from the blast. Its metal tracks tore against the floor, hurling up more smoke and debris.

One of the coaxial mounted machine guns thrashed, shaking back and forth in pain. It fired again, disoriented; Thundercloud would feel the frenzied blast rip past his head, and hear it pepper into a wall somewhere behind him. But the great main gun, capable of killing once every four seconds, was silent.

Smoke billowed as the tank hurled itself backwards again in a final bid to break free of them. The floor shook as it reversed, veering back and forth unsteadily. It hit the slope of the access tunnel and clipped the wall with its rear quarter, knocking a chunk of cement loose. The collision brought it to an abrupt halt, smoking.

On the slope of the tunnel it crouched, its whip aerials flattened back. Both convicts would be able to hear its slow, heavy breathing.

"Don't follow me," it rasped. "Stay the hell away. Or I'll kill you."

Without another word it backed up, engine snarling, until it had disappeared up the tunnel and out of sight.

[Carbine]

What had been some boring work and a prank, had evolved into full blown combat so fast it was still delivering some serious whiplash to the bot. Carbine tried to get his bearings, but it was hard when one didn’t anticipate fighting and didn’t even have a chance to mentally prepare. He somehow managed to see the machine guns mounted on the tank before they had engaged and as such? His frame ducked down, hands clapping up and over his helm.

The rapid fire bullets ripped through the background mechanics and wall, sending sparks that went flying through the air with violent surges, one of the monitors exploded outward with an electrical burst. In addition to the environmental damage, it greatly hurt his audials, being so close to something so loud. He didn't think machine guns COULD be that loud! But boy did it, and it made everything ring with static in ways that made him really uncomfortable in his own frame.

To add to this raucous of noise? Was Thunder's attack landing solidly.

Carbine's unseen maw twisted back wickedly, seeing the violent punch hit soundly, but this grin dropped when Thunder's strike didn’t obliterate the end of the gun. What on Cybertronian was that fragging thing made of!? Thunder could smash nearly anything! Why wasn't the barrel crumpled inward!? The electricity had hit, that much was apparent, but was that enough to disable the threat? What if it could still fire? What if Thunder was about to get shot to bits!?

The tank revved in reverse, ripping into the ground and kicking up debris that smacked and pelted against his riot armor. That was the good thing about riot armor and his helm, it kept them from really hurting so long as he was squared off with his front facing the assault. To add to his defenses, he swung up his forearms like two doors to aid in further protecting his face. But this meant the tank was putting distance... and distance meant...

Carbine ducked down once more with a flinch when the machine gun roared off, though luckily, or... unluckily... depends on how you look at it... it had been fired at Thunder. This caused his widened optics to snap over to view his friend, happy to see his head was still on his shoulders and there were no holes bored into his frame as far as he could see right off the bat. With this fear set aside somewhat, he dug down and charged at Fort Max once more, determined to keep close enough that the primary weapon wasn't going to blow him to bits.

He was a bit more confident in this charge, and was actually starting to consider some offensive actions. He could try to jump on top of the tank, perhaps reach down and grab the wires attaching the machine guns and rip them out. But then he'd probably be thrown into the air or have the ends of his limbs lopped off by Max transforming back. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter as the tank slammed into the stone before slipping into the tunnel.

Carbine rammed his back hard against the stone outside of the exit path, meaning there was no feasible way Fort Max could shoot him, unless he could aim through concrete and stone, and his bullets could pierce said materials. He vented heavily fingers splayed over the material feeling the vibrations of the war machine just out of his line of sight. Bolo squirmed uncomfortably in his dock, confused by the turn of events, and wanting to assist, wanting to synch up with his owner, but was being denied freedom.

Follow him? Why would they follow him!? He was the one that instigated all this. He was insane! If he would just go away so they could run and report this? That would be great! It would make it so they weren't staring down the barrel of that horrific weapon any longer. It is because of this Carbine cowered around the corner, his optics pinning closed as the rumble of the war machine slipped up the tunnel so far it disappeared around the bend. When he found it safe, he started to run forward in the other direction towards the interior of the base.

"?A?LE?RT k?rk?k?-r-R?ED?!?"?

Carbine shrieked this out at the top of his vocalizer's capabilities. It could be seen as reckless, as it could disrupt a huge portion of the base, but... it was nowhere near as loud as the machine gun so he felt it was justified and safe. Either way his vocaliser was distorted and stressed, belting out reports instinctively.

"BOP A?-?A?-?A?DW? E?D?P?!?T?M?A"

His form stumbled and slid on the flooring that had become a liability now. If anything? This entire thing taught him that pouring soapy oil water on the floor of a main room where conflict can happen? Is a very very bad idea. With this lesson noted, he ground his foot down hard, and kicked off, scrambling towards the doorway to the hall.



Translation: Breach of the Peace. Assault with a Deadly Weapon. Emotionally Disturbed Person. Subject: Tank Mech Armed

[Deleted]

There was a reason why Red Alert had difficulties sleeping at night, beyond the terrible mix of insomnia and anxiety which made slipping into recharge all but impossible without medical assistance - something which, more often than naught, he staunchly refused to resort to. Both because it came as a wound to his pride to have to admit to a medic that performing one of his body’s most basic-functions was beyond his capabilities, and because he simply did not like the side-effects that usually accompanied medically-induced recharge; drowsiness, difficulties focusing, dizziness...not to mention the frighteningly high risk of developing issues with dependency.

He would much rather spend an entire night pacing the floor and staring at the ceiling until sleep finally came to him than accomplishing the task instantly with medical aid, and risk making his systems reliant upon it. It had happened once before, and afterward he had spent countless sleepless nights trying to convince his systems that they could, in fact, power down without outside prompting. It wasn’t an experience he cared to repeat anytime soon.

Beyond the physical and psychosomatic causes, however, there was another reason Red Alert’s sleeping patterns were so utterly mucked up. Namely, his reluctance to actually sleep, even when he had the ability to do so. Workaholic to the core, he spent an inordinate amount of time attempting to be productive, to spend every hour of every day as efficiently as possible. Sleep simply conflicted with his daily objectives, requiring time he did not have to spare if he wanted to clear his docket. Likewise, he considered rest to be an obstruction of his duties; after all, he couldn’t very well keep watch for danger or suspicious activities while he was unconscious.

That being said, on the odd occasion when Red Alert actually managed to power his systems down and fall into recharge, he did so with the sneaking suspicion in the back of his mind that something--somehow, somewhere--was going to go wrong while he was unconscious and unable to respond to it.

Not for the first time, his suspicions were well founded.

He had awoken with a literal jolt, his optics flashing online with a burst of pale blue light, his back arching slightly off the berth as electricity surged through his temples, the heat of it burning at the back of his optics, scorching his mind back into full awareness. He bolted upright a split-second later, optics flicking rapidly as his senses struggled to make sense of what was going on. He had heard something, a crash, or an explosion, or--or he didn’t know what.

But he was going to find out.

Swinging his legs off the berth, Red Alert was quick to jump to his feet and make his way towards the door, staggering a bit as his still-waking limbs struggled to catch up with the speed of his racing mind. He caught the sight of faint, blue sparks flickering in the darkness in his peripheral vision as he moved, lingering bursts of electrical charge from the warning-jolt his internal alarm systems had given him just moments prior.

He burst into the hall, his keen senses reaching out, trying to collect whatever information they could to help him figure out what the hell was going on. They did not have to search for long, as after taking no more than five steps away from his door, his sensitive audios picked up the sound of a voice - Carbine’s - shouting out a coded explanation. If the mech’s words were to be believed, and if Red Alert’s memory of enforcer-codes was still accurate after so many years off the force, then there had been a breach of peace, involving an assault, an emotionally disturbed person, and an armed tank.

It did not take Red Alert long to put the pieces together and realize what must have happened.

Swearing, he bolted down the corridor to his right, intent on following after the sound of rolling tank-treads in the distance, which he knew had to belong to Fortress Maximus. As he ran, he sent out an emergency comm to Ratchet and Optimus, though he doubted the two needed to be informed that they had an incident on their hands - the sound of gunfire and crumbling stone was difficult to miss.

[Deleted]

Ratchet had already arrived by the time Red Alert reached the control room.

The boxy medic looked angry and bewildered, and groggy from a long night of work. It was likely he had just arrived upon the scene himself upon getting the comm - the medical bay was closer to the control room than the rest of the base was. In an emergency it meant that Ratchet could hurry to the ground bridge in the event an Autobot returned injured or in distress - and then transport them swiftly back to a medical berth.

Inside the silo a haze of acrid smoke hung in the air. Cement crumbled from the holes in the walls the spray of bullets had left behind. Soapy water still gleamed on the floor.

Ratchet loomed in the doorway, his arms stretched wide in order to bring Carbine to a halt. His expression was irate, but worry lingered somewhere behind his optics.

"Ahh-bup bup bup!" he sputtered. "Hold it right there! What in the name of Primus is going on around here? For what reason did I hear gunshots a moment ago?! Why is Red Alert sending an emergency comm to Optimus and I in the middle of the night? Red Alert!"

The medic wheeled around upon hearing Red Alert's footsteps.

"There you are!" Moving fast, Ratchet stepped forward to intercept the security direction, his whip antenna waving on his shoulder. He scowled. "What is the nature of the emergency you responded to? Are we expecting injured? And how did you get down here so quickly?"

[Optimus Prime]

The sound of war.

The sound of battle.

It was painfully familiar over the extensive time this conflict had been going on. He never wanted it to be, he never wanted it to EVER be something he could decipher and recognize in flickered seconds. He longed for the days when a gunshot was just a gunshot, and his processor didn’t calculate what kind of gun it was and the threat capabilities it had. But even if one had heard it all a thousand times? Even if explosions and breaking stone were commonplace? The situation in which it occurs can be truly nerve wracking.

Blue optics snapped open with a lurch, the grey focus rings whirling and spinning in desperate attempts to try to online properly and permit sight. Optimus was lying in recharge... or... he had been in recharge moments ago, that shaky amount of rest being shattered abruptly by whatever had occurred. He thought he had heard gunshots, a machine gun specifically, but he was uncertain due to the fact his processor had been in deep recharge during it. However what he did hear next? Was the exploding rupture of stone and debris that echoed down the long halls of the base with a roar that was made louder in the dead of the night.

A heaving whir sounded out, as systems tried to boot online as fast as possible. He did not have the sudden surge of electricity to further throw him online as rapidly as Red Alert had. As such? His response was less... thrown... out of the berth, and more trying to wrench his frame off of its surface. His hands gripped the edges, heaving his large upper body off the plane with a protesting groan from his internals that had yet to activate fully.

An explosion... What could explode... the Decepticons could not have been attacking, or there'd be more gunfire going on at this moment. He could hear a faint sound of yelling down the halls, but... no more shots...? What could be an explosion, that was not an attack?... Surly his Autobots weren't fighting, it was far too late for sparing to be going on, and the sound was far too abrasive and extreme for mere practice... the only new thing on base with such capa-

Wheeljack...

Optimus' jaw clenched a moment as he swung his legs off of the berth, hauling his weight up atop them a moment later while the cables in his knees were stiff and protesting. But despite this, he did not wait for calibrations, or for his frame to fully boot up, and merely started forward with a determined stride that was gradually growing faster.

If Wheeljack had blown something up? He was not going to be happy. Not only would it possibly have sent many of his Autobots into panic thinking an attack was going on, but it could have injured individuals that may have been nearby. However there was also the worry for Wheeljack's safety there among this agitation. As much as he would be upset that the Wrecker let something explode? He greatly hoped he was ok.

It was only when he stepped outside into the hall that he realized the noise had come from the opposite direction from the lab. This realization set into play and his helm gradually turned to peer down in the direction of the Ground Bridge, optics wide with alert now. A fraction later? And he got the emergency comm which threw him into instant action.

Heavy peds slammed down in the hallway, each impact causing mild tremors in the immediate area. His arms pumped in front of him, throwing himself that much quicker with each long stride in a desperate need to get to the vague emergency as fast as possible. What if there was an attack? What if something truly dangerous was going on? He would never be able to forgive himself if he had showed up late and someone got hurt, and as such? He threw his weight forward as quick as he could, arriving on the scene just moments after Red Alert.

Hissing hydraulics and protesting groans of metal roared out as he forced his speed to slow, grinding to a halt that was aided by his right hand wrenching up to slam onto the frame of the entryway. His shoulders were sloped down some, right arm still raised to the wall, while left had lifted up in defense, prepared to shift into either his rifle, or a sword, whichever would be more efficient for what he would see if they were under attack.

It looked like a war had erupted.

The walls were littered with bullets, and the ground had grooves ripped into it from metal scraping and grinding into its surface. The edge of the tunnels entryway had a huge chunk gored out of it from some kind of impact. Machinery was damaged, sparks skittering out with popping surges that speckled light in the smoky room, while the illumination reflected and danced over the wet floor. But while it looked like a war had occurred? There was no combatants still in play, instead there being the two ex-convicts and two well established Autobots.

Wide optics flicked over all the damage, his processor struggling to try to come up with an excuse for this. While Ratchet pushed for answers, he himself edged past, stepping into the room with purpose and determination to know what had happened. His arms draped down at his sides, dark grey hands curled into fists, while his frame took on a more typical posture for him with his helm high and shoulders back.

Some simple evaluation displayed much with the scenery. Namely the battle damage itself. The bullets peppering the walls were a very big clue, as only some of the Autobots on base, and a fraction of Decepticons had such ammo, many opting for the energy styled weaponry like his own rifles were. The next clue was the fowl smoke that lingered, which was something that only a handful of things could produce. This was followed by the ripped gores in the ground and wall that screamed of tank treads, or something extremely heavy being thrown around or drug across the surface. This led to only a few things that could fit such parameters. Throw in the fact the ex-convicts were there?... and pair with a report he had gotten some time ago?... and it wasn't so much of a mystery any longer.

But he wanted to hear it, he NEEDED to. Hoping he was wrong... praying that such damage? Such destruction? Didn’t come from one Autobot against another.

He almost hoped it was Wheeljack now.

"Report."

[Deleted]

Quiet night.

Wheeljack wasn't in recharge. He was perched up on the reinforced railing of the walkway in the hangar. Didn't feel like sleeping. He still operated on deep space timing, his cycles out of sync with the Earth's diurnal patterns. The Wrecker wasn't working either. He was armed with a screwdriver and a bunch of tools magnetized to his frame as he delicately messed around with a few random bits and pieces whilst a Rubik's cube watched him judgementally. A tray full of parts was balanced precariously beside him.

Supposedly, these things were supposed to be mentally challenging. Wheeljack had solved this one at a glance while Miko had been struggling over it. So had Raf too. In fact, the kid was a natural at it, able to solve the cube every time Miko sent it his way.

Which...had somehow lead to this situation here and now. Something about a bet and a cube that Raf couldn't solve and Miko had been involved somewhere in the mix. And that had led to him spending his night trying to build a Cybertronian puzzle cube using the materials he had to spare in his lab. The closest human approximation that he could find resembled a Pentaminx, a dodecahedral puzzle cube.

The Wrecker had really been getting into the whole swing of things. It was possible he once owned toys like it when he was an engineer back at Crystal City. But his memories of those times...weren't exactly the clearest. As he messed around with what would later become it's inner workings, something exploded.

Or, at least, it sounded like something did.

Wheeljack's helm snapped up, optics wide in shock. The vibrations were enough to unsettle the tray beside him, he somehow managed to snatch it before it plunged to the ground. Quickly, the Wrecker's gaze darted critically over his lab, trying to spot the problem. Was it the fusion core he'd been messing around only earlier this cycle? He'd decommissioned it off-base as per Prime's orders but was still in the process of taking it apart. A quick scan revealed there was no traces of radiation. Nor was there any smoke coming from inside the workshop attached to the hangar, so the chemicals inside there were all in tact.

His lab was fine.

::Wasn't me:: Wheeljack pinged the base network as he set the tray down on the walkway and subspaced both cubes. He leapt down to ground level, tools still attached to his plating.

If it wasn't his lab though…that sound had come from...

Was the Omega base under attack?

Wheeljack bolted for the door. His lab was deep in the complex and quite far away from the command room and the groundbridge. Nevertheless, he headed there first as it would be the best source of information (and also the first place the Cons would try to take out in event of an attack). Nothing was coming through on the comms, though the base network was teeming with inquiries. He arrived shortly after Optimus did, the big mech barrelled into the room just as Wheeljack appeared round the corner. The Wrecker hurtled into the control room and skidded to a complete stop to avoid running into Prime's back.

"Woah," he said, stepping around the big bot. Wheeljack took in the bullet holes, the rounds scattered on the ground. There was a nice big gaping hole in the wall too. That was new. The water was a bit of a puzzle, Wheeljack couldn't see any burst pipes but he did recognise the tracks that had ripped up the ground. He'd chased after that set of treads only a couple of cycles ago at Area 12 and watched them tear up the road in front of him. Besides, there was only one mech currently on base who could cause this level of destruction all by himself and Wheeljack was very familiar with his work. The Wrecker admired the rampant destruction for approximately half an astrosecond before the realisation that he'd probably just been saddled with more work set in. That quickly turned his admiration into deep annoyance at Fortress Maximus.

Wheeljack's initial glance around the room had taken in the two new Autobots they'd picked up back in Asia as well as both Ratchet and Red Alert. Concern arose briefly for the new recruits, it seemed like they'd been at the epicentre of whatever had happened here. Then his still active combat protocols dumped them down a priority and they were dismissed them from his mind. They had a medic right next to them, they weren't in critical condition...even Prime was here, they were in no danger of dying currently. Fort Max, however, was missing and that was bothering his circuits. His combat protocols tentatively identified the big mech as a combat partner, said combat partner was not here but evidence suggested he'd been in a fight recently…oh, okay, fine, he was worried about Max. Thankfully, he couldn't see any energon splatters mixed amongst the tread marks.

"Seriously, what crawled up Fort Max's tailpipe and died?" Wheeljack asked grimly, treading down the tunnel. He ran one servo along the wall, tracing the bullet holes torn into it. The other servo began to flick the tools still stuck to him back into subspace.

Wheeljack maintained no illusions that it was anyone but Fortress Maximus at the cause of this little mess. The big mech had been in a downward spiral these last couple of cycles, no two ways about it. Whilst the new sword, crushing a few buildings down at Area 12 and checking out those possible energon sites had seemed to perk Max up, it had simply been a temporary lightening of his mood. Wheeljack had held no expectations that their excursion had helped Max at all. He'd known the big mech's psyche was seriously fragged up, the Wreckers after all were a crew of all kinds of problems. Wheeljack hadn't let that put him off, Max's problems needed to be unravelled by a mech far more qualified than a trigger happy Wrecker. Or the greyed out frame of his personal demon staked to the ground in front of him. Wheeljack could relate to that. He'd just been after the non-judgemental company whist he sliced his way through a troop of Vehicons. But it had never escaped Wheeljack's notice just how close to the edge the big mech was nor how fragging dangerous he was.

"Report."

"Right, y'all have a nice chat," he snorted. He'd thought it was kinda obvious what had happened here, namely that Fort Max had finally lost his tenuous hold on his dubious sanity and explosive temper. You didn't need anything more than that to get concerned about anything in the near vicinity of wherever Fort Max was now. "While you're doing that, think I'm gonna go track down that rogue tank you've got on the loose."

The Wrecker was poised to go chasing after the tank, he'd reached the curve of the tunnel and could see those treads peeling off into the distance. The situation here seemed to be under control, it was Fort Max he was worried about. Even as a Wrecker, Wheeljack doubted his ability to contain the big mech (he probably couldn't) but the longer they stood around and blabbered, the more time Fort Max had to put more distance between himself and the base.

Now was not the time, in Wheeljack's not so humble opinion, to stop for a report.

[Carbine]

Carbine barely got his momentum going when he was tasked to try to stop. This was probably for the best, as his peds skidded on the floor with a squeal, the wheels on his heels trying to spin in reverse with a roar of the mechanics in an attempt to protest the forward motion. If he had really got moving? He would have rammed into the medic at full speed like he had Fort Max just moments ago. Last thing he needed was a round two in play if getting ran into was some trigger for these psychos on base.

The ex-cop finally lurched to a stop, taking a step back for balance so he didn’t fall to the ground. Once he was stable, he managed to recognize who it was. Carbine had mixed feelings about Ratchet, some trust because he was a doctor and he did fix his shoulder and other finicky damages he had obtained when they had crashed. The Medic had also gotten them both into the base, though he wasn't sure that was so great anymore. There however was good deal of mistrust and wariness in addition to this, because... hello... medic... they typically wanted to poke in his helm which he would be having NONE of thank-you-very-much.

He barely got a chance to even think, before others started popping out of the woodwork. Why couldn't they have shown up sooner? Why couldn't they have gotten here when the Tank nearly mowed their heads off with a machine gun? Did they not hear the conflict?... no... the fight had been quiet mostly up to that point...

Whatever the case, he tried to report.

Barking out coded letters was one thing. Those? He had yelled so many times back in the day that they were just instinctive and didn’t really require much from his language center to put together. Trying to formulate an actual description report? When his levels of stress and anxiety were flying off the handle? Wanting to check over his shoulder constantly for the tank to return? And that was something else entirely.

Carbine pointed at the tunnel aggressively, the limb lurching out with a few additional points as if trying to enforce the direction with each thrust of the fingertip. His mouth opened, but the sounds that came out were skipping and broken gibberish.

"Re-re?-?r?e-kzz?t K?U?T?!? ?K?ut?tc?h ?z-?z?-?z-?kz?t?t ?auh-T?T?K?K k?z?t?k?!"

A bit of static like crackles could be heard from within his helm, his unseen mouth opening slowly before he lurched and snapped his teeth together with an audible clank uncontrollably, almost like a minor seizure like response. He was trying to fight past his issues. His spark was racing too fast, made worse by worrying they wouldn't believe that... really... he and Thunder were innocent! They hadn't done anything to warrant this outcome!

"Taauunnkk-k?-k?-k?z?t? ?st-?st?-?s-begin vocalize unbala-?al?a-?l?a?n?ce?d?. eeeuuUK strive-onslaught-burst-p?u?sh-ex?e?rti?on?-?trial-"

He had caught in a chain loop, trying to say 'attack' that they had been 'attacked' but he was spouting out things his processor deemed equivalents even if they most definitely were not. Because of this his hands slipped up, planting over his riot mask in a strained attempt to run down his face, fingertips squealing against the glass. It was then he heard Wheeljack say 'Fort Max', and he reeled about to point at the Wrecker after slapping his hands together with a excited clap, emphasizing 'yes his words right there are right'.

"Venture-take on-fli?ng?-?cr?a?c?k-?auh-a?u?h-kz?ztt- A?T?T?A?C?K?ED? us!"

He turned back to look at the others, warily peering up at Optimus, before nervous glancing between Red Alert and Ratchet. They weren't going to believe... even if he could give all the details... they were going to blame Thunder and him, and the thought was driving him insane, amping his stress. He didn’t know where they would go, they had no ship left, they couldn't get off this planet, and if the Autobots threw them out?... they were stranded... given... if they were permitted to live. Carbine reeled in a ventilation.

"Anything we k?z?z?tt? wr-?w?r?o?-?in?co?rrec?t do! hu?e?h? inhibit-stop-constrict-grasp-k?z?zt?t? I!"

He pointed at his neck, before clutching it with his own hand behind his riot shield which remained up in case any of them took a swing at him. He was hoping that what he was trying to say was getting across. Point was though he was far too gone now to make a concise report, stress seething through his field, displayed further by his narrowed optics that seemed to convey his will to want to shy away from an incoming strike. But if they did attack, and try to blame him, he was ready to physically fight back if he had to. He wanted the tank back, he felt more clear of mind and stable when in that combat, than he did trying to talk his way out from the scrutinizing gaze.

This was stressful.

He thought he could trust the Autobots, but Fort Max had taken his excitement to being a part of a team again? His willingness to mesh in and help happily? And curb stomped it down, shattering his trust. Any one of them could turn against him... It was with this thought; he kept a sharp eye on Wheeljack, taking a few steps back towards Thunder so that when the Wrecker passed to look down the tunnel? He never got fully behind Carbine, the ex-cop making sure his back was facing a wall or Thunder himself.

"k?z?zt I... w-?w?-w?e... deserve don?'t? ?k?zzt ?this..."


Translation:
Ratchet! *Gibberish*
Tank was speaking crazy! He attacked us!
We didn’t do anything wrong! He strangled me!
I... we... don't deserve this...

[Deleted]

(Feel free to skip my posting turn with Max until folks have left the base in pursuit! :3)

[Deleted]

Red Alert was forced to stop abruptly, pedes sliding a bit across the floor as he skid to a sudden halt, to avoid crashing into Ratchet as he barreled into the corridor. The medic had been on him the moment he caught him within his sights, intercepting his path before he could continue further. For a moment, he looked as if he were tempted to sidestep around the mech and bypass him completely, but he thought better of the idea. As much as he wanted to race off after Fortress Maximus before he put himself or anyone else in danger, he suspected the medic wouldn’t let him leave until his questions had been answered.

“Ratchet,” He began, his tone urgent and somewhat strained “Please, I don't have time for thi--”

He cut himself off mid-word as the thunderous footsteps rushing up behind them announced the arrival of the prime, who took a moment to take in the unpleasant scene before curtly requesting a report. Red Alert’s optics flared slightly as he looked up sharply, his attention switching rapidly from the medic to their leader.

“...Nevermind.” He muttered quietly, more to himself than to Ratchet.

Any plans he may have had to answer inquiries about the situation over comms while tracking down Fortress Maximus died a swift death the moment the Prime walked into the room and made a request of him. He could dodge Ratchet and answer him on the go with only minor guilt for not speaking to him in person, but the Prime? Well...Red Alert being what he was, he couldn’t disobey disrespect the mech quite so easily.

Fixing his gaze upon the Prime, Red Alert did not break focus from him even when Wheeljack flew into the room and added himself to the steadily growing crowd.

“It’s Fortress, sir.” He began, his tone hesitant, almost regretful. “He’s--I can’t say for certain, but...” He grimaced slightly, then gestured around the room with a loose wave of his hand, directing attention towards the bullet-holes and other miscellaneous damages in walls.

“--Evidence suggests he’s had a particularly violent disagreement with the obvious suspects.”

Taking this as his cue, Thundercloud took a step toward the trio and favored them each with a scowl. “The son of a glitch tried to kill us.” He corrected, taking issue with how politely Red Alert had worded the mech’s offense.

“Flipped his slag ‘n tried to send us off to hell--” He added with a growl, before swiping his hand over the back of his helm and turning away, taking a few quick steps to put some much-needed distance between himself and the other mecha in the room, in an attempt to keep his anger from escalating further.

It wasn’t working very well, if the heat simmering in his field and radiating from his frame were any indication.