Ep 2 -- Speed Trap (Closed)

[Deleted]

Sometimes, Thundercloud wanted to smack Carbine. Actually, he wanted to smack him the vast majority of the time, now being no exception. He rolled his optics as Carbine sassed him, trying to puff himself up and make himself look more impressive for their captive audience. Of course Carbine's mind was already in the gutter. Of <i>course.</i> He always got that way whenever he thought he had even the slightest chance at getting a little positive attention from a femme, the thirsty glitch.

Thundercloud would find it more annoying if it weren't so pathetic.

::Mech, she's got her hands up and she's lookin' at us like we're gonna rip her head off. She's either a neutral or a 'Con, and if she ain't aligned she woulda said somethin' by now. You'd 'of figured that out if you stopped thinkin' with your dick for two seconds::

It was a crude human term, one which Thundercloud was particularly fond of specifically because of how unwholesome it was. It didn't matter that Cybertronains didn't even have that particular piece of anatomy, it was the meaning behind the phrase that mattered.

::We oughtta call this in, see how the higher ups want things to go down:: He added a moment later, knowing full well how uncharacteristic it was for him to be the voice of reason between the two of them.

Someone had to be somewhat sensible about all of this, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be Carbine, so the task fell to Thundercloud. He frowned a little, first at his companion then at Dart. It wasn't an unhappy expression so much as a thoughtful one, his brows completing the look by drawing together as he eyed the captive femme skeptically while she explained herself.

"...Right." He said slowly, sounding unconvinced. "That sucks fam, I feel you - now how 'bout you explain why I ain't seein' an Autobrand on you anywhere?"

[Carbine]

Carbine considered the trapped limb carefully, while keeping Dart within the corner of his field of vision. It was easy to glance back at her occasionally from this angle, for the visor would obscure just exactly where his lens was angled at the moment. He could probably eye her up entirely and hide the fact. Ahh... the joys of having what is essentially sunglasses for a face... Alas, he didn’t stare again just yet, instead peering at the rock.

Carefully, he reached his hand up to place on the upper arch of the bolder that had come down against her leg, considering its mass and how much weight that it may have hiding within it. Chances are this wasn't some hollow geode or something, so it was bound to be awfully hefty, especially considering she couldn't pull herself out, but... he knew that Thunder could probably move it no issue, and if not the two of them could roll it right off her foot and send it cascading down the shale slide with a dramatic display.

That wasn't something for this immediate moment however.

"You comm anyone for help yet?"

He asked slowly to surpass his glitch, which was both something asked out of curiosity, while also being tactical. Much as he was trying to snub Thunder, he knew if she was a con, and had called for help, that the two of them could be effectively sitting by a bear trap waiting for the hunter to come by with his shotgun. Thinking more optimistically though, if they had commed for help, that meant there were possibly other Autobots or neutrals around... maybe other femmes?

He was hopeless...

::Hey HEY! Judgmen͝ta̷l̀ ̧m͏ùch? She is some a smal̶-̢s̴m-sm͢-tiny than us, and you look a scarry k̕zzt͝ like sonofaglitch. If I was a dainty litt͏l͢e͠ ̧thing I'd be scared of you too!::

There was a long pause until Thunder's last words even registered, and even longer for him to translate what it was meant to imply. While Carbine had been intent to try to hide the fact he was having two conversations at once, not wanting the femme to know they were chattering behind the scenes right in front of her, he couldn't help but snap an unsavory glare right back at Thunder when the last words clicked in his femme clouded processor.

::I am͏ ̢not ̀t̢h̢inking with my dick!::

He hiss squawked this back through the comms, making a small audible snort to pair with the words, before realizing that hey... they had someone else there still... someone who wasn't privy to that discussion. He shut up instantly then, looking back at Dart, hoping she didn't notice, but... there was no way she couldn't have really noticed all things considered. Thunder broke the silence though to ask a question that made Carbine heft another sigh.

"She's ĺyin̨g on her chest, a common place to hide th-́them..."

He grumbled back to his 'idiotic' friend. To pair with this motion, he raised his free hand, and idly tapped it on his own brand on his chest. Carbine then shot a final comment at Thunder, scowling at him.

::Since wḩe̢n ̕do ͠y̢ou̡ ̛wan̵t to report to authority?! WH͠O ̨ARE͏ Y͞O͜Ú!?::

Bolo meanwhile was feeling accomplished. Since he had done what was needed to be done, and reported his find. Since he did not get a direct command or motion to stay put, he was free to do as he wanted. It is because of this, the canine stood up onto his four paws once more, and reached his legs out while dipping his chest down. He stretched as far as he could, rump pressed up and back, helm crooked towards the sky, and forepaws flexed out to scrape at the rock a moment. After the cables and hydraulics running down his back were pulled well enough, he popped back to his feet in a normal stance, and walked around Dart to be on the opposite and less crowded side of her frame.

With a rude and invasive motion only a dog could get away with, Bolo's snout pushed between the two flares of armor upon Dart's back, huffing in a few whiffs of air, before sniffing around more and poking at differing spots. He didn't really know what all the smells were on her, but they were interesting and he wanted to try to put his little processor to the task of figuring them out. He knew every Femme and Mech had their own sort of scents, their unique combination of parts and oils and grit they may have picked up through their years, but this was far more than just physical build, this was all the places Dart had been, and all the weirdness she experienced on this organic planet. No one else smelt as... earthy as her, and he hadn't been in a true pine forest or other places yet to know what that scent was.

Was pine edible?

[Dart]

The courier looked up again from the ground slightly. Her spoiler lifted slightly, framing the two big mechs as if in question and then the tips slid back ever so slightly and fell.

Wait, what? They don't know I'm a Decepticon? Can't they see? Couldn't he--- oh, right.

Little favors, she supposed. The way she'd been pinned, she was braced on her forearms, which meant her chest plate was facing the ground. Dirty and grimy as she was, she wasn't flashy and sleek and she hadn't immediately spit a vicious threat of dismemberment and death from above, or insulted them.

Because really, that was just utterly stupid. She never understood why so many folks started out a conversation like that and expected to live through it after. Surprisingly, a lot of them did. Dart didn't think she'd be that lucky.

Things suddenly made more sense. Why they hadn't been more short, wary, less conversational. They didn't know. It also made it possibly a whole lot worse. (Not that having one's foot pinned under a rock was great, but...) If they thought for one moment she'd been trying to decieve them over what she was, she could see them getting rather unpleasant. Decepticons were known for that.

Carefully, slowly, the courier shifted. Still leaving her hands outstretched so that the two of them could watch her every move, the femme shifted her weight and carefully moved so that she was resting on the edge of her hip so she didn't lean too much on her panniers. There was a tiny, chattering rattle from that strip of metal across her shoulders, and she steeled herself to sit more or less upright.

"Because I don't have one," she said quietly, focusing on the broad blue flier. She was so careful not to make eye contact. Her chin tipped slightly and exposed a patch of pale grey throat before she ducked her helm again to stare instead somewhere at the level of the huge mech's feet.

"Er, I'm not an Autobot, sir."

Which was the truth. Running across her chest from right to left was a stylized lightning bolt. It was so worn and scratched and dirty it appeared a soft, muted grey. In the middle of the decoration was her sigil. The sharp, angular purple that marked all the Decepticons. Hers was marred with four deep gashes. They obviously had never been repaired; simply smoothed at the nastiest edges by time, grime, and weather.

By now, the other mech had moved to the boulder. Dart was doing her best not to shudder or shake or move. Her intakes were rasping heavily now though, between the miserable heat, being unable to stand or move and the fact that she couldn't run, couldn't get away and she'd just told two Autobots - a cop, even - that she was a Decepticon? Her systems were running high. Hopefully they couldn't hear her main pump thudding in her chest because it sure felt loud enough to start its own 80's pop band. Complete with very talented drummer.

As the officer reached over the courier held totally still.

It was a dang big rock. No wonder the femme couldn't move it. It easily weighed as much as some of his fellow Autobots did. Well, the small ones, of course. It would no doubt take more than himself to move it though; he might be able to roll it off though if he really applied himself and pushed downhill.

At his words, Dart looked up. He was casually leaning with that hand on the boulder.

Cop movies told you - don't lie to officers.

Common sense also said "don't lie to the officer with his hand on the boulder that he could possibly push uphill and crush you with it."

"Yes- yes sir," the courier stammered. Her fingers curled into the dirt under her. Tension rattled her frame again, chattering her spoiler. "I did. I couldn't move it. My- my comm's broken, it's got issues, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. I don't know if anyone heard me. I don't think so. I've been here since late last night, honest..."

Dart swallowed. It felt like some mess in her internals was trying to creep back out up her throat. A quick glance at the mech; did he believe her, or did he think she was lying to him? Not that she didn't understand that, everyone lied. In the Decepticons it was practically as much a survival skill as learning to dodge an incoming fist. She finally dared to glance up at him; the flat black faceplate didn't relay much. No frown, no lift of a browplate- but his soft snort surprised her and caused her to prick her spoiler forward slightly.

Wha-- oh. Right. Private phone call. It became even clearer when he tapped at his chest... oh yeah, right. Dart shrunk back slightly, keeping her fingers dug into the dirt. When he looked at her she just turned her head slightly; like someone not listening to a phone call going on in another room with paper thin walls. She couldn't hear him, but it didn't matter. It just always was one of those things for the courier. Private moments were private, even if they weren't audible.

Of course, the thought that they were no doubt talking about her was unnerving. It wasn't like she didn't know it or expect it. It just came with bad feelings.

There was a sudden desperate thought that snuck in. All he has to do is move it, that's all. If- if my foot is okay, then I have a chance, just have to get on my feet and run, just run, I- I might make it out of this, maybe, just gotta--

The dog's languid stretch caught her attention. She couldn't focus on all three of them. Scent was overwhelming, the motion of the two was causing her to get totally thrown. Too much after being alone for so long; and she was frantically trying to catch any hints that they might consider blasting her right here and now.

The animal's casual motion was one that spoke to her in a language as clear as day. Unlike the mechs, his body language was open, readable. He didn't try to hide it.

Bored, bored, bored. Dart half expected him to yawn.

He padded around her, totally calm. Her spoiler pricked forward, her head tipped slightly in an equally silent, unsure question. No words between them; her body language had shifted to match his in silence. Instincts buried deep moved. She lifted her chin, stretched her nose forward as if to sniff back at him; nose to nose, cheek to cheek. Polite greeting-- but by then he'd decided in the way that only dogs did that there was no such thing as a personal space bubble and shoved his nose right up against her back.

The courier made a small noise in her throat of surprise as the dog whuffled along her plating. Heck with a cold nose, this was a metallic dog, so it wasn't exactly warm all over. Her spoiler twitched up and to the side as if she was flicking it aside automatically, oh so polite as if to not smack him in the muzzle.

The femme smelled like sap and the astringent scent of pine. Trees and brush, the sharp tang of sage, as if she'd been rolling in it. There was a faint drift of mud; dead fish and brine - the ocean! He'd been in the ocean too once. That was that scent, water and tideflat, a bit fascinating with how it stunk. Humans, she smelled of humans; not direct contact but those tiny touches where someone had brushed up against a car in the parking lot. A thousand organic scents, from rotten leaves to dry desert.

Something else too. Familiar. Only a trace of it though. Not at all like the rest of her scents. One was a scent Bolo had smelled a lot over the years at his job, that scent of heavy ordinance.

Also a tang of rust, cloying in his sensors. Old injuries, never repaired and exposed to the elements.

[Deleted]

As Carbine snapped at him, Thundercloud made absolutely no attempt whatsoever to hide the fact that he was rolling his optics. The gesture came packaged with a heavy, put-upon sigh, and a harsh slump of Thundercloud's shoulders as his entire body sagged with the weight of the burden that was being Carbine's friend. Or just holding a conversation with Carbine. Or just being in the same general area as him.

::The guy who's still on probation from his last screw up, dipshit:: He replied, not unkindly. ::I'm skatin' on thin ice as it is, mech. I don't wanna give the Boss any more reason than he's already got to cave my head in, alright?::a

At this point, Thundercloud wasn't even bothering to disguise the fact that he and Carbine were having a private conversation. If the femme trapped down there had any brains in her head, she would've figured it out by now, so there was no reason to try to hide the fact they were talking behind her back. Or, well, in front of her face really, but Thundercloud wasn't a stickler for semantics.

The point was, Thundercloud wasn't in a position where he could afford to be his typical, devil-may-care self and throw caution to the wind with wild abandon and a complete disregard for protocol and procedure. After the whole "accidental murder" thing with those MECH agents, he had landed himself a damn near permanent spot on the Prime's Naughty list. He knew better than to push his luck - he wasn't about to do anything so soon after his latest screw up to make the Prime more pissed than he already was. The last thing Thundercloud needed was to make the mech with the authority and the ability to stomp his head in question why he hadn't already done just that.

Hence why, begrudgingly, Thundercloud was putting on his responsible hat and actually making an effort to be somewhat mature about all of this. "Somewhat" being the key word, because as he followed after Carbine, he couldn't help but reach out to flick him in the back of the head with his thumb and forefinger.

After that moment of childish indulgence, however, he went right back to business. Planting his hands on his hips, he looked down at the femme as she explained herself, looking like she wanted to disappear into the ground and fall through the center of the earth all the while. He felt a little bad for her, being stuck in such an unfortunate situation, but he tried not to let it get to him. This was war. If he let his bleeding spark empty itself dry over every Con that made him feel a little sympathy, he'd be dead by now - probably at the hands of the very Con he was feeling sorry for.

It was a brutal truth, but it was the reality they lived in. Sympathy could get you killed - you had to be careful who you felt for. Sparing one's enemies was all well and good, when it was tactically sound to do so, but you really never knew if the 'Con begging for their life or putting their hands up in surrender was playing you for a fool or not. You either found out after you took them into custody, or they drove a knife into your back, and Thundercloud wasn't too keen on prying a blade out of his spinal strut.

"So you're a Con, then." It wasn't a question. He looked Dart up and down, mouth drawing into a flat line as he considered their options.

After a moment, he heaved out a quiet sigh through his vents and dragged a hand over his helm all the way to the back of his head, before letting it hang off the back of his neck.

"Damn. Y'know, you really got us up against the wall here, lady. And not in the fun way."

[Carbine]

Carbine felt confident in what he had in mind, and what he was planning to do. The rock was far too hefty for his hand alone, but he could get her free if Thunder played a role as well, and in doing so he could still be the hero in a way by grabbing Thunder by his helm and leading him around to do his bidding. This would be even easier once Thunder was proven wrong, and that he was right of course, despite the jet trying to be some kind of responsible adult which was scary.

He could understand the fact Thunder was treading ice at the moment, for he had been in trouble not too long ago due to murdering that human, but... hadn't it been a fun and kind of stupid punishment? As far as Carbine was concerned, for them punishments had always been horrible, solitary confinement or being beaten down hard enough that the taste of Energon and a dirty floor was common place. The punishment Thunder faced, and the fear of Optimus beating his helm in didn't seem terribly plausible? But who knew. Maybe the Prime acted all kind and nice until someone stepped horribly out of line, and then he introduced people to a different and more evil side of him to divvy out punishments. But... that seemed unlikely.

A soft snort was formed in reply to Thunder's fears; Carbine still knelt down beside the rock as the situation progressed, before he was flicked in the back of the helm. He didn't have a chance to really protest, for it was at that point he noticed careful movement, and a black visored helm crooked down to peer upon Dart curiously. With her arms still stretched out, her raising frame reminded him of Bolo's own stretching motions. But... this was no stretch to get comfortable, it was a careful reveal of her chest emblem without hiding her hands or making it look like she was going for a weapon.


Noooo... Whyyy....

It was like a punch to the gut when the ((comparatively)) little Femme declared that she wasn't an Autobot, and wasn't even a Neutral. She stated plain as day that she was a Decepticon, paired with a nice visual confirmation of the dingy and damaged icon on her torso. It stood out well despite being covered in grit and dirt and damages, the angled edging and sharp corners confirming just what Carbine didn't want to see.

This femme represented the one thing that they were fighting against, as well as the thing that was perpetuating this war and killing off their friends. This was someone that fought on the same side as those that preached death and destruction, and would have no issues with stomping out their sparks if it meant getting ahead in this never-ending battle. The femme had seemed passive and complacent, but knowing this new fact it could have all been a ruse to manipulate them.

"nooo..."

Carbine whined this out as a quiet little admittance to defeat. He couldn't even PRETEND to save face in front of Thunder and the un-named Decepticon. They probably were both well aware he was excited and on her side up until this point, and he absolutely HATED that Thunder would probably rub his nonexistent nose all over this situation at a later date. He was going to be teased for being the Autobot that was so desperate to get some attention from the opposite frame type that he shimmied up to a Decepticon without it being a joke. This wasn't knowingly flirting for funzies because it was crazy to flirt with a Con, this was 'Hey lady I will be your hero!' with was... pathetic and cringe worthy on multiple levels.

Draping over to lean marginally against the rock, Carbine's arms were flared over its smoothed surface in a sort of clutching motion to root himself back into reality. He didn't even really grasp the fact that she had admitted she called for help, which really should be a big important thing his processor would tag with a red flag. Instead, her reply lingered hovering through sizzled connectors in his mind, not finding root anywhere right away.

Bolo meanwhile may have picked up on Carbine's inner distress, but he wasn't reacting to it yet. Master always was weird around these types of individuals, so there was often some fluctuating emotions that swooped one way or the other dramatically. Only if this anguished frustration persisted would he really start to show and mimic the motion, but for now? He was occupied with scents!

As he passed around Dart to sniff at her, her outstretched helm caught his eye and he returned the motion. The sniff back at her face was passing and more of a 'hey yes I recognize the action you made, but have far more interesting things to contend with' than a true greeting. It was the only bit of courtesy he had. Before he lodged his helm along her back and sniffed around trying to figure her out.

He recognized the scents of the ocean, and was reminded of all the fun he had experienced that day. Playing in the sand, playing with the tiny crunchy animal, climbing rocks to go wallow and swim in the human garbage. He even got to hunt out body parts! He got to perform and do what he did best and make Master happy! But... he had to be bathed a lot once they got back, that wasn't a fun memory...

Either way, he sniffed around, recognizing seldom of the things, but noting the ordinance smell. It was not something unheard of however. Dart herself could have weaponry hidden away, or she was around someone with that kind of power recently. Oh well, it wasn't important to him. What was important was this... pine scent. This sappy weird thing that was kind of familiar due to being around trees, but way different at the same time.

To experiment just a bit, Bolo's tongue popped out between the stumpy plates of his pronged jaw to poke at Dart's back a bit. Maybe if he tried to taste the smell too he would understand it better? It did little to really improve anything though, and after the tiny experiment he pulled his helm back and sat down beside her, looking over at Master who was having some kind of... dramatic episode draped over the rock like a lady about to pass out.

Looking up from his knelt position, Carbine eyed Thunder a bit from the corner of his optic as he spoke, trying to catch up to everything that had been said and what was currently being said. After another pause that was becoming painfully recurrent, Carbine pushed off of the rock and eased upright into a stand, his helm raising and stance trying to flow back into a confident posture.

Without commentary to his partner, nor warning for the femme, Carbine lurched forward and slammed one ped over to the opposite side of Dart so that he was standing above her. Bolo recognized what was happening, and scrambled back a bit a second before Carbine's leg moved, giving the mech space as he then knelt down and tried to press the rounded cap of his knee armor in-between Dart's shoulders to try to hold her down flush with the ground without crushing her. If he was successful in pinning her, and she didn’t 'magically' pop free because it was a trick all along, he would snap his hands up to try to grab the flaring on her helm to hold her head still and look for where the communications relay may be. He eyed the silver cap of an audial with a sharp gaze before looking to Thunder.

"If she ca̛ll͘ed͢ othe͜rs, th̨ey may be on the ͡way͞, we can turn her p-plight into a trap for them. Find the còm͘m͜ ͢th͡ingy̶ ̷and tear it off before s͜h̴e ca͏n ͏a͝b͘or͏t or warn of what's happening if ̵s͢he hasǹ't a̷lre͠a͜d̸y!"

Carbine hissed this back darkly, forgoing trying to hide his disability in favor of speaking fast and demanding from Thunder what he needed. He was still reeling inside however.

Why femme!?

[Dart]

Dart nodded. "Yes," she said quietly to the flier’s statement. "I'm a Decepticon, I mean."

A pause and then her spoiler tips drooped ever so slightly on her shoulders. One nearly bonked the hound's questing nose; Dart started and lifted it up again in silent apology. Then she shook her head.

"Yes sir. I know. Er, I don't think there's any fun way to be backed up against a wall," the courier agreed.

No, there wasn't. This was one of those situations that was utterly unpleasant for both sides. If the situation had been reversed, she had no doubt most Decepticons would have sized up the problem and then solved it with well-placed rounds of short range ammunition. A trapped Autobot was one less to kill you later. Not to mention that some of her fellow soldiers were downright vicious; they enjoyed causing the most amount of fear and pain possible to a helpless foe. Didn't matter if they were Autobot or not sometimes either, anything and anyone was fair game.

At least the big mech didn't seem to be the same flier Maximus had warned her about. He seemed downright thoughtful and a bit concerned about the situation. Maybe the guy had a good twin or something, and the other one had a metal robo-goatee. Wow, that was a pretty old episode of Star Trek to be thinking about at a time like this.

If there was one thing she'd learned in her short life so far besides human television trivia, it was after the eons of fighting, the Autobots were wary of anything a Decepticon said or did. Kind of funny though, they'd asked her who she'd called and she certainly couldn't tell them the truth.

The courier hung onto hope though, and she held it tight, because that's what she had right now. Little things. No weapons. Still debating and talking among themselves.Tiny shifts in their body language; the officer's questions, his careful, calm reach to test the rock's weight, the tap of his chest. Those were restrained gestures. So was the big flier's audible sigh, hand on the back of his neck.

Stay polite, she told herself. Don't make eye contact. Don't give them reasons to hurt you. It had saved her life many times over the years. You said yes sir no sir to a Decepticon, and they immediately considered you underneath them. A soldier, nothing more. No threat.

There were very few mechs she said it to because they honestly deserved it out of respect.

Maybe- maybe they'll just go. Maybe they'll just leave me. I can- I can hold out here, have some time before I overheat, hopefully I can get this dug out and get back to base.

A quick lick from the dog. Dart blinked and turned her nose back towards him. He was now just sitting back and eyeing the mech who had uh, rather folded himself over that rock. Baffled, she glanced back at the dog, but the animal didn't seem worried about it. Okay then, nothing to worry about. Maybe he was just a very physical thinker about things.

When the helobot pushed off the rock, Dart's spoiler lifted ever so slightly. It tipped forward over her shoulders, sloped a bit to match the unsure expression that flickered over her face. She started to draw back, but the officer's body language was square and confident. Not angry. Okay, that's good, that's okay. Dart allowed herself to peek over at the other flier. Something- something had been said, decided, and--

The foot slamming down suddenly on the opposite side of her whipped her around. Fingers dug into the ground, Dart scrabbled in a panic, rearing backwards. Her entire body rattled as dust and dirt scattered around them both as she tried to lunge forward. Stones plinked off his plating and hers as the courier lurched and twisted to stare up at Carbine in shock; she hadn't been expecting this at all. He'd hid that body language so easily.

Of course he can. He's a cop, right they have to be able to control that sort of thing--

As he reached down, the courier let out a little whine and lifted hand up, fingers spread as if to ward off a blow. Not to her face, but her chest.

Carbine's knee came down on Dart's back. The courier for all her height was light framed and light plated. She depended on her nose to warn her of trouble and her speed to carry her away from it. Pinned down, she had lost her first defense, and she was no match in the slightest for a heavier mech experienced with all sorts of physical situations. The dog scattered; she could hear the the strike of all four paws on the dirt as he backed up and away.

Dart was easily pressed hard to the ground. A high-pitched yelp of pain burst from her throat, the sharp stone underneath her ripped at the gouges on her chest. She struggled, trying to lift herself up; not fighting the mech as much as she was trying to get out of the dirt, try to keep her chest plating from being ground against the stones.

The mech's fingers hooked around the edges of her helm. Instinctive response; it hurt. There was a sharp click as Dart's spoiler rattled and pinned flat. She twisted in his hands, throwing her head back. She snorted, coughed, snorted again, and then she actually attempted to bite him before he locked her head into place. She felt his fingers slide across the bent and slightly crumpled area she'd never managed to quite straighten where the Vehicon had hit her, and it forced her nose straight forward off into the rocks.

Now she was absolutely, utterly terrified.

Anyone in law enforcement at one point no doubt had a sharp eye. Carbine was no doubt used to looking for the little details. Interestingly enough, she had no finial or antenna apparent on her helm. The sweep back of her 'ponytail' didn't seem to have anything like that either; no director array or deflector. As he held tight to the femme's head; he would be able to look down directly into her throat guard. It was one of the few places that didn't get dirty easily. There was a rather random chunk of a pine branch stuck in there though.

There was also a thin, slightly rounded strip of metal that was barely noticeable and only because he was looking for it. A slightly raised line that ran along from the left side to the right of her guard. It was an antenna, and one that resembled something like an AM radio inductor more than anything else. Interesting design, strangely both archaic and rather logical at the same time for this femme's build. Nothing much to stick out on her.

Carbine would also be able to see the attachment where a worn grey cable ran down from the right corner of the antenna, slipped under her guard, and disappeared no doubt somewhere within her chest internals.

Wait- what-

Tear out her comm?

Dart dumbly stared at the landscape unable to parse what the mech was saying for a moment. Then it hit and it hit hard. Not because she was afraid of the officer ripping it out. Okay, no she was afraid of that too.

Because if she lost that comm, she lost one more bit as to why she kept going. Like when she stood up by the metal horses and looked down on the valley and wanted to share those moments. Or when she lingered on a ridge during patrol, hands stuffed in her hip carriers and looking at the stars. Just in case that empty line would crackle with the one thing Dart wanted to hear more than anything-

Hello, I'd like to order some paint. Dead Salmon. Two gallons, oil full gloss?

Frantic, Dart furrowed her fingers into the earth and struggled. "No, no no!" she begged them. "Don't! No no, no, please don't!"

There was a hissing whirr in her audials; just thinking about the comm had flicked it back open. It spat static back at her. Immediately the courier fumbled mentally to shut it off, oh ah, you just made it worse. Turn off, turn off...

[Deleted]

Thundercloud didn't protest when Carbine shot forward to pin the femme to the ground, but he didn't exactly applaud him either. He simply watched with a twisted up expression, the kind you'd expect to see on someone who had just been assigned latrine duty - he wasn't at all happy with the situation, but he was resigned to it. This was war. His spark could bleed all it liked for every 'Con with a sad face or a sob story, but at the end of the day, it was his job to make sure their numbers were thinned out. That's what he was let out of Garrus to do - be a trained attack dog. And Primus, did he ever know how to sic 'em.

The only problem was, he wasn't a very obedient attack dog. He didn't listen quiet as well as Bolo, didn't take every order given to him. Sometimes he dug his heels in and the higher ups had to jerk the leash a few times to get him moving in the direction they wanted him to go.

This, goddamn it all, is one of those times.

As soon as the femme began to panic, as soon as her optics blew up wide and her voice took on that panicked, pleading note, Thundercloud's resolve crumbled. One could actually see the exact moment he went from being resigned to the situation, to feeling acutely uncomfortable with the way things were progressing just by the way he groaned and slapped a hand over his optics, before letting out a harsh, exasperated sigh.

"Ah, goddamn it." He muttered to himself, before dragging his hand down his face and dropping his hand back to his side, his irritated optics cutting back to Carbine.

"Patches, ease up. You know I don't like it when they start beggin' and cryin' and all that slag."

He knew they should have just killed her from the get go before he had the chance to get all weird about this. Ugh.

[Carbine]

Carbine in all his years serving as a cop, had pinned many Cybertronian in his day just like this. They all seemed to do the exact same things in the fleeting klicks before getting trapped, a quick flail, a flounder, some arch their back and try to use brute force and strength to pull free. Just like Dart some even barked out quick yelps, as if a noise of discomfort or pain would deter him and make him pull back since he 'served the people' and SO wouldn't want to hurt one of them ((pft)). The motions were repetitive and old, spurring up some fond and not so fond memories of the ex-cops past. This familiarity would be good all things considered however, for it screamed of control and just playing by the same paths to get what he wanted, but this femme's thrash was a bit quicker than he had planned for.

She was lurching fast and his hands grappled awkwardly for a moment. What should have been a quick an easy maneuver, was turning into a rookie job's flounder in a split moment. He wanted to assure himself that she was just a quick individual, but at the same time a nagging fear sprinkled up that he was SO out of practice that he was losing touch with what he was built to do so many years ago. It made him bristle, and get a bit flighty himself, especially when her teeth snapped down like some kind of animal to try to BITE him!? Ah well... he couldn't blame her... any tactic for freedom yeah?

In the end he got what he had wanted anyway. His knee was placed down against her back, his weight rocked forward to hold her in place and keep her from reeling around to attempt another bite, while his hands clutched on to her helm securely, not about to try to go through that rodeo again. Granted, her arms were free, so that wasn't good, but hopefully Thunder would grab onto wherever her radio was and tear it out so he could focus on latching her arms behind her back.

Only... Thunder wasn't playing along.

"W̛H̷AT́!̷?̕"

Carbine had been entirely focused on his task, and had just spotted the odd place that the comm system seemed to be attached to. He wasn't a hundred percent confident that wire was what they needed to tear, but he was sure enough that he'd point Thunder in the right direction while he held her helm steady, only, the prior words wrenched him out of these thoughts, making him look up at the jet with an incredulous expression masked behind his visor.

"She cal͜lȩd̵ f͝o̢r help Thun͠d̀er!"

He barked back, anger lashing through his field in disbelief that his friend was growing a conscious at the exact wrong moment.

"Others are͏ ͢com̛in͟g, and a t-tiny rescue one or k͝z̷̛z̡t of two we can dec͠im͝até! But not m-more if she war̛ns th͡em̶ ̴o͢f us!"

Snarled words, vicious aggression, he was so confident in his idea, that he was feeling like Thunder was jeopardizing their very health, if not LIVES, by not just obeying to what he had to say. It is because of this his left hand moved up to clutch onto the arching plate on the back of Dart's helm, trying to get a firm grip before his right hand let go and tried to dig under the armor flaring at the wire he had seen. It was probably too late, too much time spent bickering and the relay may have already been sent, but he was angry and soundly ignored Dart's words.

"It isn't like̛ ́w̵e͠ a̧r̀e ki͏l̢ling her or anythi̴n͟g!"

His fingertips were tapered, wedge like in a way, but despite its sloping curve they blunted out and didn't have a sharp edge to them that could have easily sliced through the worn wire. Instead, he had to just grate his fingertip along the channel, hoping the wire pulled free enough he could hook his finger underneath it and wrench hard enough to rip it.

"But NOOoo͢, d͟on'̀t ̵mind me, I'll just get my fragging hands dirt̨y over all alone k͞z̀zt͢ here while she w-w-hines and begs."

Carbine, despite being an Autobot, was not a good mech...

[Dart]

Dart was still in a mental fight to turn off the comm. It was absolutely glitching now, no matter how much she tried. No, it hadn't connected with anyone - not as far as she could tell at least. There was always a remote chance that some poor innocent telemarketer in India was now clutching their earbud in equal dismay.

The courier winced, whined, and thrashed again under the officer's heavy weight. Her intakes were heaving as she turned her head from side to side. Honestly, Dart had issues with being grabbed or touched by anyone she didn't trust fully, and this mech certainly wasn't even close. Long blades on his back rattled and clattered; their narrow edges sand-smoked with the grit and red dust their struggle was kicking up.

All she could smell now was him. The officer had none of the scents she associated with her fellow Decepticons; the oily recyled air of the Nemesis, or the sharp smells of exhaust and discharged weapons. There were things that her olfactory sensors touched on that she understood in an instant though; cleaning chemicals - oh, she knew exactly what a mop smelled like. Something that reminded her of high-grade; Pyrotech sitting at his desk and turning a cup in his hands.

Something else too- an undertone. As if something electrical was bared to the elements, ozone and burning rubber. Dart stiffened and went still because all she could relate it to massive injury; the most recent she could remember was the horrible smell of Max's injuries back in the Canyon. Pools of fluid, mangled wires ---

Keep running! Keep running! Go on go, don't stop, don't fall, or you're dead!

Sparks flew behind her with every kicked off stride. She was flat out on that crumbling walkway. Around them, light flickered; painting the chasm wall with a dull red glow.

The ruined body blocked the path. Half of the mech's face was gone- but things scurried at her approach; hissing up at her, chiseled teeth and bright gold beady eyes. Shying, she tried to veer away, but all she could do was flail upwards into a leap. Knees tucked tight, she cleared that massive frame and landed-

An overhead blast- then static-

The static wasn't abating though; it took her a second to realize it wasn't her comm. That had had blissfully shut off. No, it was the mech pinning her to the ground, and his rising voice was full of it. It clattered through his words as he rounded angrily on the flier nearby.

Thunder? That was the big mech's name?

Wait- hang on, he didn't understand- no, no one was coming, no one, and--

Say something. Explain herself, anything, have to find the words.

"Gurk-" was the only thing that she managed to get out as Carbine grabbed her ponytail and wrenched her head back. This time Dart's shudder was utterly visible, rattling her frame even more. Her spoiler pressed against her shoulders as Carbine's hand began digging around her throat guard. She brought up her right hand and tried to shove at his arm, but he had so much mass and angle on her it was no doubt futile.

Once his finger had hooked under that wire; there was a slight bit of resistance, but Carbine would rip it easily out.

A sharp surge of feedback lanced into Dart's high-tuned systems.

Immediately, the courier howled. It was this strange, awkward sound, starting low in her chest and lifting into a wavering pitch. It almost sounded as if someone had trapped a dingo in a metal pipe and was beating the outside with a chunk of rebar.

A second later her jaws had snapped shut. The femme appeared to be a bit stunned. Her fingers continued to paw at Carbine's forearm over and over in a repetitive gesture.

[Deleted]

Thundercloud didn't know why he was shocked by Carbine's callous show of brutality, but he was - after a few centuries of telling the other mech not to do something, only for him to do it anyway (and vice versa) he really shouldn't have been surprised. They didn't listen worth a damn once they had their minds set on something, and when Carbine in particular got in a certain mood...well, there were times when Thundercloud saw something ugly in his friend, something ugly and black that he knew, deep down, was too deeply rooted to be something he got from his time in Garrus.

Moments like that, like the one he was seeing now, always came as a stunning reminder that there was a reason Carbine had been sent to prison. It wasn't just a case of being screwed over by the system, like it had been with Thundercloud. Sure, they had intended to make an example of Carbine, prove to the public that corrupt enforcers weren't protected by their positions, but that didn't mean he didn't deserve to be put away like he was.

They never really talked much about it, never went into exact details, but Thundercloud knew that his friend - the overly-enthusiastic goofball he had somehow become irrevocably attached to - had done some things that Thundercloud would have knocked his teeth out for, were he anyone else.

That urge to do some damage sprung up again with a vengeance the minute that femme made that godawful, pained noise, and it was only through sheer force of will that Thundercloud was able to keep it in check.

"Aww! Awww--Frag, mech, what the hell?! You made it weird!"

He gestured violently towards the distressed femme, his expression twisted up in a mixture of anger and something bordering on distress.

"What's next, you gonna slap her around or somethin'? Primus on a fraggin' piston, Carbine, we ain't supposed to do slag like that - we're supposed to be the good guys here!"

[Carbine]

Well that was a familiar yet new sound.

Yells like what had just been barked out of the Decepticon were commonplace in his life.

As a cop, there was the scream of distress at being captured, a frustrated cry of anger to try to lash out in a last ditch effort, the squawk of pain when they hurt themselves trying to pull free, or the pained cry of one not very flexible having an arm wrenched back as far as its sockets would permit for handcuffs to be latched on. The cries of despair where the worst, when they were restrained and knew they were going to go to hell, but... even that grew numb over time.

Then there came the screams in Garrus. True agony, pain, depression running so deep that living itself was torture. Existence in that pit was a challenge, and it made him realize just why the despaired cries of those captured had been so jagged and sunk to his spark in their primal nature. Carbine has heard them all, and while familiar they may be, they all sounded unique at the same time, yet... it invoked no emotional response from him any longer, especially in this situation. It triggered no sympathy or remorse for what he had done, and was just a sound that fluttered past and would draw unwanted attention.

As if to try to silence her yell, he instantly shoved his weight forward onto the fin arching on her helm that he had been grabbing onto, trying to ignore her grappling at the sloped paneling of his forearms. The shove was halfhearted, not full force, he didn't throw his full weight into her, but he was trying to push her face down into the dirt to stifle the cry that could preemptively warn whatever rescue team may be coming. If the rescue team heard her squawking like that, it could either make them hurry and rush into the trap, or it could make them more wary and approach slower with weapons already ready. He wanted to catch them off guard, and not primed for some action.

It was then he heard Thunder.

While Thunder lamented about the fact Carbine had something charcoal black in his soul that led him to Garrus, Carbine was being slapped with the fact that Thunder was too weak to do what was needed for survival. It was this reason Carbine had taken charge between them ((among many other reasons such as Carbines hunger for power)) when they finally teamed up, and it was this reason he was the one to call the shots after their probation time serving the Autobots was extinguished. HE led them to the other planets, HE led them to new adventures and monetary gains, HE led them to their minimal temporary prosperity and HE led them then back to the Autobots because that was what THUNDER wanted to do.

The first sign that Carbine was upset was the immediate shift in Bolo's personality. The canine had been sitting off to the side out of the way, minding his own business. He had seemed happy and bubbly and just... being a dog... but now something venomous lanced through him. The plating on his back ruffled up on their mountings, the slats rising in a jagged display while he slowly eased back upright onto all four limbs. His harness had been in an upright and resting position, but it now folded down, keeping it as far out of the way of grabbing hands as possible if things went ugly. Bolo didn't understand the reasoning, but he felt the ire and anger, and as such a low growl rumbled out through the silence.

With a final shove, Carbine pushed Dart's helm down again, using it as a push-off point for him to stand upright once more. His peds ended up planted on either side of her shoulders, as he eased up to his full height to tower overhead with bits of grit falling out between his armor. His field was eerily even, a low buzzing hum that prickled at the air with the cassettes rumbled growls.

"We ar̛e ̕supṕosed to SURVIVE Thu͜ńder-"

He corrected the larger mech with smoldering ire.

"-and in order to do that have if k̸z̧z͢t͡ I to do a few unpleasant things than so be it. I t-tore the C̀o̷m͡mun̨íca͏t̀io͟n͠s Re͠lay line; I didn't fragging slit̕ ͝h̵e̕r throat. She's overreacting. If this is ͘s̢om̨e ͡hei̢nous͜ cr͝im͜e̡, then maybe you should look at some of the slag you have donȩ ̸on͝ a ͠bat͘t͡l̢ȩfi̴ȩld. Being some 'good guy' doesn't m-ean you̧ g̴o͢t to turn into Flit."

Carbine's full attention was on Thunder, at this point ignoring Dart. Unless she had a blade somewhere, she probably wasn't going to be a threat to him. If she did? He knew nothing vital or life threatening was in her range down by his legs and peds. Well... unless she could hack one clean off somehow or was precise enough to sever some big lines. As such, he narrowed his optics, angry, upset. He still couldn't believe Thunder would chastise him for doing something so... so minimal...

"We both know how̡ tha͡t́ st͞ory ends."

[Dart]

Dart was built for action and reaction. Focus on it, process it, was it safe, something
that she could simply ignore - or did she need to break into full run. A stride could be the difference between life and death. A plasma rifle had a lot of advantages on pure speed.

Slight differences in scent and sound caught her attention; and while she'd learned over the years to be able to filter things better so that she wasn't leaping into the air every single time a plastic bag flapped in the wind, there were times it overclocked and simply smashed into her processors at a speed that caught her completely off guard.

Wait, no that wasn't the comm still howling like some demented dog was that- oh. It was her. Echoes were still dying off; the high pitched noise bouncing off the stones and into the clear blue sky.

No, no, no don't make it worse!

First hand experience had taught the courier that crying out usually didn't help you when someone had the upper hand. Sometimes in moments like this, the mech in charge panicked and thought they might be caught or found out. They'd immediately shut you up as quickly as possible, usually with a fist to the head. That was usually survivable.

Worse was the sort of mech that got even more aggressive. The ones that did this because they enjoyed it. Wanted you to scream in pain, wanted you to cower and flatten in fear. She'd met many of them among the Decepticons; they were usually not pleasant mechanisms. Trained by years of Pyrotech and more than a few of his crew, Dart clamped her jaws shut. 

When she comprehended that her fingertips were still pawing at the hard plating of the officer's sturdy arm, it made her flinch. Dart attempted to recoil; not a good idea no, don't touch him, don't tick him off more, Dart.

The Autobot still had a grip on her helm though. Instinctively, she was trying to jerk her head, tip her chin to expose as much of her pale grey throat as possible, and then a moment later her nose was shoved into the rocky dirt beneath her as he pressed her forward. The courier choked on an influx of sandy soil and dry grass; all she could do was cough and wheeze, sputtering like a dying engine. Her fingers clawed at the ground beneath her as her intake filters clogged. A warning pinged from some system sensor; nose up, blow it out, get it clear- but she couldn't, his weight and angle held her fast.

Dart gagged and snorted; the tips of her spoiler were shivering and clattering.

Not the way I thought was going to die. Ugh, well you were wrong, Thermal, I didn't do it by taking point as an ambush detector, go figure. Survive everything they can throw at you over the years only to catch your foot in terrain you know like the back of your and get killed by--

The flier's outburst startled through those dismal thoughts.

Dart froze. The spoiler on her shoulders pricked up as much as it was able, the tips rotating sideways to frame the massive blue and grey mech.

That was- that was a surge of sudden hope, once again. Autobots. These two mechs were Autobots.

Sure, there were nasty Autobots, ones that were dangerous and deadly and went out of their way to kill for the sheer fun of it. No doubt some of them would make even the most hardened Decepticon flinch. Everyone was an individual when it came down to it.

However, Dart could safely say to anyone who asked (well, if they weren't Decepticons, whoops) that most Autobots weren't like that at all. They were the ones here trying to save Earth. It would have been so much safer and easier to let the Decepticons do what they wanted. Leave Earth behind. Find another planet out there to live on. Saved themselves. They didn't though. Outnumbered and out-weaponed, they kept fighting. Trying to do the right thing and stop her side from winning. They didn't want life on Earth to be one more casualty of the Cybertronian war.

Also, that they were brave enough to stand up to their own fellow soldiers over something they didn't feel was right.

Unlike me...

Seconds later her nose was back in the dirt. Her jaws clicked together at the impact of the ground. She choked again; but this time she could quickly lift her head and snort- the mech had let her go, but--

Shifted his stance to stand over her. A low growl thrummed through the air. The courier turned her head slightly, only to be met with how rigid the officer's stance had become. Stiff-legged. Angry. Ears pinned against his head- no, that was his partner, the dog rising to his feet as if pulled by invisible strings. The mech snarled out his words now, and he was rounding on his friend with a challenge written in every twitch of his plating.

He was furious. About things his companion had done over the years. Carbine and Thunder? That's their names? Wait, who's Flit?

Dart flattened herself against the ground as much as possible. The gouges on her chest ached, but she didn't dare even slide a palm protectively between them and the rocks.

Nope, she'd lived among wildlife long enough to know that when two big males roared at each other, you got the heck out of there. Not having that option meant you better stay as still as possible and hope that they were like those T-Rex in Jurassic Park.

[Deleted]

It's funny - this whole fight, this unexpectedly heated argument - it all started because of Dart. Well, it started because Carbine was being a royal dick about how they should handle the situation, but Dart was the catalyst. She was what their argument was framed around.

Then Carbine had to open his goddamn mouth about Flit, and suddenly Dart was the furthest thing from Thundercloud's mind.

Her very existence seemed to disappear from his mind, her presence going completely ignored as he stared Carbine down. He went still, unnatural so, and didn't  so much as cycle his optics as he looked at his friend - first in anger, then in shock.

He and Carbine remembered Flit much differently. Their perceptions of that little jet with the thin-skin and the too-big spark could not have been further apart - Thundercloud hadn't known that, before now. It wasn't like they ever talked about the kid, it wasn't like Carbine ever really knew him, not in the way Thundercloud had. He loved the guy, but Carbine, he wasn't the sort of mech who went and made friends with folk who didn't do nothin' for him, especially not in Garrus. There was no point, 'least not from a pragmatic standpoint. There weren't no reason to get involved with someone who couldn't hold their own in a fight, couldn't have your back if things got crazy on the line.

It was no wonder Carbine only knew the kid from what he saw, what he heard, what he knew happened to mecha like Flit in places like Garrus. He was just another casualty waiting to happen, another little, spineless bot who wasn't gonna last a year on the inside. That's how Carbine knew him. That's all Carbine knew about him.

Thunder, though - these days, he almost wishes he could say the same. He wishes he'd never even spoken to that little runt with the twitchy wings and nervous, twiddling fingers who didn't belong where he got put. It would've saved him a whole lot of sparkache in the long run, spared him a whole lot of sleepless nights wondering if there was anything he could've done to change what happened. Wondering if there were signs he missed, ways he could've helped before things got so bad that the poor kid just -

Thundercloud wasn't thinking about that. He really wasn't. He wasn't thinking about how Flit climbed up those steps like a mech possessed, wasn't thinking about that far-away look in his optics when he hopped up on that safety rail, wasn't thinking about how he - and, and the look on his face when, and the sound, god, god he was just a kid, just a stupid kid and--

His fist swung out at Carbine's jaw without warning, before he could think better of it, before he could even realize what he was doing in the first place. It wasn't a conscious decision on his part, it was just instinct, a primal, visceral response  that he couldn't have held back even if he had known it was coming.

[Carbine]

Flit was pathetic.

The little flyer could have done so much to earn a place, and found a way in Garrus. Whoever was the biggest, and whoever could throw the best punch in a fight wasn't everything, and Carbine had witnessed it firsthand and personally experienced it around the few that could heft him up and ram his teeth into a concrete wall. Sure having brawn helped, that was how Thunder probably did as good as he did. He was a good soul, but he had the stopping power to punch someone to the ground if they tried anything, and his size meant that not many actually tried anything... but the small ones? They had to be clever and adapt!

There were jobs for the little types, and while they would get bullied more, and thrown around some, and wounded, they could survive and become resilient little things. Crowbar... Jimmy... he wasn't big, and yet people FEARED him, he had managed to make a place for himself! Rend and Viscosity were small too, and while they weren't feared Flit could have followed in their footfalls easily! But no...

He took the easy way out.

Flit was a coward that was an over compassionate soul that let himself get steamrolled by the system, and let the world consume him whole. Thunder's blooming honorable emotions were bound to just get HIM steamrolled, especially with survival of the fittest in play! Only those profoundly lucky, or immensely deadly and skilled were left alive in this war, and to faultier now in the final tiers of the contest would be a bloody and violent failure!

Saying Carbine and Thunder had vastly different views on the mech was an understatement.

"So if y-you want to just çùt ̕o͏u͢t ́a̡ll this 'good guy' non-"

Snarled words, a low grow, Carbine began to add on to his previous statements in the stunned silence Thunder permitted him, but he would not be able to finish it in full. The brute of a jet's fist came swinging around faster than he could properly react to, and he took the full brunt of it. If they had been alone, inside somewhere, than Carbine may have been able to see it coming, but out here?... The wilderness made Bolo's thoughts spin, and his own attention was half split upon the Femme. He would have expected a strike from her; he would have been ready for that, but not Thunder.

The fist collided hard with his jaw, and Carbine's frame wrenched sharply to the side from the impact with a loud squeal of metal denting and scraping in the process. He seemed to completely lose his bearings, and in an attempt to catch himself he ended up taking a stumbled step back, the wheel that composed of his heel sharply slamming down at Dart. He didn't mean to, he wasn't intentionally trying to step on her, but when someone was falling their automatic actions to stop the act didn't exactly play favorites. It is because of this, he kicked down against the uneven surface of... somewhere on her... or maybe he just stepped wrong in the uneven stones. All that counted was the fact his large frame swung backwards and toppled down against the ground with a crash.

Bolo was already geared up, and was not too pleased by this turn of events. This wasn't a normal confrontation. Typically Master and Thunder would fight, but be snapping verbiage back and forth. There'd be flecks of amusement lanced through Master's connection with him that reminded him that this was a more violent game, or just a scuffle for fun! These things were absent in this situation, Thunder saying nothing, and Master's field blistering with disappointed rage. This wasn't a game, this was a real fight, and because of that Bolo reacted with all the wrath his little spark could muster.

There was no bark, no warning, no snapped out growl or snarl to try to deter Thunder. Instead? The ex-police hound kicked off the ground, and fully transitioned to go on the offense. The bio-lights over his frame shot to the dark red coloration, and the harness on his back folded down flush with his spine. Sharp angular ears folded smooth with his neck, and his mouth was opened and primed, the jaw clicked and locked in place like a hair trigger waiting to snap. It is this that lunged out at Thunder, latching his jaw around the large Cybertronian's forearm that had struck Master down.

It was only then Bolo made a sound, snarling, a guttural sputtering noise that bubbled out from his throat. It wavered and gurgled every time he thrashed his helm, back paws dragging and skittering against dirt and rock to try to become the dead weight he wanted to be. Forepaws flared out straight, hoping to place on Thunder's thigh and push to gain more leverage, anything to do what he was programmed to do and try to take Thunder down.

Meanwhile, Carbine was trying to get his bearings, disoriented and for very good reason. The left side of his jaw flaring had been dented from the impact, the white band punched inward to make the entire jaw assembly hang at an angle. This caused the bottom seam of the black visor to disconnect from its fitting, and the crack to grow longer across its slick surface. It honestly all looked a lot worse than it was. He'd have to probably snap his jaw back into the socket properly, and he'd have some nasty dents and scrapes from Thunder's knuckles, but it wasn't the full extent of what he knew the other mech was capable of.

Nahh... if Thunder wanted him dead, his visor would be caved in and his teeth would be having a reunion with his processor through a new speedway carved through the roof of his mouth.

Or his head would be cleanly ripped off its throat...

Whatever...

Details...

Alas, for now he just laid there, staring up at the sky above, looking at the blue expanse while his legs were splayed out awkwardly, at least one probably over Dart's own frame at the moment. He spoke, not seeming to be in any particular rush to get up. His words were woven in static, and heavy, speaking of laziness and probably a bit of disorientation. They croaked out with jittered pops and a snort.

"So͝mȩthiņg͏ ̸s̡o̷ḿeth͝iǹg... you're a-a f͢ra̴gge̢r... somet͟hi̶ng̀ s-someth-thing I'm͟ ̶ŗi͠ght..."

[Dart]

Down as she was against the ground, Dart simply tried not to stare at the scene unfolding in front of her. Carbine drew himself up on his toes and growled out his reply about good guy nonsense - and it wasn't so much the words that widened her optics as it was the tone. Dismissive. Confrontational. The sort of tone that Decepticons threw around at each other constantly; you're being an idiot, a fool, how dumb can you be about this...?

Dart winced. She hated that tone. Hated being talked down to. It was embarrassing and it was nasty and at that moment, she empathized with the big mech.

Thunder stopped. No motion. The mech was like a statue; still and silent - not a bit of plating rattled or moved, no hiss of vents or even the twitch of a finger.

The massive flyer's body language had shifted entirely in a fraction of a second.

Oh oh.

Dart's spoiler crunched against her shoulders, and flattened down farther. It didn't matter that dirt and pebbles ground into those four open wounds on her chest. Most mechs didn't get it. You'd think they would have after millenia of fighting, of confrontation.

Most folks thought when someone was coming at you roaring and punching and screaming curses that they were dangerous. Dart had always seen it as something different; among the animals of Earth (heck, among the humans too) it was a bluff, a snarl, teeth bared, pinning your ears on your head and whirling around to seem more aggressive. You were hoping you could intimidate the one you were fighting, throw them mentally - half the confrontation was fought right there.

It was when they went completely silent, when they stiffened; that was the ones you better be terrified of, because they were going to hurt you, and hurt you bad. No quarter given.

Dart realized on some level that this had nothing to do with her; she was nothing more than the rocks and the stones and the landscape to them at the moment. This was some old wound between these two mechs from their words, perhaps an ancient disagreement lunging between them as sharp as a knife...

A knife! Oh, ugh, maybe...

One chance, one chance. While they're focused; time it, time it -

All reaction, it was the tightening of Thunder's fingers she focused on, the drop of his chin, maybe there had been the smallest quiver from his wingtips and she drew that information in and processed it at speed.

Thunder lashed out and before even that strike had connected, the courier was doubling back on herself. Dart somehow managed to duck out from under Carbine's leg as it lifted with the force of the strike to his helm; her entire focus was on that spot where the rock held her fast. One of her wrist knives popped out; she desperately shoved the blade into the stone by her ankle in an attempt to crack the rock maybe just enough to pry her foot free-

Carbine's frame stumbled backward, smashed brutally aside by the force of Thunder's fist.

There was a crunching sound, followed by the thrumming whine of overtaxed metal. Carbine's heel had come down smack on the middle of Dart's wedged blade. The mech was heavy; he had been designed for using his body to take down criminals. Under his weight her thin wrist-knife bent and then snapped in half under the mech's heel.

The courier recoiled, blue optics wide as the mech staggered. It was obvious he was going to go down. What was left of the ruined knife went back into her left arm as she scrabbled aside. She barely had time to throw herself forward again, stretched out as far as she could possibly be from where she was trapped before the officer toppled and landed on his backside. One of his heavy-plated legs thunked down over the top of her hip and pinned her partially back down.

Dust whirled up and then settled across the officer's frame, hazing his paint.

Dart blinked. She rubbed her wrist over her eyes, smearing dirt across her optics as she blinked dumbfounded over at Carbine first, then at Thunder who was now being attacked by the dog. The animal's lights had gone to red; the courier could feel it, see it, he was leaping to the defense of his partner.

Her spoiler snapped up and forward, she stared at Carbine's smashed jaw and then up at the huge blue and grey mech.

"Whoa!" Dart blurted. 

Her spoiler had flicked up and forward, the tips quivering. For someone who had been so careful to lay low, to shut up, to not draw attention to herself, she seemed completely caught up by what might happen in the next few seconds between Thunder and Bolo. 

"No no, stop, stop, whoa, whoa sir, don't hurt the dog!"