We are a literate, intermediate to advanced AU Transformers RPG Based off of the first season of TFP with dashes of other incarnations sprinkled here or there. Characters from any continuity are welcome however must be restyled to match the TFPrime universe.
Active, with ongoing plotlines, we are always willing to integrate new characters into storylines once incorporated into the setting.
Prowl stood up to his full height as Patch pushed herself back up and into a combat position. He almost would have smiled as he saw that fire and determination in her eyes. Now she had something to prove, now she would give it her all. Now he had her complete attention. He brought his hands up as well and matched her circling, then beckoned her forward with a small, almost casual wave of his hand.
“Show me what you got.”
In the back of his processor, Prowl wondered if he might have just unleashed something that should have been kept under lock and key. Centuries of experience patrolling the Dead End in Iacon had shown him what could happen when someone was backed into a corner, or when they were let off whatever leashes that they were put on. Such individuals were dangerous and difficult to bring under control.
But at the same time, if such a thing were to occur, this would be the perfect time to have a lesson in keeping one’s emotions in check. It was a lesson that Prowl had to learn himself many centuries ago, before Patch was even brought into the world of the living.
Patch kept harsh optics on Prowl as he moved. Her frame tighter and stronger in form than before. A lot more of her muscle cables and actuators tightened, as she prepared to absorb strikes rather than dodge them.
She was on the offensive now.
If ONLY she could have used her knife- or even a pipe in its place or the like. She was best with one weapon and one servo to manipulate. Though! You never knew what would be tossed your way. She could very well be disarmed in combat.
Problem was, this didn’t feel like combat. This felt like the big bots who used to pick off her ration when she was still a boot.
Too little and they’d rough her up. Push her helm on the table, or floor. Kick her in the gut and leave her hungry. Too much, and she’d risk drawing attention and getting whatever they had to give after they got in trouble. They'd been sour at someone so small, so green filling the place of a fallen, well loved comrade, no doubt. In their minds, they’d been hungry and hurting for so much longer than the useless little thing that was yet to earn its place among them. Earn the energon THEY’Dtaken long before the protoforms had shown up...
Selfish cowards. Bullies. Tormentors who never computed that others were starving too… Patch had hated those mechs... But they had made her grow.
With death in her gaze she jolted forward. A wide draw back of her right servo, likely to aim for Prowl's faceplate- transmitting terribly. it seemed Patch had immediately forgotten what she’d only just been taught...
Only… The strike did not follow through.
In the very last instant before she downright smashed into the officer, the young medic’s small frame wrenched backwards. One knee curving to the side, and beneath to catch her weight as the other leg extended; all still carried forward by her sudden burst of speed towards the mech. Sliding down to the floor with a slam, aiming to slip between the mech’s legs behind him.
From here -should she have made it- the young soldier intended to THROW her right elbow back as hard as she could. Aiming for the back of his knee to try and topple him.
Should the maneuver have been completely successful? Had the whole thing gone without a hitch? Should the mech have dropped in response to her elbow? She intended to lift her upper frame, whip around, and SLAM the back of her fist into the side of his helm. Preferably the audial.
A place in which -should she have had her knife- she would have finished things.
It crossed Prowl’s mind that he was being too hard on Patch.
It crossed his mind that he was headed down a path that was not to be gone down. That he was going to turn into Lockstep with each additional step down the road. Those thoughts were shoved aside as Patch came barreling at him, eyes the sight of death, terribly transmitting a right cross to his faceplate. His hands came in to prepare a counter, pressing his lips together in irritation when he got one of the biggest surprises of his life.
With the flash of a highly trained expert, Patch slid beneath his legs and came up behind him, dropping an elbow into the back of his knee. The move caught Prowl by surprise, and he dropped down onto his hands and knees before recovering himself.
Had it been a few melinia earlier, he might have smiled in pride his lesson had gotten through to her. Or offered congratulations that Patch had managed to pull one over on him, a rare feat in and of itself.
But this was not pre-war Cybertron.
Some things...some...people...were never coming back.
As Patch swung her first around to attempt to slam it into his helm, thereby going for that killing blow which in many circumstances would end the fight, Prowl brought his arm up in a block that was more along the lines of a strike, then kicked back out with his right foot aiming towards her faceplate.
Patch whipped both fists up, helm down behind them. Barely before she could compute Prowl’s pedde SMACKD into her arms with a grinding clang of metal on metal.
Oh slag, that was… That was a lot harder than he was hitting before.
Before the velocity could push her entirely away, the young femme dropped her arms to attempt to enwrap the Officer’s pedde, and pull it against her chest. Using the backwards force of his own kick, and adding to it to draw him along with her.
As she dropped backwards, Patch slipped her own pedde beneath her rear and quickly shoved herself up under only the power of her legs, keeping careful balance on low bent knees and wide stance.
If her death-grip proved effective, and the mech’s pedde fell within, and remained within her grasp as she stood, the medic intended to drag him up with her, utterly decimating his current equilibrium if she could.
If not, and he managed to slip his way free, she intended to pull back far enough he could not knock her over from the ground- and quickly. Just a few steps with her dukes still up. Prepared for the next attack.
Prowl realized that he needed to reevaluate his files and rankings on this combat medic.
As soon as his pedde made contact with Patch’s forearms, Prowl yanked back his leg as quick as he could, using the momentum to spin around and come up facing Patch. It had taken a few fights, getting his limbs caught by a bot fried by circuit boosters and almost having them ripped off, but Prowl had managed to increase the speed at which he moved in a fight.
He noted with satisfaction that she had managed to recover, ready to continue the fight. He brought his own servos up to cover his face and torso.
Reevaluation was now mandatory.
But part of this was not motivated by a desire to test Patch’s readiness. Now, part of this was motivated by Prowl’s pride. He hated to lose, at anything. Was it petty? Yes, but it meant that Prowl was ready to go to any length to secure victory if he had to.
The other part of him managed to keep it in check, for now though.
He rushed forward towards Patch now, aiming two quick jabs at her faceplate followed up with a cross, then a knee to her midsection. Should that prove successful, he would then attempt to wrap his arms around her neck in a guillotine choke hold.
She dodged both jabs, blocked the cross- though the smaller femme knew now that she was going to need both arms in order to block the amount of force Prowl was able to exert with his knee. Sacrificing the cover of her face and chest was Dangerous and she damn-well knew it but she didn’t have a choice! It all happened fast enough, besides, that such thoughts were more, abstract back seat distractions as her physical frame did the actual work.
Just as could have been Expected, however, of Course the very second she opened herself up he had a grip on her. Her freckled face was suddenly pushed to look down at the floor as her audial fell to the cleft of the officer's arm. Both of Prowl's servos locked together beneath her chin as the medic was forced to hang her helm half upside down; both servos idle, and free, though unable to do all that much.
The problem was… Patch didn’t particularly care to lose either... So, she struggled. Provided Prowl was willing to wait, she struggled for quite some time.
Three seconds. Five seconds.
Squirming, shoving, twisting thrashes. Her right servo came flat to shove back against his belly- then a fist was balled to knock in a few HARD punches... but the deeper she pushed into his grip to try and get away, the more force was exerted on her throat. She couldn’t push up to wrap her legs around his arm or waist, she simply didn’t bend that way. She couldn’t reach her own arms up to grab for something soft in His throat, they were not long enough; Especially not with her shoulders forced down by the hold.
Six. Seven.
Now Patch may not have needed air, but her brain still needed energon. The lines that ran to provide just that were currently being compressed; even if not completely it was more than hard enough to notice. Though in another case, in another hold, the risk in holding out was discomfort, or damage ((A risk the young soldier was often willing to endure))… Patch only had so much time to toy around with ways to get out of this… before she blacked out.
Eight seconds. Nine seconds. Ten.
Her frame started to slacken. Movements looser, escape attempts progressively less creative…
Eleven... Twelve...
She shut her optics hard a moment as her intake spit to reveal gritted denta. Both small silver hands rose to grip up tight between him and her throat. Attempting with all her remaining might to pull his arm -fruitlessly- away…
All combat eventually came down to a test of wills, who was going to give first?
Unfortunately for Patch, Prowl’s will to fight was one of the strongest she would ever likely encounter. Forged from near death experiences faced every day in some of the darkest alleys and streets of pre-war Iacon, sustained by nightmare realities of war over millennia. The fact was that Prowl would rather die than surrender.
Because to him, surrender was tantamount to death.
So as Patch punched him repeatedly in the abdominal region, he felt it but it did not cause him to let go. In fact, he merely dropped his stance lower and into a more grounded position, taking each blow as it came but not letting go. As he felt her attempts to get free become weaker, less coordinated, Prowl realized he had to make a decision. Should he continue, or let go?
He knew what some of his training officers would have done, if a recruit was stupid enough to get themselves into this situation they would take it to the end, no matter the consequences. But this was not pre-war Cybertron, they did not have an endless supply of bodies to fill the ranks if one dropped out. Besides, it is not what she would have done. Prowl relaxed his grip around her neck, then lifted it completely and stepped away from Patch, giving her space to get a grip on herself again. But he had no intention of continuing this match.
She gripped his arm as tightly as she could, the scuffed knuckles of both hands close to her chin as her hands wrapped around with every ounce of -ever draining- force she could muster. The young femme opened her optics again, and began to watch, face forward, as the edges of a long black hallway began to sneak up from behind her, and block out her vision.
Release.
A thunking, resonating crash shook the room as the young medic’s form clattered to the ground. An extra moment taken as her hands slipped off, as she didn’t properly release his arm right away. She collapsed to her knees, and reached for her throat as that very same descent of darkness began to retreat.
A few static filled coughs, as her voicebox reset.
Should she have tapped out..? Yeah… Yeah, she definitely should have. She was a valuable resource here. She was not only needed, but needed intact. Needed well, needed sharp to keep everyone else here the same.
But Patch was nothing if not stubborn. And frankly? She needed a win right now- that no, holding out would not have given her… But at the very least she couldn’t afford to give up. Her pride- her spark couldn’t take that right now.
A few more heavy, resounding breaths as she shoved the remaining heat out from her chest, and rubbed at her throat with her palm. She shook off the dizziness in her helm a bit more, then she brought up a foot to take a kneel, bore down upon it with the side of her arm to stand again and look at her instructor.
So this one had potential, she wasn’t going to be a pushover.
Prowl waited with his arms crossed over his chest while Patch collected herself, thoughts swirling in his processor as he went over the events of their sparring match, cataloging the things he needed to work on as well as the things that Patch had done and needed to work on. So far, it seemed if the base was breached she would be able to handle herself okay if the med-bay was hit.
Despite being a medic, she had that “killer instinct'' when needed.
“Impressive.”
That was not a word that Prowl threw around like some bots he knew. This field medic had honestly surprised him in terms of how skilled she was. It had been centuries since he had a fight that had taken that much out of him.
“Do you have any questions or comments?”
That was the benefit of situations like these, where after a match both individuals had the opportunity to run by each other what went well and what went wrong, what needed to be improved on. Otherwise, what would the point of sparing be? Some might consider him a bit callous in launching into a review instead of asking if Patch was okay, but Prowl knew that the medic would be fine. He had been measured in his strikes, not hitting at more than fifty percent of his full power output.
‘Questions or comments’? What, could he not be bothered to send her a questionnaire?
Still panting, she looked up at him- a rather perplexed mix of emotions spread across her freckled face. Confusion, anger, perhaps disgust, maybe even entertainment on some level. All in all, a somewhat incredulous mix.
She shook her helm a little, intake open as if about to speak, though she simply kept breathing through it. She rubbed her neck a little more with her palm.
“That Sucked.”
Blunt truth. Complete honesty- she officially didn’t have the energy to attempt to be pleasant about it. It HAD sucked, and Prowl made the mistake of asking Patch's opinion.
A younger Prowl might have been amused at Patch’s comment, might have even smiled or chuckled, even quite possibly laughed at her statement. Not anymore. Prowl never smiled anymore. His optics narrowed at her as he continued to speak, dropping down to one knee so that he could look at her optic to optic
“Train like you fight, fight like you train. You happen to be a quite valuable resource here at this base, being one of two trained medical personnel. If either you or Ratchet get lost, the rest of the base faces a huge problem.”
Prowl wasn’t seeking to justify his actions to Patch, hell he would never seek to justify his actions to anyone. He was simply stating facts. He certainly wouldn’t go about justifying his actions to someone who never understood what it truly was that they had lost as a species. Would be those that condemned him regardless after this was all through? Most likely, but Prowl didn’t give a damn about any of that at the moment.
“Now, do you have anything useful to offer about your performance? What you did well, what you need to improve on? Or are you just going to offer asinine comments?”
There were things that Prowl needed to do besides train last-sparks how to properly fight.
As Prowl spoke of her and Ratchet’s value, Patch simply let a vent slip and looked off at the ground, still rubbing her throat a bit. Her brows knit together in the center as her lips tightened. She looked uncomfortable. Guilty, almost, though she listened well.
Her optics quirked up as the officer continued, asking again for comments. It wasn’t until the very end however, the grown mech’s bite of sass that Patch looked all the way up and locked optics with him.
“Hey.”
She looked off, and huffed incredulously. Venting steam rather than letting it build to explode in a manor which would surely count toward insubordination.
“I didn’t ask to spar-"
The young femme started. She looked back to him- angry, perhaps, though much closer to desperate. Desperate to be heard it seemed, to be listenedto.
"that’s not related to the problem I’m having, sir. My fighting’s fine. It’s not perfect, it’s not terrible. I thought this was an excuse for you to talk to me.”
Her words were earnest, optic ridges folded upwards in the center.
Patch was not the sort of bot to dance around her point. Prowl had extended an invitation to spar after seeing her in some level of emotional distress- he knew the problem. Patch was mad, she was mad at her friends. She was mad at the circumstance they’d fallen into. The young medic had expected, at the time, that Prowl intended to break the ice with practice while giving her advice. Listen to her, explain how she was supposed to handle this. Cope with this.
Instead, he kicked her around for a while, gave her superficial comments on technique, and now what? Was asking for her feedback? Did he expect that to help? To- make it go away?
“I’m upset, sir.” She said sharply. Simply. Poignantly, with her shoulders relaxed, as her hand dropped from her throat to plop to her leg.
“My friends both did shitty things- and I am mad about it.”
She shrugged, a desperation behind her optics as she spoke the plain, honest, borderline flippant words. “I’m still angry! Now I’m just also sore. Was that your goal?”
“No, my goal was to redirect your anger to something more productive.”
Normally Prowl would be irritated if someone besides Jazz or Optimus dared to speak to him that way, but now he was curious. He had to admit that it was refreshing for someone to get bold and honest with him. Most bots were too afraid of him or what he could possibly do to them if he thought they were stepping over the line in the sand.
“It seems I miscalculated.”
So she was still angry about Carbine and Windshield. Well if he was being completely honest he did not fully trust their “change of heart” Decepticon. Anyone who signed on to those terrorists would always be suspicious to him, no matter what they said about ‘changing sides’ or only ‘wanting what was best for Cybertron’. As for Carbine...the mech was ex-enforcement but had ended up in one of the Garrus prisons back on Cybertron. Add to the fact that he was friends with Thundercloud, also an ex-inmate of the Garrus prison system.
Prowl trusted both of those two just about as far as he could throw them. The only thing that he was concerned about was that Carbine had allowed his emotions to get away from him, which made Carbine a potential liability as opposed to a potential asset.
“If you’re going to be this upset because someone betrayed you, then you clearly have a lot to learn about how the galaxy worked before the war.”
Despite his trying to maintain a cool, almost disinterested tone of voice, Prowl accidentally allowed a bit of anger to get into his voice. Memories he had tried to forget managed to crawl to the forefront of his processor of a time before the war.
‘Nothing personal Prowl...it’s just the way things are.’
A low, even response. Deathly serious. Optics half-lidded and unbreaking form his gaze.
“I was what the humans call a ‘child soldier’.”
Again. Damn near monotone, almost. Gentle, in the face of her physically larger superior’s hint at aggression. Perhaps in another verse, it could have been flippant- though there was absolutely No Room for such a luxury now in her tone.
She was being honest. Blunt, swift, even, poignant- though above absolutely anything... Patch sounded numb.
“The only education I was ever granted, the only experience I have ever had in life was under the command of our people; so I ask that you excuse This Autobot’s ignorance sir, I have nothing besides what I’ve been given.”
Now this, was where the challenge settled into her voice. Just the slightest edge. Still disciplined, still restrained, though it grew ever so slightly here. Sharper. Harsher. A bit better enunciated, perhaps though still so very calm.
“I know well enough about your background, medic.”
Prowl had done a comprehensive review of humanities military history upon his arrival, a task made quite easy due to the high rate of processing power his processor possessed as per his criminal investigator specs. Something that more than a few regimes on this dirt rock had done in order to stave off their inevitable defeat was utilize “child soldiers”, or humans that haven’t reached the age of majority where they were considered legally their own individual.
It had caused Prowl to ponder somewhat upon reading that. While one could argue that the war was still ongoing, the truth of the matter was that the Decepticons had driven the Autobots from Cybertron and had been left in control of the planet.
Prowl had seen that coming, hence the use of damn near everyone just sparked from the Well before the Allspark was launched into space to keep it out of Megatron’s hands. And Prowl knew that should the Decepticons manage to claim final victory in the conflict they would use that fact to vilify Autobot Command in the eyes of the following generations...
“Consider yourself lucky that you weren’t around before the war. It would have broken you more than this.”
He almost whispered that statement as he stood up to his full height and turned towards the door, walking towards it. As much as Prowl cared about order and control over chaos, even he had fully understood that the system he had been serving had been corrupted, a shadow of what it once was and what it was supposed to be, where those in power merely used power to enrich themselves and those who helped them hold onto that power.