Chapter Text
“Is that all sir!” Deadlock snarled. He spat the honorific like an insult.
Turmoil glanced up from the large map of the battlefield on the planet below highlighted with glowing purple and red areas to mark the Decepticon and Autobot held territories. Their army had made significant advances today due to Deadlock’s legendary ferocity. Although Turmoil already knew the battle's specifics, he insisted that Deadlock attend the official debriefing, much to his dismay.
After another day of fearsome warfare, they withdrew to their Worldsweeper to regroup and plan the next day’s strategy. Their ship held a hidden orbit in a nearby asteroid field. Close enough to keep the ground troops fully supplied but far enough away that the Autobot scanners couldn't find them. They had also managed to destroy every incoming supply ship carrying Autobot reinforcements, isolating their troops from any hope of assistance. As long as they could keep up this deadly game of hide and seek, their victory here was inevitable.
“Yes. Of course.” Turmoil muttered like he forgot he left Deadlock standing at attention for the past hour. “You are dismissed.”
“Thank you.” Deadlock growled without a trace of gratitude. He spun around and stalked towards to the exit, glad to be free of Turmoil’s passive aggressive power play. When he finally achieves his own command, he wouldn’t have to tolerate this scrap from anyone.
“One more thing.”
Deadlock halted, canting his finials back. Done with stupid games, he didn’t bother turning to face Turmoil. “What.” He said flatly, with no tonal inflections to indicate that he hoped for an answer.
“The Delta team brought an Autobot prisoner on board.”
“WHAT?!” Deadlock whirled around in a rage, snarling the word with enough venom to curdle motor oil. “What in the seven hells for?!”
“They were following MY orders.” Turmoil rose to his full impressive height, towering over him.
“Well. Then YOU are as fragging stupid as they are.” Deadlock bristled. If Turmoil thought he could intimidate him, he had another thing coming. “Prisoners are a waste of resources. Enemies are to be killed. Plain and simple.” Whenever he saw his enemies, he killed them. Every time. Without mercy. In the unlikely event that his enemies saw him before death took them, they ran.
“So charming.” Turmoil laughed. He dropped a heavy hand onto Deadlock’s shoulder, which he immediately shook off. His plating twitched at the unexpected contact. Turmoil ought to consider himself fortunate Deadlock didn’t rip that arm off and beat him with it. “Lucky for us, the Autobots don’t share your murderous philosophy. Ever since they managed to capture Bonecrusher, the rest of the Constructicons have been desperately clamoring to get him back. Aside from their bizarre devotion to their hapless comrade, they can’t form Devastator without him.”
Deadlock narrowed his optics. There it was. Turmoil never did anything that didn’t directly serve his own ambitions. If he could hand Megatron a weapon as powerful as the fearsome gestalt, Turmoil would make a real name for himself. Ambition aside, Devastator would provide an unmatched tactical advantage. It didn’t change Deadlock’s mind about prisoners though. If you couldn’t overpower your enemies on the battlefield, you deserved death. Quick and efficient.
“As I reward, I let them have their fun. He doesn’t need to be in one piece and I don’t plan on wasting any resources on him. He can survive a few days without fuel. I just need him alive so I can get the Autobots to agree to an exchange.” Turmoil shrugged. “According to their reports, they grabbed the runt that burned Nyon to dust. He should be worth at least one Constructicon.”
“You finished?” Deadlock growled, clenching his fists hard enough to dent his palms. He cut wide swaths of unrelenting destruction through his enemies without hesitation. Hell, he’d shoot his own soldiers if they disobeyed orders, but something about torture never sat right with him. It took him back to the dark alleys of the Dead End. He’d been beaten to the brink of fade out himself too many times by those bigger, stronger, or more sober to ever condone it.
“Quite.” Turmoil turned back to his map. “We’ll strike this area tomorrow morning. See that you are prepared.”
Deadlock nodded and stormed out of the command center with a fanged sneer. He flexed his fingers before he damaged his joints. Turmoil’s comment about the prisoner unsettled him. His hand absentmindedly rubbed a ragged weld scar than ran across his upper thigh. Hot Rod, the feisty Autobot speedster that saved his life when the Iron Bridge fell, was from Nyon. It had to be a coincidence.
Not in the mood to deal with anyone, Deadlock flared his plating and stalked down the hall like he was on his way to rip Optimus Prime’s spark from his chest with his bare hands. Any other soldiers unfortunate enough to cross his path scuttled away in fear or shrank into the shadows until he passed.
Normally using his murder strut to clear his path filled him with a heady sense of primal confidence. Today it brought him no joy. He couldn’t shake the growing sense of unease in his spark. Hot Rod was a naive idiot with big dreams who wanted to be friends with a bot that tried to shoot him. Surely, he must have been killed in action shortly after they met. Besides, Turmoil said their prisoner destroyed Nyon. Although the destruction of the city weighed heavily on the little speedster, Deadlock didn’t think he actually caused it. There was no way that he could be the prisoner in question. Right?
Lost in the memory of carefree laughter and stupid nicknames, Deadlock rounded the corner and slammed into three members of Turmoil’s Delta squad. Large, heavily armored, and sadistic without purpose. He rarely worked with them and never bothered to learn their names. If they ever changed their paintwork, he’d never recognize them.
“Hey! Watch where you’re-” The tall green one shouted as he wobbled on unsteady legs, nearly toppling backwards. Deadlock narrowed his optics in silence. “OH SCRAP! Deadlock?! I- I mean: Sorry, sir!!” All three snapped to attention.
Deadlock’s sneer curled into a wicked grin, enjoying the intoxicating rush of power and authority. He outranked them all and they knew it. Reputation preceding him, even Turmoil’s precious Delta Squad cowered in his presence. Deadlock drew himself up and stared them down.
Evaluating their battered condition, Deadlock kept his face impassive despite his confusion. These three massive bruisers looked like they just went several rounds in the pits of Kaon. They all sported a myriad of dents marked with shimmering gold paint. The right arm of the bulky blue one was scorched and blackened all the way to his struts like he tried to wrangle an inferno barehanded. The purple one lost an eye, broken wires sparking in an empty socket. The tall green one limped along, left leg missing a fair portion of its knee assembly. Debilitating burns, gouged eyes, and busted knee caps? Whoever they tangled with knew how to fight ferociously dirty.
Deadlock’s audials twitched, picking up the soft patter of dripping fluids. Although all of their hands appeared uninjured, bright pink energon dripped freely from their knuckles. A disturbing amount of it.
“The battle ended hours ago.” Deadlock growled. “Why haven’t you gone to check in at the medibay?”
“We already did, sir.” The purple one replied, without meeting his optics.
“Is that so? You look like rusted scrap.” Deadlock folded his arms. “Are you saying that Flatline takes such poor care of his soldiers?”
“NO!! No sir!” The tall green one yelped, shifting nervously on his injured leg. “This stuff happened after that.”
Deadlock grinned. Flatline would refuse treatment to anyone that disparaged his work. If you valued your life, you kept on the medic’s good side.
“We were just having a bit of fun with the Autobot prisoner.” The bulky blue one piped up, his incinerated excuse for an arm dangling limp at his side. “Turmoil said we could.”
Deadlock ground his teeth, fighting against the nightmare of being pinned down and tortured on the streets of Rodion. How many times did he beg his tormentors to just kill him? But death never came. His mood took a turn for the worse. “Turmoil also wants him alive.”
“His spark still flickered when we left.” The purple one shrugged, keeping his one functioning optic fixed on the floor. “Besides, he wasn’t that hard to catch. If he dies, we’ll just grab another one.”
“We leave for another raid tomorrow morning.” Deadlock snapped, trigger fingers twitching. “Anyone not ready will be shot.”
All their crimson optics widened. The dangling wires protruding from the purple one’s empty socket fizzled a shower of sparks. “Yes, sir!”
“Get outta my sight,” Deadlock commanded, engine rumbling a low growl.
They took off together and hurried around the corner, fleeing Deadlock’s murderous authority. He leaned back against the wall and drew his one of his numerous pistols taking comfort in its familiar weight. Deadlock turned the weapon over in his hands, half hoping they wouldn’t be ready in the morning so he could shoot them. He held the gun up in firing position, checking the sight. Maybe he’d have the opportunity to kill them in the heat of battle. Stray shots happen all the time.
After a few moments of blessed silence, Delta squad resumed their casual conversation regarding the prisoner. Their harsh laughter echoed down the hall and grated on every single one of Deadlock’s circuits. Shivering at the ghostly grasp of rough hands on his plating, Deadlock racked the slide to chamber a round in his pistol. Never again. No one would ever treat him that way again. The Decepticons took him in, gave him purpose and power to spare. Now HE was the nightmare lurking in the shadows.
Venting a long sigh, he holstered his sidearm. Fragging Turmoil. Fragging Autobot. They should be trying to win the war by killing their enemies, not leveraging prisoners for personal gain. If Bonecrusher was stupid enough to get caught by the Autobots, then that was his affair. Let the Constructicons get him themselves. He shouldn’t have to put up with this scrap. Deadlock turned to leave when one comment amidst their fading laughter, barely on the edge of audial range, caught his attention.
“What kind of idiot paints himself with so many flame decals anyways?”
Deadlock’s spark stopped his chest. A very specific kind of idiot. In fact, Deadlock could only think of one.