Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The building shook again. Swindle ducked his head, hunching back into the corner of the cell. Fragging pit, how long was this going to last?

He’d overheard a few guards muttering - and bribed a few more - so he knew more about what was going on outside the prison walls than the rest of the poor slaggers stuck in the rest of the cells. He knew that the bombs shaking the building weren’t near misses from the attack on the city, because the city had already fallen. The bombs were systematically destroying the fuel pipelines and supply routes to the prison, and blowing out siege trenches in the controlled zone surrounding the fortified facility. The Decepticons had surrounded the prison, and were settling in for a siege.

The other prisoners and even some of the guards thought the fact that the Decepticons hadn’t simply bombed the facility out of existence was a good sign, but Swindle wasn’t so sure. There was a reason the Decepticons wanted the prison intact, and until he knew why, he wasn’t going to count on them for a rescue. He’d heard the rumors running through the prisoners that Megatron was recruiting from the jails down in Kaon and every state they’d taken over, but he’d been around enough that he wasn’t putting his money on the mysterious hero-figure.

More likely they’d gun everyone down in their cells and use the bodies for spare parts.

A particularly close impact rattled the bunk against the floor. Frag it, he thought, engine giving a gurgling whine that he would never admit to. He didn’t deserve to die in here! What’d he do, anyway? Scam a few suckers who couldn’t tell their aft from actuators? Alright, so he’d done a lot more than that, but nothing anyone had ever been able to prove.

Another hit, even closer. Frag it, frag it, frag it! He curled up against the wall, legs tucked tightly against his chest, and waited for the world to end.

x-x-x

“-to discus terms,” the prison warden was saying as Vortex sauntered into the command post, the crackle of the comm system not quite hiding the tremor in his voice.

“That won’t be necessary,” Onslaught said, standing at an easy parade-rest.

Caught off guard, the warden pulled away from the vidscreen, expression uncertain. “...Excuse me?” he said uncertainly.

“There is no need,” Onslaught repeated calmly, “To discuss any terms, because I am not accepting any. You will surrender, or you will die.”

“But-”

“I will give you one cycle to consider the matter,” Onslaught continued, cutting the warden off. “Onslaught out.”

Vortex laughed as Onslaught cut the feed. “Don’t think he coulda looked more surprised if’n you’d whacked him upside the head,” he said cheerfully. “Think he’ll give up?”

Onslaught turned, leaning his hip against the mobile command post’s comm unit. “He will. He doesn’t have any alternative.”

“That he knows of, at least,” Vortex said, sauntering closer. “‘Course, he could hold out and force us to bomb out the whole buildin’ and ruin your whole plan.”

Onslaught folded his arms. “One of my plans, Vortex. Just one.” He watched the helicopter approach until Vortex’s plating just brushed his folded arms. “But he will surrender, and before the cycle’s out.”

“Me, I think he’s gonna dawdle till the very last second,” Vortex said, leaning forward, deliberately invading Onslaught’s personal space. “Ain’t gonna do anything until you tell him his time’s up. Wanna bet on it?” The last part was purred, his facemask brushing against the bottom edge of Onslaught’s helm.

“Tempting,” Onslaught rumbled, brushing his knuckles down the flat of a rotor. “But we have work to do, Vortex.”

Vortex pulled back and snorted. “You maybe. I’m just coolin’ my rotors until we crack open Freemark.”

“If you're bored, I’m sure I can find you something to do. Reports, for instance.”

“I’m bored, not dead,” Vortex responded flatly.

Onslaught flicked the tip of the rotor. “Go instill a sense of fear in the ground troops. Catch a nap, perhaps. You will have plenty to keep you occupied as soon as we’re inside.”

Vortex made a noncommittal noise, meandering for the exit.

“And Vortex?” Onslaught said, already turning back to his maps.

Vortex paused. “Yeah, boss?”

“Try not to kill anyone important.”

Vortex laughed. “You got it, boss.”

x-x-x

The chronometer ticked down to the once cycle time limit, and Onslaught was glad he’d had the foresight to refuse Vortex’s little offer of a bet. It wasn’t wise to put himself in a position that Vortex could take advantage of, because the helicopter would, without the slightest qualm.

The helicopter was sharp and observant, and better at reading people than Onslaught could ever be, but still, it irked him to be shown up, even if Vortex wasn’t here to see it.

Part of him wondered what Vortex had found to entertain himself, but he forced himself to shove the thought aside and to not check up on his subordinate. Vortex was a force unto himself, and tightening the reins would not get a favorable response. Vortex worked best given a steady hand and plenty of room to work, and not at all when put under too much constraint. The trick was finding the balance between steady and too much.

And considering how well he would need Vortex to perform once inside the prison, it was best to let the helicopter loose now, where the damage would be minor and easily hidden.

Time was up. Onslaught activated the comm. “Patch me through to the warden,” he told the tech, shrugging his shoulders and settling his weight more comfortably.

The image materialized on the screen, a nervous twitching in the warden’s fingers betraying his agitation. “Warden,” Onslaught greeted. “I trust you have had enough time to properly consider my proposal.”

“I want assurances that my people will not be harmed,” the warden said, desperation obvious in his voice.

“Your cooperation will be factored into any decision,” Onslaught responded calmly, a deliberately misleading non-answer. None of the contempt he felt showed in his stance or voice. Weak-willed coward. “Now, will you surrender, or shall I order my troops to recommence the bombardment?”

The Autobot fidgeted, clearly not happy with that, but just as clearly not seeing another way out. “I... we agree to your terms,” the warden said unhappily. “I am ordering my mechs to stand down and open the gates.”

“A wise decision,” Onslaught said coolly, then cut off the transmission. “Onslaught to squad leaders, the Autobots have surrendered. Prepare to move in and relieve the Autobots of their weaponry. Use minimal force, but do not allow any to escape.” He switched channels. “Onslaught to Vortex - report to me immediately. It’s time to get to work.”

Chapter Text

“Can't push 'em much further, Ons,” Vortex said over the encrypted short-range comm. “Figure you've got about ten clicks before he starts balkin' for real.”

Onslaught gave Vortex a short nod of acknowledgment, keeping his optics focused on the Autobot in front of him. The now-former warden of the Freemark prison was still attempting to secure some sort of guarantee of safety from Onslaught, even after surrendering his weaponry and watching his guards being roughly disarmed by Onslaught's troops. Two of the warden's officials flanked the Autobot leader, one wringing his hands nervously and muttering into the warden's audio while the other stared at Onslaught with a studiously blank expression. None of the Autobots were paying attention to the grey helicopter lounging against the wall, but Vortex was certainly paying attention to them.

“Guy on the left's dangerous. Gonna have to kill him, or he's gonna be leadin' a prison riot inside a cycle. Pretty sure he's got a holdout weapon that slipped past your... ahem, soldiers.”

Onslaught spared his interrogator a sharp look of irritation that the helicopter ignored.

“One on the right, he's my vote for stickin' in charge of the Autobot prisoners. Weak-willed as hot slag, but he's got a rank and listenin' to him'll at least slow down any ideas the 'Bots get. Want me to take care of the other two?” Always helpful when it came to mayhem or murder, that was Vortex.

“I think I have it covered,” Onslaught said calmly out loud. The Autobots stared at him in confusion, then shock as he unspaced his rifle and leveled it.

“Wait-” was all the former warden had time to say, before a pulse blast caught him in the chest. The officer to his left followed him to the floor, sparking from a shot to the head, holdout pistol clattering to the floor.

“Congratulations on your promotion,” Onslaught told the surviving officer, voice as dry as the Rust Sea. Over the short-range, Vortex cackled. “As you are now the highest-ranking Autobot officer in the prison, you are the Senior Prisoner of War. I have a few instructions for you to pass on to your subordinates...”

x-x-x

“Still think this plan's slag,” Vortex said cheerfully, following Onslaught out onto the catwalk. Below them, Decepticon troops were herding the former guards into cells, crowding them in with the current occupants. “No more'n two guards per cell,” he said sharply, switching over to the general encryption. The troopers glanced up at the officers on the catwalk, and shifted the extra guards to a different cell. “I swear, gotta babysit 'em all the time. See, this is why I don't command people. 'Cause they're stupid.”

“You will do fine,” Onslaught told him, scrolling down his datapad.

“Sure, I will, but I can't say that about them,” Vortex shot back.

“They will be sufficient for our purposes in this matter.”

Vortex waggled a rotor at him. “Translation: 'They'll do.' See? Two words. See how much shorter 'n quicker that was? Or could go wild and go for three words: 'They're good enough.' Give your vocalizer a break, Onsies! Why won't you think of the vocalizers?!”

Onslaught spared him a look, then continued. “You will have additional interrogators in ten cycles. Until then, make do with what you have. I trust that you will begin sorting through the prison population for prisoners with useful qualities as soon as possible. Or do you need a translation for that, as well?”

Vortex's rotors flicked. “Nope, I got it. 'Get your aft to work, Vortex.'”

x-x-x

Told them they shouldn't believe in that whole Decepticon “Liberation” slag, Swindle thought bitterly. The massive Decepticon shocktrooper escorting him down the hall gave him a shove, a silent but very clear message to hurry the frag up. Six cycles since the Decepticon takeover, and the only thing that'd changed was the cells getting more crowded. And now this; the new “Warden” the Decepticons had left in charge seemed to be ordering prisoners taken out for interrogation at random, and only about half were coming back. Personally, Swindle didn't think it was random at all. The Decepticons were looking for something, but frag if he knew what. 'Bout to find out, he thought with grim humor.

The soldier stopped in front of a door and entered a code into the security pad, shifting to keep Swindle from seeing what he typed. Not far enough, Clunky. Wonder what I can get for that code? Of course, the code would only help him if he survived. Frag it.

The door hissed open, but not to an interrogation room. The space was small and cramped, filled mostly by a desk and console. The gray mech at the desk glanced up at them, making a motion toward the lone chair facing the desk, and then went back to his datapad. Swindle sidled over to the chair, giving the big Decepticon escort a glare as the mech prodded him to go faster. Geez, I'm goin', I'm goin'. Wonder what he's in such a hurry about...

The gray mech waited for the door to close behind the trooper's rather hasty exit before speaking. “So. You're Swindle. Gotta nice list of misbehaviors here on file, don'tcha?”

“Yeah? What's it to you?” Swindle shifted in the chair, giving the other mech a sullen glare.

“And a fellow Kaon native, too,” the mech commented, rather than answering. “Can't miss that twang. I'm Vortex, and the new base commander's put me in charge of findin' out some stuff on who's who in this big ol' mess of prisoners we inherited.”

Swindle just scowled, not at all taken in by the display of fellowship. He'd never been sentimental about his home region, and he wasn't about to start now, especially not with a mech painted corpse-gray and his face hidden behind a battlemask. “And?”

“Says here you got collared in racketeerin'. Suspected of armsdealin' to 'Cons.” Vortex cocked his head. “But you ain't declared a faction. Wanna elaborate on that?”

“Why the frag would I cut my prospective client base in half?” Swindle snorted. Fear made him angry, and anger made him blunt. “More'n half, since there's more 'Bots than Decepticons, and they're usually in more desperate need of guns anyway.”

“Desperation makes people pay stupidly high costs,” Vortex agreed. He leaned back in the chair, rotors stretching then relaxing. “'Course, declarin' the right allegiance might be the only way you're gonna get out of this prison alive,” he said, voice bland.

Swindle considered that for only a moment. “Where do I sign up?”

x-x-x

“Y'wanted to see me, Boss?” Vortex meandered into the command center

Onslaught acknowledged him with a deep rumble of his engine, but kept his optics on the simulations playing out on the screen in front of him. “I have reviewed your reports. While I appreciate the alacrity in which they were delivered, I could have done without the commentary you chose to include.”

“Eh, figured you could use some humor, since you didn't get any installed on creation,” Vortex said, leaning on the console to casually scan over the simulations.

“Hm.” Onslaught didn't miss the dig or Vortex's “idle” examination, but didn't comment. He handed the helicopter a data crystal. “The transfer orders for our new recruits,” he said. “And Shockwave requires a selection of prisoners. His specifications are included. I expect you will find suitable candidates for him.”

“Yeah, not a problem. We're still overcrowded, even with takin' out these ones.”

“I did not expect you to be so concerned with prisoner comfort,” Onslaught said dryly, turning back to his computer.

“I ain't. Like 'em crowded.” Vortex hitched his rotors up, splaying them across the console, partially obscuring the simulations. Amused, Onslaught obligingly gave the interrogator his full attention. “In fact, thinkin' we're gettin' too much energon,” Vortex continued, once Onslaught was looking at him.

Onslaught cocked his head, surprised. “Too much energon?”

“Wanna cut back rations by half,” Vortex confirmed. “Guards by 'bout a quarter. Prisoners don't need it, and don't need the guards havin' extra to spare.”

Onslaught's first reaction was to dismiss the suggestion out of hand – the Decepticons' prisoners had no legal rights, but he was disinclined to starve or unduly mistreat them, and the prisoners were already being given minimal rations. Under-fueling guards made the facility more vulnerable to attack - admittedly a minor concern, as the facility was well-fortified, and the Autobots wouldn't risk having their people executed as hostages, not when an exchange may still be possible. But the helicopter was obviously scheming something. “You've never expressed an interest in fuel conservation before. What are you planning, Vortex?”

“Increasin' the pressure on this little smeltin' pot,” Vortex said, twitching a rotor in a shrug as he loaded the data crystal. “I want everyone not runnin' an interrogation desperate as frag.”

“You would increase the risk of a prisoner uprising,” Onslaught observed.

Even behind the visor and battlemask, the look Vortex gave him was disgusted. “Think I can't handle them? I know how to keep 'em in line.”

Onslaught conceded that with a nod. “I will make the changes in the requisitions,” he said. “Anything else?”

Vortex started to make a negative flick of his rotors, then paused mid-gesture, something in the transfer orders catching his attention. “You ain't sendin' the armsdealer out?” he asked curiously. “Pretty sure they could use him back in Kaon.”

“No,” Onslaught said, pleased that Vortex had picked that particular mech out of those he'd ordered sent back to the general population. “I have plans for him. I need you to befriend him and gain his trust,” Onslaught continued brusquely.

“Could be difficult. Mech ain't the trusting type.”

“I have every confidence in your abilities of persuasion,” Onslaught said dryly.

Chapter Text

"What's this?" Swindle turned the device over, scowling. "Tracker?"

The interrogator's rotors bobbed. "Yep. but more importantly, it rates prisoners by necessity." There was an expectant feeling to his pause.

"The new prison commodity," Swindle mused, rolling the almost rivet-sized device between his fingers.

Vortex laughed, an unpleasant, nasty sound. "An old one, really. Survival in a few bytes of data."

"Protection," Swindle summarized. "Get the right rating, and the guards won't hassle you. get the wrong one and well..."

The interrogator's visor glowed. "Demonstration on the main floor, right after install."

"You've made arrangements?"

A huff of air. "Why bother? Got a bunch of angry frontliners stuck on short rations. Soon as they get told who they can hit, 'spect energon on the floor."

"The guards all have an instant ID on who they can hurt," Swindle said.

"You too," Vortex said cheerfully. "Gonna give you the alteration protocols."

Swindle looked up sharply. "Why?" he demanded.

"New prison commodity," Vortex reminded him. "I could use a broker on the inside, y'know?"

That made a whole lot more sense than niceness. Something in Swindle relaxed. Racketeering, he could understand. "Yeah," he said. "I could maybe work somethin' out, for a few perks."

Vortex laughed, delighted. "I knew I had the right mech. Welcome to the Decepticons, Swindle."

x-x-x

"Forced labor?" Onslaught asked as Vortex entered.

"Yup," Vortex said cheerfully, not elaborating.

Onslaught gave him an unamused look. "I was asking for an explanation, not confirmation."

"Why didn't you just say so?" Vortex held out for a few astroseconds longer before giving in. "Usin' Swindle on the inside like we talked 'bout, but he can't exactly find out much if there's no circulation 'mongst the prisoners, y'know?"

"It also increases the risk of prisoner collusion and uprising," Onslaught said. In addition to being against all accepted rules of warfare, he added to himself. It wasn't an argument that would have any traction with Vortex or Onslaught's own commanders.

A jaunty tilt to the helicopter's rotors said Vortex had guessed the second reason anyway. "Labor's lettin' us dictate who's in contact with whom," he said. "Pick out who's likely to be a leader-type, toss 'em together in hard labor, wait to see who emerges on top." Vortex laughed. "Swindle tags him, guards take care of the problem. Uprising taken care of."

"And when Swindle starts 'tagging' for his own profit, rather than ours?"

Vortex snorted, rotors flicking. "'Course he will. Already has, actually. Plan only works if he gets a rep for bein' the guy to go to for favors, and he's gotta have somethin' to use for leverage.'

"So the extra requisitions I've been authorizing are not 'leverage'?" Onslaught asked archly.

"Some mechs want fuel, some mechs want safety. 'Sides, it's fraggin' cheap intel, either way."

That, he had to admit. So far, the extra requisitions hadn't even come close to the fuel saved by Vortex's ration cuts. Add the value of the prisoners' labor, and Freemark was, financially, the most efficient segment of his command, any personal feelings he had about Vortex's methods aside.

"Now can we talk about these idiot slaggers you've stuck me with?" Vortex groused.

"Interrogation's a small specialty. The options are limited," Onslaught said, the same thing he'd said last time Vortex had complained.

"Turnpike shoulda never been pulled for interrogation. The only thing he's useful for is cannon fodder." Vortex folded his arms. "Ain't worth his fraggin' scrap value."

"I'm sure you'll find a use for him anyway," Onslaught said calmly, turning back to his reports.

"Burn's almost as bad," Vortex continued. "Mech's as stupid as that fraggin' tank you picked up, and three times as useless."

"So you've informed me," Onslaught said. He wasn't going to authorize a transfer, but it didn't hurt to let the helicopter rant a bit. "And Sliver?"

"Eh, Sliver's okay. Not what I'd call a 'shinin' example' of processin' power, but least he's competent."

"High praise," Onslaught commented, amused.

Vortex glared at him.

"You will have plenty of work for all of them," Onslaught said. "Outflank's sending a detachment with more prisoners. I trust you'll find space for them."

Vortex shrugged. "Yeah, sure, we got some attrition to reverse. He sendin' up what he knows 'bout 'em?"

"It will arrive by the time you get back to the prison," Onslaught said. "You're dismissed, Vortex."

"Yeah, yeah," Vortex said, taking time to stretch his rotors before sauntering out.

Onslaught smirked behind his battlemask and went back to his reports.

x-x-x

Wayfall stumbled as he exited the transport, hampered by his restraints. Behind him, the rest of the Autobot prisoners were shoved out one by one under the watchful gazes - and guns - of the Decepticon guards. It was a relief to be out of the cramped and overheated transport, but honestly, the courtyard they found themselves in wasn't much better. Floodlights glared down at the prisoners but threw the guards in shadows, making them little more than reflected light gleaming off readied guns and red glowing optics. Above them loomed the massive hulk of a building, defensive towers spaced around its exteriors.

"Welcome to Freemark," a looming shape growled.

"What the slag is Freemark?" Wayfall hissed at Lifter as the Decepticons herded them towards the building.

"Shut up, Autotrash!" a guard snapped, shoving Wayfall forward. "No talking."

They were funneled along a series of twisting corridors, through foreboding gates, and finally lined up against a bare metal wall. An irritated-looking Decepticon grabbed Wayfall, shoving him hard against the wall, removing his restraints and shoving a device against his armor with enough force to dent. A click, a sharp pain, and the Decepticon threw him to the side and moved on to the next in line. Another set of corridors, and finally they were pushed into a massive room, vaulted ceiling high enough for a guardian to stand upright. walkways criss-crossed room above their heads. The floor, though...

The floor was rows upon rows of cells, each filled with mechs. Wayfall found himself dragged to a cell and shoved inside, the forcefield snapping back into place behind him.

"Fresh scrap," one of the other prisoners said from his place, seated against the back wall, and cackled. An Autobrand was barely visible on his battered chestplate.

"Oh, leave him alone," said another, sprawled carelessly an arm length away. "We get enough of that slag from the guards without you adding to it," The mech waved vaguely from the floor. "I'm Tach, the rusting pile of cheer is Backdrop,' the hand pointed to the side. "That's Fascia, Redlight, and Curbstand."

"Wayfall," he returned, rubbing at the odd little rivet the Decepticon in the corridor had punched through his armor.

"Don't play with that," the mech Tach had identified as Redlight muttered, hunching in on himself. "Guards don't like it."

"What is it?" Wayfall asked.

Tach shrugged, tucking his hands under his head. "Tracker. Tells 'em where we are, who we are, and what level of usefulness we are." He smiled mirthlessly. "Be useful, and the guards leave you alone. don't, and well, they don't, either."

"Oh." Wayfall let his hand drop. "Where are we? We were out of Iacon, near Nova Cronum when we were taken. Felt like fraggin' forever in the transport."

"Protihex," Tach said. "Welcome to the Freemark Incarceration and Rehabilitation Center, the modern pinnacle of humane detention facilities." He spoke with heavy irony. "The 'Cons took the place without a fight a couple orns ago, and we've been packed in like a shipment of washers ever since."

"Were you... it sounds like you were here," Wayfall said, finding himself a seat on the wall.

"I was," Tach said. "Redlight here, too." Tach grinned. "I was a guard, Redlight was in for - what was it, assault and vandalism?"

"They deserved it," Redlight muttered.

"Don't know where Curbstand's from, and Backdrop and Fascia came in on a couple transports a bit ago, like you. But we're all in it together now," Tach finished, shrugging. "'Cons don't care how we got here."

"Has anyone escaped?" Wayfall asked. Redlight hunched in more, while Backdrop just laughed.

"Had a couple before the 'Cons, but mostly on work details." Tach tilted his head to look at Wayfall. "But we didn't make a habit out of shooting prisoners and went a teensy bit less heavily armed."

"Everyone who tries, dies," Fascia said coldly. "And if you're going to be a suicidal idiot, please leave us out of it."

x-x-x

Chapter Text

Tach nudged Wayfall, making a surreptitious motion at the line of prisoners across from theirs. "That's the guy you need," he muttered, glancing around to make sure none of the guards were close enough to overhear. "Can't get close to him right now; he's on office detail."

"Where are we going?" Wayfall asked, just as quietly, watching the other, shorter line file through the doors. If he could get one of them on his side, they'd have potential access to all sorts of intelligence - but he was getting ahead of himself.

"Outer wall of the city. Repairing damage from the siege." Tach pointed a finger up the line. "There's a mech, name of Flickstart. Been in here for vorns, pretty much a hub of smuggling.You gotta talk to him; he'll get word off to the office mech, play middleman."

"What's he get out of it?"

"A cut." Tach shook his head. "Didn't say it'd be cheap-" Tach fell silent as the guards approached, prodding the line into movement with curses and blows.

Wayfall ducked his head, avoiding meeting the guards' gazes, not wanting the Decepticons to see the smoldering anger. He kept his head down and his posture meek, obediently following the mech in front of him as they were herded out of the cellblock, through the bare halls and out of the prison doors. They were marched away from the prison, into the shadow of the battered city walls.

He waited, clearing the rubble away from the wall with Tach and the others in his group, until the work took him close to the red, nervous-looking mech Tach had pointed out earlier. "You Flickstart?" he said in a low voice, crouching down next to the mech to get a secure grip on a broken girder.

"Yeah. Who's askin'?"

"My name is Wayfall. I heard you can get things," Wayfall said.

"Maybe. What sorta things you lookin' for?" Flickstart asked, shooting nervous looks at the guards.

Wayfall told him.

Flickstart stopped working, staring at him like Wayfall had sprouted a second head.

"Can you do it?" Wayfall asked.

"Sure I can," Flickstart said. "Gonna take some time, gotta talk to a few mechs- but why do you need-"

Wayfall stopped him with a sharp motion as a guard moved past. "It's safer if you don't ask, alright?"

"Okay, sure," Flickstart agreed. "I'll let you know." The black marketeer looked around again and moved away, scurrying through the rubble like a purpose-built scavenger.

Wayfall turned his attention back to freeing the broken girder, hoping that trusting the mech wasn't the biggest mistake of his life.

x-x-x

A guard pushed Swindle out of line as soon as the office detail entered the administrative sector, brusquely directing him up a corridor and to a door he didn't recognize. Instead of punching in a security code, the guard stopped, posture telling Swindle he was transmitting as clearly as if Swindle could hear the conversation.

The door slid open, and the guard motioned at Swindle to enter - not with his gun barrel this time, Swindle noted smugly. Frag, he was liking this tagging system.

Swindle stepped through the door into a private office, lined in neatly organized shelves. Vortex was sorting through a series of datacrystals, datapad in his hand and his back to the door. "Huh."

Vortex glanced over his rotors. "What?"

Swindle poked at a tray of tools. "This is surprisingly... not scary," he commented. "I was expectin' somethin' more outta a snuff film."

The helicopter laughed. "I got some Autobots downstairs we can redecorate with, if you're disappointed."

Swindle made a face. "Yeah, no thanks, I'll pass." He inspected a gleaming row of clamps. "I just imagined somethin' messier."

"Ain't all that fond of the smell of stale fluids," Vortex said idly, putting the datacrystals back in their box. "Fresh, sure, but stale energon ain't the most pleasant. And I don't do that sorta work in here. Too crowded."

"And I expected something less... mundane," Swindle added, holding up a perfectly normal diagnostic scanner.

"What, custom torture racks with big nasty spikes?" Vortex set the box in the shelf, neatly lined up with a row of identical unmarked boxes. "Lackin' imagination there, Swindle."

"Huh?" Swindle looked up at the helicopter. "I'm the one lacking imagination? You're the one with a toolset that coulda come outta any medbay."

"For the most part, yeah. Some quick mods on some of it, but it's all pretty standard," Vortex agreed. He leaned back against a toolbench, propping up his rotors on the edge. "Means I ain't losin' much if I gotta leave it in a retreat or gotta redeploy without any warnin'. Besides, it's all in whatcha do with it."

Swindle gave him an unconvinced look. "Sure it is."

Vortex laughed, not at all put off by Swindle's skepticism. "Hey, if you want proof, I can show you. Pick one of the prisoners, and I'll make you a bet - I can have any one of 'em beggin' to tell me everything they ever knew, without resortin' to anything 'cept what's in here."

"Yeah?" Swindle perked up, interested.

Vortex shrugged a rotor. "Yeah. Most of the time, don't even need this slag." His visor gleamed. "Double the bet, and I'll do it without usin' any of it."

"We haven't decided on stakes yet," Swindle pointed out, but oh, he was tempted.

"How 'bout, if I have to use any of this," he waved a hand at the room in general, "I'll smuggle you in a cube of high grade. If I can't do it at all, I'll get you a day pass into Protihex from the boss."

"And if you win?" Swindle said warily.

"You get to handle the requisition paperwork from now on," Vortex said cheerfully. "Every fraggin' byte of it." He waggled a rotor in admonishment. "And Onslaught'll be checking it over, too."

To Swindle, that sounded like a win every way around. Sure, if Vortex won, he'd have to deal with tedium and oversight, but he'd never met an administrator he couldn't slip something by. "You got a bet. I even have someone in mind for you," he said smugly. "And I get to call what intel you're gettin' from him."

"Sure, verify," Vortex said easily. "Just make sure you weasel it outta him for confirmation before you send 'em up." Vortex's laugh was unpleasant. "He might not be any shape to respond after."

Swindle dropped into a chair, propping his feet up on the desk. "Yeah, yeah. Teach a turbofox to suck vapor, why dontcha." He snagged a discarded datapad and unspooled a transfer cable from his wrist, plugging in. "I got a list of slag to append to your requisitions this cycle."

Vortex waved a hand. "Yeah, sure, add it in. How's the intel gatherin' goin' on your end?"

"Why'd you think I need this slag?"

Vortex turned a bland look his direction. "Uh-huh."

Swindle smirked. "Yeah, okay, that too." He tossed the datapad in the air and caught it. "I assume you're trackin' who gets put on what list, yeah?"

A rotor lifted and fell in a shrug. Swindle took that as a yes.

"Got a small pool of potential revolutionaries. So far none of 'em have found the others, but I got a couple of mechs workin' on attachin' themselves to likely candidates." Swindle stretched, tucking his hands behind his head. "And there's a couple who could stand some personal attention from you."

"Good intel prospects?" Vortex asked.

Swindle shrugged. "One of them, yeah. The other just fraggin' torques me off."

Vortex snickered. "Good enough for me."

x-x-x

"Foreset, with me," Onslaught ordered without slowing, forcing Foreset to scramble to catch up. "Until I return, you will be in charge of base administration."

"Yessir, thank you sir," Foreset said. "I've taken the liberty of preparing a series of projected courses of action-"

"Just keep the place together," Onslaught said. "If the Autobots engage with more than a squad or two, defer to Hectic for defense strategy."

"Yessir," Foreset said, managing to keep the resentment out of his voice. "What do you want me to do about Freemark while you're gone? We've just received another one of those ridiculous requisitions from them-"

"I saw it come through. Approve it, and hold any further reports for me. If Vortex requests something, give it to him." Onslaught looked down at his aide. "But for the love of Primus, don't tell him that. In fact, don't engage him at all. Don't take calls from him, don't go to Freemark, and most certainly don't speak to him in person."

Foreset bristled. "With all due respect, sir, I am an experienced administrator and military officer-"

"Vortex would smelt you alive." Onslaught sounded almost amused by the prospect. "And sorting out the mess would be more of a headache than I need right now. Keep your communication strictly to acknowledging receipt of reports and informing Freemark of shipment timetables."

"Yes, Commander," Foreset muttered. "Sir, I would like to suggest taking a full guard-"

"I acknowledge your concern," Onslaught said dismissively. "Brawl will be more than sufficient as a bodyguard. I will expect your report updates every third shift."