Ep 2 -- Speed Trap (Closed)

[Deleted]

The thing about Carbine, the thing Thundercloud somehow always forgot whenever they got scrappy with each other, was that he and Bolo were a packaged deal. Not just in the symbiotic sense, of course they were two halves of the same whole - you never saw one without the other, because at the end of the day they were both part of the same, two-bodied entity that was CarbineAndBolo.

No, what Thundercloud always forgot was that even while Carbine was laid out on his ass, Bolo was still more than capable of jumping into the fray and blindsiding him when he was too busy shaking out the post-punch stiffness in his hand to look up and see the toothy projectile hurtling towards him at eighty miles an hour.

Bolo's teeth sunk solidly into his forearm, causing Thundercloud to stumble backwards, then forward as the angry dog scrabbled against the ground, trying to drag him into the dirt. It was difficult, catching his balance in time to plant his feet and dig his heels in before that very thing happened, but somehow he managed. Thankfully, he had a few thousand pounds on Bolo, so once he was firmly rooted once more, he didn't have to worry much about being dragged around like a ragdoll.

Bolo, on the other hand -

Thundercloud made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat, his wings drooping as he dragged his free hand over his face, then gave Bolo an unhappy look.

"Aw, come on buddy, I ain't pissed at you."  He said, as if that would somehow mollify the dog's anger.

Predictably, it didn't, and Thundercloud heaved out a heavy sigh. Damn it all, he hated it when Carbine CarbineAndBolo  Bolo was mad at him. He really did. It made him feel like such a slaglord.

In a single, practiced motion, Thundercloud lifted his arm - and Bolo with it - hauling the poor irate pooch off the ground and into the air where he wouldn't be able to dig his heels in and yank. He made a point to keep his arm as far away from his body as he could, knowing full well the dog would use his own body for leverage if given the slightest opportunity. It took months for the claw-marks Bolo kicked into his side to disappear, the last time he and Carbine got into things like this, and Thundercloud really wasn't looking forward to repeating the experience.

With his free hand he reached towards Bolo's head, intent on trying to pry his jaws apart, but before he could make contact the Femme's voice broke through the air and gave him pause. He stopped short, turning quickly to look at their sort-of-prisoner with a tellingly surprised expression - it wasn't difficult to figure out that he had, until this moment, completely forgotten she was even there.

"What? You crazy or somethin', lady? Why the hell would would I--" Before finishing that sentence, a thought occurred to Thundercloud, and a look of dawning realization passed over his face. He snorted, amused, then gave his arm a little wave, swaying Bolo to and fro in demonstration.

"Pff. Don't have a spark-attack, he ain't hurtin' me any." He said lightly, before looking to Bolo and flashing a friendly smile. "Ain't that right, you little monster?"

[Carbine]

Carbine didn't know what he had stepped on that made such a horrible snapping sound, but all he could imagine was that he managed to lodge his wheel in-between some rocks and his weight bent or snapped the relatively thin component. He ignored the logic that the ark of metal could support his mass while running, the immense force of weight and power transferring to it that it could absorb... no... all he could imagine was it being bent sideways and breaking off his frame, and that the pain just hadn't caught up to him yet.

Enjoying his few moments of only having to deal with one type of discomfort ((putting it lightly)), Carbine remained laying there listening to what was happening, and catching up to the present. This permitted him to do a minor self evaluation to figure out where he had landed, and for him to hear that Bolo had jumped into the fray. Typically he may be a bit iffy about Bolo flying so readily to his defense, scared the dog would get hurt or hurt someone that didn't deserve it.

It had been a good deal of time since he was an active police officer. His life has changed so much and in turn, Bolo's own function had changed and adapted. The dog did well, simply because he had to, and learned to be more playful and energetic to adapt to a more 'civilian' life. Not that there was such a thing anymore. In war it was still brutal, and there were still battles, but Bolo had to turn it off behind the safety of home. But... he was still a cop hound in heart and always would be. The other police Cybertronian knew how to conduct themselves around working dogs, and didn't readily reach for their faces or surprise them.

Civilians just saw a cute dog.

He sometimes feared Bolo would bite someone for being foolish, a fear that would ebb given months or a year on base when he knew everyone KNEW Bolo. But here?... right now?... no... you bite the slag out of that arm little man! Carbine sent approval and a sort of emotional pat on the head to his Cassette through their shared link, only to hear a voice rocket into the confrontation that didn't really belong in a spar between them.

Oh frag, that’s right, the Decepticon.

Easing up a bit to prop his frame atop of one elbow, Carbine grunted in discomfort and leaned enough to see what was happening. The first thing he viewed was Bolo, who was hanging off of Thunder's arm like some kind of toy, easily lifted off the ground and held away from his frame. It was a pity Thunder wasn't smaller, or didn’t have as big of Peds, for it would have been a delight to see him flat out on his aft trying to not be drug down the shale slide like a ragdoll. Alas, Carbine's gaze then settled on the femme, seeming as surprised as Thunder did, though it was more difficult to discern. This shocked look was replaced with disgust though after Thunder spoke, a frustrated sigh

"She w-wasn't concern̸ed ̶abóut͡ you... you òaf͡..."

In reply to Thunders endearing words and name, Bolo just growled and floundered from side to side like a dying fish. He absolutely REFUSED to let go completely, despite the fact he was a bit frustrated and wanted to get a better grip on the arm. His lower body dangled awkwardly in the air, hind limbs tucked up near his body, only to kick out occasionally to set him into a swaying spin. His forelegs in contrast were just post straight, toes flared apart and grasping at the air for a foothold that wasn't in range.

The canine made horrible noises while this was going on, snarled growls paired with a gurgled rasp every time he wheezed in ventilation, making a disgusting overlay. At one point he readied himself, hind legs pulling up near his body into a fetal position, forepaws folding in, before he kicked down hard to try to launch off of air and throw his momentum up. When he did this, he momentarily let go with his jaw, only to snap down with a bigger mouthful that caused metal to start to buckle inward. Energon frothed out of the corner of his maw, but whether it was Thunder's or Bolo's foamy rage vomit was hard to tell.

Carbine ignored what was happening, not calling Bolo down or back to his side, but easing up a bit more. It was then he saw his leg over the femme, and he grunted out a bit of an amused sound before he lifted the limb up. Carefully, he folded it down in front of himself, seeing that the wheel to his leg was still intact and not snapped off, which raised a few questions. The femme appeared to be fine, nothing readily broken off from her, which only raised more questions. Setting the mystery sound aside for now, he slid his leg beneath him, ready to jump up if needed, before his hands raised up to his jaw.

Oh this was smarts.

"F-f-frag, whąt ͞w̧ere y͜o̷u͜ t̴r̵y k̸z̨zt͢ w̴ere͡ you trying to do!? Ta̴ke̸ ̷my͞ h͠ead off!?"

White fingertips poked along the seam between jaw and visor, which was a very good indicator of just how crooked the entire assembly was. The visor's lower edge actually was meant to socket into the top line of the jaw flaring, making everything secure and steadying the mandible. Trying to pop it back in place was going to be a pain, like trying to pop sunglass lens back into their frames.

[Dart]

Dart had truly expected the dog to get slammed back. It would be natural for the mech to react with the same pure power that he'd turned on his companion; knock the animal off of him. Of all the mechs out there, the courier understood simple, automatic reaction and blamed no one for it; something hurt you, you wanted to get away, to make it stop.

So when Thunder's wings dropped, and his body language changed, she was surprised.

Even more surprised at herself in the next few moments. Dart hadn't meant to actually call out to him. Actually, she hadn't meant to open her mouth or draw attention to herself in the slightest, but - ah, too late. She froze right after, still and unsure but unable to look away. Something in her didn't want to see it, it was the horrible anticipation of metal on metal, of a blow that would smash the dog's face as easily as it had smashed Carbine's jaw.

The dog's just doing his job, sir, she wanted to say. He's just- he's doing his job. It's not his fault, that's what they've told him to do, trained him to do. He's loyal. He's your partner, but maybe, just maybe he doesn't- Maybe he just wants to rescue folks and be a good--

Thunder's voice cut through those thoughts. Dart looked up from under the brim of her helm at the huge blue mech and all she could do was shake her head quickly. No, she was in her right mind, honest. Promise. Also, yes, she certainly preferred that she not have a uh, spark-attack. Frankly she'd had enough for the day so far to last her a very long time.

As Thunder snorted with humor, the courier's head tilted to the side just a smidge; she looked at him in confusion. 

Dart wasn't so sure about Thunder, though. Er, not for the fact he had't punched the dog in the face or snapped his main relay over his knee; that was just fine with her.

No, it was sort of because no one in their right mind wanted to be a giant metal chew toy for an angry hound. The bite-pressure that the canine robot could exert was enormous; he could no doubt tear through most material given time, and that included Cybertronian plating. Bolo was not one of the sleek, light framed hounds made to wear a ornate collar and lope lightly by the side of a Towers mech and flush Turbofoxes into the range of a hunting rifle for sport.

Bolo was a thick, heavy plated beast, designed to be a working dog. He was meant to give chase to a fleeing suspect, shake a criminal down to their knees so that his master could collar them. As the red lights flickered and flashed, the animal tore viciously at the mech's arm. When he swung himself back and forth. Dart honestly expected to hear the shriek of metal giving way under the typewriter-like staccato sound of release slightly, shake and rebite. Grip again, shake and rebite. Dart could see him rolling the mech's arm back to his back teeth; grinding deeper and deeper.

She glanced behind her just a bit when the officer spoke. Her spoiler sloped a bit to one side as she ducked slightly. He was right though, she really hadn't been concerned for the mech under the circumstances.

Echoing growls sent her spoiler chattering, rattling and clicking. It was the sudden scent in the air that made her freeze again; the sharp scent of energon. Drops fizzled along the dog's teeth, and then pooled to dribble out of his jaw. Not the dog's energon though.

Dart lifted her hand slightly off of the dirt, then pawed at the soil with her fingers in a nervous, light gesture. Then the strip of metal across her shoulders flattened back and pinned itself behind shoulders. She winced and her spoiler lowered back in obvious unease; that had to hurt horribly and yet this mech shook it off and just tolerated the dog's behavior like it was nothing. Not the sort of fellow you'd want to meet in a dark alley on the wrong side of the tracks.

Well, neither of them if she was to be perfectly honest.

As the officer lifted his leg Dart scrabbled carefully away to duck out from under him. Once she was free of that weight she shook herself again with a rattle of plating and breathed out a sigh of relief. Okay that- that at least was a little better. The courier gulped at the air and then panted out a few quick huffs; trying to regulate her cooling systems.

There was that faint drift of scent again, the one she couldn't place.  Old wounds and burning wires. This time, it was far more noticeable, even over the stink of leaking energon. She tried not to look at the officer's hand poking into the dislocated spot.

Oh wow. He did almost get his head taken off, didn't he...? Certainly wasn't happy about it.

Dart waited quietly, wondering what Thunder's response to Carbine's statement was going to be. This whole situation felt odd, like - as if she was around her fellow Decepticons. Not Autobots.

Right down to the punching a teammate in the mouth. 

[Deleted]

Seemingly oblivious to (or perhaps simply willfully ignoring) the fact that Bolo was still very much NOT happy with him, Thundercloud continued to grin down at the little monster, going so far as to swing his arm a little to rock him back and forth, just to watch the dog kick his little legs and growl angrily. It was cute, in a "Aw, look at him try to be a vicious killer, isn't that precious" sort of way.  Perhaps it was because Thundercloud knew Bolo was simply doing his job, or perhaps it was because he was accustomed to seeing the cassette as a lap dog rather than a brutal, four-legged weapon  - whatever the case, he just couldn't bring himself to be the slightest bit afraid of his little canine buddy.

Even while he was tearing into his arm hard enough to slice through several layers of armored plates and draw blood.

"Alright little guy, how 'bout we ease up a little on the whole "Die Die Die" thing, huh?" He asked, having finally decided that perhaps he ought to do something to prevent his arm from being torn to shreds.

With his free arm he reached over, waiting for Bolo to stop wiggling and thrashing enough for him to get a good grip on him. Rather than reach for his harness, Thundercloud simply reached underneath the dog, looped an arm under his middle, then squeezed him close to his chest to cease his insistent thrashing. He knew the cassette would not appreciate this one bit, so he decided he may as well add insult to injury by giving him a bear hug and cooing at him in a condescending manner.

"There we go. Who's a good boy, huh? Who's a good boy? Not you, you little shit. You're a goddamn menace." He said, not unkindly.

He grinned a little, looking entirely to amused for someone actively being mauled by a vicious animal, but like all good things, his good mood was short lived. Carbine just had to open his big mouth and remind him of his existence, effectively killing Thundercloud's good humor in just a single sentence.

Immediately his wings dropped, his optics rolling in his head as his expression became one of extreme vexation. He turned to look over at the other mech, his thick browplates narrowing in irritation. He seemed offended that Carbine was even talking to him at all, let alone that he was doing so in order to glitch at him.

"Well it ain't like you were usin' it." He fired back, field rippling with righteous indignation. "Sayin' all that slag 'bout Flit - the hell is wrong with you, mech? That was low. It was low, Patches, and you know it."

[Carbine]

When Thunder's arm looped under Bolo, the Cassette squirmed and instantly planted his forepaws down against his chest to try to push away. He was about as resistant to the hug as a toddler, and even went so far as to try to kick his back feet down at Thunder's legs. This said? The angle twisted his helm backwards, and made the grip awkward for him to maintain. Crushing metal jaws squeaked against plating as it started to slip and give way, before he popped free entirely. One quick whipping motion later, and his helm snapped back and around to peer at Thunder dead in the optics.

Telling what was going through Bolo's little mind could be a challenge sometimes. The canine did not have the ability to differentiate a snarl from a smile, and didn’t have means to widen optics, or loft brow plates. All he really had to express himself were the angle of his ears, and his body posture. While body posture was stolen from him by being hugged up against the massive jet, he did still loft his helm up high, and his ears were perked straight up. He looked out at Thunder, seemingly confused, like he was going to calm down...

This pleasant moment of optic to optic communication lasted only a klik, for the moment after Thunder called him a menace and finished saying something to Carbine his little processor couldn't handle, he acted.

Instantly Bolo's jaw snapped forward violently, slamming at Thunder's face with about as much mercy as a smelting pit shows corpses. His clamp like jaw that mirrored the Jaws of Life that humans used to tear open the sides of vehicles, found itself snapping down onto half of Thunder's chevron. There was no squeal of metal ripping free, nor a twisting crack, instead it just snapped off so cleanly and so fast from the central anchor of the chevron that the ripped off chunk of the Jet's helm was flipping back through the air and away before he even started to lean back.

The leaning motion was a lifesaver though, for Bolo's maw had came back in for a second go at him, and it slammed closed with an audible bang mere inches from the other Cybertronian's face. When Bolo realized he wasn't going to be able to reach his head again, he finally started making noises once more, snarling, the violent gurgle sounds, a rasping wheeze when vents were hefted full to produce more angry noises... He was pretty much rabid, while Carbine croaked out a laugh.

"And yo͢u ̷are̶n't͜ ̧u͞sing yours either! L-look at you, you w̵a͘n͟t ̛t̕o ̶b͝e͘lie͞ve the best in every-one to a p-point you are tryin̶g͞ ͏t̛ơ h̛u͞g the attack out of Bolo."

Carbine spat this out, the words growled partly in a threat. The growl was feeble though, as the ex-cop really didn't want to take a foot to the face next. He could only really hope Bolo would keep Thunder occupied while he figured out things on his own, which... should happen easily he assumed. Assumptions were dangerous though, but Bolo was freaking out, and at any moment he may figure out that instead of trying to bite at a face, he should go for the fingers that were holding onto him instead.

He wondered at what point he should draw the line... at what point should he call the dog off. Bolo would keep going as long as he felt the need, and in a way that was satisfying. Carbine knew Thunder wouldn't hurt the Cassette, yet the dog could get a few good strikes in and technically Carbine claimed them as his own, which meant Carbine totally drew first blood in this fight!

Win win.

Letting his friend deal with Bolo, Carbine leaned forward some to place his palm flat with the ground. He was planning to try to ease up onto his peds once more, only to cast the femme a sideways glance and notice something was amiss. It was subtle, not really jumping out at him right away, but when his yellow optics scanned over her downed frame again, he noticed something new jutting out of the stoned that had her trapped here to begin with. The bright sun above glinted off of a honed edge, and illuminated raw metal that was freshly exposed to the elements.

Pausing at the sight, and putting his own recovery on hold a moment ((while ignoring the angry dog noises and biting sounds coming from Thunder)), Carbine eased forward a bit to view the strange metal better. He did not make it far though, placing a hand down against the stone at Dart's side for balance in his half crawl, before he deemed it necessary to make eye contact if she were to look his way.

He wanted to make it very clear by looks alone that she better not try anything, and that he was watching her closely. If there were any tricks, the dog that was attacking his own teammate, could be put against her in just a flicker of a moment. To pair with this wordless threat, Carbine's field bristled out in a low 'growl' for lack of a better term. Bristling, hot, suffocating with intent to smother. It was trying to push her down further into submission, and partly snuff her own field in the process.

The kind lighthearted cop was gone.

He didn't trust her.

While maintaining optic contact if permitted, he leaned fully over to reach over her frame, and clutch onto the object that was lodged securely into the stone, giving it a hard wrench.

[Dart]

At first, it felt like the tension was gearing down again. Dart was thankful for it because all this motion and flurry was settling; the dog wasn't going to get hurt. The big mech clutched the thrashing animal against his chest, and his amusement was obvious. If it had been any other time, she might have laughed a bit even - the mech was honestly fond of the animal. Sure, he was swearing at the dog, but it held affection and he seemed to be laughing at himself as much as the dog.

At least for the dog's behavior- not at Carbine's. She took a moment to glance back at the officer and in that split second, the dog twisted. He stared the mech straight in the eye. There was a pause; the ears going straight forward, the animal's chin lifting upwards. The frantic clawing of the feet stilled. The scent of leaking fuel hung in the air; it was winding a slick trail down the huge mech's elbow from those bite wounds on his arm.

Under the dark brim of her helm, Dart's optics widened. The tips of her spoiler flew forward, focused and intent, hackling across her narrow shoulders.

"Look out, sir!" she barked.

Too late. Even before she could finish her warning; the dog lunged. No way to avoid that bite, not at all. Those jaws that had worked their way through heavy protective plating were in dangerous proximity to the blue mech's face. No, to his throat and for that frozen moment, she expected that they would clamp down and tear the life out of the big flier; that the stink of leaking fluid would become a gout and the bulk of the mech would topple to the red rocks beneath him -

- get back, get back, the flier screamed and the dogs yammered, sweeping by so close that they brushed past her like furious shadows; teeth driven forward not by their own choice, not by training. Only by a cold, directed hate.

Kill everyone in your path. Kill them all.

The courier's trapped leg reflexively wrenched against the stone; as if she could take a kick at the empty air, that space where it was some other memory that never quite bubbled through, only here for a touch of a moment - and then gone once again, coursing down some dark path. There was a tiny cracking noise; the broken knife grated where it was lodged in the yellowed rock but relay systems shouted out a warning - whoa! Stop, break the ankle and you're done for!

Thunder's ruined chunk of chevron flicked through the air, the light shining off of it before it clattered down onto the stones right next to her, so close it nearly brushed her fingers.

Dart stared at it. A full body shudder shook the lean femme from nose to hip; she flinched backwards, shying violently away from that yellow slash of metal.

Then she froze, utterly, absolutely horrified at Carbine's reaction to watching his companion nearly get his face ripped off by his dog. Thunder might not have realized it just yet, but Dart sure did. That could have killed the big mech. An Autobot casually nearly killing another Autobot. The laughter that rattled out of the officer actually made her flatten once again against the ground. The dog continued to froth, all reaction. It was that tipping point that warned her that if you crossed this particular mech, he was as dangerous as Pyrotech. That was terrifying. It was-

It was not a partnership moment, where the dog leapt to the defense. This was nothing like that. It was- a living, feeling thing being pointed and fired as coldly as a gun. A low, disgusted snort purled out of Dart's intakes, as if she'd sniffed something rotten and decaying on the side of the road. 

There was a sour turn of the tip of her spoiler as she watched Carbine chortle. Dart wondered if this sort of thing had happened before. It must have. Was it some interaction among the Autobots like this that had driven Maximus to remove his sigil and left the quiet mech resting his chin in his hand and staring out at the landscape rolling by the window. Maybe, and that was a terrible and oddly saddening thought. With things going on like this, the humans, this planet, everything that she knew and loved might not stand a chance against her own side.

In the split second she took to think about this, it took her a second to realize the mech's focus had shifted. When she realized what he was looking at, her main pump felt like it was going to crawl into her throat.

Oh. Oh no.

Her ruined wrist-blade. In these moments, she'd forgotten about the broken knife. It had been a desperate try on her part. It had never been designed to use as a pry bar or be stepped on by a big, heavy mech. Now half of it was wedged in the sandstone and added insult to injury, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had actually had been armed in some way.

When he looked her in the eye, the courier immediately broke eye contact, tipping her jaw up to flash her grey throat to him. She drew in a deep gulp of air. Then the strip of metal began to chatter softly as it flattened back against her shoulders; his body language had become as low and flat as his dog's did. Dart responded instantly - not to the field; she could not sense or read that.

Nor did she give one off. In fact, Carbine would no doubt realize a strange, awkward absence of that silent language. Where he stuttered over words, she was both mute and deaf to this entirely. Yet she compensated by keying in on the things perhaps others might never notice - a tip of chin, the way he placed his hand down like a stalking cat. The flicker and twitch of his long blades hackled behind him. Everything about his angry stance said, you move, you even think about moving near me and I will not hesitate to nail you.

Dart struggled not to move an inch. There might have been a quick glance towards Thunder before she stared at the dirt underneath her and tried not to think about the fact that the officer was going anywhere near her leg, because...

That was bad touching. Really bad.

[Deleted]

Thundercloud knew full well that he was, by no means, a genius. As far as bulbs went, he wasn't the brightest in the box, but he wasn't the dimmest either. Or at least he wasn't always. This, though - This was not one of those times. This was one of those times where he had to wonder if maybe all those mecha who said he had a dollar-store processor weren't all that far off the mark, because wow, it takes a special kind of stupid to do what he just did.

At least he realized he was being an idiot - that had to count for something, right?

Right.

Thunder couldn't help but wonder what benevolent diety decided to take pity on him as Bolo surged forward, fangs bared and ready to eat that dumbfounded look right off his face. He liked to know who he owed favors to, after all, and he sure as hell felt he owed a Thank You to whoever just saved his meal-ticket from a mauling.

Sure, part of his chevron still got snapped off, but you know what, Thundercloud wasn't even mad. He'd take that over having a face to rival Carbine's any day.

He swore instinctively as those teeth came surging towards his face, jerking his head back as quickly as he was able without giving himself whiplash in the process. He didn't even feel it when his chevron was severed, but Primus knows he damn well heard it as Bolo's teeth snapped it in half and sent the end of it flipping through the air.

Immediately, Thundercloud corrected the horrible mistake which put him in this situation to begin with and pushed Bolo away from his chest, holding the thrashing, raging animal out at arm's length as he tried once more to take a piece out of him.
 
"What the Hell, Bobo, I thought we were cool!" He said this with genuine offense, his brows narrowing in a mixture of annoyance and hurt.

The look only rested on Bolo for a moment or two before Thundercloud shifted focus and turned his ire towards Carbine - the source of Bolo's foul temperament.

"Patches, quit screwin' around over there and call off your boy. You know he's just doin' this 'cause he thinks we're still fighting."

The words came out out gruffly, sharply, but after saying them Thundercloud's expression abruptly softened a bit, twisting with uncertainty.

"Wait, are we still fighting?"

Evidently, having an answer to this question was far more important to Thundercloud than returning to the task at had - namely, figuring out what the hell to do with their little Decepticon problem. Dart may as well have not even been there, for all the attention Thundercloud paid her as he waited for Carbine to put everything on hold in order to set things straight between them.

Either he took his interpersonal communications very seriously, or he simply wasn't all that concerned about actually dealing with their sort-of-captive in a timely or even remotely professional fashion.

[Carbine]

Carbine glared down at Dart, pleased that she was submitting and not trying to fight back or hit him for getting near her. He had excepted her to try to be sneaky again, since it appeared she already made such a ploy a bit ago, but this time she was smart enough to put her helm down and not move as far as he could tell. This allowed him to get in range for the object, and get a good grip on its surface.

The blade was hard to pull out, its surface lodged deeply into the stone and rock that had Dart held in place. The struggle to pull it free ended after a second sharp jerk, the double edge of the blade etching into the underside of his fingers and his palm. It didn't draw Energon to the surface, but it did leave a groove that self-repair would have to contend with later. In the end though, the blade was pulled free and held out, Carbine looking it over and trying to piece together what had happened.

Off on the other side, Bolo was having his own adventure.

Bolo liked Thunder, he really did. He was fun to play wish, and liked to give him attention! The canine enjoyed being around him, and it wasn't just because his Master enjoyed Thunder's company as well. The jet was a friend to him, but... this friend had hurt the one person that meant the most to him in the world, and that wasn't ok. Master hadn't given him a directive to lay off or to relax, which only told him he really was hurt and Thunder needed to be downed in some way before he could do more to him.

But... he was too small.

Everything Bolo did was coming up short, and he was starting to get frustrated at not being able to achieve his goal. His helm snapped forward a couple more times, struggling to try to bite at Thunder's face again, but he was too far out of range, and didn’t have the reach needed to get where he wanted to get. He wanted to be on the ground, where his paws could grip onto the rock below, get traction and throw his weight. He wanted to pull and drag Thunder down, not be hanging here helpless. To show this frustration, Bolo started to have a bit of a tantrum, hind legs kicking out and flailing, while forepaws planted on Thunder's forearm and pushed. He even went so far as to throw his head back, attempting to twist free! But... Thunder's grip was just too strong, and he was trapped while he addressed Master.

"Screwin' rou̴n͠d... SCR̀ȨWI͟N'̶ ͠ŔOU̕ND?!"

Carbine had been looking over the blade, noting how dull it was, but the fact the point of it was still plenty sharp to do some serious damage. For a war effort it was kind of piddly and unkempt... not really of much use unless you got some good speed or power behind a strike, but in Garrus it would have been treasured. In Garrus all sorts of blades were makeshift and scrappy, oftentimes one shot blasts that bent and shattered inside someone else on impact. This metal would serve well, and could be made into something, but these thoughts had been disrupted by Thunder's prolonged ignorance, and Carbine was DONE with it.

"Yeah we're fig-hting! Beca͝ùse̴ I̷ ́a͜m sit̶t͠-si-͢s͟-s̴-͟kneeling here trying to get s-s-slag done, while you play around! This glitch here h̷a͘d a blade! And because you were dicking off she could ͜hav͘e͢ ̛şt͘abbed me after you pun̸ch͘e̡d me down!"

Barked back in frustration, Carbine pushed his hand off the ground and eased back up to his full height once more. His entire person, his entire field had been bubbling with rage and anger, it now directed at Thunder again while Dart was cast aside once more. He was upset! Driven to a line by his companion's ignorance and newly blooming do good nature!... or maybe the do good nature was always there, and it was just extra noticeable today. Extra annoying. Whatever the case, Carbine's armor was flared out, his rotors hiked up high and stance bold, wanting to attack... only... he didn’t.

He wasn't sure exactly what made the change, what started to deflate his emotions. Perhaps it was a bit of defeat in seeing Thunder just... SO stupid and SO innocent. The fool was such a naive child at times... that reality to him was just a game being played. The jet wanted to fix things up between them, like he was scared their friendship was harmed by this comparatively meager clash in the grand scheme of things, instead of look at the broader danger in place.

"L-look... Thu͜ndęr..."

Carbine's weight rolled back. He had been holding the broken dagger aggressively, thumb hooked over the snapped edge so that if he chose to stab with it, it could be driven in exceptionally deep, but... now it lowered down to his side, the leading edge of the thumb plate etching over the dull blade's surface. His free hand in contrast, lifted up, smearing down his visor in a frustrated motion, only to trail along the crooked edge of his jaw that throbbed in constant pain.

While his pointer finger prodded at the gap and the aching soreness of the punch area, he did send a wordless command to Bolo. The canine paused at the instruction, looking over at his master as if to make sure this was correct and wasn't made in duress. When it was apparent it was real, and Thunder wasn't to be bit anymore... well... he didn't really calm down. It would take a bit for Bolo to bounce back. He had been angry, he HAD been upset. He can't just turn that off, but he could stop trying to bite. Begrudgingly, he planted his paws back down and thrashed again, trying to get free just because he wanted to be on the ground now anyway.

"Can't we deal w-w-ith that crap l̸a̷te̸r? Can't we focus on the fac͢t the̵re̶ c̀o̴uld be death on wheels or wings coming at-st-k͜z̷z̧t͘ us at any moment? And deal fact k̡z͞zt͝ the with we have a Con͜ to̧ ̸d͠i̶s͠p̡ose of?"

He pulled his hand from his face, and swung it out to gesture broadly at the large expanse of wilderness around them, his voice sounding tired and drained. A last ditch effort. If this didn't work, Carbine was fairly certain he was going to absolutely snap and go berserk on Thundercloud's aft.

[Dart]

From under the brim of her dark helmet, the courier didn't dare do anything but flatten herself down to the ground peek once at the mech as he slid his hand to the stone near her ankle. Fighting down her elevating panic now wasn't easy again; the pale, clawlike tips of the big mech's fingers worked along the sandstone and then onto the end of her broken blade. He braced himself, his fingers digging at that crack in the earth before his hand wrapped around the snapped off end and began to pull it free. She couldn't hear the blade move since the dog was still snarling and growling and snapping...

Dart could feel it though. The rock wiggled, pressing in on the joint as he started to pry; and then she saw him jerk backwards. The stuck blade slid free, wrapped in his hand, and he lifted it and looked at it. The dark facemask didn't give any indication of his thoughts, but she thought she saw the hot yellow of his optics brighten and perhaps narrow slightly.

Oh gosh he's got my knife he's got my broken knife and he knows it's my knife. I am dead I am so, so dead. Should have not done that, I shouldn't have done that, maybe they would have just kept fighting with each other and I could have maybe worked free while they were still yelling at each other, and...

The mech stood up. Dirt and dust eddied off of his knees and blew in tiny whirls across the red stones. The sun overhead gleamed off the corner where his visor had been damaged; the shadows around that loose spot along his jaw were a little deeper. Little clumps of dry grass had been ripped from the earth by the weight and angles of him, and now lay scattered around the area. His shadow swept over her as he turned back on his companion.

The dog was still struggling; she could hear the animal's paws on the big mech's plating. Screechy sounds; claws against that deep blue armor. She could hear it and -- wait, did he just say that Thunder was--

Oh he did.

Even though she was terrified, Dart had a bit of a moment. The kind where something laughed in the background and shook its head. There was something about hearing Cybertronians swear or use human slang; sure, it happened. It happened a lot- it was impossible for the Autobots not to pick it up, right? They lived around humans, they knew humans. The courier was pretty sure she remembered reading that the first things picked up in other languages were swear words. Made sense, they sure picked up a lot of their more ah- colorful expressions.

Heck she knew a few that made it sound utterly natural when they dropped the f-bomb. Honestly, she didn't doubt that they could have uh, drawn you a very impolite diagram on the margins of their notes to back up that they knew exactly what they said.

Dart had a hunch though that maybe this officer had no idea what that term actually meant.

Needless to say, he'd rounded back on his companion. His words became thicker and harder to understand; his own voice barked like that of his dog- but his body language shouted out in counterpoint. Armor plates rising, the blades on his back stiffening.

Dart's spoiler flattened when the officer called her a glitch, but she did no more to attract his attention back on herself. Not right now. The last thing she wanted was - well, to die a horrible death by her own broken knife shoved into the back of her head or something; but- whoa, he wasn't focused on her. Just the big mech looming over them, still squeezing the unhappy dog. She could hear that his feelings were hurt, but this whole situation was just throwing her more and more. Nothing about it was normal.

Oh wait. Did he just say dispose of me...?

Yep. He did, Dart. Well, I guess that's normal. In the bad way.

The courier crouched there, afraid to draw any attention back to herself in the slightest as the two mechs faced off again.

[Deleted]

Wait.

Wait wait wait wait - she had a knife?

Thundercloud looked from Carbine to Dart, then back again, his expression stricken. Bolo suddenly felt like a heavy, bitey weight in his hands. He didn't set him down though, despite how very much he clearly wanted to have all four paws on the ground again. Partly because he didn't want to get his face ripped off, and partly because, in Thundercloud's experience, everything sucked less if you were holding a dog while it was happening. Even if the dog in question was actively showing displeasure at its proximity to you.

"Do we really gotta--" He gestured towards Dart with the dog, pointing Bolo's face-end at her in a fashion not dissimilar to how a child might pantomime their stuffed animal attacking and eating something.

"I mean, it's weird now, ain't it? We waited too long and now she's all, y'know, a person and shit."

He looked back over to Dart, his wings drooping slightly in displeasure as he flashed her an almost apologetic look. He didn't like killing folks who had no way to defend themselves. It didn't sit right with him. But at the same time, she did have a knife - she didn't do anything with it, sure, but she could have. She could have hurt Carbine bad, if she had the mind to, could've sliced open on of his main energon lines while he was sprawled out in the dirt next to her because-

Because Thundercloud put him there. He put his best friend in that position, in a place where he could've gotten hurt.

Thundercloud grimaced, feeling a sudden pang of guilt which he was quick to smother down. That feeling bad crap, he didn't need it. Guilty consciences were for folks who didn't have to make hard calls, who didn't have to get their hands dirty because that was their job. That's what they were supposed to do, expected to do.

Wavering, Thundercloud shifted his grip on Bolo, transferring the dog so that he held him at his side, under one arm. When he next glanced at Dart, the look was brief, somber, resigned. He shrugged, apologetic - it was a gesture which said: Sorry lady, I tried.

"...Come on, man. We either call this in and get her brig'd or we make things quick. I ain't gonna let you take your time on this one."

[Carbine]

Bolo wanted down, but he simply didn't have the raw power to get free. If he couldn't slip away when he was in full rage mode with the use of his mouth?... He knew he wouldn't stand a chance when he couldn't just bite Thunder's wrists until they broke off or failed. It is because of this he kept stretching his legs out and struggling occasionally, but mostly fell inactive, his limbs post straight, while heavy vents of air sifted through his frame.

Carbine however was less lax, and not really compliant enough to just give in as Bolo had. He was in this for a fight, even if he wasn't yelling and ready to throw a punch at Thunder's face any longer. This showed in his stance, in his field, all muddled under a skimmed coating of trying to act peaceful to appease his friend. That was... until the jet had to interject innocence and a want to not kill that had no place in this war.

"YOU waited too long. I am fi͞ne̷.͜ ̢I̴ go͝t ́this. W-w-hatever. I will get my̢ ̷han͟ds dirty."

Carbine snarled this back, jabbing a finger in Thunder's direction as he spoke, frustrated and half disgusted with him for getting attached to the Decepticon like they were a real Cybertronian worth their time. True, all that separated her was a faction badge, but that choice was a huge thing that spoke much in Carbine's mind. You wear the Con emblem, and you endorse all of the destruction and mutilation they have caused. You stand for the death of the planet, and the loss of everything they had once known and loved. You REPRESENT it, and have to agree with it all in some way, or you would be a neutral or a bot, or just somewhere else in this huge expanse of a universe other than the frontline of the war effort. You didn’t stride at either faction leader's side, unless you were COMMITTED or felt delight in murdering.

Or so Carbine believed at the moment.

As Bolo was shifted to the other side, the dog's fight was renewed some. Straightened legs tucked up and kicked out, and his head swung up and down almost in a circular motion as if he was trying to pinwheel out of Thunder's hold. It didn't work, none of it did, and he would soon give up, but alas, he did have a bit of a tantrum, while in contrast Carbine made some quick movements.

The ex-cop moved fast like before, the practiced and familiar motions something that was second nature to him. But as familiar as it was when he moved over Dart and started to drop his knee, and as known a motion as it would be to reach his hand forward and grasp onto the back of her helm once more, he still remembered how it had gone a few moments prior.

She was fast; she could struggle like a champ. Something about how she moved, and wrenched and twisted... it made him feel so novice, so juvenile in his talents. He remembered this, and it made him more determined, more focused in and sharp to prove to himself he wasn't losing his skills. His hand which may have just tried to grab before, instead nearly punched at the back of her helm, trying to gain the velocity needed to grab onto the protruding arch faster than normal, while avoiding getting anywhere near her teeth. While he didn’t think she could bite through his armor, you never knew, and it could still be smarts. Alas... a bit of a fumble, some scuffle and a bit of kicked up dust that whirled around their immediate vicinity, and he had repeated the stance from before to pin her to the earth and hold onto her helm, this time with his left hand.

Carbine pushed almost all of his weight forward onto his knee, grinding the smooth cap of armor down into Dart's back paneling while he tried to hold her steady. His helm, normally would be held however was comfortable, arched over to get a good view, but... he was nervous about his crooked jaw, about the opening presented. He didn’t want her to be grappling with him during her dying throes and smack him where it still hurt, so instead he was leaned back some, looking down at an angle with eyes half squinted while twisting the grip on her helm to try to expose her throat.

While the movements to pin Dart were smoother and well practiced, what came next wasn't, and it showed in the way he moved almost chunkily. The right hand that held onto the dagger, hoisted up into the air sharply, capping his thumb over the top blunt edge so that he could get the proper thrusting power behind it. He was planning to jab it into her throat, knowing if he drove the blade down into the neck opening at her spark, it could hack into other thicker lines hopefully in her center mass. He knew it may not be the fastest kill if he missed said pipes, but it would eventually do the job with hefty bleeding without hope of patching in this situation. But... once he got the blade in the air, it felt so heavy.

"What do you mean you took the hit?"

"I mean I took the hit, all I had was the plasma gun, and they weren’t going to kill me."

"But you shouldn’t have let them do that, you should-"

"You know I couldn't."

Carbine hesitated, his gaze locked down onto Dart's exposed throat, his eyes widening slowly while he tried to process through what was going on inside his helm, all sounds around him buzzed out. His thoughts all felt like an angry swarm, snapping and skittering across different relays while he tried to calculate a situation. He lulled, lagged, stared for what felt like eternity as time slowed down.

Rattle of chains, a hulking frame moving out from the shadows. Acidic orange and dark iron, blunted fingertips reaching out to inflict pain, to crush, to display just how much more power they had, and maintain the throne they held strong among others. Other's screams a warning to keep people in line. A game.

Carbine channeled venomous emotions and wretched memories not associated with this situation, trying to feed off them into what he was attempting to do now. Hate, anger, resentment, it flooded through his frame, surging with determination and a driving will to do what was needed. He was ready! He knew he could do this! Yellow eyes narrowed sharply and he wrenched the blade up with renewed vigor, but instead of slamming the blade down... he just faltered again, the weapon lowering a bit while his arm trembled.

Anguished wailing. Curled up to the side. Her leg was mangled into an unrecognizable mess, snapped and broken pieces strewn across the ground leaving a grizzly trail that painted her attempted retreat. To her side, lay the body of another, torso ripped open, internals laid bared to the open air. Energon and other internal fluids were tacky, thick, spattered in half dried pools that glued scraps to the ground. By the way the surviving femme yelled, and clutched onto the body, trying to put the pieces back inside the corpse... they had been close. This monster that did it, deserved to be sent to The Pit... to show the survivor that she wouldn't need to live in fear, awaiting the distant day the vile wretch would buy his way out of prison, something he had done before.

A repeat offender...

A monster...

But it wasn't their call to make.

While he was no longer exerting himself, and he had not undergone a particularly strenuous grapple, Carbine's ventilations sounded as if he was being put through a marathon. Large shutters flared open, gaping to try to draw in cooler air and force out stress from his systems, some of the shutters snapping back closed instinctively due to the fact his frame wasn't actually overheating, only to wrench open again.

He couldn't.

Not out of lack of will.

He physically couldn't.

Nausea suddenly surged through him like a lance; it feeling like someone had grabbed hold of his tanks and crushed them inward to attempt to wring out every drop of fuel he had stored in there. The sudden violent experience caused Carbine to lurch forward, a dry heave raking out from his internals, grinding with a rough rattle akin to rusted nails in a can. This reaction was fast, sharp, and painful, and he ended up pulling the blade up again only to wretch once more, pushing up and away from Dart suddenly. The second he was on his feet he threw the dagger as hard as he could across the small area they were being forced to occupy, rattling on impact, skipping like a stone across water. It would be far out of Dart's reach, but it'd also be just as far from himself, getting the weapon away from his hands.

He was a cop... he was meant to protect, to serve. His entire purpose in life, everything he was built to be, and represent, was to help and save others from dangerous situations or people, and those that did bring harm upon others, were to be detained and shackled down so that Garrus and the Law could wring out their share of blood for the mill. It wasn't his job to put death upon anyone, and the only exception was when his own life was in danger.

Protect himself... self defense...

Many in the force obtained injuries because of this, or had to divert their gaze from those that looked to them to end a monster when they couldn't. This here, this situation now before him wasn't self defense, and while he wanted the femme dead... he couldn't. His body rebelled against everything for even trying to force his way through this hard coded belief. It didn’t matter how much hate he drew up, or how much venomous ire he tried to channel, it didn’t matter how he tried to spin it in his processor, or the fact his beliefs have since been distorted so much from the beaten path he shouldn’t be shackled by old ways... This wasn't a fight. No. In a brawl he could trick himself. Slash at throats, stab at internals, he could say its self defense, but not here. Not now.

While his mind and beliefs have changed, it was hard to change foundation elements. It felt like trying to reject Bolo, or to reject his own frame, it could even be compared to rejecting the very concept of transformation itself. So here he was... trapped... unable to do what they had to do, even though he tried to tell himself that it was for survival. For their lives... Thunder would have to do it. HE would have to kill her. It should be easy enough... physically that is, he had the ability, but Carbine knew Thunder mentally wouldn't.

Carbine didn't look at either of them, his frame still rebelling against him as he let out another dry raking heave of disgust and vile sickness. Nothing came out from it, though there could be the odd tang of Energon detectable to Dart and Bolo, the subtle bite of a half processed meal making a mild and not too prominent appearance. It was after this wrenching sound, he stumbled a few paces away, and slumped up against the higher rocky structures to the side, his back to them both as if he was ashamed to even look at them.

Lancing pain.

A tearing rip.

The bullet plunged right into his dorsal vent and ground into his internals instantly, its speed not even dulled by the minimal armor of his back when Bolo was ejected. It was crippling, agonizing, able to feel the way the metal ammo ricocheted off the backside of his chest armor to shred into nearby components. An angry yell followed, another of his team raising to the challenge, surging forward to deal with the situation and apprehend, but the lesson was already taught.

Don't turn your back to them... don't give them the opportunity.

Spinning around abruptly not even a second after he had turned his back, Carbine's stress was flying through the metaphorical roof. His eyes wide, not wanting to face them, wanting to just brood in his own frustration, but not able to turn his back, caught in a looping through process that tortured him to a point it looked like he was ready to lash out if either of them so much as looked in his general direction. The engine that powered his electrical weaponry revved instantly into action, roaring loudly as sparks flicked up his right arm where the taser was housed.

Skittish.

Flighty.

Spooked.

Scared

[Dart]

Blaring sun overhead caused ripples of heat to rise off the plating of all three Cybertronians. They wavered off the dark and scratched plating of courier's narrow shoulders. Dart was still, half-rolled onto her hip, her leg stretched behind her. The dirt and stones under her had been thrashed and scattered with her earlier movements. Her spoiler was vibrating; a constant, soft chatter. Energon trickled down the huge mech's elbow where the dog had bitten him; it traced glowing patterns along his plating. Around them, the hot air felt heavy with the stink of blood-

Fuel. Stink of fuel. Torn wires, sparking empty electrical impulses against metal. Odors of ancient injury along with the sharp smell of freshly created ones. The red sandstone underneath the blue flier was stained with oily drops drying in the heat.

Dart locked her elbows and braced herself. She shuddered, shook her head and gulped at the air. Her left forearm ached; she lifted her hand, her fingers curling underneath, digging into her palm. There was a tiny burring grind from the courier's wrist as what what remained of her knife moved within her forearm an attempt to relieve the discomfort. Nothing happened. The internal slide-guides had been warped and destroyed, twisted from Carbine's weight and the angle of the break. One more ruined thing among the rest of her temperamental systems, nothing more.

The femme peeked out under the dark brim of her helmet. Slanted blue optics met Thunder's for a moment as he held the dog out towards her like a canine cannon. It wasn't the hound's teeth pointed in her direction that scared her. The fight had gone out of the dog; he wasn't focused on her, he was not a threat. No, what brought her main pump into her throat was the big mech's expression at his companion's words. The droop of his wings and shoulders that told her he was now listening to the fact that she'd had a weapon. A Decepticon with a knife. He was going to side with whatever decision Carbine was about to make.

Yet the mech slid in his own feelings on the matter; brig or quick. The fact that he'd said brig first didn't escape Dart's notice, but nor did the quick part. Small kindnesses. A faint nod was all she could return to him. 

A cold shiver rattled all of her at simply the thought of a brig. Cells were boxes. She knew them, she knew how the walls pressed in on you. No running; locked into those dark places where you could kick and kick and kick but no one would come. Pace and turn, head low, nose deprived of scent. Yet, in this case the option seemed better than the next rather permanent one. Wait, maybe she could convince someone to let her talk to the medic. Ratchet. Even though Dart seen him carve a Vehicon as easily as a Christmas turkey, he'd seemed like a reasonable sort at the canyon. He'd given her a chance to explain, and he might after this too.

Besides, medics usually didn't take pleasure in hurting folks. She'd met several decent ones over the years. If she could talk to him, maybe get him to talk to- no. I can't do that, can't pull Max into this mess; can't do that to my friend. He isn't with them now for reasons, and I'm not dragging him back into whatever might have hurt him so badly...

So out of the options in front of her, Dart had to try and grab it, leap for it with everything she was. Shove everything that had been trained in her to fear boxes, that told her to shut up and lie low. One last desperate try.

Her spoiler pricked slightly. Her focus was on Thundercloud after he finished speaking. She could hear the mech behind her but she didn't turn, didn't look at him, even though the officer was growling an angry spat of words and she could make them all out, as clear as bared fang and flattened ears-

"I am a person," the courier said quietly to Thunder. 

Her accent was thick on the last spoken word; she lifted her hand up, palm facing the big mech in front of her. She started to duck behind her fingers; but stopped right in front of her burned and mangled sigil. "I mean- ah!"

It was the shadow along the ground that flickered in the corner of her optic. The officer lashed out. The knee slammed into her and Dart as her chest was pitched back onto the stone, the back of her hand crunching hard into the center of her chest. She could not cut off her yelp of pain this time and there was a sudden surge of panic. She thrashed in fear, slamming into the burning hot rocks, trying to heave off the earth. Her spoiler pinned back, she bucked and struggled but he had weight and power on her and this time he knew how to grab and hold her.

The courier's optics were wide as he twisted her neck around. Her pale grey throat was the cleanest spot on her, and it was bare of any protective points. She didn't have the thick protective plating of the two fighting mechs in front of her. No heavy curve of plating; no massive shoulders and chest.

A flash of silver above her. Dart froze. Light gleamed off of the dull edge from where the mech held it in his hand.

Oh- I was kinda kidding about my own knife being used to kill me. No, I really was kidding, thanks, you can stop being ironic now. Is that ironic? What's the definition - why are you thinking this right now, Dart? Last thoughts need to not be about the dictionary- oh geeze that's not that sharp is he going to- oh, he's totally going to cut my throat - wait, can we die from that, well, okay, if it doesn't do it outright, I guess you just saw my head off and this is really going to hurt-

The knife stopped. For a second, the courier was dumbfounded; had it all been to scare the living heck out of her? Because trust her, oh boy, it worked, it worked. His frame told her it wasn't a ruse though. He was really intent on killing her, so why had he stopped? Wait no, he wasn't stopping, just shifting his weight and lifting the knife again.

Yellow optics stared into her own. The damage from Thundercloud's blow showed from this angle, the crack in the visor, his jaw slightly askew.

Dart gaped up at Carbine. Her spoiler was clamped flat, tucked tight and close. The courier struggled to avert her gaze, she rarely made optic contact with any mech if at all possible. Yet, she was being held and couldn't wrench away. Heavy black fingers shifted their grip, held her fast. Her broken blade threw an angular shadow between them.

Something else lunged past her thoughts. It snatched all the words from her processor, jamming them into pure, animal instinct. Faced with death, it fought it as hard as she fought the terrors of boxes and four walls. Forced her onto her feet in that long hard winter in Alaska, even when she was starved and trembling in the traces, that sled frozen to the roadway. It had her staggering in miserable, panting circles in the Australian outback. Kept her going when all she wanted to do was give up and lie down somewhere and never get back up again.

Down was dead and it did not want to die- No. Different. Something different.  I don't want to die.

Dart gathered herself, feeling the rock against her ankle. Her free toe shoved into the earth; her fingers clawed at the dirt underneath her, hand over hand.

I have someone to--

The mech's weight abruptly wrenched off of her. The courier pitched chest first onto the ground with a surprised little cry. Her chin smacked into the rocks, and a second later Dart saw her knife flip overhead. The tip of the blade whirled over the broken end, twisting in the air. It landed on the stones far in front of her.

What- what happened? Did he- did the other one, what happened? Did someone stop him?

Dumbfounded at the sudden lack of pressure and weight the lean femme just lay there and panted. Her intakes snorted out a slimy mess of of dirt and coolant - a fine line somewhere in her had broken. When Dart finally lifted herself a slightly from the dirt, arms trembling, it allowed her to raise her head higher to draw in a rattling suck of air. Immediately, she winced. Oh that smell.

That scent she knew; she'd done it herself. Humiliating and embarrassing, hurling wasn't an entirely pleasant thing among humans or Cybertronians. Different, but not fun for either creature. When the mech staggered back and thunked against the stones she kept focus on the ground in front of her. She didn't turn to look at him.

The whirring buzz of Carbine's weapon powering up echoed in the silence that stretched between all of them.

[Deleted]

Thundercloud pulled a face at Carbine, his brows furrowing unhappily. He didn't appreciate being scolded like a child, like he was some dumb kid who needed scolding otherwise he'd never learn how to act right. He knew how to act right, damn it. He knew that he was being difficult about all this, going all soft over a 'Con just because she looked so damn pathetic and helpless. He didn't need Carbine to remind him, he didn't need his bleeding-spark rubbed in his face.

Scowling, Thundercloud turned away, his shoulders tense. He didn't even want to look at the other mech right then. He didn't wanna see his stupid face, or watch him kill the defenseless femme he was too much of a soft-sparked wuss to off himself. If the ex-cop wanted her dead, well, he was gonna have to do it himself because Thundercloud sure as hell wasn't going to help him. Not just because he didn't want to kill someone who had no way of defending themselves, though that was a big part of it. No, at this point his decision to not help Carbine was made half on moral principal, and half out of pure, good-old-fashioned spite.

If Carbine was gonna be a royal dick about things, then Thundercloud was gonna give as good as he got.

Standing rigidly, the jet folded his arms and clenched his fists, deeply displeased. He scowled off in the direction opposite of Carbine and Dart, his back turned to the other two so that he wouldn't have to watch what happened next. He huffed out a breath of hot air through his vents, steam billowing out from his back and sides as he kicked a stone with his boot for no reason other than because he could, and because its presence irrationally offended him.

For some reason the action made him feel a little better, so he rolled another rock beneath his boot and crushed it under his heel. Yeah, take that, rock.

The worst part about all of this, the part that really stuck in Thundercloud's craw, was that he wouldn't have felt the way he did if the circumstances were just slightly different. Not even a huge leap, just a small step to the right. If Dart weren't trapped, if she had been on the run, or actively firing upon them when they found her, he'd have had no issue with taking her down. He's not sure why it made a difference, but it did. Either way they'd be killing someone, taking a life, but offing a Con that could defend themselves just didn't feel as wrong as killing one who couldn't.

Thundercloud blamed his damn sense of fairness. If Dart had a fighting chance, if they just let her dig her way out of that rubble before going in for the kill, he wouldn't be feeling so damn torn about things. He wouldn't be kicking up such a fuss and Carbine wouldn't be pissed at him and damn it all, why couldn't Dart just have the decency to be a terrible person so he wouldn't feel bad about having to kill her in the first place.

And wasn't that just the most confusing mixture of feelings. Part of him felt guilt for what was about to happen to the femme, while at the same time he felt irrationally irritated with her for making him feel that way in the first place. Ugh. Thundercloud hated complex emotions. Life was so much easier when he could just sort people into neat little categories like Punch and Don't Punch.

Despite himself, Thundercloud couldn't help but glance over his shoulder as Carbine prepared to do what had to be done. He didn't want to, but some morbid sense of obligation forced his hand and made him turn to look - and wouldn't you know it, things were starting to go pear shaped. Again. Because that was just how their day was going to go, apparently.

Carbine was poised, ready to snuff out Dart's spark forever - but his hand shook. His posture was rigid. His field was doing that thing it sometimes did, the thing where it felt like it was rippling with a sickening sort of static that made Thundercloud want to gag just by proxy. He usually always pulled his own field in close when the other mech got like that, because like hell he wanted to feel the echos of Carbine's coding tearing him up inside, and this occasion was no different.

Immediately Thundercloud flinched back a bit, his field retreating with a quite pulse of sympathy and the faintest note of apology. He unclenched his fists, his arms dropping loosely at his sides as he turned to face the other two mecha with a mildly surprised expression. It had been a while since he'd seen Carbine responded that viscerally to a code-conflict, a long while. In fact, Thundercloud was fairly certain this was the first time it had happened since they hit the ground running on this weird little mudball planet.

He couldn't help but wonder if it made him a bad friend for feeling glad his coding had gotten to him, just this once. It probably did. Yeah, no, Thundercloud was pretty positive that it totally did make him a terrible friend. But you know what, he was okay with that. Carbine was a terrible friend too, sometimes, so it was only fair that Thundercloud got to have his own moments of being awful, right? Right.

As his friend staggered back away from the Con, Thundercloud took a few steps towards him before thinking better of it. Judging by the look of him, the ex-cop needed some space, some time to get his bearings. Having a giant jet hovering over him asking if he wanted a tic-tac was probably the last thing he wanted right then.

It was with this thought in mind that Thundercloud turned his focus onto Dart. The femme looked - well, considering she had just endured a near-death experience, she looked like she was holding up pretty okay. Much better than Patches was, at least. Nodding a little to himself, Thundercloud carefully leaned forward and lowered Bolo to the ground at long last, knowing how terribly the cassette would want to comfort his master. Once his hands were free, Thundercloud lifted a hand to his audial and said, to no one in particular.

"...Welp, brig it is then."

And with that, he pressed two fingers to his audial and made a casual (perhaps TOO casual) call to the Prime.

::Hey, uh, Boss? I dunno how else to call this in so Imma just cut the crap and give it to you straight, yeah? We found a Con. And, uh. We ain't killed her yet 'cause that'd be a dick move, what with her bein' trapped in some rocks and all, and I was just wonderin' if we had anyplace to put her. Y'know, like a brig or an empty broom closet or somethin'?::

[Carbine]

Electricity danced and crackled over his forearm, running down his fingers which twitched and spazzumed occasionally in protest. The weapon was meant to be unfolded, transformed into place when it was activated, not nestled still within his limb hidden from the world. It made a low buzzing feeling that was temporarily killing out the tactile sensors around it, and making him even more keenly aware of his surroundings out of paranoia. Yet... he didn’t unfold the tazer, he didn’t pull it to the surface, because as much as he wanted to be ready to lash out, he knew if anyone so much as got close to him right now and he DID have the weapon out... well... he would not hesitate to try to put Thunder to the ground so he could gain some space again, and he couldn't have that.

This fact was displayed openly when Thunder took a step at him, Carbine's wide optics that had been staring off into the abyss locking down and zeroing in upon the large Jet's frame. His forearms raised some into fists, a flinch, instinctive more so than meaning any real harm between them. His right hand was partly open though, twitching from a clawed posture to partial fist with the pulses of electrical discharge. As soon as he made the fists, or... fist... Thunder had let Bolo go, and Carbine seemed to have the topmost edge sheered off. He was still upset, distressed, and wound up beyond belief, but... he had his other half now, his comfort.

Bolo scrabbled aggressively, his long legs reaching at the ground and pawing to try to grab where he couldn't reach yet. He really wanted to be let down, and the action of being lowered rekindled his fight enough to make him squirm and buck with renewed vigor. The second Thunder's hands left him, he hurryingly ran over to his Master with a click of stones beneath paws, his helm lowered and ears splayed out from one another in worry and concern. He didn’t so much as even pass the other two Cybertronian a second glance, stopping beside his Master and pushing his helm up and under his hand that he couldn't really reach to try to lick at it.

Carbine lowered down some at this, his left hand pressing down into Bolo's helm and smoothing back over the slick armor. The action was so simple, so... meaningless, yet it helped to bleed off slivers of the pain and distress that was surging in his mind. But the issue was that bleeding out such a huge threat, often took time. Energy. You couldn't clip it away and turn it off with the flick of a switch, and so Carbine eased back a few more paces, stumbling a bit before lowering down onto his knees to be more within Bolo's range, his spine up against the nearby rock surface so he felt protected.

Bolo moved forward at this, curling underneath the Carbine's arm to tuck in and try to help further. His hind legs folded down within themselves to sit, and his shoulders leaned over to press into his owner's side to get as much surface contact as he could. A boxy wedge shaped helm looked up at the distressed individual, yellow optic plates bright and alert as his tongue poked out between the sharp prongs of his maw.

He... he was a monster.

He was going to kill someone that hadn't done anything...

NO! She was a Con! She had likely killed many!

But... she was so passive about it...

A RUSE! A game! Trying to play heart strings and you fell for it!

But what if it isn't?

What would it matter!?

Dart's fearful expression when she had made eye contact was flashing before Carbine and remained there, his processor latching down onto it with thick barbs so that he couldn't deny or look away with what was happening. It was a sight that he as a cop should never have seen, never experienced. True, he has killed many already in this war, but he never really got close first hand views of their faces when they expected death at his hands. The flickered memories were like snapshots, filtered into the dark recesses of his processor to be forgotten and abandoned. Each one was more... looks of anger, hostility, surprise or shock. His kills in this war were fast, to not let himself process it and contest beyond 'I needed to do this to survive'. But this time... he had gotten far too intimate a look, far too involved, and the pure raw FEAR in her eyes shook his core programming.

Carbine was going to let Thunder take the lead for now, not protesting or doing anything in response to the called in report and question. Instead he just settled down more, and kept his gaze pointed away; focusing on wrangling the shitty past layers of 'cop' and trying to smash them back underneath the metaphorical bed in a locked box. He already hated and resented how pathetic he looked, feeling feeble and weak while he curled in around himself half hugging onto his Cassette, but he had to address this...

He wanted to be 'him' again.

------------

Over the comms, there was a long silence that greeted Thunder. Soft prickles of static ringing out that were faint, telling that the transmission was covering a great deal of distance to get back to the Omega Outpost. It almost seemed as if the transmission failed for one reason or another and that Thunder would be left to fend for himself, but then a reply finally came. Optimus' words were slow and moderately confused, showing he either did not receive the entire transmission for one reason or another, or that he was not expecting what had been said and needed clarity.

::Can you repeat that?::

[Dart]

"...Welp, brig it is then."

It wasn't the dog being gently set back on his feet that focused Dart's attention. Nor was it the way the animal immediately sprang to comfort his owner. The courier had no idea what had happened; sneaking a quick glance towards Carbine hadn't helped really clarify anything for her except that- well, he was obviously distraught and upset. That and he'd obviously backwashed a bit of half-processed fuel; a sour, rancid note hung in the air along with the scent of energon trickling from Thunder's elbow.

Instead, it was those simple words from the big mech's mouth, rumbled quietly in the hot, still air. Dart looked up at him and blinked quietly under her helm, optics shuttering against the sharp light of the bright sunshine. Her intakes rasped heavily; the femme was panting. With a rattle, her spoiler lifted and then settled back across her shoulders. The ends of the metal couldn't stop vibrating; the tips were flicking back and forth at every little scrabble of the dog's paws, then jerked forward as Thunder lifted his hand to his helm in that universal gesture of tapping on a communications link.

The other mech behind her was still as the dog's paws scratched a bit on the stone; she could hear the rasp of metal on metal, a soft little sound, rhythmic and quiet. Petting the animal, using the dog's presence to calm himself down.

Dart was caught between sagging to the ground in relief at Thunder's words, or drawing back into a defensive little hitch where she was sitting. Not dead, you're not dead, ran through her mind. Just a brig, just a box, you can do this, it's not a real box, there's someone there somehow on a brig, even if they're just watching you from a camera, there's another living thing out there on the outside. He's made the decision now, he's letting you live, thank you, whatever deity decided to take pity on me today and not let my head get sawed off by an angry police officer.

There was probably a comment in all this somewhere about using excessive force, but Dart sure wasn't about to make it.

Instead, she shifted her weight. Her left hip carrier ground into the dirt and rock beneath her and she coughed again. Slowly, so that no one would think she was making a threatening gesture in any sort of way, Dart brought her hand up. With a soft snort, she attempted to wipe off the sludge that was drying there, threatening to clog her intakes. Carefully, she rubbed her nose and jaw against her forearm, smearing a bit of the mess across her already dirty plating.

She could taste coolant in the back of her throat, and it was awfully unpleasant. Finally she had no choice but to swallow it down just to get it out of the way; she didn't dare spit it out right now. No doubt that would be taken as a pretty rude move even if she never meant it to be. Not a good idea while the tensions were still high.

Be quiet. Be polite. Wait.

It was all she could do right now.