Rest in Peace

Taylor Riles

December 20, 1989 – September 26, 2008

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Two cycles later.

Prowl leaned against the wall, optics scanning the streets below through a grimy windowpane. His selective gaze never rested in one place for long, constantly shifting from mech after mech, dismissing each in turn. He was searching the crowd for someone specific; at the moment he didn't have the time or the attention to spare on Kaon's grasping, amoral populace.

A soft chuckle pervaded the darkness. "You're a real piece of work, ya know that?" Ironhide lazed himself against the wall opposite Prowl, arms crossed.

The knowing look on his friend's face would have been irritating if Prowl was the type easily irritated. "Care to elaborate?" he asked dryly.

"Nah," he shrugged. "I just wanted to point it out." The Guard's commanding officer smirked slightly, leaving the statement to hang in the air.

Prowl spared him a single unbothered glance before returning his optics to Kaon's streets.

Ironhide let out a bark of laughter. "Primus, Prowl… You're so fun to mess with, but it's so slagging hard to!" The laugh faded to a hoarse chuckle. "Yeah… I'm gonna elaborate. Believe me when I say I wouldn't have brought it up otherwise." He fell silent for a moment, joining his comrade in searching the crowd below. When he spoke, the tone was unarguable but non-patronizing. "One of the only mechs that can possibly grasp what you're going through, and you treat him like utter slag. It ain't like you, Prowl. You've been distant as long as I can remember, but never cruel."

Blue optics remained stoically locked on Kaon's masses. "What is this? An intervention?" Prowl tried to work a viable amount of contempt into the next statement, and barely managed it. "He's a 'con."

"Was a 'con." The emphasis on the first word was gruff and blunt. "Honestly, if I of all mechshave managed control over that prejudice, you sure as slag should be able to." Ironhide shook his head. "I know he spent a great portion of his life tryin to kill us, but we spent a great portion of ours tryin to kill him. Fair's fair." He tried to catch Prowl's gaze meaningfully, but the action was in vain. "Give that seeker somethin to be loyal to, and he's a good mech. And if there's one thing I'm certain of in regards to Skywarp, it's that he's slaggin loyal to you." He smirked. "As ironic as it might seem that Skywarp, authority on reckless and compassionless thrills, wants to help you… I believe that he does. Really. And once again," Ironhide jerked a thumb at himself animatedly. "It should say something that I'm speaking on behalf of a former 'con." He looked away from the windowpane. "That seeker has spent the last decade tryin to get through that slaggin armor of yours."

Prowl shifted slightly, shoulders tense. His reply was heavy with bitterness. "Yeah he's been trying to get through my armor, but not in the metaphoric way you're suggesting."

Ironhide's notorious temper flitted across his face for the briefest moment. "I'm tryin to decide if I can get away with beatin this into you, but I'm willin to bet you'd pull rank at this point." He gripped Prowl's forearm instead. "I know slaggin well how much you loved Jazz, but have you bothered to think of how much that seeker loved his bondmates? Have you even considered that?"

Prowl's tone was scathing, but he couldn't quell the guilt invading his spark. "And have you ever heard him talk about them? They can't have meant much to him if he can speak of their deaths in such an offhand way to a former enemy."

"Uh-huh. Right," Ironhide amended wryly. "So, your logic is what? If you lose someone and move on, then you didn't really love them? Wow. You're so sweet." His grip on Prowl's arm tightened, and his voice was harsh enough to be painful. "Skywarp is a survivor. He keeps a hold on his wingmates' legacy and he keeps on livin. He's tryin to show you how to do the same thing."

Prowl couldn't meet Ironhide's optics. He was more than aware of his own denial, but he was far from ready to accept it.

"You're right, Prowl. His intentions hardly fall into the category of friendship." Ironhide let go of his superior, shoving him against the wall as he did so. "But he isn't just jonesing for some action. I don't think he'd be our agent if that were the case." He shook his head, looking disgusted. "Slaggit, Prowl! The mech's either in love with you or damn well near it. For someone that prides himself on tactics and observation, you sure are slaggin thick."

Prowl's fists clenched. "Remember that comment about pulling rank?" He couldn't suppress the quiver that laced its way through his voice. His optics were dark.

"I ain't speaking from the position of ranks, Prowl. I'm speaking from the position of I'm your slaggin friend, and I'm tryin to keep you from actin like a dumbaft." He turned, giving a curt wave over his shoulder. "You wanna hold me in contempt mere hours before a major bust, that's your prerogative."

Prowl's optics relit weakly as Ironhide began to walk away.

Ironhide called back as he reached the door, on his way to take up his position the rest of the Guard. "Oh… I almost forgot. While we're sharin, there's one more thing I'd like to point out." He turned slightly, finally making the needed optic contact. "If he means so slaggin little to you, then why the slag are you watchin the streets to make sure he gets in safe?" He mock-bowed. "How's that for observation skills?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The room was windowless, the walls draped with an imported red fabric that hung in low loose arches. Light came from soft wine-colored globes resting on the table before each seated mech, casting sinister shadows on cruel and drunken faces. Some optics held a rough animalistic fury, while others glimmered with cold and sadistic cunning; all shone with the light of a familiar thirst, one that peace could never sate. Their tongues were tangled with memories of a war that had failed to loosen its poisonous hold on their sparks.

Skywarp felt a little nostalgic.

The teleport draped an arm around the back of his chair, and faked a swallow of high-grade. In truth, he was starting to worry about the Guard's chances. The former Decepticons lounging around him were members of two of the most dangerous gestalts he had known: Menasor and Bruticus. Prowl needed a miracle, though Skywarp supposed that his intellect was miracle enough. He hoped it was, anyway. He was essentially screwed if it wasn't. He studied the cube wrapped in his fingers objectively. Oh, well.

A hand touched his waist tentatively, invisible in the near blackness.

Skywarp minutely turned his head in confusion towards the mech seated on his left, optics questioning.

Onslaught didn't look at him, but his optics were bright and wide with something like desperation. "Get out of here…" he whispered so lightly it was nigh impossible to hear.

Skywarp's lips parted slightly, barely moving. "What…?"

Across the table from him, Swindle chose that moment to stand and spread his arms welcomingly. His oily voice cut through the rough intoxicated conversation with the ease of a practiced con artist. "A toast to the prospect of pandemonium and shed energon!"

Skywarp grinned and slipped seamlessly into his act, unsurprised at how easy it was to appear truly fervent. His voice joined the appreciative whoops and laughter with his trademark careless enthusiasm. When it came time to drink, he didn't even think to feign it. Skywarp wondered just how much luxury the triplechangers were privy to as he savored the vintage and obviously expensive taste.

Swindle raised his cube and nodded to Blitzwing's position at the head of the table. "But let us turn our attention to the deserving mech behind the masterful and bombing in Polyhex. The visionary comrade that brought us together on this soon to be historic night in Kaon."

The teleport tilted his head in slight bewilderment at the words 'deserving' and 'visionary'.

The triplechanger smirked, but didn't stand. "Much obliged, Swindle… as always." He surveyed the mechs seated before him, smirk widening to a wicked smile. His voice was uncharacteristically polished and unnerving, seeping into the chilled air. "I'm pleased to see that not all Decepticon's have calmly faded into the Autobot's idealistic society."

Skywarp fought to suppress a laugh. Blitzwing knew words like idealistic? Really? Swindle must have written the speech for him. The teleport settled himself back in his seat, already amused. At this rate, he wouldn't need the high-grade to have a good time.

Blitzwing's voice reverberated off the walls, permeating the darkness. "We all share the same disgust for the fools who so easily allowed themselves to become domesticated by concepts like unity and peace. So many of our brethren have become chained by the fruitless ideals of clemency and mercy. So many are willing to forget billions of years of conflict in favor of the uncontested rule of Autobot aristocracy. They've allowed the deaths of our brethren to be in vain. They've become enslaved by the guise of equality and freedom."

His smile faded, as he swirled the contents of his cube. "But we have the opportunity to show them the nature of their slavery. We have the opportunity to remind them of their oaths to the Decepticon legions. We have the opportunity to remind them what it is to be free. Once we rise up and reclaim the unquestionable truth of war, they will flock from all corners of Cybertron to join us. The loyal Decepticons that fled rather than to abandon their faction will return. All they need is to be reawakened to their hatred for the falsities they are laboring under. And those mechs that can't be reawakened…" He laughed softly, cruelly. "Will be destroyed for their treason. We can't allow ourselves to be weakened by sympathy for our broken comrades. We can not be held down by memories of the warriors they once were." Blitzwing stood smoothly, lips curving. "We must provide our own brand of mercy."

Skywarp felt his spark grow cold as Blitzwing's gaze fell on him, smile charming but full of bloodlust. He stood involuntarily, possessed by his comrade's stare and the sudden revelation that the speech had been for his benefit.

The conspirator's voice was almost sweet as he drank in the sudden fear in the seeker's stance. "Allow me to provide you with an example." Blitzwing threw his cube violently against the wall, shouting a command as it shattered.

Skywarp let out a piercing shriek of pain as a blade punctured the armor between his wings and tore roughly. He knew instantly that the wound had offlined his teleportation systems. The taste of his own energon mingled with the lingering flavor of high-grade as he sank back into the waiting embrace of his aggressor.

Onslaught wrapped his arms around the seeker's waist, energon-slick hands still expertly clutching the blade. "I tried to warn you, 'Warp," he whispered listlessly. "But in the end, my loyalty is to my gestalt." His optics held the closest thing a Decepticon could manage to an apology. "You'd have done the same for your wingmates, I know it." Onslaught brushed his lips gently against a wing. "Forgive me."

He wondered why the room was suddenly so much brighter than it had been only a few moments before… A breath of a scream slipped through his lips as he realized the darkness was now saturated with the fluorescent glow of his own energon.

A hand clenched around his throat, and Skywarp felt Onslaught pull away.

Blitzwing smiled, the rough fury that the seeker remembered finally lighting on his face. "Let's have some fun, shall we?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, and Guard? I know you're listening, so let me advise you. We'll be gone by the time you reach this position, and even if you somehow managed to catch us… You don't have the firepower to stop us. Besides, there's no rush." Blitzwing snaked his hand between Skywarp's wings and dug his fingers into the open wound. "He'll be dead soon, anyway."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Oh, come on!" Sunstreaker shouted in disbelieving protest. "He was right! We don't have the numbers to go up against two gestalts. We can't go after them, and I am not getting slagged for Skywarp's sake."

The look Prowl gave in response thoroughly convinced Sunstreaker that the best course of action was to remain silent.

Ironhide placed a hand on Prowl's shoulder. "We'll come up with a plan, but it'll take time and we don't know how much of that we can spare."

Prowl's voice was hoarse. "I know our chances. I also know that one of our comrades is facing death, and that's a danger we… I… put him in. He knew the risks, but we're still the ones that gave them to him." His blue optics passed unseeingly over the mechs in front of him. "We have to follow, whatever the chances. It's what he deserves."

"Actually, I'd say you have quite a good chance… or you will in a moment."

The members of the Guard turned to face the newcomer.

Prowl shouted for them to lower their weapons.

Octane shrugged, laughing lightly as though the brief display of the Guard's aggression was comical. "What can I say? I seem to be the only triplechanger that hasn't lost his mind." He walked slowly and carelessly to stand before Prowl, brushing passed the mechs that attempted to stand in his way. "I'll cut you a deal. I'll show you the where and how, if you swear to me that Blitzwing and Astrotrain will come out of this alive."

Prowl studied the calm face in front of him. He was surprised to see a glimmer in the gold optics that mirrored his own desperate concern… though admittedly and unexpectedly, the former Decepticon's was better suppressed.

"I swear."