Autobots-3: Ghosts in the Graveyard

[Holi-3]

OOC: Semi-private thread; please ask before posting in. This takes place on Day 7.

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There's a chance someone might spot Holi during his wandering of the city; he'd be as much an idiot as the Decepticons – the sappy ones, that is – if he didn't keep that in mind. But it won't have been for lack of trying on his part to stay in cover as much as he can. On the upside, if he's spotted by someone who just wants to have their way with him, he has about half the street layout, alleyways and all, committed to memory and he can tell the difference between bravery and stupidity. There are parts of the city he knows like the back of his hand.

This isn't one of them. Most of the buildings here are squat, windowless, nondescript metal sheet affairs crowded close together; others have imposing façades, some with many banks of windows and some without, all with signs he can't read. The streets are narrow and relatively barren, the alleys dark and cramped. Even in broad daylight, the whole area has a dingy, gritty feel to it that leaves him feeling uneasy. Moreso than usual. If he hadn't decided he needed to be familiar with the streets in case a speedy, convenient getaway was needed, he'd just say he could shove off this and go catch some defrag. Too, though, there's something in him that's still a curious kid who likes to explore the unfamiliar, and it's a part of him that doesn't see much surface time anymore. Mostly because it's bad for survival.

But there's also the chance that even if he doesn't need to know how he can slip off whenever he feels like it, knowing all the ins and outs means he can direct whoever he can into the nearest dead end alley and be gone before it comes back to bite him on the bumper. So, keeping tabs on his position as he goes, he skulks about the warehouse district. It's a quiet day. Surely everyone else has better, more important things to do than hang around ths dump.

Holi doesn't, and in fact, nothing right now is more important than investigating that opened warehouse, the door slid ajar just enough to notice, lock bar in two pieces on the ground. Curiouser and curiouser!

"Hmm…." Gradually, carefully, Holi nudges the door further open, just enough at first to fit his head through so he can look around. Mostly empty, save a few large racks of metal parts in various states of oxidation. He takes a second or two more to give the place a full visual scan, just in case there's anyone hiding in a corner, then he steps fully indoors. It's quiet in here, and the sights aren't so bad. A slow, eerie grin reaches the Micromaster's lips as he turns in place and starts picturing Autobrands and Decepticrests emblazoned on the most corroded pieces nearby, seeing very specific vehicle shapes among the piled scraps. It leaves him with a warm feeling, one he can't even remember the name for, in his laser core.

He should come here more often.

[Barricade]

Perhaps curious little mechs should wonder more at how a lock bar had gotten broken and discarded in an abandoned section of warehouses than he should have been fantasizing about derelict Mechs. As the door pushes open that little fraction, far above in the dark, shadowed struts of this particular warehouse, a lightly defragging processor whirs into full awareness, audials strained to their limits. Red optics slowly flicker into deep embers as Barricade surfaces from his nap to peer down into the gloom at his unaware visitor.

Hmm.... what is this that he has here? A tiny little mech? Not quite as tiny as a certain frenetic stereo-former, but smaller than any of the others strutting about.

Is that an Autobrand? Wait... Police?

There is a tiny little black police car creeping into his warehouse resting hidey-hole. A tiny little black police car Autobot... who is slowly staring about himself with what looks like... twisted glee?

Someone has been such a good evil police interceptor this year, apparently! Barricade gets a new toy!

A long, lean shadow slowly uncurls from the tangle of joists and beams that make up the chaotic network of roof trusses, dropping to fix two flickering embers of crimson square upon the micromaster's back. Gloom seems to swim about Holi as he peers at the collected and forgotten shards of rusted out and damaged automotive parts scattered around. Gloom that is suddenly pierced by the sharp crash of metal feet hitting the metal floor, and a set of silver claws flashing out to snatch Holi off of his feet.

"Did someone shrink me in the wash?" Barricade rumbles as he turns Holi about in his hands, Red optics flaring to brightness in that nightmare face that is suddenly far, far too close to the transplanted micromaster.

---

ooc: ambushing and grabbing of Holi-3 done with permission.

[Holi-3]

It's a marvelous thing, the imagination. Holi's is soaking up the scene and running with it, treating him to the most wonderful images of Autobot after Autobot lying prone, laid low, long-dead and worn down by time and the elements. They make him feel better than any cathartic wrecking session ever has and he revels in them.

Maybe he's enjoying this tiny little slice of heaven a little too much. At first, when he hears that riotous crash, he could swear he'd somehow knocked over a shelf in his quiet shuffling about and he curses by reflex. Then, though… then everything really does come tumbling down when a hand wraps around him and he's dragged off his feet, into the air. He kicks a little until he feels sharp claw tips against his armour. That makes him go still, try to think. Grabby bully. Probably likes hearing them scream. Maybe if Holi just gives the bastard what he wants–

That? That is a mug only a maker could love. Good lord, he must be related to Bumblebee and his bunch. At least Holi doesn't have to fake the horror.

"I– I d-don't know," he cries, curling defensively against the manhandling, flinching away from the piercing red stare. What the heck does that mean, anyway? Just because this clod's a black police car, that automatically makes Holi a mini-me? Of all the bit-brained, arrogant nonsense he's ever heard. "I-I was just – I was just w-walking around and and and I saw the door was open, so I thought… I thought I'd c-come in and – and I d-didn't mean to–" There. Decepticrest. One of the bunch like the Autobots, no doubt. All right, here goes. "Oh, please!" Holi bawls, shrinking in on himself, "Please! P-please, don't hurt me! I'm sorry!"

[Barricade]

A single optic narrows, the other quirking up. This? The Autobots - either the ones native to this collection of realities, or the newer imports from else-multiverse - allow this weak little scrap to wear their sigil?

How pathetic.

Silver claws grip more tightly - not enough to pierce Holi's armor, but tight enough to be secure as Barricade shifts his grip from two hands to one. The other hand curls up, one claw poking at a seam here, tracing the white letters along Holi's arms as the micromaster is twisted and turned and flipped about as Barricade peers at the small mech from every angle.

The Saleen pokes Holi in the chest, forcing him to uncurl enough to see that baleful red glare. How disappointing. A pathetic little black evil Autobot police car. Although the blubbering is oddly gratifying. He looms, pulling the terrified little micromaster right up into his face until that glare should all but fill Holi's field of vision.

"Have you slipped your leash, little one?" he rumbles menacingly, his expression twisting into a horrible leer. "Or have they tired of your crying and tossed you away?"

[Holi-3]

Holi lets himself be tipped and turned, occasionally forcing out a whimper if he happens to find himself rolled upside down too quickly or thinks it's just a good moment. He shudders when the larger mech pokes and prods at him, puts up a token resistance when pried out of his defensive position. It's entirely possible to make himself seem too pathetic for bullying. He's managed it before, once or twice.

The trembling is fake when he's hauled up close and personal with that ghoulish face, squinting against the bright red gleam of those twin lenses. Now, the cringing… not so much. He can't stand the way these Transformers look… skeletal, almost. Bits and pieces out for all the world to see, struts exposed like they've had the armour melted right off them. He'd like to see the Autobots and Decepticons dead and staying that way, not strutting about the same as ever.

"Th-they let me out f-for a while," he burbles in the way of someone convinced the truth will set him free. It's almost not even a complete lie. Inwardly, though, something in him recoils violently at that word. Leash. He isn't a pet, damn it! No matter how much he's been treated that way, no matter how many Autobots try to make him into one, he isn't a bloody pet! "Sometimes, i-if I'm really good, they do that. P-Prime, he's – he's g-good to me when I d-do what he t-tells me to and and and I beha-have." Alright, time to screw up that hopeful look, the one he might have worn genuinely only a year or two ago. While he has that distraction going, he searches for his pistol. Call him a pet, huh? Moron. "I c-can do something for you, t-too!" he insists, clutching at one long, silver thumb, hopeful smile turning frenetic, desperate, tainted. "Whatever you want!" he adds. "J-just – just please, d-don't hurt me! P-Prime hates it when I get hurt." And sends him to that whack job hack Perceptor for being stupid enough to get smashed up in the first place. "I – I could polish you up?" he offers. He's done that for Star Saber so many times he could do it blindfolded and backwards by now. "N-not to say you don't look w-wonderful," ego-stroking, they like ego-stroking, right? "B-but if you want…. Or, or," and now he bounces just a little in the Saleen's hands, "I could help with system ch-checks! I c-can do that!" He beams fervently. "Maybe start with your visual cluster?"

In a split second, his pistol is drawn and he fires, green laser blotting out crimson optics. He doesn't normally like resorting to direct force, but it's fairly private in here and he knows his weapon isn't powerful enough to do more than scorch most mechs' armour. By the time his captor can see again – and as far as Holi knows, someone who's been blinded has to drop whatever it is they're holding to cover their eyes, like it's in a rulebook somewhere – the Micromaster should be well away and safely hidden until things blow over. And with practically nothing but his word against a Decepticon's. He can't have broken the truce if no-one can prove it.

---

OOC: Shooting Barricade in the face done with permission of his player.

[Frenzy]

A snicker echoes through the warehouse, blending in with the sound of sharp digits being dragged across corroded metal.

//Told you, told you, told you, big-job.// Another snicker, and the metal rustles as something suddenly scurries up and over one collection to another nearby. Just a flash of silver movement, accompanied by that chittering 'voice' over a low-range general broadband.

//The least likely...//

[Barricade]

Light, green light, blasts Barricade right in the optics, catching him by surprise as his optical sensors blare a quick warning and then reboot to static for a second.

He doesn't drop Holi, though. If anything, that grip ratchets tighter by a hair.

Static fades. Reboot. Those wide red optic covers aren't even scorched, although there's the faintest sting along his facial servos that tells Barricade that his paint might be just a little darker than before.

A deceitful, conniving little black police car mech! Oh how cute! Barricade's features stretch into a leering, viciously delighted smirk. "You need a bigger gun, little mech," he snickers. "That tickled."

// He shot me. // Just an observation on that low-range general band. A small transmission that anyone nearby could pick up, regardless of faction, regardless of origin. A transmission sent to that other witness of this breach of Truce.

Oh dear, Holi. Naughty, naughty. Didn't anyone ever teach you about witnesses and how they can muck up even the best laid plans?

// I think he wanted to hurt me. // Oh the innocence. Dripping. Like fuel from a severed line, leaking. // And I just wanted to introduce myself. //

"What would that Prime of yours think?" the Saleen muses aloud. "Can I keep him?"

Just think, Frenzy. A wee little Mini-Cade to cuddle up to. It could be a Frenzy Sammich.

[Holi-3]

This is so not going the way it was supposed to. There are two of them! Holi's pretty sure there are two; he hears the skittering and the second voice on radio, and he knows he saw something flash movement over there.

And the big one isn't letting go. He's supposed to let go! Holi very nearly scowls and tosses his pistol back into subspace and he ponders giving up the act. He's caught, after all, and like the moron he is, he showed his hand. Or he can try to recover.

"…I-I'm sorry," he finally whimpers, turning down the blubbering and letting his aim fall. "Wh-Wheelie said that trick always works f-for him." Or might, if Holi ever talked to the little savage. "I wasn't trying to hu-hurt you, honest!" Like he could, anyway. He was issued this little peashooter for this very reason. Star Saber doesn't like his toys to bite back. "I'll do whatever you want," he adds, and there's a little more truth to it this time, "just… p-please, don't – I w-was scared and and… I didn't mean it!" Something tells him he's scrap no matter what he says or does. Either the Decepticons will do it, or one of the Autobots will if they find out.

Maybe it'll be quick.

[Frenzy]

//Feh. Fragging little mewler's got a broken vocoder. Heard this track before, thought it was a bunch of uncompiled junk then too.//

Skittering silver darts behind Barricade, and then Frenzy rapidly scales his partners legs and back. Fingers slip in and prick at circuits, leaving a trail of mild pleasantness across Barricade's body. Twist at the shoulder to crawl on the underside of Barricade's arm, concealing himself as much as possible from the blubbering little prize...

//Ought to just grab a leg in each hand-// He titters and reaches out to prick Holi's foot. //-And make a wish.//

[Barricade]

Barricade purrs audibly, a vibrating rumble of his engine upshifting at those devilish little digits darting into his structures here and there. Frenzy is in a good mood, playful. That demonic smirk returns to Barricade's features, a twist of servos and sharp points flicking out.

// Hardly worth it. Scrawny little scrap like this? // Barricade muses, one claw poking at Holi's right shoulder. // The insects, at least, popped and shredded so nicely. Begged better, too. When they weren't leaking themselves stupid. //

"Should have dropped the gun," he intones smugly. "Easier to believe the whining. Do your Autobots buy it? Or do you use those clever little hands of yours to keep them happy, instead?"

That claw tip trails down one door panel, tracing the white letters there almost gently. That leer in Barricade's optics is anything but gentle, though.

[Holi-3]

Holi's getting the idea that he doesn't exactly have a receptive audience. They see through him too easily. He should've just caved. Shouldn't have bothered with the gun, which shuffles back into subspace while he comes close to shutting off his facial servos just to keep from giving himself away with the frown he wants to make. Should've given in.

"Whatever they want," he repeats quietly, not quite sullenly. He forces himself not to shudder at the poking and the prodding of those sharp fingers, tries not to look at those flashes of silver along one long arm. "I do whatever they want me to do." No lie there for once. They're more likely to give him meaningless work to get him out of the way, or sometimes someone might break his "clever" little hands, but he does what he's told and he shuts his mouth and he lives to see another day. Not many of these Autobots seem to have realised the full use of such a small body just yet, thankfully.

Maybe the Decepticons have, though, he realises when he looks up into the larger car-former's face. He's seen that sort of look before. He might be able to buy silence, but not without suffering for it.

"…I can do whatever you want, too," he says once again, voice dropping and going flat. Well, almost whatever. He doesn't want to die and even if it earns him a beating, he'll squeal for whoever will come to shut him up so long as it keeps him alive.

[Frenzy]

Frenzy clambers up to sit on Barricade's wrist, peering at the tiny Autobot his partner is feeling up. Bigger than he is. They're always bigger than he is even when they're fragging small solder-gobblers.

"Whatever, eh?" He snickers and darts forward, all four hands splaying over Holi, touching, tickling, skimming over seams, pressing into joints. Discomfort comes in the form of overly touchy tiny people.

[Holi-3]

"Are you deaf or something?" Holi snaps before he can censor himself, frowning. "I've said it two or three times, now, whatever you– WAAAH!" He can't help it; the shriek, the thrashing and kicking to get away are involuntary at the mere sight of that four-eyed pile of steak knives reaching for him. Oh God, it's like all the worst, most nightmarish bits of those Autobots mashed into one chittering, pointy bundle and doused in chrome.

And it's touching him. He shudders and kicks that much harder, trying to twist away.

[Barricade]

Barricade shivers lightly, a bare trembling of motor servos as the scrap turns that dull-opticked look of resignation up upon him. Oh yesssss.

It's not quite that look, the one Barricade savors so much, the one he hunts like wary prey and lingers over like fine fuel. That look of ultimate betrayal from one who has foolishly given his trust... But it is close, that almost dead look of horror and of that sick realization that rescue - or escape - are nothing more than whimsical dreams.

And that there are worse things than to be killed or beaten.

Not that Barricade has any intent of putting himself in that vulnerable of a position, even to a scrap like this. He has Frenzy, as much as Frenzy has him, and doesn't need the ham-handed antics of an ameteur with his partner around.

But Holi doesn't know that, nor need he. Especially when he terrifies so delightfully at the mere sight of Frenzy.

Barricade laughs.

[Holi-3]

Laughing at him. The big, stupid cop car is laughing at Holi – why, because he's scared? Of course. Of course, mockery should be expected. It's the least he can get for finding something that looks like a mangled dead body frightening, isn't it?

"L'eggo of me!" he cries, swinging wildly, trying to knock away the smaller one. "Get off! And quit laughing!" This sucks. He isn't sure how to react any more; they aren't hurting him, don't seem to even be trying. They aren't taking him up on his offers. They aren't calling him worthless, aren't threatening him, and aren't telling him what to do. And since they aren't like the Decepticons he's more familiar with, they aren't whispering about rescuing him, either. They're just… poking him. And he doesn't have any response that fits. Fear? He's scared enough of the way they look. Obedience? The bigger one doesn't seem to care. Attack? Tried that. Run away? Can't. Call for help? Last resort. All he has left are confusion and anger at his own confusion.