Rated: M for adult themes: language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore, and suicidal ideation. This varies from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.

Important Note: I started this series of fics before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an AU 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF/DOTM/AE/LK/BB fic.

Disclaimer: The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copyrighted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

XxxX

Purification

XxxX

Velocity pressed her hands against the desk. Leaning over the tidy surface, she narrowed the distance between them. "What is he doing here?" she growled between clamped dental plates as she struggled to keep her claws sheathed.

Prowl blinked slowly, his expression one of banal disinterest. "Who?" He swiped at his datapad, optics tracking across the screen as he read.

"Hardcore!" the femme yelled, her frame trembling from the emotional volley between raw panic and unfathomable rage. "Why is Hardcore here?"

"That is not your concern," the SIC stated dismissively, "Go back to tending to Optimus. That is your concern." He glanced at her, then focused on his datapad again.

Rage won the internal struggle. Lunging across the desk, Velocity unsheathed her claws. Their sharp points pierced the datapad as she snatched it out of the mech's hands. Whipping her arm behind her, she blindly flung the device. It smacked the far wall and shattered. Pieces chimed and clanked as they hit the floor. "Both are my fucking concern," she hissed.

Steeping his index fingers, Prowl pressed them against his lip components. Sky blue optics constricted to furious pinpoints. He bit his words, "I realize your recent experiences in Decepticon custody have you upset, but you need to calm down. Precautions are in place to keep everyone safe."

Velocity hooked her claws into the composite surface. "Did you just tell me to 'calm down'?"

Ignoring her, Prowl held up his fist between them. He extended his index finger. "One. Autobot regulations require a minimum blast rating of 82 for recharge quarters and medical facilities. You and Optimus are safe inside the MedBay.

A second finger joined the first. "Hardcore is under around the clock guard."

A third finger uncurled. "Ratchet has removed all weapon and communication links and data ports from the Decepticon. Removed, not disabled, or neutralized. Removed. Hardcore cannot communicate with a distant Cybertronian or even access wifi, radio, television signals, etcetera."

The fourth finger went up. "Finally, he has requested sanctuary and the Prime's Judgement. Cybertronian law obligates us to shelter him, without harm, until we can hold a hearing, and Optimus passes judgment. At the hearing, you may testify why Hardcore should not stay. Until that time, he is my concern. Not yours."

Claws sank deeper into the desk. Velocity's body trembled as she attempted to stare down the Autobot Second-In-Command while digesting his words. How could she explain the terror, the hate, the guilt Hardcore represented? Even if they made the Decepticon "safe," nothing would change what happened. "Safe" wouldn't change what he did to her. She couldn't testify in front of Optimus, reliving the humiliation. Even if she could explain all of this to Prowl, he would minimize her and dismiss her. He didn't care.

With a screech, she ranked her talons along the surface of his desk, carving deep trenches as she straightened. Reaching the edge, she dropped her hands to her side. Lifting her chin, she turned and walked to the door. Her discussion with the mech futile and over.

Before she stepped over the thresh hold, Prowl called to her, "Velocity, if you ever behave this way in my office again, I will not use the restraint I did today."

She glanced back at him and shrugged. "Go fuck yourself." She left his office.

XxxX

The shadows beneath Optimus's medical bunk offered her a place to hide. Ratchet's absence only added to the stillness. Obviously, the medic had another patient. A patient that didn't deserve their time or resources.

Velocity pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. The altercation left her numb. Lashing out at Prowl, while insolent and spiteful, offered her ragged soul a moment's peace. A release from the crushing emotions engulfing her. She knew the numbness within her wouldn't last. The fear and the anger would return, but for now, she relished the hollow disconnect. The respite from her emotions gave her a chance to think.

Above her, Optimus cycled his vents.

The deep inhale then exhale of air soothed her. She missed her mate, his stalwart presence and calm words wouldn't change what happened, but perhaps he could offer her solace. Maybe he could help cool and quench the rage burning within her and stop the slow unraveling of her control.

Her mind drifted to Prowl's baseless reassurance that they rendered the Decepticon harmless. Velocity doubted any amount of precautions would make such a mech "safe." Except, maybe death.

She mulled over Hardcore's presence and what it could signify. Was he genuinely seeking safety from other Decepticons? Did he even care she existed? Did her torture even matter to him, or was she just one more in a long line of victims? What if he had ulterior motives, an assassin to finish off the weakened Prime? What if Hardcore still believed she could divulge information about the femmes of Cybertron?

Her head snapped up. The mire of fear had distracted her, pulled her focus to only herself. "Ironhide," she whispered to the dust motes. She had more to worry about than just herself.

Scooting out from her hiding place, Velocity uncurled. Standing, she looked at Optimus. Pressing her hand against her chest, she watched the comatose mech. The slow rise and fall of his chest as he vented, the only sign he still lived. Having the Decepticon in the base, in her home, threatened everyone she loved and the ones they loved. Prowl wouldn't listen to her, and she doubted any of the others would either. Reaching down, she wrapped her fingers around his limp hand and squeezed. Shuttering her optics, the femme realized what she had to do, no way in Hell would that Decepticon remains in her home. "You are going to be angry at me; I can accept that. The other alternatives, I can't accept, and I would never forgive myself if something bad happens." Opening her shutters, she stared at her mate. "I love you, and I promise to be careful." Releasing Optimus's hand, Velocity collected her datapad.

Heading out of Medical, she shut and locked the door behind her. She needed to prepare, and she couldn't do that hiding beneath Optimus or having Ratchet looking over her shoulder. A place existed where she could think and plot in solitude—a place belonging only to her.

Accessing base schematics, and Prowl's updated duty roster, it became clear where they secured the Decepticon.

XxxX

Velocity paused before the door. Her arm raised in the air, hand curled into a fist. Common sense made one last attempt to dissuade her, but she ignored the voice of rationale. This place held the information she needed; therefore, common sense needed to shut the fuck up.

Resolution sighed from her vents, and the femme knocked on the door.

And she waited.

Time crept by, and she glanced up and down the hallway. The connotations of being caught in front of this door were not lost on Velocity. She didn't want to scramble for a lame justification for standing here. Drumming her fingers on her thigh, Velocity checked her chronometer. Only a couple of seconds ticked by, but impatience began to gnaw at her.

This time, Velocity pounded fiercely. The echoes of her annoyance rolled through the corridor, rumbled off walls—a noisy testament to desperation.

Finally, the door slid open.

"What?" Sideswipe blocked her view, even though inky shadows hid the room beyond. The mech looked at her. His optic shutters shot open in surprise. A wide smile slowly spread across his features, but it didn't match the calculating glow in his optics. "Well, who do we have here?"

"You know who I am," Velocity bluffed. She held her ground, even though her instincts screamed for her to run, and common sense prattled on with "I told you so." "I need to talk to you and Sunstreaker."

Sideswipe stepped back, his hand ushering her into the recharge chambers. "Please, let's talk." The way he purred the words insinuated "talk" had more lascivious meanings.

She made it this far, and backing out endangered those she cared about. Stepping past the red twin, she entered the proverbial lions' den.

A hand caressed her back, and Velocity growled a warning. The touch fell away. This lions' den now held a lioness.

The lighting brightened, exposing the room's interior. Velocity glanced around, the space held a treasure trove, objects of all descriptions littered the area. So overwhelmed, the femme focused on an optic-level shelf. A box had ruptured its contents, naked women, flattened on a piece of paper, showed the world what their underwear kept covered. Nearby, paper money, of all denominations, filled an empty energon cube. The twins offered a library for those with less literary interests. She stopped trying to identify the rest, afraid of discovering actual illegal contraband.

Deeper in the room, Sunstreaker reclined on one of the two recharge bunks. Arctic optics scrutinized her, cold light illuminating colder features.

Sideswipe brushed past her. The red mech took a seat on the empty bunk; he patted a place next to him.

"Thank you, but I'll stand." She had a clear path to the door behind her, and both mechs in view.

"What do you want to talk about?" Sunstreaker slowly blinked, condescension hanging around the mech like a mist.

Gods what a gamble, Velocity thought, looking from one bot to the other. The desire to retreat threatened to overwhelm her. Rapidly she asked, "How do you get off base without the sensor grid picking up your energy signatures?"

Two sets of brow arches shot up in surprise, and the brothers glanced at each other.

Refusing to elaborate, Velocity crossed her arms over her chest. Meeting their stares, she kept her expression neutral, an attempt to hide the growing sense she made a huge mistake.

The mechs looked at each other. A visible conversation on a private channel bounced between them.

She waited for the Autobots to come to a concession. Impatience spiced with uncertainty began twitching within the femme. She tapped her fingers on her arm and tried to ignore the odd shapes peeking from the shadows beneath the bunks.

Finally, Sideswipe broke the silence; his voice startled her. "That is some pretty confidential stuff. How do we know you aren't just going to run and tell Prowl?"

Velocity offered the twins her best expression of baleful disgust.

"Well, if you are going to use this information for evil, we can't tell you," the red mech explained.

"I am getting rid of a problem. Beyond that, you don't need to know. Plausible deniability."

Again, the twins glanced at each other. The unheard discussion agitated the femme's nerves. Velocity wished they would just say whatever they needed to, without the private deliberation.

This time, Sunstreaker spoke. His voice hard and his optics lasers focused on her, "Doing this kind of business with the Prime's Mate is a fast way to end up at Garus-9. Anyways, you have nothing to offer us in exchange for information."

Looking towards a cluttered corner, Velocity swallowed her frustration. Turning back meant the Decepticon remained. Grinding her dental plates, she growled, "You know I have influence." She turned and glared at the yellow twin; her features pinched together in a scowl.

The golden head tipped to the side as they exchanged a long stare.

"Or I could just tell Prowl you have left base multiple times since he locked it down." A cold smile pulled at her features.

Sideswipe squealed with indignation, "But we haven't left."

"Who would Prowl believe? You," She blindly gestured to the shelves of pornography and unidentified illicitness. "Or me, the Prime's mate?" She forced a sweet smile to grace her features.

Sunstreaker's scowl darkened, but not before an odd smile quirked the corner of his mouth then disappeared. He looked away first. Sitting up, he draped his legs over the side of the bunk, making room. "Come and sit. I'll teach you what to do."

XxxX

"How is Optimus?" Ironhide asked, not looking up from the dismantled weapon spread before him.

"Asleep," Velocity enunciated slowly. Completely distracted, she gawked, trying to take in the scene before her. The dark mech sat at a workbench, hunched over, and focused on his task. Around him, covering every surface, taking up nearly every inch of wall space, a display of potential destruction. Short muzzles, long muzzles, swords, knives, maces, bludgeoning weapons, pointy weapons, and weapons she had no words for. "Holy shit," she mumbled to herself.

The chuckle rumbled around the room. As it died, Ironhide became serious. "You should be with him. You need to protect and care for him, yet here you are."

"There isn't anything I can do for him." A ranseur grabbed her attention. The twisted head sported two curved hooks on either side of the spiraled spike. Dark and unadorned, it stood out among the intricate and colorful Cybertronian weapons. She ran her fingers along the shaft; it responded to her touch. Lights pulsed upward to the black point as a new program prickled her processor. She pulled her hand away. "I lost my blaster. I doubt I can do much 'protecting' with my blade."

Clank. The weapon's specialist sat his project down. Pale blue optics focused on her.

The femme felt the weight of their scrutiny.

Spinning on his stool, the mech reached up. His large hand nearly engulfed the tiny gun resting on the pegboard behind him. Turning back around, he proffered the weapon, a salesman showing his wears. "This is a Kaonian blah, blah…."

Velocity tuned out the sales pitch, the weapon lacked the lethality she wanted. She needed something intimidating and scary, something a Decepticon hesitated to challenge. "Too small," she interrupted the mech's pontifications.

Black brow arches quirked upwards, "This is a similar make to the one you lost."

Pulling a spare stool from beneath the workbench, the femme sat across from the Weapons Specialist. Leaning forward, she propped her elbows on the table. "Bigger."

The mech sat the blaster aside. Leveling his gaze at her, he straightened. "How big are we talking?"

Thanking the gods for offering her the foresight to research Cybertronian weapons systems, Velocity explained, "I want to avoid frame modifications, but large enough to lethally fuck up anyone who might try to hurt Optimus. A weapon to set an example."

The big mech crossed his arms over his chest; his massive cannons consumed the space around him as he brooded. Finally, he spoke, "Velocity, we don't know how prolonged use of an energy weapon will affect you. Using this type of weapon drains the energy reserves and, eventually, the spark. Firing too many times, without recovery or refuel, can lead to complete drain, stasis lock, or termination. You don't have a spark, you have a soul, and there are too many unknowns to risk a larger impact weapon in combat." He shrugged his shoulders, displaying the unknown answers. "If you take a projectile weapon, there is the issue of carrying the ammunition. Anything beyond a few rounds and you will add significant weight, as well as take up space in your internal storage.

"You have a slight, light frame. Nothing like us heavyweights," the mech uncrossed an arm and patted himself appreciatively. "We were built for large loads, lifting, high impact, prolonged strain. You were designed to be nimble and quick. You can't be that with large weapons. Any modification in size might put an unforeseen strain on your systems or soul. We can't risk that, especially now that you and Optimus are a bond pair.

He leaned towards her, his mass limiting the distance. "This is why I want you trained with blades. You already had experience swinging a sword, and they offer the least amount of energy expenditure in a long battle." He leaned back. A blink of his optic shutters showed the pronounced scarring on his facial plates

Velocity understood all of this already. While not comprehending the technical equations, she grasped the limitations of Cybertronian mechanics and modifications. Summed up best as "Avoid unless no other possibility existed." Picking up part of the dismantled weapon before her, she pondered it momentarily. She placed it back. "That's all well and good, but I don't want this for a prolonged battle. I am thinking about a one-shot, one kill situation. Simple, over, and done." She met the mech's optics.

Ironhide pursed his lips and vented a sigh. Leaning back, he softly drummed his fingers against his arm.

Velocity waited. She battled the urge to fidget or cringe, the scrutiny uncomfortable. Instead, she held her head up and returned the mech's weighted gaze. The slow blinks of her optic shutters passed the time.

After a short eternity, Ironhide unfolded his arms and picked up the Kaonian blaster. He offered it to her, "Take this as a replacement and pull the Cutter off the wall behind you. It's a simple point and shoot. It should make most sane mechs stop and think."

A victorious smile threatened to spread along her face, but she forced her features into submission. The nature of her future actions did not warrant brevity. Instead, she stood. Taking the blaster, the femme holstered it. The little weapon fit perfectly in place of her missing one. Turning around, she pondered the wall of weaponry behind her. She had no idea what the offered Cutter should look like. The only Cutters she could identify required sharpening or wore Prada heels on the nightly news. Guessing, she reached out and brushed her fingers against a random weapon.

"Oh, for the love of Primus. No. To the right. Two over and three up."

The directions lead her to a wide barreled weapon, detailed in ochre yellow and burnt orange, an ugly weapon for an ugly deed. Slipping it off the hooks, she kept the barrel pointed downward.

"By your thumb is the safety. Trigger underneath. Auto uplink to your battle protocols. No signature locks. It only takes an astrosecond to charge and will blow a hole in any mech you hit with it. The energy drain should be within your upper limits, but it will put you on your aft after you fire it. Make sure you only have the one threat, or you're a sitting target."

Velocity listened closely. She couldn't wing this—no guessing or jumping in blind. As the mech spoke, she looked the weapon over, familiarizing herself with it. Safety. Trigger. Uplinks. Attachments to lock it on her back. Got it.

She faced the ancient warrior. "Thank you." Simple words to express the growing sense of relief, knowing she would soon purge her home of a blight.

She turned and headed towards the door. So much more to do.

"You can't kill him."

The words froze her in mid-step.

"To kill him now would make you a murderer. Optimus wouldn't have chosen you if you were a murderer."

She sighed but remained otherwise silent. He didn't understand what happened, what could happen, none of them understood. She did this for herself, but also for Ironhide and his mate.

Continuing forward, she passed the ranseur leaning against the wall. Without hesitation, she reached out and grabbed it, taking it with her.

XxxX

Waiting became a study of patience. She had everything in place but needed the perfect moment to strike. The hours crept by. Ironhide's words fertilized the seeds of uncertainty. Soft voices whispered doubt, questioning possibilities, and dismay over the repercussions.

Velocity sat cross-legged in an unused corridor, the Cutter cradled on her lap, back pressed against the wall. Shuttering her optics, she turned inward. Past the ambient echoes of her home. Beyond the treacherous murmurs of her mind. Avoiding the connection to another. Deep within the darkness of her, the hidden recesses she barely acknowledged existed, the beast slumbered. Or so she believed. That inhuman and feral part of her stared back. It didn't sleep; it waited with primordial patience.

She feared that part of her, that calculating animal. The sleek beast stretched and yawned. It didn't like the metal body that caged it, but it did enjoy the strength and speed. The primeval presence understood how to hunt, how to ambush, how to wait. The femme allowed the beast to fill her, to seeped along her circuits and viewed through her optics. She didn't have to tell it what she planned; it already knew.

Opening her shutters, the femme looked around. The simple presence of the great cat within her scared way the nagging voices. Reaching over, Velocity retrieved the datapad lying nearby. A clock showed the hours into the new shift rotations. A cold smile pulled at her facial plates; it was time.

Uncurling her legs, she gracefully stood. Datapad in one hand, she used the other to swing the oversized weapon onto her back. Schooling her face into bland neutrality, she initiated the plan to remove the filth.

Walking silently, she stalked through the hallways, heading for her target.

Rounding a corner, the victim sat slumped on a stool. His head bowed, attention focused on the datapad in his hands. Guilt trickled down her spinal assembly. He doesn't deserve this, she thought.

It's for the greater good, whispered the beast.

Slipping on a friendly smile, the femme chirped happily, "Hey, Cliff."

The mech's head snapped up. Momentary confusion raced across his features until a massive grin threatened to engulf his face. "Hi, V. Can I call you V? I know a lot of the others call you V."

Velocity waved dismissively. "I don't care. You can call me V." She walked to stand in front of the crimson mech. Her hands on her hips, to hide her trembling fingers. Glancing to the door behind Cliffjumper, she noticed the magenta light blinking with steady boredom. Looking back at the mech, she dropped her smile. "Prowl wants to talk to you about something. He sounded pissed. If you want, I can watch the 'Con till you get back?" she offered helpfully.

Cliffjumper frowned. "Are you sure? I mean, are you fine with guard duty? The 'Con can barely stand, so he isn't much of a threat, but you are the Prime's bonded…"

Rolling her optics with disgust, the femme retorted, "Oh, gods. Stop that 'Prime's bonded' crap. You won't be gone long, and anyways, I have some new toys." She patted the weapon poking over her shoulder.

A sheepish grin pulled at the mech's features. "Yeah, I noticed you tooled up. Sorry about the 'Prime's bonded' bit. It's just hard to figure out how we are supposed to treat you."

Reaching out, Velocity cupped the mech's chin. Tilting his head upward, she leaned close. "I am not special. I am trying to figure everything out as I go. So, treat me how I deserve to be treated." Silently she continued, After the shit storm I am throwing you into, I will understand if you hate me.

She released him and stepped back.

A sigh resonated through the red mech. He blinked and stared at her wistfully.

Inwardly, Velocity cringed. She didn't like playing these games. Also, she didn't like how readily some of the Autobots viewed her as a heaven-sent bastion of virtue. She wasn't a cybernetic Madonna. The beast ignored her self-indulgent lament.

"You need to get going," she prompted.

The mech appeared to shake himself out of a spell. He stood and rolled his shoulders in a stretch. "I should be back in a couple of breems. If not, call Hound or Smokes to relieve you," he instructed.

Heading down the hallway, the mech paused and turned around. "Do you know what Prowl was peeved about?"

Velocity shrugged as she plopped onto the newly vacant stool. Then, she saluted and winked, sending the mech on his way.

"Great," Cliffjumper moaned as he headed out to find the Second-in-Command.

Pretending to read her datapad, Velocity stealthily watched the mech disappear around a corner. She waited, making sure he didn't return. When he didn't, and the echoes of his pedfalls faded away, she jumped to action.

Dropping all pretenses and bounding off the stool, she headed immediately to the door locks. Pulling the Cutter, she activated it. A drain sucked on her energy levels as the weapon powered up. Leveling the heavy stock against her hip, Velocity readied to face her tormentor. An override code and the door smoothly slid open.

Velocity blinked. Beyond lay nothing. An empty room devoid of any mechanical lifeform.

"Huh," she stated to no one. The room contained three doors—each facing the empty area. Velocity swept the muzzle of the Cutter, making sure no one pressed against the wall. The space Decepticon free, she cautiously entered. Two of the doors displayed pale blue lights, the third – magenta.

Quickly, she unlocked the door and readied her choice for murder.

The dark room held deep shadows. The light from behind her carved out the angles of the mech in a deep chiaroscuro. A streak of light exposed dirt-encrusted peds angled oddly on a bunk.

Pump pounding in anticipation, the femme allowed her optics to adjust. The rest of the mech lay supine, his face obscured by his arm covering his optics. Velocity had not planned on a mech deep in recharge. Adjusting her grip, she braced the butt of the weapon against her shoulder and looked down the sights.

Stepping into the room, she nudged his ped with hers.

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

Exasperated, Velocity kicked him harder.

Hardcore onlined with a jerk. His arms flailing as he struggled to sit up.

Immediately, Velocity scuttled backward. She readied for the rushing attack.

It never came.

The mech froze, his elbows propping him up. The dull, blue glow of his optics flicked between her and the gun. A trembling sigh rattled his vents.

Velocity sniffed the air; a cruel smile slowly twisted her facial plates. The beast tasted the mech's fear, trapped prey.

"I'm unarmed," Hardcore announced, his voice rough with desperation.

"Get up," Velocity snapped. "Keep your hands where I can see them."

Struggling, the Decepticon stumbled to his peds. He stood before her with his hands by his sides, and palms turned out. "You don't want to do this."

"Shut the fuck up," Velocity snarled. A silent command and she brightened the lighting of the room.

Hardcore jerked at the vehemence in her voice. He stood exposed and vulnerable to her. His physical condition could fuel nightmares about zombie robots. The once lustrous silver dulled from scrapes, dents, gouges, and filth. Oils, energon, and various mech fluids caked the seams and creases of his armor and painted dripping trails downward. Missing facial plates exposed busted and jagged dental plates. Both hands missed fingers, raw wires dangling. Precise squares and rectangles punched through his armor and revealed the mechanics beneath. Both wrists bore holes instead of interface ports and parallel channels ran along his neck and down his chest. His vents rattled, joints creaked, and his frame popped from stress. He trembled, either from fear or the exertion of standing, optics wide and darting. The smarmy arrogance replaced by cowardly uncertainty.

The femme snarled in disgust. The beautiful and cruel angel no longer existed; in his place stood a suffering wretch. Pulling the trigger would only offer mercy, and Velocity lacked compassion for this mech. She blinked and cycled her vents. Long enough to decide how to modify her plans. The goal remained the same, but the suffering she could prolong.

Velocity backed out of the cell, keeping the weapon trained on Hardcore. "Out," she barked.

"Are you going to terminate me?" resignation thick in his voice.

"Nope," She admitted. "Now, step out and keep your back too me."

Hardcore did as she ordered. His armor hung slack, and his head bowed, focusing on the floor. "What are you going to do with me?" His destroyed face masticating the air as he spoke.

Ignoring his question, she instructed, "You will walk when I say so. You will stop when I say so. You will stay quiet and follow my instructions. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

Quickly and quietly, they made their way through the base. The Decepticon followed every command, never challenging, never questioning, never looking up from his peds. Terminal resignation hung around him. Velocity expected a fight and instead found a simpering caitiff; the submissive complacency revolted her. The pain and the humiliation she suffered at his hands. The fear he planted within her. The filth he tainted her with. The threats to those she cared about, only to discover the cowardice at his core, the craven weakness of his true nature. Death to this one would become an act of benevolence, and this vile being didn't deserve it.

Standing at the threshold of the central rotunda, Velocity scanned the area. The twins told her the massive room often went unguarded. Low numbers and the inability of anyone but the Alpha Base Autobots to access the lift made it a low priority.

Directing Hardcore to the lift, they rapidly covered the open expanse. Stepping upon the dais, Velocity ordered the mech to his knees, hands on top of his helm. Stiffly, he complied, trepidation rolling off him in waves.

Velocity moved around the mech, accessing the control board. Following Sunstreaker's instructions, she overrode the programs and typed in her own. The lift shuttered to life and began its ascent to the surface. Turning, she addressed the Decepticon, the barrel still pointed at him. "Once we reach the surface, you will continue to follow my instructions. The valley floor is covered in sensors. Once we clear those, you leave. I have deemed you unworthy of sanctuary."

Hardcore stared at her, his optics wide, mouth slack. "You can't do this," he pleaded. "I have nowhere to go. The Decepticons will kill me." He dropped his arms and reached for her. "This isn't fair."

Snapping the Cutter up, the femme leveled it at the mech's helm. A sneer twisted her features. "Don't touch me. Ever."

Reluctantly, Hardcore returned his hands to his helm. "Velocity," he whined, "I am unarmed and injured. I cannot defend myself,"

Unable to hide her disdain, the femme snarled, "Neither could Tony."

The lift shuddered to a stop at the top of the shaft. Florescent lights glared harshly around them. Beyond the bay door, darkness welcomed her. A warm breeze swirled in from outside; it carried hints of dry dirt and night animals. The predator within lifted its head and drank in the night. She wanted to run free, to bathe in the light of the stars.

Instead, she turned to the mech and promised, "If I ever see you again, I will kill you, and I will take my time in doing so."

Whatever the Decepticon saw in her optics made him recoil and pulled a whimper from his vocals.

XxxX

A knock dragged Prowl away from his reports. He glanced up to see Cliffjumper standing in his doorway.

"You needed to see me?" the red mech queried.

Confusion pressed Prowl's brow arches together in a frown. "No."

Cliffjumper shrugged dismissively. "Must have been a misunderstanding." He turned to leave.

In Prowl's world, no one "misunderstood" the need to report to him. He made certain Autobots didn't casually stroll into his office or take up his time with trivialities. Unease crept up his spinal assembly. "Cliffjumper, wait."

The Autobot paused, and half turned. He looked back at his superior.

The SIC accessed the duty roster. Unease had congealed into concern, but not yet panic. Sometimes shifts were traded, much against his orders. "Who told you to find me?"

"Velocity. She said…"

"Were you on duty when she told you this?" Prowl cut off the mech's explanation. The information on the roster chilled the tactician's energon. He struggled to remain calm as dread crept into his spark. He shuttered his optics, waiting for the answer.

"Well, yes. I was guarding the Decepticon prisoner…" The rest of the mech's statement went unheard.

Prowl's optical shutters flew open, and he exploded from his seat. "Fraggit!" he yelled, nearly tipping over the desk in his rush to bolt around it. Shoving the smaller Autobot aside, the tactician flew out of his office.

::Prowl to Ironhide,:: he hollered over private comms. ::Get to Hardcore's cell immediately.:: He didn't wait for a reply. ::Sunstreaker. You and your brother secure medbay now.::

::On it,:: echoed the yellow twin.

Sprinting towards the holding cell, Prowl noticed Cliffjumper struggling to keep up with his longer strides. "What do you want me to do?"

Grinding his dental plates, Prowl fought the urge to stop and berate the mech. Cliffjumper might not be at fault. The femme, while holding no real rank, would be viewed as a superior to most through her bond to Optimus. Someone to defer or listen to without question. The SIC had unspoken suspicion she could influence more than just metal. Cliffjumper might be more of a victim than an accomplice. "Go to Ops. Secure the base. No one in or out."

Without a word, the red mech veered down an intersecting hallway, his pedfalls fading. Prowl bet Cliffjumper would contact Hound to help him, a reasonable option.

Continuing his sprint, Prowl hoped he had enough time to stop whatever asinine plan Velocity had hatched. Rounding a corner, he nearly slammed into the black mass of Ironhide. Only Bumblebee's quick grab kept the tactician from taking them all down in a heap.

"What the frag is going on?" snapped Ironhide as he pushed himself off the wall he fell against.

Prowl held up a finger to pause the warrior's impending tirade, focusing on Sunstreaker's disembodied voice. ::We are at medbay. It's locked down. Ratchet and Wheeljack have secured the inside, we are outside.::

::Hold that position.:: The SIC closed the comm link. The turned to the others. "With me," and took off down the corridor.

Bumblebee kept up with the headlong dash, but bulk, age, and old wounds forced Ironhide to lag. Knowing they neared their target, Prowl pulled his primary weapon and charged it. Bumblebee did the same, his battle mask clicking into place.

Sliding to a stop one turn from the holding cells, Prowl pressed his back against the wall, weapon ready. He pointed to the scout, who nodded without hesitation. Ironhide caught up, his cannons humming with power.

"Velocity may be - a hostage. Secure her and neutralize Hardcore, any means necessary," the tactician whispered. "On the count of three." Prowl showed three fingers, then two, then one. He and the scout rolled around the corner, weapons drawn. Bumblebee dropped to one knee beside him, aiming low.

Nothing. The alcove echoed with emptiness.

Crouched, they moved forward. Prowl pointed towards the closed doors. Bumblebee broke off to clear the rooms. Ironhide moved to the scout's vacant position, still facing backward, covering the rear. "Stay."

The black mech grunted.

Prowl slipped towards Hardcore's cell. Muzzle leading, he peered into the confined space. Only dirt and drops of crusted fluids inhabited the floor. Straitening with a sigh, he stowed his weapon. "All clear," he announced.

Bumblebee strolled to the former Decepticon's cell and peaked in. Turning to Prowl, he played a song snippet, "Oh, sinner man, where you going to run to?"

"What the fuck?" demanded Ironhide joining the pair.

Pinching the bridge of his nasal plates, Prowl answered. "I think Velocity took Hardcore out of his cell.

A frustrated snarl reverberated around them. Ironhide turned and ran back the way they came.

XxxX

Ironhide's vents cycled rapidly, trying to pull cold air past overheating mechanics. Limping badly, he entered Central Ops. "Cliffjumper, run a sweep of the base. Hound pull all lift logs. I want Velocity located now," he barked.

The Tracker reported first, "This says the lift hasn't been used since we returned with the Decepticon." His voice trailed off.

"But what?" demanded Ironhide, leaning over Hound to see the log for himself.

Hound pointed to the screen. "Here. The spacing is off. It looks like someone scrubbed the logs but didn't realign the glyphs."

"Shit! Cliff, stop internal scans. Focus on the valley, set sensors for maximum range."

Cliffjumper began typing commands. The display map shifted and blurred, only to reform as a topographic map of the valley they called home. A cluster of glyphs showed the humans on the surface and a couple of Cybertronians hanging out topside. No Velocity. No Hardcore.

Ironhide hung his head in frustration. He could kick himself in the aft. He figured Velocity wanted the weapon upgrade to protect herself. They all felt safer armed, a comfort in knowing they could kill any threat. At the worst, he thought Velocity would kill Hardcore, not take him for a fragging walk. A typical Cybertronian femme would have blasted a hole in the Con then went for a drink. Not Velocity. She didn't think like a typical femme.

"How can she not be in the base or the valley? We didn't talk that long ago," Cliffjumper moaned.

Ironhide braced his hands on the back of the red mech's chair. "Not only did she scrub the logs, she is masking their signal. They are probably still in the valley; we just don't know where." Had he not been so worried about her, he would have been proud.

Hound left his seat and crowded Cliffjumper, tapping away at the other Autobot's keypad. "I think if I change the parameters for the sensors. We are scanning for Cybertronian energy signals. If they are masking their signatures, then we need to look for something different, something smaller, weaker." His finger typed furiously. Then paused, checking the readout before he continued typing.

Eventually, the display showed several lines haphazardly cutting across the valley. More than one originated from Alpha Base. A few more commands and one of the lines pulsed softly. "I think this might be them. The timestamp is current, and the trajectory puts it towards the deep desert."

Ironhide noted the co-ordinance and spun to leave.

Hound joined him, easily keeping up with the older mech.

'What the Hell are you doing?" the old warrior grumbled.

"I'm coming."

Ironhide stopped and blocked the other mech. "No, you aren't. I'm doing this alone."

"But if Velocity is injured?"

"Then I am calling Ratchet, and you can guide him." Ironhide left the mech standing in the hallway.

Reaching the elevator, he entered the code. Stepping on the dais, the Weapons Specialist contacted Prowl. ::I Have a possible location on Velocity. I'm intercepting.:: He shut off his comm, not wanting to hear what the SIC might say. Looking up the long shaft, he hoped the red femme remained safe.

XxxX

Author's Notes:

Bumblebee's tune. "Sinner Man" by Nina Simone. (One of my favorites)

Thank you everyone, for reading and commenting. We are nearing the home stretch. I will have to pause posting to research and write the last few chapters. Just know, that I haven't abandoned this tale yet; therefore I am unlikely to do so.

To ElleMeDit2016: Hello. Thank you for reading and commenting. You have been reading this for a long time. It's been over a decade since I started it. I update for the readers, that and I want to finish this monster of a fic.

To d8rkforcen1ght7: I have sent you a PM responding to all of your comments. Thank you.