[Transformers] The Midst of Nothing
Jul. 27th, 2011 05:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beaslaysBehold, 750 words being turned into actual fic.
Title: The Midst of Nothing
Fandom: Transformers G1
Characters: Prowl, Ratchet, Megatron, Sunstreaker, Wheeljack, Sideswipe, First Aid, Bluestreak, and an ensemble cast of captive Autobots providing background music
Rating: T
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 946
Summary: Prowl watches. Ratchet schemes. Autobots fight for survival.
Warnings: Character death. Depiction of violence.
Notes: This is set in a similar verse to Relations, but not necessarily the exact same one. Basic backstory - Ratchet is actually Megatron's brother and at some point he betrays the Autobots for the Decepticons. The Autobots lose (not particularly because of Ratchet), and are then forced into gladiatorial matches against each other. Most of the 'Cons incidentally have Autobot pets, and Prowl is one of Megatron's. Okay, backstory over, enjoy.
Prowl watches, optics cold and empty, as the Autobots tear each other apart in the ring below. He has his hands folded behind his back.
"Such a fantastic display, don't you think?"
Megatron's words are mocking, and Prowl can see in his reflection that he has a cube of energon raised. The amusement is clear in his tone, his optics jovial. He always does like to take some high grade when watching the fights.
Prowl does not respond, simply pressing a hand to the glass keeping their box separated from the chaos down below.
Megatron laughs. There's a faint shuffling, and Ratchet is standing just behind Prowl, opposite of Megatron. The purple emblem on Ratchet's chassis glints, and Prowl has to suppress the sudden and unbidden surge of emotion when he spots it.
"Prowl--" begins Ratchet, hand on his shoulder. Prowl shrugs his hand off, determined to finish the match, to watch it to the end.
Megatron chuckles. "If he wants to see, then let him see, brother."
Ratchet shakes his head, and steps back into the shadows.
Prowl narrows his optics, intent on the remaining few Autobots in the ring, attacking each other. He recognizes Wheeljack, and Sunstreaker. There is a single femme in the group, along with a few other mechs Prowl does not know.
Sunstreaker rips his opponents apart - the femme in particular. Her scream fills the arena, but the roar of the Decepticon crowd overcomes it.
Wheeljack blows out his opponents' processors - he does this to two mechs at a time, the explosion ripping through their heads and spraying energon all over him.
Soon, it is just Sunstreaker and Wheeljack.
Prowl can't tell how Ratchet must be feeling, watching this-- but then, Ratchet has become cruel, like the Decepticons. And cold, like him. Empty. Ratchet can't be feeling anything, not now.
Prowl watches, as Sunstreaker charges at Wheeljack who had been finishing off another mech. The golden twin rams into his former comrade, and rips out a fuel line, here, there; Wheeljack's fins flash a deep red, then blue, then purple then red again. He fights back, but Sunstreaker is victorious, ripping out the ex-engineer's spark chamber - not spark, Prowl notices -- and tossing it aside. He shouts something, triumphant, and the Decepticon crowd goes wild.
In the reflection of the glass, Megatron smirks.
Ratchet averts his gaze.
Prowl does not.
***
"P-Primus, Sunny--" Sideswipe descends upon his twin, arms flinging around him.
"Wheeljack!" screams First Aid from a cell opposite the twins', hands on the bars and rattling them, the sound echoing in the dungeon. The young medic is hysterical, focused on the loss of yet another comrade. "Wheeljack...! You killed Wheeljack!"
Sunstreaker stands, shaking Sideswipe off - the red twin has been quite clingy lately - and stalks over to the bars of the cell directly opposite First Aid. "It was me or him," he snarls at the medic.
"You could have just injured him...!" shouts First Aid in response, "You didn't have to kill him!"
"What, so they can bring him back to this pit?" Sunstreaker's tone is dark, nasty. "I did him a favor, you fragging little glitch!"
First Aid stares at him in shock, and the entire dungeon is silent as well, save for the usual tap-tap-tap coming from Blaster's cell. Autobots watch from their cells, the glow of their blue optics bright as they listen, observe. This isn't anything special though. Fights like this are frequent now, a fact of their life as captives and toys.
First Aid is quick to recover his vocal processes though. "How dare you--" he begins, still shouting as he shoves a finger in Sunstreaker's direction, "How dare you even imply--"
"Shut up!" shouts a mech from a corner cell, hidden in the shadow. It takes Sunstreaker a moment to recognize the voice as Bluestreak's -- he hasn't heard the once talkative mech speak at all for a long time.
The entire dungeon decides to agree. Even Blaster's tap-tap-tap is missing.
"You all are a bunch of cowards. Wheeljack's dead, so what? Everyone's dead now." Bluestreak rises a little, and what's visible of his armor is a dark gray. "You call yourself warriors! Primus - you're all idiots."
The silence lengthens. Nobody dares say anything.
"Now shut the frag up! I'm trying to recharge here!" And just like that, Bluestreak's presence is gone, back to his corner hidden in shadow.
First Aid shrinks back into his cell, moving to his berth and simply curling up on it.
Sunstreaker turns and goes to sit with Sideswipe.
The rest of the Autobots carry on with their lives. It's terrible, decides Sunstreaker, that not a single one of them is surprised with Bluestreak's behaviour.
Even he finds it perfectly normal.
***
Ratchet is careful as he picks the item up, his touch as delicate as possible. The chamber itself is warm, and pleasant to touch. A long crack runs on one side, and he peers in, grateful that nothing has managed to worm its way through the crack.
The blue orb inside pulses, healthily so. Ratchet can't help but smile, and he finds himself lightly stroking one side of the chamber.
"Shh," he whispers to the spark, which hums a steady tune at him in response. He's glad, glad that he can do this much at least. "Everything's going to be fine, 'Jack. Everything's going to be fine. I won't let anyone hurt you anymore."
Prowl turns away from his spot by the darkened entrance of the empty arena - he has seen enough.
Ratchet is playing a dangerous game, and Prowl must now prepare himself to join in.
- - - - -
A/N: Soooo, I might continue this, though it'll probably depend on how hard the bunnies bite me.
//
Title: The Midst of Nothing
Fandom: Transformers G1
Characters: Prowl, Ratchet, Megatron, Sunstreaker, Wheeljack, Sideswipe, First Aid, Bluestreak, and an ensemble cast of captive Autobots providing background music
Rating: T
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 946
Summary: Prowl watches. Ratchet schemes. Autobots fight for survival.
Warnings: Character death. Depiction of violence.
Notes: This is set in a similar verse to Relations, but not necessarily the exact same one. Basic backstory - Ratchet is actually Megatron's brother and at some point he betrays the Autobots for the Decepticons. The Autobots lose (not particularly because of Ratchet), and are then forced into gladiatorial matches against each other. Most of the 'Cons incidentally have Autobot pets, and Prowl is one of Megatron's. Okay, backstory over, enjoy.
Prowl watches, optics cold and empty, as the Autobots tear each other apart in the ring below. He has his hands folded behind his back.
"Such a fantastic display, don't you think?"
Megatron's words are mocking, and Prowl can see in his reflection that he has a cube of energon raised. The amusement is clear in his tone, his optics jovial. He always does like to take some high grade when watching the fights.
Prowl does not respond, simply pressing a hand to the glass keeping their box separated from the chaos down below.
Megatron laughs. There's a faint shuffling, and Ratchet is standing just behind Prowl, opposite of Megatron. The purple emblem on Ratchet's chassis glints, and Prowl has to suppress the sudden and unbidden surge of emotion when he spots it.
"Prowl--" begins Ratchet, hand on his shoulder. Prowl shrugs his hand off, determined to finish the match, to watch it to the end.
Megatron chuckles. "If he wants to see, then let him see, brother."
Ratchet shakes his head, and steps back into the shadows.
Prowl narrows his optics, intent on the remaining few Autobots in the ring, attacking each other. He recognizes Wheeljack, and Sunstreaker. There is a single femme in the group, along with a few other mechs Prowl does not know.
Sunstreaker rips his opponents apart - the femme in particular. Her scream fills the arena, but the roar of the Decepticon crowd overcomes it.
Wheeljack blows out his opponents' processors - he does this to two mechs at a time, the explosion ripping through their heads and spraying energon all over him.
Soon, it is just Sunstreaker and Wheeljack.
Prowl can't tell how Ratchet must be feeling, watching this-- but then, Ratchet has become cruel, like the Decepticons. And cold, like him. Empty. Ratchet can't be feeling anything, not now.
Prowl watches, as Sunstreaker charges at Wheeljack who had been finishing off another mech. The golden twin rams into his former comrade, and rips out a fuel line, here, there; Wheeljack's fins flash a deep red, then blue, then purple then red again. He fights back, but Sunstreaker is victorious, ripping out the ex-engineer's spark chamber - not spark, Prowl notices -- and tossing it aside. He shouts something, triumphant, and the Decepticon crowd goes wild.
In the reflection of the glass, Megatron smirks.
Ratchet averts his gaze.
Prowl does not.
"P-Primus, Sunny--" Sideswipe descends upon his twin, arms flinging around him.
"Wheeljack!" screams First Aid from a cell opposite the twins', hands on the bars and rattling them, the sound echoing in the dungeon. The young medic is hysterical, focused on the loss of yet another comrade. "Wheeljack...! You killed Wheeljack!"
Sunstreaker stands, shaking Sideswipe off - the red twin has been quite clingy lately - and stalks over to the bars of the cell directly opposite First Aid. "It was me or him," he snarls at the medic.
"You could have just injured him...!" shouts First Aid in response, "You didn't have to kill him!"
"What, so they can bring him back to this pit?" Sunstreaker's tone is dark, nasty. "I did him a favor, you fragging little glitch!"
First Aid stares at him in shock, and the entire dungeon is silent as well, save for the usual tap-tap-tap coming from Blaster's cell. Autobots watch from their cells, the glow of their blue optics bright as they listen, observe. This isn't anything special though. Fights like this are frequent now, a fact of their life as captives and toys.
First Aid is quick to recover his vocal processes though. "How dare you--" he begins, still shouting as he shoves a finger in Sunstreaker's direction, "How dare you even imply--"
"Shut up!" shouts a mech from a corner cell, hidden in the shadow. It takes Sunstreaker a moment to recognize the voice as Bluestreak's -- he hasn't heard the once talkative mech speak at all for a long time.
The entire dungeon decides to agree. Even Blaster's tap-tap-tap is missing.
"You all are a bunch of cowards. Wheeljack's dead, so what? Everyone's dead now." Bluestreak rises a little, and what's visible of his armor is a dark gray. "You call yourself warriors! Primus - you're all idiots."
The silence lengthens. Nobody dares say anything.
"Now shut the frag up! I'm trying to recharge here!" And just like that, Bluestreak's presence is gone, back to his corner hidden in shadow.
First Aid shrinks back into his cell, moving to his berth and simply curling up on it.
Sunstreaker turns and goes to sit with Sideswipe.
The rest of the Autobots carry on with their lives. It's terrible, decides Sunstreaker, that not a single one of them is surprised with Bluestreak's behaviour.
Even he finds it perfectly normal.
Ratchet is careful as he picks the item up, his touch as delicate as possible. The chamber itself is warm, and pleasant to touch. A long crack runs on one side, and he peers in, grateful that nothing has managed to worm its way through the crack.
The blue orb inside pulses, healthily so. Ratchet can't help but smile, and he finds himself lightly stroking one side of the chamber.
"Shh," he whispers to the spark, which hums a steady tune at him in response. He's glad, glad that he can do this much at least. "Everything's going to be fine, 'Jack. Everything's going to be fine. I won't let anyone hurt you anymore."
Prowl turns away from his spot by the darkened entrance of the empty arena - he has seen enough.
Ratchet is playing a dangerous game, and Prowl must now prepare himself to join in.
- - - - -
A/N: Soooo, I might continue this, though it'll probably depend on how hard the bunnies bite me.
//