Star-crossed Chapter 30 part 2
Part 1 http://okamichan.livejournal.com/128142.html
But the two Toughlines never dimmed their optics.
Starscream knelt down, reaching across Prowl's frame to plant his right hand just in front of Prowl's torso. The fingers of his other hand caressed the plastiglass windshield on the tactician's back.
Prowl panted harshly, looking at the floor rather than at the two Autobots watching them. He didn't have to see the Seeker's face to know the sadistic smirk that played across it.
"Wouldn't one of you like to join in?” The mech shifted, balancing on his left hand to caress Prowl's cheek with the right. “Look at him, so weak and sentimental. Doesn't even want to look at you two.” The fingers trailed down the front of the Enforcer’s chestplate, and slid underneath the dented bumper, caressing the engine shivering just beneath the plating. It revved with the panic that Prowl couldn't suppress. “How much did you suffer for his sake? Did he do anything to stop Vertigo?”
Prowl's optics snapped up at that, his jaw clicking shut despite the heat that built up. Sideswipe glared, but Sunstreaker...
Sunstreaker tucked his chin lower, scowl deepening. Uncertain.
The golden mech met Prowl's gaze, but the Decepticons didn't allow their contemplation to linger. Skywarp dug his fingers into the golden head vents, and dragged Sunstreaker's head to the side.
“He's our commander,” Sideswipe suddenly said, his vocalizer laced with static from pain.
Starscream scoffed loudly, and he leaned down to hiss in Prowl's audio receptor, “Oh such foolish faith they have.” The fingers under the tactician's bumper found a piece of loose metal and twisted it about painfully.
Prowl snarled and viciously kicked the Decepticon commander's legs out from under him.
Starscream cried out and crashed down on top of Prowl. “Stupid Autobot!” Metal clattered and clanged as Starscream sputtered and groped for the leverage to shove himself off the tactician. ”What the slag are you thinking?” He sneered and then struck out at Prowl's head. Once again he grabbed hold of the red chevron, his fingers wrapped tightly around the wrinkled metal, twisting it in his grip. He dragged Prowl around onto his back, with no consideration for the arms pinned under the tactician's canopy
Metal scraped and shrieked in protest as Prowl struggled to get out from under his Decepticon captor. Starscream cursed, settling his legs on either side of Prowl's frame and pinning the tactician's shoulder's to the floor.
Prowl's doorwings scraped against the floor, sending up flashes and sparks. He gritted his dental plates, fingers curled futilely in his palm, and he arched his back trying his hardest to relieve the pain in his arms.
"You might." A blue fist cracked across Prowl's battered and useless optic. "Want." Another blow landed across his jaw. “To hold." Then one smashed his cheekguard in. "Still." The last one landed crushed it, and the back of Prowl's head cracked against the floor from the impact.
He reeled, disoriented by the multiple blows to his face.
A hand wrenched open Prowl's interface cover. Fingers ran eagerly over the port, scraping across the edges. Starscream didn’t look at Prowl’s face, his gaze intent on the housing that bent under his rough fingers.
Prowl grunted, desperately trying to twist his arms out from under him. Frantic to be free, to fight back. He didn’t want this! Not Starscream linked in and going through his systems. The worm tweaked his coding, exacerbating his fear into something unmanageable. His battle computer responded sluggishly under the torrent of unreasoning emotions from the worm.
Rather than process what was about to happen, Prowl forced his mind to focus on coming up with a solution to his dilemma. He refused to accept the failed simulations from his battle computer.
There had to be some way to stop this.
The clank of Starscream’s hand scraping against his bumper sent a surge of terror coursing unfettered through his core. Starscream spoke to Vertigo, a leg pinning Prowl’s thighs, one hand on his shoulder, holding the tactician down, the other fumbling at his own torso for to release his interface panel. Prowl couldn’t make out the words, his audio receptors buzzing with static and the words garbled by the damage to his head. He shuddered as he realized the Air Commanded was gloating about his ‘conquest.’
He hoped Sideswipe couldn’t hear it. Foolish as that thought may be. As though his lover were not right there, seeing it happen. Unable to stop it. He couldn’t stop it.
Metal already alive with current scraped across Prowl’s interface housing, sending shivers through the tactician’s servomotors. Prowl grunted again, his feet scraping across the filthy floor and he wrenched his arms, desperate to be free, to fight. Even if it meant his death, that would be preferable than letting Starscream plug in and hack his way into Prowl’s deepest secrets. Than knowing that the Seeker would learn everything.
His processor surged with terror, the worm latching on and lagging his battle computer.
The worm?
Oh Primus, the virus! Vertigo knew that whoever Megatron sent would do this; he wanted to infect that mech even at the cost of Prowl’s own life, for the virus would attack Prowl’s systems when it went after Starscream’s as well. He couldn’t protect Sideswipe and his brother like that. This couldn’t happen, he couldn’t give up.
“You don’t want to do this,” Prowl gasped, his vents open to their widest to draw cool air own, only to receive the heat coming from Starscream’s systems.
The Seeker laughed, a short and sharp bark of sound. The red optics swooped down to glare into Prowl’s own. “Oh yes, I do.” The Decepticon snapped his plug into the open port.
Starscream sneered, their systems syncing. He went straight for Prowl’s memory banks, hacking his way through every firewall that he came across.
Prowl struggled, lost within his own processor, sorting and deleting sensitive information, and throwing up more firewalls, all in an attempt to stop Starscream. Static blew from his vocalizer, a helpless whimper of sound.
The virus registered Starscream’s intrusion and immediately attacked; a missile that struck directly at the link to Starscream and left corruption and scrambled data in its wake.
Starscream chuckled, “Looks like l am going to get to hear you - auuuuuuuuugh!” The Air Commander lurched back, shrieking.
Prowl’s vocalizer shut down before he could make any further noise, but his world filled with static, his sensors going haywire with an overload of sensory data.
“Well, certainly you’ll be hearing that from him, Starscream…” one of the other Seekers commented.
“Aww, is one Autobot to much for the great Starscream?” Vertigo chimed in, his voice broken by the static from the virus.
“Aaaaaaaahhhhhh-oh you idiots! The slagging dolt has a virus in his systems. Don’t just stand there gawking, disconnect me.”
Nothing happened for quite a few astroseconds if Prowl could still trust his chronometer. Then the room resounded with the sound of hurried feet, and the scuffle of heels scraping along the floor. Prowl picked up every nuance of sound, registering the vibrations long after they faded from the air and metal. Every layer of sound impacted his processor building and building, hyperactive sensory nodes picking up the faintest sensation from all over his body.
It all felt so familiar, and so wrong. Every system running at higher than normal speeds, as though they were stimulated beyond compare. That was it! Stimsticks! It felt like he’d plugged a fistful of stimstick into every accessible port.
The virus over clocked every one of his sensory arrays, increasing their gain until they worked far beyond the normal parameters. Sound rattled across his plates, reaching down into the foul energon stored within his fuel tank.
Hands scrabbled at his torso, ripping away Starscream’s plug.
Everything started to slow down and lag as the surge of information overloaded his processor. His vision became blanketed by leaps between frames making it seem like the Decepticons moved instantaneously around Starscream, lifting the Air Commander out of the cell. Their words broke and scattered, incomprehensible to Prowl’s aching processors. He couldn’t expel heat fast enough, he couldn’t pull in enough cool air, his fans stuttered with the lag. They couldn’t keep up with demand consistently enough to make a difference.
Someone appeared at his side, rolling him onto his shoulder. The energon cuffs clicked off, freeing Prowl’s arms. A whine escaped the tactician’s engine, shuddering along his plating. He couldn’t hear the words the mech said, but he recognized Starscream’s name in the furious shriek. A foot slammed into Prowl’s back, jamming the toe joints deep into Prowl’s doorwing hinges.
Prowl caught a brief glimpse of a red mech, one who had stood behind Counterpunch when the Commander first brought Starscream. A guard. He appeared familiar… However the lag caught his recognition protocols and Prowl couldn’t verify any identity on the visored and masked mech.
The crowd at the entrance left, Starscream shrieking his outrage and torment all the way down the hall, until only one mech remained. Prowl didn’t need to engage his recognition protocols to know that it was Vertigo leering down at him from the other side of the energon bars.
Prowl’s processor finally caught up with everything, leaving him once again aware of every shock of agony in his doorwings, and every piece of grit under his frame. Even the scrape of his arms against the floor, or against his own plating drove knives through his sensors. He didn’t even realize that he was no longer caught up in a lag until the Base Commander finally spoke, his voice low, and engine purring.
“I hope you’re enjoying my little gift, Autobot. You wouldn’t happen to want to know what it will do to you in the end?” Vertigo paused to chuckle at Prowl’s failed attempt to glare. “It’ll leave you in the agony I’m sure you already feel, right now. Eventually you’ll start burning out your minor systems, overloading in the most excruciating ways. There are actually a couple of ways that you could die: your spark could give out as your systems try to maintain the high settings they’re running on; you could die of starvation, because your systems are running at such a demanding pace that your converters can’t keep up, no matter how much energon you consume; you could go mad from the amount of data going through your sensors, regretfully ending your own life by ripping out your own fuel lines, we lost a few test subjects like that; finally you could suffer a short massive enough to wipe your motherboard and leave you with no more sense than an empty. Then there would be nothing more merciful than to kill you. Although,” and his optics flashed with the rev of his engine and he shifted on his feet, “the thought of having you, the Autobot second-in-command, as a mindless drone at my beck and call…” he sighed gustily through his vents, “Well there’s an image for my recharge cycle.”
Prowl gritted his dental plates, grimacing as he tried to pivot his shoulder joint. His vocalizer finally crackled online, laced with static and broken with pain, “Aren’t you the least bit worried about what Starscream will have done to you for not checking your prisoner for viruses before he plugged in?”
Vertigo waved the question off, glancing down the hall to the brig’s main corridor. “What good are lackeys if they can’t take the blame for you? The medic was incompetent, of course.”
Prowl tried to move his shoulder again, his fingers dragging against the floor behind his back. Why had that Decepticon unshackled him? “You think Megatron will accept that?”
“Megatron? No. But it will give Starscream someone to throw his temper at while the virus eats away at his sanity.” Vertigo laughed again, as abruptly as the last time. “He’s going to be begging the Autobots for the antivirus,” a drive stick dangled from Vertigo’s pincers, “and they won’t be able to help him.”
Prowl watched in horror as it dropped from the Decepticon’s hold and one large treaded foot lifted and crushed the miniscule device.
“Whoopsie.” Hydraulics hissed as the foot ground the stick into the floor, and then scattered the remains over the filthy floor.
Prowl stared at the broken shell that had held his hope to remove this virus without a medic nearby. He looked back up at Vertigo, not sure if he managed to maintain a neutral gaze, or if his despair showed on his face.
The Decepticon’s optics narrowed in that wicked smirk again. “I look forward to seeing the end results.” With that he turned and strode down the corridor.
~*~*~*~
A sigh vented from somewhere behind him. Metal screeched, almost drowning out Sunstreaker’s soft inquiry, “Prowl?”
The tactician curled his legs up, rolled on his bumper to his knees. His arms landed on either side, the fingers twitching spasmodically. The surges burned as his shoulder and arm renewed their connections and he lost another few astroseconds to lag. Short, sharp bursts erupted from his vocalizer, each one rattling down his plating, all the way to his toe joints.
“Prowl?”
His arm twitched one last time, and then hydraulics sluggishly dragged his knuckles across the gritty floor. His elbows lifted, curling his fingers, until finally his hand flopped over to rest on his open palms. He didn’t want to move anymore; he didn’t think he had the reserves. He hurt. Everything hurt.
Prowl whimpered at the sudden shriek of dragging metal. He turned his head and looked up, to find Sunstreaker inching closer, his legs dragging behind him and making that awful noise.
“Stop,” Prowl ordered as sternly as he could, but his vocalizer only managed a weak gasp of sound.
Sunstreaker must have heard and understood him anyways, because he did halt his progress. His bright blue optics regarded the tactician, and then glanced back at the too still figure lying near the wall. “Prowl…you gotta hurry up. Sides isn’t looking so good.”
Prowl tried to focus on the red frame behind Sunstreaker, but his sensors still screamed at him with too much data. And Sunstreaker’s dirty paint reflected every beam of light straight into Prowl’s optical array, lighting the sensors aflame with pain. “Give me a breem.”
“He may not have a breem! I thought you said you-“
Prowl forced power into his vocalizer, even though it throbbed against his mandible with each vibration. “Give me a breem.”
A glare half-formed on the warrior’s face, but it faded quickly into solemnity, and he nodded. He crawled back over to his brother, the horrible shrieks of his motions grating through Prowl’s entire sensory net.
Prowl sat up, the remains of his doorwings sparking as they attempted to balance his heavy chest. Each spark felt like every wire in his frame had shorted out. Prowl forced himself to ignore it, engaging his battle computer as a distraction from the pain. His wrenched arms complained at being forced to push him upright, and his damaged thigh groaned and shuddered. Standing was excruciating, his balance uneven, and his legs threatened to give at any moment. He limped his way over to the two Toughlines only to partly collapse against the wall near them. He winced when he threw out another series of sparks from his doorwings as he squealed his way down the wall.
He glanced toward Sunstreaker, laying on his front with his legs limp behind him. “What’s wrong with your legs?” Sunstreaker could walk before, couldn’t he? Prowl wasn’t sure he could remember accurately anymore.
“Just need to reroute some circuits,” Sunstreaker grunted back, his optics never leaving Sideswipe.
Prowl finally turned his attention on Sideswipe, the smell of burnt wires overpowering his too-attuned olfactory sensors. The red mech’s systems ran too cold, barely fed by the energon from his fuel pump. The tactician struggled to lift the heavy frame, his damaged arms protesting the weight. Sunstreaker braced himself on the elbow of his broken arm, and pulled on one of Sideswipe’s shoulders with his other hand. Together they turned the warrior over, and Prowl froze as he noticed the amount of energon pooled under Sideswipe.
He hesitated, considering his options, too few, and his supplies, even less. And they were on the other side of the slagging cell. A trip that would take more effort than Prowl was able to put out right then. He would have to make do with what he had in the immediate vicinity.
Prowl plunged his hands into the hole in the mech’s torso, energon oozing into his joints and burning his hypersensitive relays. He couldn’t tell where the leaks were, even with his sensory net making him aware of every puff of air from Sunstreaker’s vent, of the chill burn on the red twin’s dying frame, of the scrape of wires and tubing and the sticky energon that coated everything.
Prowl shoved all thoughts of what had happened to him to the side as he forced himself to focus on the frame under his hands. He did his best to wipe clean the mech’s insides and repair what little he could. He couldn’t let himself contemplate just who he had under his trembling fingers. His battle computer attempting to stave off the distraction of his overpowered sensors ran calculations on every possibility. As a result he watched their chance of surviving imprisonment dwindle with each passing breem. It disturbed Prowl that he could do next to nothing for his soldiers, but watch them die. He couldn’t even ease their pain. Still he refused to give up, determined to get them out of there.
Prowl sat back, clenching his hands as he regarded Sideswipe. He’d done all he could for the mech, Sunstreaker assisting as he could despite his damaged arm and legs. The Decepticons had hurt Sideswipe, without even realizing what the mech meant to Prowl. He did not doubt that it was for the better. He could calculate, in his hypersensitive state, just what cruelties would befall the lover of an Autobot officer.
“I should kill you.”
Prowl lifted his head from his dark contemplations, meeting the seething glow of Sunstreaker’s optics. The tactician vented a sigh, unbothered by the statement. He only wondered what had prompted it, this time.
Sunstreaker sat up on his knees, his repairs working, apparently, and scooted closer, grabbing Prowl by the shoulder. He slid his hand around the back of Prowl’s neck, caressing the edges of his collar.
Prowl shivered at the all-too familiar scrape of ragged fingers. “What is it this time?” He turned his optics away from the mech’s stare, overwhelmed by the amount of detail he couldn’t help but take in: the small dents along his seams, the slats bent out of alignment on his vents, the crack on one optic revealing the tiny mechanisms beneath, the slight dimple in his lip, leftovers from his sessions with the Decepticons.
Sunstreaker gritted his dental plates and pressed forward, his hand sliding over the cables of Prowl’s neck. “It’d be the best thing for you, wouldn’t it? The most merciful?” he murmured almost lovingly, as though it were the greatest favor he could offer. “Where the slag did you get a virus from? Is that a new standard program for officers?” He tightened his grip on Prowl’s neck and pulled the tactician back.
Prowl whimpered, his doorwings surging in pain. “No.” His vocalizer stuttered and glitched, but his arms wouldn’t lift enough to grab at Sunstreaker’s arms. Starscream had wrenched them too far. He still couldn’t force the words out. He couldn’t place the blame on Vertigo. He needed to say something, because suspicion crawled across Sunstreaker’s face. “Not Autobot programming,” he finally managed.
Sunstreaker, sat back on his heels, dropping his hand from Prowl’s neck. “What the frag are you talking about?”
Prowl pulled away, wanting away from the far too intense twin. His fingers brushed Sideswipe’s arm, the brief contact a source of reassurance. “Do you think Optimus would ever approve installing a program like that?”
Sunstreaker frowned, his optics narrowing as he looked at Prowl; they flicked over to his brother, before settling back on Prowl. “Those slaggers did this to you, didn’t they? Fraggit, what can we do?”
Feet clanked outside, announcing another’s presence.
Sunstreaker grabbed at Prowl again, but only so that he could force himself to his feet. He took the few unsteady steps to stand in front of his brother, and, by extension, Prowl.
Counterpunch entered their cell. He held a tray of energon cubes in one hand, and in his other…
Prowl straightened, bracing his hand against the wall to push himself to his feet. The Decepticon had brought a med kit with him. A med kit. Why. Who was it for? What did it have in it? The thoughts coursed through his processor, as painful as the vibrations against his plates.
The red visor turned toward them, but the mask over his lower face hid his expression. He looked between the three Autobots and then jerked his head to the side. “Thundering spires, look at the mess I have to clean up. Get out of my way so I can do my work and leave your pathetic presences.”
Sunstreaker widened his stance, his engine moaning out the cheap imitation of a growl. His hands curled into fists, and Prowl’s hyperactive receivers picked up the slight squeal of his dental plates grinding against each other. “Like slag I’m gonna do that.”
Something about the mech’s phrase, and his vocal tones registered as familiar in Prowl’s memory.
“Starscream wants them two fit to witness his vengeance on ya. He’s determined that you’re gonna give him the antivirus.” The mech’s tone implied that he knew the truth, the bright flash behind his visor conveying some emotion, though Prowl could not deduce what it was.
The tactician couldn’t take his hand off the wall; his thigh wouldn’t support his weight. He burned within, his systems running hot again from the virus in his processor. “You intend to repair him?”
Sunstreaker spun about, working hand flicking out to catch his balance on the wall. His optics flared, and his lips pulled away from his dental plates. “Pit makes you think I’m going to let that happen?” He turned back to the all-too-patient Decepticon, his shoulders hunched. “Give that med kit to Prowl, and let him do the repairs.”
The red mech tilted his head, optics flickering briefly. Gears whined softly, like facial mechanisms that lifted in a smile, or a smirk. The Decepticon’s deep voice fluttered lightly with a chuckle. “Of course, I leave these with ya, and you’ll engineer your escape, or even if I stay here you turn one of the tools against me. Think, I’m stupid?”
Sunstreaker snarled, his body tensing. “You’re a Decepticon, doesn’t that cover it?”
Prowl pressed his lips together, trying to place the pattern of the mech’s words, and his voice. Prowl didn’t recognize that voice, even if it hadn’t been altered from the original settings. Authorization codes ran across his HUD, triggered by specific strings of words and Prowl suddenly straightened, his optics widening in understanding. What was one of them doing here? He kept his vocalizer turned off, refusing to utter the word and give the game away. “Sunstreaker, you’re wasting valuable time that a trained medic could be using to save your brother’s life.” The tactician’s optics never left the Decepticon’s visor.
“Say what?”
“Are your audio receivers malfunctioning?” Prowl snapped back.
Sunstreaker jolted in place, and his joints creaked, tensing for action, but he did as Prowl commanded and he stepped away from his brother’s form.
Prowl took hold of the golden arm and drew the mech to the side, though his optics never left the Decepticon at the other end of the cell. Three steps, and the two Autobots stood against the opposite wall.
Prowl’s fuel pump suddenly had nothing to pull from, and he slid down the wall, leaving a streak of white paint behind. Sunstreaker turned and caught the tactician, steadying him and sinking down with him.
Prowl powered down what nonessential systems he could, the virus limiting those as it continued to run him hot. The ragged edges of his doorwings scraped against the wall, and Sunstreaker’s shoulder, and knives drove themselves into his back and sides, and he could even feel the strips of metal that used to have paint on them, but now only had cold metal against colder metal.
The faux-Decepticon knelt down next to Sideswipe and immediately set to work. Prowl-aware of every clink and slice and hiss and splatter-couldn’t help but wonder when he’d learned such extensive first aid. If it got Sideswipe back to the point of actually being mobile, then it bested Prowl’s own extensive database on the matter.
Sunstreaker leaned close, one arm sliding around the tactician’s waist and drawing him snug against the dented yellow frame. Lips scraped the white helm, and an observer might almost think the yellow warrior was comforting Prowl, or acting protective.
Prowl, however, knew better.
“What the slag are you thinking? Is there something you’re not telling me?
Prowl glanced at the yellow fin he could see in the corner of his vision. He carefully considered his words, watching the faux-Decepticon work on Sideswipe. “I’m an officer. Of course there are things I don’t tell you.”
Yellow fingers gripped Prowl’s chin, forcing the tactician’s head to turn. “My brother is under the wrench of a Decepticon, and Decepticons, if I might remind you, are the reason that he’s in that position in the first place.” The blue optics narrowed, flashing brilliantly across his battered face. “Don’t play games with me.”
Prowl flinched at the harsh touch of the other mech. Sunstreaker’s fingers pressed into the tactician’s jaw, but to the overdriven sensors, he might as well have been pounding on Prowl’s face. So he reached up, though he could reach no higher than Sunstreaker’s elbow, and pulled the errant hand away from his jaw. The rising temperature of his body elicited a peal from his vocalizer, a shriek of feedback rising above his words. “I’m not.”
Sunstreaker winced at the sound, single hand jerking toward his audio receiver in a futile gesture.
Tools banged into a hollow box, drawing the two mech’s attention. “Waste of my slaggin’ time, fixin’ these glitches.” The faux Decepticon stood, one foot shooting out to rap against Sideswipe’s chest. Prowl did not miss that the mech had pulled his kick either, able to detect the minute changes in hydraulics suddenly losing power.
“What the frag?” Sunstreaker murmured, and Prowl realized that the golden warrior not only had noticed the restrained kick, but now knew, or at least suspected the presence of the spy.
The mech approached the two Autobots huddled together against the wall. “I’m supposed to make sure ya finish your energon, too. Can’t have you goin’ inta stasis ‘cause you’re depleted.” The med kit nowhere in sight, he only held a tray of energon cubes, one of which he picked up and handed to Sunstreaker. The red visor turned to Prowl. “I’m gonna have to help you, aren’t I?” Disgust laced his tone, belying the dimming light of his hidden optics. He picked up one of the other cubes, the low grade within swirling in darker than normal colors.
Prowl stared, unsure what the mech’s intent was. If he planned on helping them escape, then it did make sense to repair Sideswipe, it made sense to give them fuel. Prowl suspected that even the gentle kick had served a purpose. The question had been an order, really, and in this instance, here on the field, this mech outranked Prowl. Still, what purpose did overseeing Prowl’s fuelling serve? Unless…
The energon, visibly gritty, and moving with a thickness that suggested it would go down as well as caked grease, should not be so darkly-colored. And, Prowl noticed, his was the only cube with such coloration. The last one, obviously reserved for Sideswipe, glowed with the normal dullness of what Decepticons called prisoner rations.
A red hand slid behind Prowl’s head, smooth fingers gripping the white helm firmly.
Prowl could not even manage a token resistance for show. The energon cube pressed against his mouth, liquid oozing over his lips. The corner of the cube bit into his malleable face plates, forcing him to open his mouth and accept the disgusting stuff. The fingers tightened, the mech standing over Prowl in a peculiar way. ‘He’s shielding this from the cameras,’ Prowl realized with a start, vocalizer shrieking briefly to life.
Something besides energon tumbled into his mouth, and Prowl gagged as it struck the back of his tracheal tubing and stuck. Rounded cylinder on one end, the blockier side caught between his dental plates, and refused to budge. His fuel pump started again, drawing power from the energon it forced through the rest of his frame. Finding strength in his limbs again, Prowl shoved the other mech away, bending forward and working his jaw to loosen the object. It rattled in his mouth, giving off an energy that drew a horrible screech from his vocalizer, one that pierced his audio receptors with an equally horrible feedback shriek.
“Ungrateful wretch.” A fist slammed down on the back of Prowl’s neck, jostling the object loose and letting the tactician finally close his mouth. “This is how you thank Decepticon generosity?”
Prowl pushed himself back up, until he sat against the wall again and could look the mech in the visor again. He couldn’t answer the mech with the device so close to his vocalizer, and his mouth full of energon too thick to slide past the thing, but he managed a pinched frown.
An energon cube bounced the side of the red head. “If this is the Decepticons’ idea of generosity, it’s a wonder you can manage to keep any prisoners alive. This is rubbish; I’ve had better energon in the slums of Straxus.”
Their savior let out a choked sound, and his visor flashed. “Maybe I should dump this rather than give it to your damaged friend over there.” He held the last energon cube, the tray now gone from his hands. His gaze turned back to Prowl. “It ain’t like he’s gonna need much.” One of the lights behind his visor dimmed, and his helm tilted toward Prowl’s right.
Sunstreaker snarled, his field humming violently against Prowl’s.
Prowl quietly lowered his right hand, and his fingers clicked against a smooth flat surface, far too clean to be a part of the floor. The tray.
The faux-Decepticon plunked the energon cube to the floor. “I got better things ta do then funnel-feed simpering Autobots. Ain’t like you’ll let him starve t’ put that in yer own tanks.” With that the red mech stormed out, kicking at scrap on the floor where Prowl had lain earlier.