Cyborg (2)
Jul. 22nd, 2008 11:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quidamlingTitle: Cyborg: Ulterior Motive
'Verse:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cubicality 's Machine-verse, with warps and reflections.
Characters / Pairings: Ironhide/Ratchet
Summary: Ratchet's meeting is not what he was expecting. All get more than they bargained for.
Rating: R, eventual fighting, pain and angst. Things fall apart.
Warnings: Minimal here, a fight. Mild mech gore?
AN: Bold is bond-speak, silent communication just between pairs. And umm. Massive credit where credit is due. I do pic fics, apparently. This (will make sense later) was to community.livejournal.com/tf2007fun/854482.html
Disclaimer: No, I am poor, don't own anything. I just push them around into situations I find amusing. They belong to Hasbro/Dreamworks/rich people.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As they drove up, the coordinates had seemed deserted. Not entirely a good sign, but not entirely unheard of. Humans were notorious for some of the more highly classified government facilities being hidden to the point of inanity. Ratchet shifted out of his alt-mode and peered around, slightly confused. He checked his internal chronometer. Despite bending the speed limit while still on the roads, they were a full 5 Earth minutes late, no thanks to ‘Hide dragging Ratch back onto the berth…
Ironhide growled, still in his truck form. “Slagging humans are late for their own meeting?”
“It is we that are late, Ironhide,” the Hummer snapped. “Thank you very much.”
“You are quite welcome,” he practically crowed, gunning to get under his mate’s plating. “But you were vocal enough with your thanks earlier.”
Glancing back at the ebony metal with a rude blink-shutter-optic roll. “Smug fragge-”
The medic was cut off by a shot to the chest out of nowhere. Ironhide surged out of his truck mode, cannons engaging as he rose and shifted to stand defensively in front of Ratchet.
Are you…?
I’m fine. Where did…
Triangulating…
Ironhide hovered before the CMO, who wore a tight expression and was touching at his chest with the sensitive pads of his fingers. The medic’s faceplates shifted between pain, confusion, fascination and back to pain. There was something odd about the wound, it felt like nothing he had ever experienced. It worried him, though the scientist and medic in him was almost intrigued.
The weapons specialist swept scanners over the area, cannons matching the paths of his optics. There was nothing to indicate where the shot had originated… until a small army of humans surged from hidden underground bunkers, holding unfamiliar weapons that did not match any existing military specs available to Ironhide. That made Ironhide’s energon seem to run cold. As his specialty, the schematics for all human weapons configurations; past, present, and prototype; were available to him.
The TopKick was about to bark a command to transform, and was already leaning down, but they were quickly encircled with a ring of SUVs. Startled, the two mechs moved closer to each other, tense and shifting on their feet. Dental plates ground when Ironhide saw the trap for what it was. The two Autobots’ sole advantage was likely that they were expecting Ratchet, not him, and he was significantly more heavily armed than his bonded. The request had simply been for their CMO, they had taken the first shot at the Hummer. So the black mech’s protective instincts took over and he continued to try and stay between the humans and the medic.
Audios picked up murmurs of commands and words between the assorted humans.
“I thought it was supposed to be just one.”
“Shit, they’re big!”
“I dunno, he brought a friend?”
“They turn into freaking trucks, you expect them to be small?”
“Which one do we want?!”
“The doctor, ‘cause he knows the most about the rest.”
“I know we want the doc, moron.”
“Which one is that?”
“The yell- the… the not the black one…”
“The one at the back?”
“The one hit! Fire already!”
The humans opened fire en masse. Even with their target in mind, they were terrible shots; hitting Ironhide nearly as often as Ratchet.
The frontliner restrained a roar along with his battle computer that he needed to wrestle away from engaging. Prime’s standing ban on harming the humans seriously limited their options. Cannon fire was aimed at the SUVs, charring a good few to cinders and earning ‘Hide a barrage of shots towards his shoulders and forearms. Ratchet spun and deactivated a few of the weapons, a swing of his rotary blade slicing them to scrap while still in frail human hands.
Damages were shuffled back and other people kept moving forwards with more of those strange weapons. The humans’ ace lay in numbers, and the sheer brute force laid into the mechs they were encircling. There seemed to be more than enough reinforcements and the possible severity of the Autobots’ situation hit nearly as hard as the fire tearing through their armor.
Sending a rapid transmission, -Under attack, coordinates:…-
And there was something… wrong. Even the TopKick was starting to notice that the weapons blasts were penetrating deeper into their frames than human weapons normally did or should. Ratchet was starting to slip and Ironhide gasped, suddenly feeling feedback through their bond of the Hummer’s agony. Added to the sensation of fire coursing through his own systems, his processors reeled. Ratch made a keening whine and slumped against ebony back plating. Spinning around to clutch at the medic, ‘Hide looked into flickering optics. Energon still poured freely from the first chest wound; Ratchet should have been able to cut off energon lines to the damaged area, but instead it was eating its way further across the chartreuse chassis. The innocent request to study each of the mechs was apparently far from as innocent as whatever that Pit-spawned “organization” made it out to be.
With a shot high to his neck, Ratchet lurched and sunk to the ground. The black mass of metal snarled and crouched, cradling his bonded to his chest, wishing he could shield the CMO’s back as well. The weapons fire continued to rain down on them, the human soldiers moving in as the mechs slowed.
‘Hide… h-hurts…
Save your intakes. We’ll get out of this.
Brave, assured words, but his processors scrabbled madly, not seeing a solution. The yellow-green helm lolled against black armor and optics flickered, which shot terror through the black mech.
Ratchet, a healer even in his own pain, tried to comfort his Ironhide. His intakes wheezed but he managed a Cybertronian endearment… whistle-purr…
The Hummer slipped into stasis lock with energon pooling on the ground beneath them, and the TopKick roared.
No.
Ratchet, Terror of the Medbay, sole mech willing and able to put up with the pain-in-the-aft that was Ironhide, brought down by a little band of humans?
Not possible… not…
‘Hide felt his own processors starting to stick and slow. Messages flashed past his HUD, politely informing him of the dire nature of the situation. A stubborn streak could only shrug off so much lost energon and damage to his systems.
What the frag is going on?!?
He slumped over his mate, covering the medic’s frame with his own in a final protective gesture before falling into stasis lock himself.
'Verse:
cubicality 's Machine-verse, with warps and reflections.Characters / Pairings: Ironhide/Ratchet
Summary: Ratchet's meeting is not what he was expecting. All get more than they bargained for.
Rating: R, eventual fighting, pain and angst. Things fall apart.
Warnings: Minimal here, a fight. Mild mech gore?
AN: Bold is bond-speak, silent communication just between pairs. And umm. Massive credit where credit is due. I do pic fics, apparently. This (will make sense later) was to community.livejournal.com/tf2007fun/854482.html
Disclaimer: No, I am poor, don't own anything. I just push them around into situations I find amusing. They belong to Hasbro/Dreamworks/rich people.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As they drove up, the coordinates had seemed deserted. Not entirely a good sign, but not entirely unheard of. Humans were notorious for some of the more highly classified government facilities being hidden to the point of inanity. Ratchet shifted out of his alt-mode and peered around, slightly confused. He checked his internal chronometer. Despite bending the speed limit while still on the roads, they were a full 5 Earth minutes late, no thanks to ‘Hide dragging Ratch back onto the berth…
Ironhide growled, still in his truck form. “Slagging humans are late for their own meeting?”
“It is we that are late, Ironhide,” the Hummer snapped. “Thank you very much.”
“You are quite welcome,” he practically crowed, gunning to get under his mate’s plating. “But you were vocal enough with your thanks earlier.”
Glancing back at the ebony metal with a rude blink-shutter-optic roll. “Smug fragge-”
The medic was cut off by a shot to the chest out of nowhere. Ironhide surged out of his truck mode, cannons engaging as he rose and shifted to stand defensively in front of Ratchet.
Are you…?
I’m fine. Where did…
Triangulating…
Ironhide hovered before the CMO, who wore a tight expression and was touching at his chest with the sensitive pads of his fingers. The medic’s faceplates shifted between pain, confusion, fascination and back to pain. There was something odd about the wound, it felt like nothing he had ever experienced. It worried him, though the scientist and medic in him was almost intrigued.
The weapons specialist swept scanners over the area, cannons matching the paths of his optics. There was nothing to indicate where the shot had originated… until a small army of humans surged from hidden underground bunkers, holding unfamiliar weapons that did not match any existing military specs available to Ironhide. That made Ironhide’s energon seem to run cold. As his specialty, the schematics for all human weapons configurations; past, present, and prototype; were available to him.
The TopKick was about to bark a command to transform, and was already leaning down, but they were quickly encircled with a ring of SUVs. Startled, the two mechs moved closer to each other, tense and shifting on their feet. Dental plates ground when Ironhide saw the trap for what it was. The two Autobots’ sole advantage was likely that they were expecting Ratchet, not him, and he was significantly more heavily armed than his bonded. The request had simply been for their CMO, they had taken the first shot at the Hummer. So the black mech’s protective instincts took over and he continued to try and stay between the humans and the medic.
Audios picked up murmurs of commands and words between the assorted humans.
“I thought it was supposed to be just one.”
“Shit, they’re big!”
“I dunno, he brought a friend?”
“They turn into freaking trucks, you expect them to be small?”
“Which one do we want?!”
“The doctor, ‘cause he knows the most about the rest.”
“I know we want the doc, moron.”
“Which one is that?”
“The yell- the… the not the black one…”
“The one at the back?”
“The one hit! Fire already!”
The humans opened fire en masse. Even with their target in mind, they were terrible shots; hitting Ironhide nearly as often as Ratchet.
The frontliner restrained a roar along with his battle computer that he needed to wrestle away from engaging. Prime’s standing ban on harming the humans seriously limited their options. Cannon fire was aimed at the SUVs, charring a good few to cinders and earning ‘Hide a barrage of shots towards his shoulders and forearms. Ratchet spun and deactivated a few of the weapons, a swing of his rotary blade slicing them to scrap while still in frail human hands.
Damages were shuffled back and other people kept moving forwards with more of those strange weapons. The humans’ ace lay in numbers, and the sheer brute force laid into the mechs they were encircling. There seemed to be more than enough reinforcements and the possible severity of the Autobots’ situation hit nearly as hard as the fire tearing through their armor.
Sending a rapid transmission, -Under attack, coordinates:…-
And there was something… wrong. Even the TopKick was starting to notice that the weapons blasts were penetrating deeper into their frames than human weapons normally did or should. Ratchet was starting to slip and Ironhide gasped, suddenly feeling feedback through their bond of the Hummer’s agony. Added to the sensation of fire coursing through his own systems, his processors reeled. Ratch made a keening whine and slumped against ebony back plating. Spinning around to clutch at the medic, ‘Hide looked into flickering optics. Energon still poured freely from the first chest wound; Ratchet should have been able to cut off energon lines to the damaged area, but instead it was eating its way further across the chartreuse chassis. The innocent request to study each of the mechs was apparently far from as innocent as whatever that Pit-spawned “organization” made it out to be.
With a shot high to his neck, Ratchet lurched and sunk to the ground. The black mass of metal snarled and crouched, cradling his bonded to his chest, wishing he could shield the CMO’s back as well. The weapons fire continued to rain down on them, the human soldiers moving in as the mechs slowed.
‘Hide… h-hurts…
Save your intakes. We’ll get out of this.
Brave, assured words, but his processors scrabbled madly, not seeing a solution. The yellow-green helm lolled against black armor and optics flickered, which shot terror through the black mech.
Ratchet, a healer even in his own pain, tried to comfort his Ironhide. His intakes wheezed but he managed a Cybertronian endearment… whistle-purr…
The Hummer slipped into stasis lock with energon pooling on the ground beneath them, and the TopKick roared.
No.
Ratchet, Terror of the Medbay, sole mech willing and able to put up with the pain-in-the-aft that was Ironhide, brought down by a little band of humans?
Not possible… not…
‘Hide felt his own processors starting to stick and slow. Messages flashed past his HUD, politely informing him of the dire nature of the situation. A stubborn streak could only shrug off so much lost energon and damage to his systems.
What the frag is going on?!?
He slumped over his mate, covering the medic’s frame with his own in a final protective gesture before falling into stasis lock himself.
