Archive of Our Own

“I hate this place.”

Here we go again, Barricade thinks, annoyance flooding his systems.

He tries very hard to bite back the snarky comment he can feel on his glossa regarding Bonecrusher’s ever present hatred for everything on this Primus-forsaken planet. But he can tell he’s going to fail, if Bonecrusher lets another useless word, a syllable even, slip past his dermas. Which is almost sure to happen at this point. Bonecrusher never shuts up about hating people, or objects, or places—he probably hates himself, too, maybe even the most. It’s his most favorite topic to talk about. Or at least it would be, if Bonecrusher wouldn’t hate everything and everyone so much.

And Barricade got fed up with Bonecrusher’s hatred for every single being in the world over time, so much so, that it became harder and harder not to be a mean fragger about it all. Then again, Barricade wonders why he even tries to pull himself together. He’s got a slight suspicion about it having something to do with Starscream’s annoying order on Megatron’s behalf. No infighting. At least not on board of their new vessel. Pretentious, flying piece of scrap metal. Starscream, that is. Not the vessel, their leader calls “Nemesis”.

“Really. Never thought you might do, Bonecrusher,” he grumbles sarcastically, but doesn’t look into Bonecrusher’s ugly face. 

Instead, he lets his gaze wander.

They’ve been ordered to stand guard, deep in the vessel’s hold, in front of the doors to the storage area, near the Nemesis’ cargo bay landing platform.

Barricade never thought he could miss guard duty with Lugnut, but he supposes he does now… With Lugnut you could mess without the literal lugnut actually comprehending what’s happening. Lugnut is a talker. It has annoyed Barricade to no end, but at least he did have his fun in ridiculing the other. Bonecrusher is far less talkative, but when he opens his intake, he usually knows only one topic alone, and that’s worse, because the mere repetitiveness usually drives Barricade’s neural network into attempted self-destruction out of boredom and irritation. And even worse: Bonecrusher actually possesses more cognitive ability than the stupid lugnut unflattering but the more fittingly—and actually—called “Lugnut”. Which means, Barricade probably would never hear the end of it, even if he was eager to start a fight.

The only redeeming feature of being on guard duty with Bonecrusher are the window fronts to his sides. Barricade finds himself staring out of them at the ground below rather often, and it actually feels quite relaxing to let his systems run low for a change—because, after all, what does Megatron think will happen to their precious cargo? There will certainly be no grounders breaking into their new, flying vessel in an attempt to steal their fragging scrap. And most of those are grounders. Easy solution to a non-existing problem.

Or: It would be a redeeming feature. If Bonecrusher would kindly keep his intake shut. Which he doesn’t at the moment…

Bonecrusher’s probably right, too. At least this time he is. Barricade can’t say he’s enjoying the view either. And he thinks his olfactory sensors are picking up the wretched stench of the damned place down there. It’s a stench of acid and rotting metal frames, so harsh and present, he immediately asks himself what the fragg they’re fabricating down there.

They are hovering in the air, currently cutting across country—over some areas of the Badlands, to be exact. It’s a rust-filled landscape beneath the vessel, rotting, and decaying, and dying. Only one of the many poor nameless cities and areas of Cybertron that are dying away in front of everyone’s optical units, because the High Council over at Iacon usually withholds all support in order to save their own skid-plates… There are many such places out there, Barricade knows, especially inside and around the Badlands, because the Badlands are their territory. But this one might even be the ugliest and most broken of all. But, most importantly, while the Badlands may be their territory, this one city below them theoretically isn’t. Not yet, at least. Megatron is probably going to free them soon, too.

The place is a giant lump of metal, partially floating in the air itself. Barricade assumes the giant lump, the nameless place in the midst of the Badlands, is able to let itself back into the ground, only to disappear in there, letting the doors shut close above them. There are many places like that around here, places which mostly exist below ground. This one’s just able to see the above once in a while. Even though the mechanical parts, which allow the ascend as well as the descent over and over again, surely must be rusty and partially broken by now. Maybe, one day, they would just stop working and the city would be stuck in whatever position it would be in at that time. There’s a translucent kind of dome spanning around the place, probably some kind of shield to either keep the citizens in, or any outsider out. But it being translucent means nothing can hide the ugly truth right in front of you.

Barricade thinks he’s just seen a tiny flash of red down there. Too small to really be seen, unless you stare at it for a while like Barricade does right now. But the red moving stain has been surprisingly light, surprisingly colorful.

Before he can ponder over it, he feels a jolt in his shoulder platings and grumpily turns to face Bonecrusher.

“You getting funny with me?!” he asks Barricade, traces of anger welling up again, transmitted through his vocalizers.

“No, I wouldn’t dream of it…! Mostly because you’re the most un-funny, boring fragger I’ve ever met…”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, no joke, that scraphead of yours hates every-fraggin’-one…” Barricade says. He knows, this is one of those times where he should keep his intake shut, but, like always, he didn’t manage to do so. All that’s left now, is to mentally prepare for the storm that’s sure to befall him in the next few kliks.

He knows the storm has arrived to get him, when he feels another jab, lower this time, and harder than the one before. “Fragg off, Bonecrusher…” At least he’s tried to diffuse the bomb….

But, knowing Bonecrusher, this attempt isn’t going to be very helpful. Bonecrusher is a bomb you can’t really diffuse once the timer has been activated.

When Bonecrusher’s right blaster is rammed into the back of Barricade’s helmet, the latter finally loses it. Because, fragg Starscream and his orders—but mostly Starscream himself! The coward can come and see what it means to endure the kind of scrap Barricade has to put up with all the time, and then they’d see if Screamer would still be willing to “professionally and delicately handle the situation”, if Starscream would even be able to, when seeing what Barricade’s seeing every fragging day. Handling the matter “proficient” and “permissive” his aft! In fact, to the fragging pits with it all! Fancy words for a coward who never involves himself in scrap like this as soon as a quick exit’s in sight…

He turns around quickly and dodges another hit of Bonecrusher’s blaster. He caught the other off-guard, and that’s what matters most of the time. Barricade might not have been one of the fiercest gladiators of the pits of Kaon like Megatron has been once, before the latter saved him the never-ending self-loathing and disgust of killing for the enjoyment of others... but he always was skillful as well as lucky enough to have scraped by like that until now. He knows one or two things about hand-to-hand-combat. 

Barricade uses the precious time he’s won by driving one of his claws deeply into the spot beneath Bonecrusher’s shoulder plating until the other begins to outright howl. Then he presses on, hauls himself on top of the other, and forces him to the ground until they’re both a single lump of metal rolling over the floor while kicking and trying to scratch and damage one another.

When Bonecrusher’s extended arm on his upper back darts over his shoulder platings and forward in Barricade’s direction, the other isn’t quite fast enough to dodge it completely. Before he can roll out of the way, the thing digs into his frame, past the midsection-plating and into sensitive cables and wiring.

Barricade grunts and kicks the other off him, quickly trying to get on his pedes again, in order to gain back the upper hand. This is important, this is his priority here. Should Bonecrusher manage to overwhelm him in time, Barricade would be done for. Or at least badly injured, damaged, maybe beyond repair. He doesn’t invest too much hope in Bonecrusher’s merciful side. Once the energon has started rushing through Bonecrusher’s fuel lines in anger, there’s usually hardly anything or anyone that’s able to stop him, Barricade gives him that much.

“Stop this immediately!” He has no idea from where Starscreams croaky voice comes from all of a sudden, but it certainly doesn’t help any of them calm down.

Maybe Bonecrusher simply ignores the irritating sound of Screamer’s voice, Barricade, for his part, is trying very hard to block it out for sure.

Bonecrusher is lunging at him again, Barricade steps to the side—barely in the nick of time.

He still feels bold enough to taunt the other. “What’s wrong, you rage-sick piece of junk? No, in fact, let me tell you what’s wrong with you!” He does another side-step at Bonecrusher’s pitiful attempt of an attack. “You pathetic fragger hate everything and everyone. Which means… you also hate yourself! Now, that I find very fragging funny, really!”

“Barricade! Stand down, immediately!” Starscream barks.

Barricade ignores him.  “What’s up, you that furious?” He dodges again, Bonecrusher getting visibly more agitated by the klik. “You can’t even get a hold of me, look at you, you fragging loser!”

“I’m warning you, Barricade!” Starscream snarls. “By the authority that has been bestowed upon me by our leader…—”

“Fragg you, too, you snitching kissaft, your authority be damned to the fighting pits and beyond!” Barricade bites back at Starscream while jumping to the side again in order to evade Bonecrusher once more. Truth be told, he always wanted to tell this to Starscream’s face plates and doesn’t really know why he refrained from doing so until now…

It’s a well-known fact by now. Barricade always voices his opinion—to everyone, with little regard for anyone’s feelings or differing views. And he’s never been one for mincing his words. The latter of the two partially got Barricade to where he is now, with Megatron acutally appreciating his outspoken nature, even if Barricade wonders if it’s worth it, when he has to put up with Starscream’s and Bonecrusher’s scrap now.

Maybe telling Starscream to his face plates was another one of those things he should have kept to himself. Barricade can see barely concealed anger in the seeker’s red optical units. 

But then again… who should tell on him? 

He could make quick work of Bonecrusher, he just needs to wait for the right moment, maybe taunt the other a little bit more and wait for Bonecrusher to make a critical mistake. Then it would be Starscream’s word against his, and Megatron isn’t too appreciative of Scream’s shrieking voice. In fact, Barricade believes Megatron isn’t that appreciative of this stiletto-wearing snitch in general, more so taking delight in Scream’s failures than taking the flying scrap seriously.

And suddenly Bonecrusher is colliding with him, so abruptly that Barricade hasn’t been able to dodge anymore. It subsequently takes him quite a while, but Barricade suddenly realizes they aren’t sliding to the side—they are slowly but surely sliding downwards. He frigidly takes a look behind him, while Bonecrusher is still trying to claw at him, and sees the wide-open sky—not the ship’s cargo bay walls. And they are sliding towards it, faster by the klik. Starscream must have let the launching pad slide open as a consequence of them not listening to his petulant demands earlier. Or maybe as a consequence to Barricade’s insults... 

None of them is a flyer. At least they’d probably both be dead on impact. The thought of Bonecrusher also not making it out alive after falling out of this height is a weirdly satisfiyng one.

But Barricade isn’t going to not try to save himself here.

So he burrows his claws into the ground below him, as deep as he can and as long as he’s still able to via accessible ground to claw into…

He doesn’t know if Bonecrusher realized their fate by now, too, but the additional weight of the other’s frame begins to pose a serious danger in the situation they’re in right now. So Barricade lashes out at the other; his arm darts to the side and his claws dig into… something. Something that belongs to Bonecrusher’s chassies. He just rips it out, while they are reaching the edge of the platform without even seeing what he got his servos onto.

Bonecrusher roars, struck with pain, and there’s something slick beneath Barricade’s frame that’s just accelerating their shared slide downwards... He has the slight suspicion that it’s Bonecrusher’s energon dripping and smearing on the ground below them… 

By the time they reach the edge, it’s probably far too slippery for Bonecrusher. He just loses his grip and falls. His extended arm tries to grab one of Barricades legs, but he just pulls it out of reach. And he’s done the other a favor by doing so. The slender arm would have never been enough to support all of Bonecrusher while hanging upside down in the air. It would’ve been ripped out by Bonecrusher’s weight alone, and then Bonecrusher would’ve fallen anyway.

Barricade doesn’t waste any time on watching the other fall to his demise. Instead, he struggles a bit, but manages to pull his upper body up, over the edge again. When he’s just started pulling one of his legs up, two heel struts are ramming themselves into the ground directly in front of Barricade’s optical units.

Starscream.

Barricade spares him a warning look directly to his facial plating. There is a sinister grin plastered on there, Barricade doesn’t like very much. Starscream’s clearly pleased, either with himself, or the view, maybe even both. “I never liked your stubborn disobedience.”

And, with that, Barricade gets kicked off their ship, is send plummeting mercilessly to the hard ground below like Bonecrusher before him.

#

The scavenger, who’s been told aeons ago, when he left the Well of All Sparks, his name is “Knock Out”, has been driving for some time, all in order to get here, only to rummage through all the junk and possible spare parts sprawled around the area in front of the city gates. He should probably hurry, the sirens could begin their shrieking warning signal anytime, and once they started, there’d be not much time to get to safety in order to protect the lustrous finish Knock Out calls his own—and that despite being trapped in an awful place like this. An awful place like this, inhabitants only call “The Isle”, despite it in actuality being nameless. Or in short: home—even if it’s an ugly, demolished one, which reeks of acid and toxic rains.

He does have a slight hunch of not getting to the scavenging part today, however. There is a gigantic shadow looming over him, above the Isle, passing it. Something you don’t see often when your home is located in the deepest midst of the Badlands and no grounder is able to really make the journey to the Isle without massive depots of energon in tow. The shadow belongs to an equally gigantic flying ship, it’s prow looking menacing, like Leadwise used to describe an insecticon’s facial structures in his stories of the world outside the Isle…

Knock Out flinches, when the ship slightly begins to descent, until it’s just hovering over the Isle. The ship doesn’t sink to the ground completely, though. It’s just floating there, while extending some platform in the ship’s belly.

Only after risking a closer look, Knock Out realizes there are three people on the platform, two of them outright brawling each other, the third one screaming profusely at them…

Until the two fighting parties slide to the edge of the platform, one of them losing his grip and falling right off of it. It’s a surreal picture, seeing the stumpy, but at the same time weirdly scrawny form of the stranger fall. The stranger has three arms, Knock Out realizes while following his fall with his optical units—two regularly outstretched to the stranger’s sides, but there is an additional one hanging from his upper back near the shoulder plating.

He crashes into the ground with a very angry sounding scream, only a few meters apart from Knock Out, creating an ugly, chilling sound of metal rupturing and breaking, of energon spluttering to the dirty ground. The stranger doesn’t look that good either, even if Knock Out, if asked, probably had argued for the stranger not being the prettiest Cybertronian gracing the surface of the planet—now he looks badly damaged, broken beyond repair, energon gushing out of every possible open wound. He must have been injured in his fight against the other beforehand, otherwise the stranger might have lived now. But Knock Out’s pretty sure the other has been dead on impact, a few sad sparks of electricity jumping out of the dying frame as some kind of last dramatic act.

Knock Out isn’t really bothered by the gruesome sight. The place he calls home on good days did make him see so many horrible things already, one more carries so little consequence in comparison. 

He looks up again, in the exact right moment to see how the other one of the brawlers takes a kick into his facial platings, and, as a result, also plummets to his doom like his colleague before. This one Knock Out has to actively evade. Their fall is not that long, and the other’s probably only felt like it took longer because Knock Out has seen it for the first time then. But reality’s seemingly closing up on him again. 

He jumps back, right in time not to get steamrolled by the black-and-purple mech and his very sharp-edged shape… He lands on his aft as a consequence, but it’s better than to get scratched up or worse, lose a bit of his plating  in the process. In a place like this, this kind of thing can cost you your head, no matter how well of you are around here in general.

Perplexed, he stares up again. Only to meet the red optical units of the one who’d kicked the two others off the airship. Or at least, that’s how it seems, Knock Out can’t really tell, not from this distance.

“What a wretched place!” the stranger snarks, before yelling for someone to close the airstrip platform.

What a charming presence, Knock Out counters sarcastically in his head while watching the now closed-off ship float on leisurely, as if nothing has happened at all. As if they didn’t accidentally drop two crew-mates in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe not so accidentally…, he thinks.

When an angry—and pain-ridden—growl reaches his audials, Knock Out almost jumps back a second time, only startled, far less in order to protect his own chassies.

The second stranger, second to fall to the ground, is obviously still alive, however he accomplished that.

Even if barely so… When Knock Out crawls closer, he is nothing but impressed. The sharp-eged frame should be dead metal by now, and its spark exterminated. The one who kicked them both to their presumed deaths must have thought the same thing. 

But no, this one is clearly still alive, even if the term “barely” is to be taken very serious in his case. The lower part of his body, his legs, have been practically ripped off from the rest of his frame, as if he was split literally in half by a cruel twist of fate. Knock Out isn’t a real doctor, at least not in name, since the Isle rejects the planet’s caste system, and that means he technically isn’t even qualified for any profession at all… but in his not-so-humble opinion—after working as a medic by choice for that long—the injury must have been caused mostly by the two’s scuffle before. It looks like the stranger took a very painful jab into his midsection-plating, and the metal frame ruptured later, when the stranger hit the unforgiving ground.

When the other’s optical units acknowledge Knock Out hovering over him, his first instinct is to try to punch Knock Out, but despite jumping to the side with a nervous shriek, clearly updating audibly on his new position, the stranger misses terribly every time he tries.

In fact, the other’s terribly and slow enough for Knock Out to grab the other by the servo. “Stop moving, you moron, you’re leaking badly!”

The stranger indeed doesn’t have much time left. There’s a lot of energon leaking out, and if he doesn’t get help fast, all hope’s lost on this one, too.

“Just get it over with already. Kill me, you scrapping coward, don’t just stand there and watch me die…” The stranger mumbles and his vocalizers have a slight crackle to them. It really looks not too good...

Knock Out doesn’t carry his whole makeshift-medicalbay around everywhere he goes or drives, and so the majority of his tools aren’t on him now. He also has no spare parts to use, besides the ones lying in front of their city’s gates. But those are rusty and have been clearly lying around for some time already…

Unless…

Knock Out turns to the already dead form—the first one who’d taken the fall. He’d just have to find some of the intact parts, not damaged by the fall—parts that are, in theory, able to conduct energon through the mechs frame as if it was the pelvis he’s been created with…

Sure. Easy enough. At least for Knock Out.

So he gets up and strolls over to the cold frame, ignoring the angered voice on the ground, demanding to know where Knock Out’s off to. He bends over the dead frame and transforms his servos into his trusty buzz saws even before he knows which part exactly he needs from the dead one. 

This is one part of his job as in-official doctor most of the medical teachers probably wouldn’t be very fond of. It’s frowned upon, savaging parts of the dead to re-use them on living patients. But if it’s the last string, who cares, right? This is the kind of thinking one adopts, when trapped in a place like the Isle. Often enough it’s the only way to survive, or, in this case, ensure the survival of others.

Knock Out examines the frame hastily. Even in death, that one looks hateful. Sadly, his pelvis-area looks completely battered and squashed, too. The medic in in-official training looks the  dead frame up and down, until his gaze fixes on the strange face. It looks angry, and it doesn’t need life in those optical units to do so. This face….—

His face could work.

Or, to be precise, his helmet could work very well in this situation, if Knock Out was to run a bit unconventionally wilde and was to drill holes into the top as well as the bottom… It wouldn’t look nice, that’s for certain, but at the end of the day, he would’ve saved a life from certain death—and also, it isn’t Knock Out’s frame anyway. He could fix the ugliness in the future, if the stranger wanted that, he has an emergency at servo here.

So he gets to work and saws the the helmet clean off, before returning and kneeling beside his new—unexpected—patient.

He doesn’t provoke any reaction from the other while cutting off the last remaining bits and pieces connecting his pelvis and legs to his chassies, strangely enough. Then again, this absolute stranger should have been dead already considering the damage his frame suffered… Knock Out’s seriously stumped for any kind of answer about why the stranger isn’t, he just works with what he’s offered here.

But when he starts aligning the “spare part” with the rest, the stranger stirs and fixes him with an intense gaze out of purple-ish red optical units. “What’re ya doin’?!” The mech’s speech sounds gargled and his vocalizers crackle even louder than before. A red flag. It means their time’s almost up.

“Shut up, I’m helping you out here!” Knock Out says, vents huffing annoyed.

“I got that…! ... But why!?” The stranger at least sounds more energetic now. Maybe not so much of a red flag after all.

“Stop talking, Angry-edgy-and-handsome, you’re losing very much energon right now, and if I can’t fix you up properly because, let’s say, I’m preoccupied answering unimportant questions, you’re done for.”

Knock Out can feel the stranger’s unsettled gaze upon himself, even if the other doesn’t talk anymore. And he can tell the other’s not alarmed because of the energon-loss, much more so he’s probably bothered by Knock Out’s tone. To be fair, his flirty-voice usually helps keeping everyone else at bay whose presence Knock Out either doesn’t appreciate at all, or doesn’t appreciate for too long.

He just focusses on his work for now, but he does have some trouble connecting the different parts and wires, even with his own wielding device. This here should last as some kind of workaround for the time being, but Knock Out’s willing to bet, he—or another medic—would have to install proper spare parts in the near future, in order to avoid unpleasant consequences down the line. 

He welds the last bits, closes the wounds semi-properly,  before leaning back and inspecting the unfortunate spark who was unlucky enough to land in a place like this, but on the other hand lucky enough to drop to someone’s pedes who’s able to fix a bot—even if most of the Cybertronians in and around the capitol probably would disagree, he doesn’t have a—in their optical units—proper education in the field after all.

“How do you feel?” Knock Out asks proudly—mostly of himself and his work.

“Like I’m on the brink of certain death,” the stranger says dryly. At least the crackling noise has left his vocalizers by now. “And I’m probably not even that far off, aren’t I??” The low chuckle he makes doesn’t sound like a fun little joke at all, in fact, far from it.

“You’re probably running very low on energon,” Knock Out guesses out loud.

“You don’t say.”

Directly after the stranger’s very obviously sarcastic remark, the siren’s harrowing alarm starts.

The stranger’s leering at him now, slightly questioningly.

“Hm, that’s our signal. Up, on your pedes, please!”

“…what?” The other hesitates.

“You heard me, Grumpy-but-hunky! If you want to live on, now that you have an actual chance to survive, we should see to it that we get deeper into the city as fast as possible. Preferably inside.” Knock Out doesn’t leave the other time or room to protest, he instead reaches out, grabs him by the servos, and gives him a courageous pull. But he has to struggle with himself a bit, not to let the other fall immediately. That one probably would have happened, had the stranger not relented—he lets himself be raised up by Knock Out, but stands a bit less tall than the medic-in-training has thought the other would. That’s probably due to the new mid-section-part on the other. His frame needs to get used to the new parts and connections.

“I have a name, by the way,” the stranger says then, but he doesn’t move, which is a problem right now, considering the rains are about to set in. “It’s Barricade.” He really sounds grumpy now, as if he doesn’t like nicknames. Maybe he really doesn’t.

He’s not lower-caste, then, Knock Out thinks to himself, and is reminded about Leadwise’ stories and why the other despises the caste-system.

“Knock Out,” he says, before getting a move on. “I would say it’s nice to meet you, but it’s probably not that nice for you, once you understand were you’ve ended up. We should get going. I meant that one about your survival.”

The stranger gives him a slightly puzzled look, as if he wanted to say something sentimental about having been saved from certain death a few kliks ago, but bit it back in the last moment in order not to sound mushy. At least they’re getting somewhere now, somewhere safe, where the rains aren’t able to reach them.

#

Barricade’s basically getting dragged by Knock Out by now—down some weirdly-shaped-and-colored and wide tunnels underneath this no-mechs-land, all the while his systems feel obscurely weaker and more vulnerable by the klik—more prone to attacks, the further they ventured into the city, which was by now in the midst of submerging itself into the ground below the Badlands.

He hasn’t exactly been feeling well after that back strut-less little fragger kicked him off their airship, send him to his alleged demise. Although that one,  Barricade thinks, has been easily about him literally having been torn in half because of Bonecrusher’s previous painful inflictions on Barricade’s frame.  If Knock Out hadn’t been there… well, Barricade probably actually would have met the demise, Starscream has wished him to fall victim to.

He spares a slight glance at the other and thinks about the ridiculously shiny finish, which probably was that specter of red Barricade saw before Starscream finally got rid off him like he obviously has wanted for so long now.

Still,  he’s feeling significantly worse now, the further they go into the city, and he can tell the reason for this isn’t exactly the pain, even if the latter has gotten worse with every step.

“Stop it!”

“We can’t stop…!”

“And I can’t walk anymore! You said, I’m not able to transform in this condition! Aren’t you supposed to be a medic? As such, you should know, that this kind of pace is slowly killing me right now. Whatever it’s doing for me, it’s not making anything better. I can fragging tell, because it feels like I’m being torn in half a second time with every step!!”

This seems to have hit a nerve with the polished one. “Well, as a medic, I also know that it might be painful, but you’ll definitely lose your quality of life if you don’t walk at all! Even if it’s not exactly comfortable, all right?”

“Not in this pace, it’s not, do you understand me!? I’m not making another step, forget it, just fragging leave me here already!” Barricade tries his best to sound as intimidating as he’s able to, but he has the slight feeling of not really being as scary as he used to be, because he sounds like a very pathetic, very vulnerable fragger right now.

“Can you please not be like that?? We really need to get inside…” Knock Out sounds annoyed to the brink now.

When the sirens grow exceptionally louder by the klik, Knock Out stares at him as if that’s supposed to mean anything to Barricade. In fact, he has no fragging idea why the other gradually grows that nervous…

“Since you want to get inside that badly, you’ll have to think of another solution than rushing my slow and damaged aft like that. You’re annoying, and you’re fragging hassling me…”

“Oh, excuse me, you will be thankful for me, not only saving your life back then, but also right now by ‘hassling you’!” It isn’t like Barricade knows why Knock Out even bothers anyway… “Okay, look here, compromise: You’re going to lean on me, and I’ll rush your sorry aft just a little bit longer, so we’ll make it in time. Does that sound more adequat to you, Barricade the Grimm?” Knock Out doesn’t give him the time to think about an actually snarky answer before shuffling closer with enough hesitation.

When Barricade makes the mistake of wrapping his claw around the other’s shoulder plating directly, he is harshly reprimanded immediately:

“No, not there, you’ll damage the finish, watch the finish !”

Barricade’s vents huff. “Do you seriously have no other worries?!”

“As you can tell by me ‘rushing’ your sorry aft, I indeed do have other worries. But around here my appearance is basically my insurance…”

Barricade doesn’t even try to ask the other what he could possibly mean by some stupid statement like that. This place is weird… He just puts his claw somewhere else, somewhere not red. He’s not in the mood nor condition for endless arguing, and he’s exhausted enough as it is.

He’s been leaning on Knock Out for support since then, and the more people they passed, the more Knock Out’s statement starts making sense to Barricade.

This place reeks of toxic waste, and his olfactory sensors report dangerously huge amounts of pollution in the air around them. Most of the people they pass, look like they’re beyond their prime; they look sick, and rusty, and as good as dead. Even after reaching the part of the city which actually has a roof on top of it to protect them of the dubious thing Knock Out never called by it’s name, most of the people look homeless and lost, sitting on their skid-plates, being perturbed.

Barricade supposes the high levels of pollution are the culprit behind everyone here looking poor and sick. If everyone looks like that, once disease starts eating away at them, Knock Out’s pristine appearance really is the other’s one protective shield, at least in their society around here.

Once they passed the last gate—with Knock Out guiding them through ridiculous masses of people, profusely watching out for anyone posing a danger of scratching his precious finish—they seem to have reached some kind of great hall, almost like Barricade has imagined the Hall of Records in Iacon in the past. Or other presumed-to-be holy places in and around the capitol. Barricade never has been to any of those places. Before Megatron gave him a cause, he has been a nobody, a nameless worker-bot, someone rich Cybertronians wanted to see fighting for his life in the pits.

Here Barricade sees less people than before, but still masses of them. Here they’re not polished like Knock Out, but they aren’t stricken with rust; here the people seem a lot healthier, even if Barricade’s sensors are telling him the pollution is worst here. He doesn’t really need his sensors to tell him, anyways. He can barely feel himself anymore, his HUD more or less functioning and his systems dangerously glitching in and out of consciousness with every passing klik.

“You want some kind of advise?” he asks weakly while being led to the ground by Knock Out until he’s sitting on his aft, leaning against the wall.

“I don’t remember asking for your advise, but be my guest… figuratively and literally.”

All those strangers are staring at him, Barricade can tell—probably exactly the way they can tell, Barricade is strange to them and to their home. He senses concealed distrust and fear.

“Next time something like this happens—just leave the poor stranger. You could’ve easily saved your precious finish in dear time, without having to worry about… whatever you’re worrying about. I can tell you were anxious out there.” Barricade doesn’t know Knock Out, and he didn’t want to take the risk of actually being left to fend for himself back then. But now, that he’s made it to safety with the other’s help, he supposes it’s safe to tell the other.

Knock Out stares at him for quite some time,  smirk weirdly askew. “But that would have meant to leave you to die.”

To die??, Barricade thinks. He didn’t expect a drastic answer like this to a question he hasn’t really asked, yet, and so he feels a little taken aback.

Still, he says dryly: “Yeah… That’s kind of the point of saving your own aft, you know? Why’d you help me anyway?” He strongly suspects the last question to have slipped because his systems aren’t operating flawless like usual anymore. Barricade feels dizzy and weaker than he’s used to.

“Because I already saved your life once. Would be a shame to just throw that away a few kliks later.”

“Yes, but why did you help me in the first place?”

Knock Out shrugs, he honestly doesn’t seem to have an answer to that. “I don’t know,” he says simply, almost too lightly. “I guess I didn’t want to squander your chances after you already survived the almost-impossible…”

At least Knock Out doesn’t pose as the hero with a golden, righteous spark. He’s honest about his intentions, even if he doesn’t really know about them himself. That’s a lot more honest than some certain other bots would speak now, Barricade knows. And he can appreciate that.

Someone next to them is resetting their vocalizers, clearing his voice.

Barricade’s systems did tell him someone has been approaching them, but it has reached him through such a haze that it’s been hard to focus on it. It’s hard to give a fragg at this point. He feels his consciousness slipping away, and he fears it’s going to get a lot worse if he doesn’t find something that’s keeping him awake soon.

“What is the meaning of this?” Vocalizers, deeper than Barricade’s own, ask. Barricade doesn’t have the strength to look up at the newcomer, but his frame has to be a broader one, regarding the shadow it’s casting onto the ground in front of Barricade. “You’ve been scavenging again, haven’t you?”

“Now, don’t you get mad because of this. I always manage to come back, don’t I?” Knock Out responds weirdly lenient and charming, though Barricade can tell, Knock Out’s using a far less straight-forward tone when talking to this one mech. Less flirty, less coy.

“This is about what you’re bringing back with you. He’s an outsider. You remember why we don’t bring outsiders into the city?!” The broad bot doesn’t seem very convinced or pleased by Barricade’s presence here. Well, it’s not like anyone ever was, before or after Lord Megatron freed the first oppressed ones…

“This one is different, Leadwise! He is not nameless! He’s important to someone…!” Oh. Fragging great. Obviously Knock Out has ulterior motives after all. Just terrific. So much for Barricade being able to tell the other’s vain but honest…

“It won’t do any of us any good if he dies here. His chassies aren’t made for this, you know the acrid fumes will kill either his mind or his frame, it’s just a matter of time, especially since he wasn’t created for this region.”

Acrid fumes…? Is that what’s making Barricade’s systems all fuzzy and slow?

“He’s made it this far, didn’t he? And I know I can keep him alive. Come on… You know I’m right. You just don’t want to admit it in front of everyone… And you don’t have to. Just say yes, and I will take care of him,” Knock Out clearly tries to convince the other most charmingly—or whatever Knock Out thinks to be particularly charming.

Barricade can feel a stern glance on himself, but he hardly cares by this point, he just stares past Knock Out’s shiny red pedes into nothingness. “He looks like he’s going to pass out any time soon.” While the stranger remains unconvinced, it has convinced Barricade of the truth in his words. He probably is indeed going to pass out soon. His whole world is spinning uncontrollably, and he doesn’t even know why anymore.

Now that Barricade isn’t talking anymore, he lost so much focus, his systems will probably soon suffer a—hopefully—temporarily shut down.

“And what exactly is this mid-section plating??” The stranger continues to fuss.

“It’s a long story. The tunnels deemed him fit, Leadwise!”

Silence falls over the three of them.

“The tunnels deemed him fit,” Knock Out repeats. “I can fix him, I know I can. This is what I’ve been waiting for. I can proof myself. And wherever he belongs to… you can negotiate a deal with them. Please.”

The silence stretches for a bit, before the deep vocalizers are heard once more. “Alright. Keep him here then.”

“Will do. Dutiful as always.”

“But…!” Leadwise speaks up, “if you fail and he dies in agony, you will end his pain fast. You will salvage his parts on your own, and you will bury the rest. And I don’t want to hear any of this nonsense ever again, do you hear me, Knock Out?”

#

“I’m afraid, I’m not going to contact Barricade’s people.” Leadwise sounds like he’s already made up his mind, and Knock Out knows it’s difficult to convince him otherwise in these kinds of situations.

“Why?”

“Do you remember telling me about the aircraft he fell from?”

“How could I not. This kind of entrance you don’t often forget…”

“He belongs to Megatron’s ‘resistance group’.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.” Leadwise echoes, not sounding devaluating, more like a person who doesn’t really know how to comment on a situation, and probably honestly doesn’t feel the need to.

“So… you’re not going to do anything with him at all?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“So, what are going to do then? Is he allowed to leave?”

“Well, I’m not going to try and stop him, but you know very well that it’s almost impossible to leave this place on foot or wheels. You said he’s not a flyer, right?”

“He’s definitely a grounder,” Knock Out replies.

“Well, then you better inform him about the risks he’s taking in trying to leave on his own. He won’t come far without fuel depots. And we certainly won’t be able to spare any.”

“I know that. So… you’re allowing him to stay?”

“Of course. What else should we do with him?”

“Oh, I’m just wondering…” Knock Out muses “I mean, what’s hindering you from kicking him out? To you, he must be just another frame which needs energon to survive.”

“Your medical evaluation, I would say. You said he’s in good health so far. And besides, he was kicked out of something in the recent past, and that’s enough, wouldn’t you say? I’m not a monster.”

No, not on the regular, but you certainly have your moments to shine in the worst way possible…, Knock Out thinks, but reciprocates the sarcastic smirk.

“You’re scheming again. I know you long enough now. You’re planning something.”

“I never said, I didn’t.” Leadwise, as always, is on guard and doesn’t let anybody see what he’s thinking.

“But you’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Is he awake already?” Swindle’s voice sounds curious, as if he’s eyeing one of his rarer purchases again.

“Not yet,” Knock Out replies, cleaning up his tools while dutifully remaining at Barricade’s side. He doesn’t really have anything other to do, to be honest. It should start soon, and if he’s bussy with a patient, Leadwise isn’t going to force him to attend.

He’s just conducted a few minor cosmetic upgrades while Barricade was recharging. He smoothed out the back-side for example, so the helmet of the other one does look more like Barricade’s actual aft now, instead of a severed head turned into a makeshift mid-section. He also customized the helmet’s color scheme, so it’s matching Barricade’s black-and-purple frame better now. Knock Out’s actually pretty proud of it. The other’s face plates are only barely noticeable now, almost only by squinting.

Of course, he also got the medical work done, welded and soldered the cables and their connectors as best as he was able to, but that kind of thing always comes easy for Knock Out. He takes great pride in it, of course, but this never has been bothersome or difficult. The detailing and perfection of finish that’s not his own, in comparison, is always a slight challenge. Now that he’s familiar with Barricade’s chassis, he will be able to tend to future inflictions and wounds, but to actually make something that has been utterly ugly before presentable—that’s the real accomplishment here. Especially in a place like the Isle.

“What are you doing here, you came back early? Not that I didn’t miss your charming usury dearly, Swindle, but I didn’t expect you for another quartex.”

“I heard you’re having an unconventional visitor,” Swindle says, eyeing the frame on the berth.

Knock Out’s vents huff in good humor. “I don’t think he planned on ‘visiting’. So what, you wanted to profiteer right away? I’m not allowing you to rip-off my patients right after they leave my medbay, Swindle.” Knock Out’s wagging one of his tools in front of Swindle’s face plates now, like some of the old teachers sometimes use to do. If Swindle knows what’s good for him, he doesn’t bring up the fact of Knock Out only operating a loosely put together, make-shift medbay.

Swindle lifts his servos as if he’s about to surrender. “No, nothing of that kind, I promise. Also, that’s exactly the kind of thinking which leads this place further and further down poverty-alley. Leadwise doesn’t listen to me either in that regard.”

“That’s because you’re, to him, giving off the typical accountant’s vibe. Or the vibe of a usurer… Don’t look at me like that, at least he doesn’t see you as a part of the mighty Bruticus, and as a part alone! What do you want from this one anyway, if you’re not up to your usual shenanigans?”

“I also heard he’s part of this little group… the people led by this guy, who calls himself ‘Megatronus’—after one of the Primes back in the day…”

“Their group’s not so little anymore,” Knock Out reminds the other while musing about the recent developments on that front in his head, “and his fans have shortened the name. The big, scary gladiator is just ‘Megatron’ now.”

“Anyway, I wanted to get in contact with someone like that for a long time now… Establishing connections, you understand,” Swindle says nonchnalantly, smooth as always.

“Leadwise might not be too thrilled. And don’t tell that to Shatter. She definitely isn’t going to like it, and you know how she can be…”

“Sure thing,” Swindle beams. “But why Leadwise, though? Can’t he see any use in an ally like this one?”

“Apparently not. He wants to keep him here.”

“Oh, come on, Knock Out. When did Leadwise ever keep someone in line without at least planning something? He’s here for temporal safe-keeping—at best!” Swindle says, while pointing at Barricade’s frame.

“Well, he didn’t exactly tell me anything…”

“Leadwise never bluffs, but always lies… This kind of confirms it over and over again,” Swindle says, looking slightly past Knock Out.

“He isn’t that bad,” Knock Out replies, also rather looking to the side instead of Swindle’s face plates.

“No. He isn’t. But he can be. He has his little… moments. You and Shatter know that better than anybody else here.” For a moment, a heavy silence lingers, before Swindle apparently can’t take it anymore. “Anyway, I’m making my own plans. And, as luck would have it, my plans also involve our unexpected guest!”

“What are you going to do? Join Megatron’s cause…?”

It was meant to be a joke. But Swindle’s unusual lack in cheeriness and his sudden sobriety in place of an actual answer makes it all too clear that, it is, in fact, not that much of a joke.

“I’m only keeping all my options on the table,” Swindle says, at last, weirdly somber in tone.

There are many questions flickering through Knock Out’s processor, most of them sounding annoyingly meek. And he dreads the answer to a certain one of them, but asks anyway. “So. You’re planning on leaving for good?”

It has always been a matter of time, after all. The Isle is a sinkhole, and nobody actually likes being here. Almost every single one of its inhabitants is here, not by choice, but by case of very bad luck. If given the chance, probably everybody would try leaving immediately. It’s just… nobody is able to, not without a vessel or being a flyer themselves… The seemingly endless deserts called “The Badlands”, which are surrounding them, would wear anybody down before they actually make it to any kind of civilization... The only people who really have a ship are either Swindle, who always comes back here from his deals, or at least he used to do that, and Leadwise, who doesn’t actually use his ship or allows anybody to fly it… 

Come to think of it, Leadwise is probably the only one who either actually enjoys living in such a place, or—the more likely explanation—he stays out of some sense of duty. Swindle’s a dealer who likes to call himself “entrepreneur”. Swindle likes to make money, which he only really does far away from here. And if it’s not the credits he’s after, it’s some other kind of payment. Sometimes energon, sometimes he does barter trading. It really has always been a matter of time until he’d decide to leave forever. And to leave everyone behind at such a dull and ugly place.

Swindle actually seems to sense the somber tension that’s flickering through Knock Out’s processor. That, or Knock Out’s very transparent with his thoughts and feelings again. Shatter often accuses him of not owning a game face… 

Whatever it may be, Swindle’s clearly trying not to blurt things out like that, especially when he himself seems to be unsure if he’s going to be successful in his scheming. He playfully wraps his arm around Knock Out—to his own luck, he pays attention to not scratching the other up. “Don’t be ridiculous, I would never really leave. At least not forever. You guys are still my most loyal customers, remember? Only an idiot would let that go just like that.”

Barricade stirs and groans as if he overheard their little chat. Maybe he actually did. It doesn’t matter, Knock Out’s glad about the opportunity to change subjects.

“Rise and shine…” he crooned, slightly bending over his patient lying on the berth—who’s clearly in a bit of discomfort, at least.

“‘Shine’ my aft! Fragg me, it hurts, damnit! Primus, what did you do to me, I don’t think I’ll manage the rising part, fragg!!” Despite clearly whining—a lot, in Knock Out’s humble opinion—Barricade manages not to sound like a whiner. He more sounds very, very angry. Like a force to be reckoned with.

Knock Out remains unaffected, though, while turning to Swindle. He’s witnessed far worse reactions, after all. “Isn’t he just a catch? You sure, you want him as a business-partner?”

“Are you kidding? He’s so nice, so unspeakably mild-tempered...!” Swindle replies half-sarcastically.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Barricade… Although I’m afraid I’m not at all in the mood for the fragging-part,” Knock Out says jokingly…

...before getting forcefully dragged down to Barricade’s level. “You! Tried. To. Sell. Me.” The other’s vocalizers produce every single word like a threat on their own.

To Barricade’s luck, his brute claws don’t leave any marks as far as Knock Out can tell. “Don’t make me laugh, Barricade! If I wanted to sell you, I would’ve handled it very differently! And I would have succeeded. I didn’t sell you. I saved your aft. Again. So how about some appreciation for my continuing efforts to keep you alive??” Knock Out didn’t realize it before, but now the tool he’s still gripping on to, does appear kind of threatening when holding it to Barricade’s helmet in an attempt of self-preservation...

Knock Out hears Swindle rejoice from somewhere in the back of the room. “I knew, you had it in you!”

“Shut up!” The both of them kind of grunt in unison, and Knock Out secretly wonders if Swindle has planned for it to happen, to lighten the mood.

“And back to you! I don’t know what you’re even on about, or why you think you saved me by selling me out…”

“I just told you, I didn’t sell you out. I told Leadwise you were an important political bargaining tool for the same reason I told him the tunnels cleared you for even existing in a place like this—which they really did, by the way. They didn’t show any signs of infection or worse. Leadwise is now much less inclined to cast you out with the other scum next time. Idiot.”

“Are you fragging kidding me…” Barricade’s laughing, but it’s very evident he doesn’t laugh about something funny. He seems moody and unamused.

Just after Barricade said it, a single, terrifyingly familiar alarm sound rings over the Isle. Then another. And then another. Every local knows what the sound means.

“What a perfect timing!” Knock Out purrs—more sarcastically than anything else. “You want to know what all the fuss is about and why you should be a lot more thankful?”

“Oh, do fraggin’ enlighten me…” Barricade mutters.

“Fine. Get up. Swindle. Help.”

They proceed to hoist Barricade—involuntarily—up, until he’s standing on his legs again, and practically drag him—under protests from Barricade as well as Swindle—over to the window, from which you have a rather good view on the wretched court yard in front of the Isle’s central building. Leadwise never liked to call it “palace”, but Knock Out has to admit, he likes the sound of it. It has a certain ring to it, which is probably very unfitting for a place like this. But that’s exactly why Knock Out likes it. At least, it’s amusing.

“I want a raise for those kinds of things…” Swindle mutters.

“Oh, you do? Go ask Leadwise about it. Let’s see if he wants to have a say in the matter.”

They are staring down, into the court yard. And they can already see the small groups of people forming. Onlookers, most of them. Knock Out doesn’t really understand what those down there see in the same dark ritual over and over again. Since stepping out of the Well, he’s been here. He can literally not remember any time before being here, his memory doesn’t provide anything else. And if this morbid joke of a ceremony ever had some kind of appeal, it’s long gone now, at least in Knock Out’s case.

Now that he’s thinking about it… He can’t think of the last time Swindle attended. Shatter has always been the only one, dutifully remaining in the yard, watching. And she only does it to toady up to Leadwise like she always has. Dropkick’s also only there because of Shatter, and Knock Out suspects her of forcing the other.

She tries too hard, Knock Out thinks, bored, while prying his gaze away from the stubborn femme.

It begins.

They watch, as a platform holding three Cybertronians rises to the surface. 

Less people than usual, Knock Out thinks as the cuffed three are being led over to the city gates, the Isle already having fully ascended from the below. 

Rust and traces of corrosive injuries are marking their bodies. Them not being as many as they usually lead outside, is not going to make it any better for them, though. You generally don’t want to watch other people die in agony. Worse, you don’t want to watch them rust away and crumple up into piles of broken, fuming scrap metal, while you know exactly the same thing is happening to you at this very moment. Ideally, you would be alone when you’re time comes.

Knock Out hopes, he’ll be alone when his time comes. He’s prepared for the pain; after all, he just has to wait until it’s all over, until there’s nothing anymore, nothing at all. He doesn’t know when it’s going to happen, he just knows that it is, in fact, going to happen some time. It’s bound to happen within this place. Live here long enough, and some time you will end up like this. A lifeless pile of rusty scrap, spark extinguished. The pain isn’t going to be the problem. It’s the thought of him turning into rusty scrap that’s giving Knock Out literal nightmares.

“What are they doing??” Barricade sounds uneasy.

“They’re getting rid of the contaminated and sick,” Swindle explains. “What’s wrong? I didn’t take you for the squeamish type.”

“I’m not… This is just reminding me of something past, I’d rather forget…”

“So… you’ve been one of the gladiators at the pits?” Swindle asks.

Knock Out is standing close enough to Barricade to feel it as soon as the other’s tensing up. Even if he wasn’t able to, the EM-field of the other flickers uneasy, almost a little panicked. Barricade has no control over it right now, or he doesn’t care. His emotional state is more than visible this way. Every Cybertronian in close proximity would be able to sense it, to measure it. “How the fragg would you know??”

“I’d like to be called ‘entrepreneur’,” Swindle lets Barricade know, “I meet the most interesting people on my travels.”

“Sure…” Barricade says, clearly not the most convinced. Well, at least he isn’t going to get ripped-off by Swindle that easily. He’s cleary far too sceptical.

The group is basically getting pushed out of the most-inner gates of the city now, where there isn’t any kind of roof that would be sufficient enough to provide shelter for any of them. As it has been planned. As it has been ordered and signed by Leadwise.

Knock Out doesn’t need to observe Barricade’s face plates very closely to know there’s a confused expression to them, as the gates are closed, with the three outcasts remaining on the other side of it in contrast to the bystanders. It’s probably going to turn into either a grim or an outright terrified expression soon. No matter how hard-shelled someone is, seeing this, usually cracks them all one way or another.

When the rain sets in, the screaming starts; the wretched smell is a displeasure, probably not only for his olfactory sensors alone, but it usually is.

“What the fragg??” Barricade does some kind of move, but Knock Out can’t really tell what the other’s thinking of doing right now. It looks a bit like he wanted to jump out of the window and try to tear the gates apart with bare claws, but, naturally, this is very much impossible. He sounds upset nonetheless. “Did you all lose your scrappin’ mind?”

“Some of us here eventually do, my friend…”

“Yeah, no thanks, I’m not your friend!”

“This is the Isle. I told you before. This is what happens to us here, and you would have shared their fate. So how about a ‘thank you’ now?” Knock Out says, probably a bit too haughty for Barricade’s liking, when he turns away from the window and struts back further into his medbay.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, thank you. But how??” Barricade says it a little too fast, but at least he says it at all. It suffices for now.

“The rains,” Swindle explains, and Knock Out can practically hear how he’s shrugging his shoulder platings, even if he isn’t looking at the other.

“I figured that one,” Barricade snarls, “but how, though?!”

“The rains are a constant here. It has always been this way. Was already like that when Knock Out stepped out of the Well, and probably also when I stepped out of the well. I just came here a little later.”

“You came here by choice?!”

“What can I say? I sensed an opportunity.”

“And he’s bound to come back ever since, because no one will allow him to actually stay somewhere else,” Knock Out chimes in now, “and will be stuck here permanently, like the rest of us, once his trusty ship kicks the bucket.”

“Oh, poor me, let’s hope that doesn’t happen too soon,” Swindle says more or less nonchalantly, but he sounds the slightest bit concerned about the possibility, when actually paying attention.

“But how are you idiots still alive and well?” The Isle seems to make less and less sense in Barricade’s mind, and Knock Out is at least able to understand him. He’s an outsider, and if you’re not from around here, you probably are not even able to understand, let alone accept the circumstances they’re living under.

Too bad for Barricade that Leadwise is going to force him to understand soon enough. The other isn’t going to alarm anyone about Barricade’s presence here anytime soon.

“We’re taking preventative measures, of course,” Swindle says.

“Preventive medical measures,” Knock Out ends. “Well, more or less. I finished you up when you were still recharging. But you’ll probably need more lengthy sessions than the rest of us, given you’re not used to the toxic air here and the rains.”

“Uhu. How exactly is this place still inhabited? Why isn’t it completely deserted by now??” Barricade asks further and lets himself sink onto the medbay-berth in a thoughtful sitting-position.

“The Well of Allsparks keeps pushing them out here. Flightless, of course. But it never stops,” Knock Out says, without looking at either of the two.

A weird silence occurs, and for a moment it feels like he isn’t quite part of the conversation anymore, like he somehow missed an important detail and, as a result, is out of the loop now.

Luckily, the medbay-doors, sliding open in an angry swish, chase away the weird tension in the room.

“So, that’s our un-asked for visitor!” a pretty low voice—at least for a femme—rumbles.

Knock Out tries hard not to grunt out in barely concealed frustration, and just proceeds to take a seat next to his patient, inspecting wounds he already attended. But firstly, you can never be too sure, and secondly, he doesn’t want to deal with her right now.

“Yo, sorry, she just burst in…” Dropkick’s even lower voice joins Shatter’s, while moseying along, clearly more ashamed than the audacious femme.

“How many times do I have to tell you, not to just barge into my medbay like that…?” Knock Out was in the middle of telling her off, tone scandalized…

…but Shatter just interrupts him in the end: “We all know, it’s not an actual medbay. So simmer down, would you, Knock Out?”

“At least I’m working in a respected field and have chosen my path instead of clinging to Leadwise…”

“What was that??”

“And here we go again…” Dropkick mutters.

“Guys, very charming,  but not today, alright? What’s our guest supposed to think?” Swindle says calmingly.

Indeed Barricade is looking back and forth between them slowly, his optical units probably gracing each of them one by one. He almost looks amused. Almost.

Shatter lifts one servo. If it wasn’t Shatter doing the gesture, it could have looked lofty and noble. But it is Shatter doing the gesture, so it merely seems petulant and in a haste of getting it over with quickly. “Whatever. All I’m saying is, having him here isn’t exactly a good thing. But you two just keep cozying up to rebels affiliated with a person who ordered the death of countless Cybertronians… No, just keep doing that, I can’t think of a reason of how this could fall back on us.”

“Allegedly ordered. Nobody knows about that, and in the end, it could have been a sympathetic, but extremist cell all on their own,” Swindle reminds diligently, while symbolically sitting down on their visitor’s other side on the berth, that isn’t already occupied by Knock Out’s skid-plate.

“He is a troublemaker. At best. If we’re lucky,” Shatter predicts, digit pointing at Barricade accusingly. But her digit only faces a humorless grin. “There will be a lot of trouble for us, when his lot pounces in on us at the latest.”

“Yeah, that’s the first correct thing that slipped past your dermas today,” Barricade says now, clearly as much annoyed by Shatter than she’s with him, and Knock Out can tell by the look on Shatter’s face, that she’s less than amused about the interruption. But he hopes the other lets her have it for once, since he clearly is good enough at comeback for it. “But until that point, you’ll have endure my troubling presence here. Because Leadwise said, I’m allowed to stay until then.”

“He did?” Knock Out hears himself and Shatter asking in unison.

And he can feel Swindle’s optical units on him, which practically scream “Didn’t I tell you?”.

“Now, I can’t exactly take a stroll through the endless wastes of the Badlands like that, can I!?” Despite the fact that Barricade’s angry voice should have been directed at both of them for their shared stupidity, it feels like he’s attacking Shatter full force, rather than Knock Out.

“I’m saying…—”

“Oh? Go on. What’cha saying? Tell me more stupid, femme, I’m waiting!” Wherever he came from exactly, Barricade clearly has gathered the knowledge of how to undermine someone correctly—and mastered the ability.

Shatter’s not focussed on Barricade alone, she’s staring down at all three of them with contempt now. Instead of feeding into the argument, her vents sneer, and she makes another pointless prediction. “That one’s going to do major damage to us. One day, he will rip this place apart. But you two can just keep cozying up to him. You’ll see where that gets you.” She uses the—unimpressed—silence and stomps out of the room, dragging a probably disagreeing Dropkick right with her.

Another angry swush of the doors, and they’re alone again.

“I don’t think she likes you, buddy,” Swindle says after a while.

“Shatter doesn’t like anyone…” Knock Out replies without being asked.

“She seems to like Dropkick…?”

“Only as long as he does what she tells him to do.”

“I don’t care if she likes me or not. I can’t stand her. And I won’t let her speak to me like that, especially when she’s that stupid about it. And you shouldn’t either.” Barricade growls, standing up again.

“It’s easier to let Shatter think she’s got what she wanted most of the time,” Swindle says, shrugging.

“And let her run her ignorant dermas behind my back? No. Not gonna happen. Not to me. I know how to prevent that.” Barricade sounds like someone who has already made up his mind and doesn’t accept any doubts or backtalk about it. It’s enough for Knock Out to believe him.

“Did Leadwise really make that offer?” he asks after a small while.

Barricade sauntered through the room until now, seemingly deep in thought. Now he steps back in front of the berth, before turning and letting his frame slump back onto it. Knock Out makes sure the other doesn’t scratch him by accident, of course. “It was not so much an offer as it was him forcing me to face the facts. Until ‘my lot’ comes back for me, I really don’t have that many options left…”

The medic catches himself sharing a gaze with Swindle. They both know very well Leadwise is never going to contact the people who left Barricade in a place like this. And maybe this isn’t the worst thing that could have happened, considering Barricade’s people actually left him to die in a place like this. But still. It isn’t like one of them is actually attempting to tell the other…

“So… you’re staying?” Knock Out asks.

“Yes. Guess I have no choice. Besides, you idiots seem to need my fragging help really badly.” Barricade sounds gruff, when saying so, but he doesn’t really look at any of them, and instead, lets himself fall onto his back on the berth.

Well, he seems content about “his” decision…

And for some reason, it gives Knock Out a positive, not entirely identifiable feeling, that’s flooding his systems.

When a low, rough, rumbling noise is starting to fill the medbay, slowly growing louder and louder, Knock Out freezes, before suspiciously looking over to Barricade. The other has just started laughing hysterically—and surprisingly so. “What the fragg is this??” he presses out. He’s pointing at his new “mid-section plating”…

“The… stopgap that saved your life from certain death?” More precisely, the stopgap that saved Barricade’s life and which was applied by Knock Out. He doesn’t really know why he didn’t outright say that, he usually has no issues naming his successes. Maybe he hoped for it to be something that goes without saying. Or maybe he’s flustered for the first time in his life, because Barricade seems to be that kind of person.

“It’s Bonecrusher’s face! I almost didn’t recognize him! Hello, you imbecile, how’s the weather down there?” Barricade’s vents kick in hard, almost like his body isn’t used to laughing like that.

“That was his name then? He was already offline when I found him. I tried repainting it, so it matches your color schemes more… I can change it over time, if you want, though…” He has never been ashamed of anything in his life, but now Knock Out kind of isn’t that inclined to look the other into his face plates. Maybe it’s just the fact of Barricade being an outsider. Barricade isn’t used to the things they are forced to do here to survive, and so he’s, in turn, more inclined to ridicule it—because he probably wouldn’t understand, unless he sees some of it with his own optical units in the future…

“What?! No, no, no, no, no, I’m gonna keep him right where he is! Into all eternity!”

“That supposed to be some kind of weird sentiment?” Swindle asks awkwardly, when Knock Out didn’t comment on it.

“Nope. He’d probably hate it very much. Which means, I love his ugly face being part of my interfacing-panel!”

“Well, about that, you might need to look for new interfacing equipment in the future. I didn’t include any yet—for medical reasons,” the medic explains, weirdly shy for his usual pride, but he isn’t going to not mention it, just in case Barricade would feel in the mood for thanking him for saving his life at the cost of his original midsection some more.

And because the interfacing-equipment of others is none of my business, Knock Out added without voicing it.

Barricade’s vents give off a mocking huff. “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.” He lets himself fall on his back again, offlining his optics for a little while.

“You don’t seem too distraught over all of this…” Swindle mentions.

“That’s because I’m not,” Barricade replies dryly.

“Ah. But why, though?!”

“Maybe it’s not easy to understand… But I used to have nothing. And now I have an idiot’s face in my literal middle and… maybe something… I don’t know.”

“Care to elaborate?” Swindle asks.

“You’re annoying,” Barricade simply says, but he probably doesn’t mean it as an insult.

“And you’re the interesting outsider who’s seen a great deal more than any of us,” Knock Out chimes in.

“Yeah, alright, alright… maybe later, okay?! I’m not exactly in the mood for talking about the different dumpster fires outside this place…”

“Wouldn’t say the Isle is any better than a dumpster fire. Probably more catastrophic, even. But okay. You’ll tell us when you feel like it.” He didn’t want to push too hard, but Knock Out is in fact interested in the outside world. Swindle doesn’t usually tell him too much, he keeps a far too low profile for Knock Out’s liking, and Leadwise hasn’t been anywhere else for aeons… This makes Barricade his best opportunity to at least imagine the world outside this place.

Whatever Leadwise is planning, it means Barricade is staying. For now. 

“Well, one thing is for certain… this one has a crude sense of humor…” Swindle says.

Knock Out watches him. “You really still want him as a customer?”

“You can bet!”