This is a co-written piece between me and LandrayDepthCharge.
Movieverse, Rated R. Or M; for gore, violence and character death.
"Stop right there, Barricade!"
Caught. As intentional as it ever could be; miles from town, outside of an abandoned underground hangar filled with WWII-era explosives that had long since gone out of commission. The Ford Mustang police interceptor paused, the diffused glow of his taillights illuminating the area behind him as he considered, and thought, and smirked all to himself. Being the last of ones kind on a planet containing six billion squishable insects all whom wanted him dead tended to make one go a little batty...so he had begun to exact his own revenge. Barricade had been the one responsible for Sam Witwicky's family's death; it had been written on the wall in dripping arterial spray, 'Revenge is a bitch' and then a scraggly heart, followed by Barricade's name. Now he had taken Sam himself and had led Bumblebee on a wild car chase out into the middle of Bumfuck, Egypt, it seemed.
Rasp, tense words erupted from the black and white panels. "Who is to force me to do so?"
"I'm going to rip you to pieces, you slagheap!" Bumblebee roared with pure rage, but the careful listener could detect the pain vibrating in the voice. He was torn with grief - the Witwicky's knew everything, and liked him, too, accepted him, trusted him... and he let them down. He let them die. Barricade had to pay, but first... Sam needed to get into safety. "It's not them you needed, I know. We killed your comrades, I was the one to beat you up... let the boy go. He's just a 'squishy'. Take it out on me! Let him out!" The blue optics fixed on Sam's tear-stained face, who was still frantically clawing at the police car's door. Not that he could do any damage, even make the Decepticon wince...
Without a moments pause, five hundred horses beneath a jet black hood roared, torque spiking as his RPMs shot through the roof. The fight between rubber and cement ensued as Barricade kept his front brakes engaged, using his own 425-pounds-per-square-inch torque to spin his tail around, stopping once he was facing the panicked Camaro. "You think this is about you? Autobot fool!" came the snarled reply. "It was not just you and your little friends who caused this, it was also him, and them. Samuel James Witwicky, and that William Lennox."
Barricade only found it amusing that the young boy in his cab still attempted escape. Hopelessly locked doors and a mostly plastic and metal interior; all Sam could do to cause any amount of pain was claw at the leather seats, and even then, that was but an afterthought. "My revenge on you will come regardless of this little pest's fate!"
"Let him go! Barricade, you coward, you'd choose the easy way, killing something as defenseless as a human?!" Bee was indeed close to panic. He was worried for Sam, so worried! They grew close, became real friends, and he wow not to let any harm befall him! What a fool he had been... He should have listened more carefully, he should have been there, when the black mech took the boy hostage...! Every nerve inside Bee's body was sizzling, his CPUs whirred at top speed, trying to somehow turn the situation. Barricade could easily kill Sam... Way too easily.
"Let him go, and kill me, then! Don't tell me you're afraid that he'll run...!" Decepticons were prone to act too impulsively, having a high regard of themselves - none of them could stand an insult aimed at their fighting abilities. Bee prayed that this time, the same would happen - he' have gladly died, if that meant that Sam would live.
The snarl that resulted was a combination of metal grinding and an engine rev, internals rattling to accent the already dangerous sound. Barricade held his pride, but what the Mustang Saleen had that the majority of Decepticon soldiers did not was brains. He had shown over and over in the course of the war that he was highly intelligent and cunning, and just as treacherous if not more so than Starscream himself. He fought dirty and he did what he had to do win -- including stepping on others that were in his way. Winning was winning, regardless of the method or means. "Pfeh!" he spat, headlights flashing. "There is no sport in killing a defenseless Autobot, despite my amusement at squishing the fleshbags." Barricade growled again, his voice rising in tone and volume. "You have failed your human over and over again, with the parentals, and then with the abduction. History repeats itself for you, Bumblebrat, and let it do so once more; you've failed!"
The Ford's next move may have been unexpected. To kill, one might have assumed him to boot Sam out and then run him over, but such a merciful mode of death was not granted. Instead, the white on black police cruiser began to shift; the doors flung open as the internal cab began to shift hopelessly, denying the Witwicky boy his avenue to freedom. Hands and arms reformed and with them came legs, and by then, finally did Barricade's internals suddenly come together with force. Standing, the black Decepticon felt the humans body pulverize to a barely recognizable gelatinous mass, a soupish mess that filled every crevice of his chest with an explosion of heat and wetness. Parts shifted as the transformation completed itself and where there was no room for it, dark crimson blood sprayed into the air; then stillness. Gore began to ooze down the length of his body as Barricade threw back his head and laughed, the sound a haunting soundtrack to the morbid and macabre scene to be witnessed. "Failed."
The horrible sound of flesh tearing, bones splitting, the sickening, wet noise of internal organs bursting under the pressure, and Sam's last shriek was echoing in the air - or at least, Bee's audio receptors registered just that. He felt... He didn't feel anything. Everything in him was silent, oddly, terrifyingly calm. His processors refused to work with this data - it had to be false input, it had to be... It happened way too quickly. The Camaro's visual sensors fixed themselves on the tall, dark form, now covered with crimson goo and liquid. The thin streams of red trickled down on the mighty chest... down on his abdominal section, his groins, his strong thighs and legs, to finally pool around his clawed feet. The ground soaked it up thirstily.
Bee's servos hitched a bit, he began to tremble, the pretty yellow car wrecked by soft tremors. He slowly began to feel. His ventilation was coughing, unable to cool his core anymore, and his spark was twisting in its chamber... The small Autobot transformed as well, and with a fearful and at the same time, heart-wrenching scream, he aimed his cannon at Barricade.
His mind was a mess, his neuro-grid burning from the intensity of the emotions. Never before was the little scout so murderous, so keen on hacking, tearing and ripping another of his kind - no! THAT cursed kind! - to the tiniest little pieces. Sam died... Sam was murdered, Sam, SAM! Bumblebee failed to protect him... He began to fire at the black mech, still screaming. His whole system was overwritten, and the main directive was crystal clear: kill, kill, kill! And deep inside, the agony was screaming as well, eating Bee alive from the inside, like rust.Failed.
The enemy's reaction was swift, and Barricade launched his heavier, bulkier form into motion. He leapt aside with a snarl and dodged the first volley of cannon blasts, hocks and stifles bending with force as he maneuvered his weight down and around, ducking a second blast, only to waste no more time in being shot at. The Saleen's revenge on the Witwicky's was complete, evidenced by the shuddering warmth trickling down the insides of his legs even then. Barricade had never used his transformation sequence to kill anyone before, and the knowledge that the fleshlings broke so easily beneath the unforgiving metal gave him a rush. Anyone who ever stepped into his cab would suffer greatly.
Barricade darted forward, going low, blood-soaked, blood drunk, aiming his shoulder and upper arm at Bumblebee's stomach; the center of gravity.
Normally, the scout would have been more than capable to evade such an attack - but the searing hot pain sinking its merciless claws into his very soul made him blind. He kept on firing, cursing Barricade and all his companions, the stars, the AllSpark on Cybertronian. Bee simply ignored his battle computer's functions all but one: aiming. The black mech had to die. Now! He had to burn!
Just the forceful, brutal contact stopped him; but then, his fingers came down with surprising force, eager to rip the Mustang's neck-wires apart.
Barricade felt the jarring impact with his enemy and immediately went to work. As soon as Bumblebee was on his back on the ground, Barricade sat up, viciously jerking his upper body to the side to try and avoid the Chevrolet's clawing fingers. "Be still, Autobrat!" roared the Saleen S281, grabbing at Bumblebee's hands. One caught and the heavier Decepticon slammed it to the dirt, pinning it while his other did the same to Bee's right wrist. Barricade straddled the Autobot's waist, smearing the yellow armor with crimson, Sam's blood. "Poor, poor little Autobot," he taunted slowly, thighs gripping the Camaro's hips. "All alone with no one to protect -- not that you did any protecting here."
However, Bumblebee's strength was doubled by the pain. He twisted and trashed, not making it any bit easier to the Decepticon to hold him. "You sparkless, fragging slagheap!" he screamed. "You'll go down, down I say! You'll choke on your own fluids, and scream for mercy with your shattered vocalizers! Do you think we'll let you roam free? Do you?! Rust shall eat your insides!"
The red smear was itching on his yellow frame. He wanted to move away, and rip off his own armor, to get away from that terrible crawling feeling, which began to root into his neuro-grid.
Squirmy little rat. The decal along Barricade's forearm began to split, separating the words 911-Emergency-Response as the plate lifted and shifted, revealing a compartment. The Saleen, however, was forced to situate himself differently in order to keep holding his prey down. Snarling, he arched his back and readied how he was going to do it, and in a flash of motion he was up and his lower body had moved; armor plated knees pinned Bumblebee's arms, freeing both terrifyingly clawed hands. "I am shaking in fear, truly."
Barricade reached into the compartment and drew out a loop of chain, wrapping it first around the Camaro's right wrist. Then, the Ford Mustang slid back, snatching the yellow one's other wrist in one taloned hand. In a blink, both wrists were bound.
Bee snarled and squirmed viciously, trying to shake off the chains, though with no avail. But he was far from defeated, far from it! His life was wasted anyway, more humiliation won't count, and maybe Prime will be merciful, and execute him personally for his failure... The scout activated his inner radio, and began to signal to his companions.
Barricade's internal alarms went off; a signal was being sent. "Ah, ah," the Saleen hissed, and Bumblebee heard nothing but static. "No you don't."
The entrance to the underground garage was right there. The Camaro, with his wrists bound, could not transform -- the chains binding them were not of Earth-make and had the endurance and durability of Cybertronian armor. Even if Bee got up to run, he would not get far. The monstrous visage of the police interceptor sank down, mere inches apart. "Hurts, doesn't it?" he growled low, grating, rasping. "To lose everything?" And with that said, he stood up and brought the yellow Autobot up with him, shoving him with all of his might backwards towards the ramp that lead inside the lowered garage. Oh, such fun the twisted Saleen would have with his little guest.
The yellow mech kept on trying, but his transmitter was good as dead. Where did the other get such disruptors...? Now, he was indeed alone... for the time being.
However, even if he winced visibly, the scout still had some strength inside. He crouched low, shifting his weight, still fighting, still cursing the black mech... Though, maybe his intensity was slowly, barely noticeably fading. The events started to catch up on a deeper level, the grief from the loss finding its way into the logic centers, too, numbing his body and mind alike. Barricade had to pay! But Sam... Sam won't come back.
The terrible finality was beginning to register.
"Give it up, sparkling, it's over!" rang the terrible deep voice of Bumblebee's aggressor as he advanced slowly, his tri-jointed legs moving him with a sense of straightforward grace that only a mech of his rank and skill could achieve. Barricade's steps were slow, drawn out, and as he stalked closer and closer the sun glinted off of the blood still coated and smeared across his coal black and ivory white armor. Police doorpanels were flicked, speckled with arterial spray and tiny pieces of bone shown here and there; stark white bits amidst a midnight backdrop. "You charge is dead, pain and torment awaits you, and after I finish with you tonight you can rest assured in knowing that William Lennox, within a week's time, will be mourning the violent and macabre death of his female mate and their little spawnling."
"What are you trying to achieve, Barricade?" Bee spoke up quietly. "This won't bring Megatron back. This won't bring Frenzy, or Blackout back, or any of your fallen comrades! You'll maybe able to kill William Lennox... But then, you'll be hunted down and killed by the Autobots with the same cruelty you handled Sam Witwicky with...!"
His voice broke on the name. His ventilations malfunctioned again, drawing forth a hitching sound, surprisingly alike to human sobbing. Mechs had no tears, but their pain was the same as that of the organics'.
"Torture me as much as you want - it doesn't matter. I won't give you any satisfaction!"
"Oh, we'll see," Barricade chuckled, bending to pick up the end of the thirty-foot length of chain. "We'll see. Because --" the Saleen trailed off then, taking his quadoptics off of his enemy long enough to toss that end of line over a thick rafter some ten feet above their heads. "It may not bring Megatron back, and it may not bring Frenzy or Blackout back," again the bastard Decepticon engaged in a pregnant pause to loop the chain back over twice more. "And it will mean my end, this is all very true." Barricade then pulled hard, hoisting his captive's hands above his head. "But it will make me feel...a whole lot better about the situation."
Crimson-stained-black stalked over to the wall, attaching a loop of the chain to a locking grapple to set it in tight. "After all," continued the muscle car. "If I've stepped over the line, I might as well run the whole mile."
"Your processors burned out while you were hiding like a petro-rat," Bumblebee spat, pulling at his chains. He tried his radio again, but he knew that the concrete shields him, not much will get through, if anything. Still, he had to try. "The war is over. The AllSpark is no more, and Megatron is stone cold dead. And here you are, mighty Decepticon warrior, chasing delusions!" His voice was dripping with sarcasm.
That got his attention. "Delusions? Delusions?" The beast threw his head back and laughed wetly. "Hah! Your grief provides such a fanciful illusion; suck it up, boy! Wake up and smell reality. Do you call this a delusion?" Upon the word 'this' Barricade did scoop the ridge of his hand along his own chest, holding it up to show the still soaking redness that glimmered in the artificial lightning. The Saleen positioned himself before his pretty yellow captive, smearing the blood on his chest. "Seems real to me."
The blue optics went wide, and the scout let out a small screeching squeak, moving as far back as he could. Please, no... No more. That drying blood and ground flesh was... a human, a friend! "You rustworm...! Leave the dead bodies lie! Would you do that to your own fallen, too? Bathe in their fluids?!"
Somewhere deep inside, part of him was considering to double over and empty his fuel tanks on the floor. This was disgusting. If he had to watch Barricade prance around covered with S- human remnants, Bee thought, his valiant efforts to hold on and withstand the torture were going to be put to a seriously test.
The coppery smell of machine and hemoglobin permeated, still fresh as some of it even boiled and steamed away when dripped upon a warm internal component. Barricade was covered in it, inside and out; belts wove and moved, and the bits and pieces of pulverized Witwicky only served as extra lubricant; with the Saleen Mustang so close, Bumblebee's olfactory sensors had no choice but to pick up the smell of well-oiled machine and death. To the verbal assault Barricade chose to say nothing, instead remaining but a hairs breadth away from his captive. Psychological torture...this was his favorite past time. One crimson-coated talon lifted, drawing little blood-patterns along the Camaro's cheek.
At that exact moment, the yellow mech wished if he had the exact same sharp dentals, as some of the Decepticons - Barricade included - to bite the offending claws off, and spit them into his tormentor's face. He wrenched his head away, offlining his smell receptors. The blood burned, and the black mech probably knew it. He had been an interrogator, trained to break the sparks of his enemies.
Bumblebee felt tired. He had burned a lot of energy in the past fifteen minutes, he wished if he could just collapse, curl up and die- no. Not yet. He wanted to recharge, to let the Sun's rays cleanse his armor with their unique power, and feed his weapon to the maximum, that he could melt the Decepticon bastard to a smoking heap of waste. He wanted to give him back the exact amount of pain he caused to his human victims.
"Back off, you greasy piece of junk...!"
"This is vaguely reminiscent of the other casualties I've caused here," the Decepticon rumbled, eyeing the gaps in armor, mapping out where he may start the pain. "Human blood; I am familiar with it. It is not universal unlike our fluids, which are mostly all the same. There are different types, O, A, B, AB, and then negatives of each except for O. When given a transplant the humans must have the same kind, lest they wish for their internals to become cottage cheese." Barricade ran those sharp fingertips down along the sensitive wiring and struts that made up Bee's neck. "It smells the same. Witwicky's was the same as the little girl I hit two days ago. Hers was the same as the unfortunate soccer mom who walked by the wrong alleyway at night a week before that. And hers was the same as the man who tried to break my window a week and a half ago. Then there was the pile of twisted burning metal that was the busload of human spawn after I had bullied the driver off of the highway and into a ditch. That was not a pleasant scent to detect, burning flesh."
That did not help at all. The casual way Barricade talked about his kills, the loss of lives, as if those humans had been mere bothersome insects, almost made Bee gape with horror and disgust.
"So the rumors were true. You did kill Sparklings back on Cybertron." Step back, you slagger, just one step back, just one...! The scout was trying his chains again, but this time, he wanted to know if the rafter could hold his weight.
That comment brought a wild cackle to the air. "Oh, my, you still haven't figured that out?" Barricade scoffed. "Autobots as stupid as ever. I went through that Care Institution and tore apart those screaming little bratlings with my bare hands and the caretakers could do nothing to stop me."
The rafter creaked, but held, but who knew how long it would last. Barricade struck the first time then, biting down on Bumblebee's neck.
The little mech shrieked from surprise, from pain... He didn't expect this. The dental spikes dug into his sensitive wires, and just the mere presence of the other's metal practically inside him made Bee... let's just say, more than edgy. He felt a few thin cables snap, the ends sizzling... It didn't hurt that much yet... but that didn't mean, it won't, soon. The neck was one of the most sensitive areas of a transformer.
Barricade let go and took a half step back, going back to peering at the squirmy little bastard's armor. A gap there, he could hook his all-purpose tools into that and go a tad to the left to access raw nerve circuitry. And that crevice right there in the Camaro's stomach, the fuel line was there. The twisted Saleen then looked back up at Bee's face, letting the thumb of his right hand reform into his multi-faceted interrogation weapon; that thing was feared and well known among the Autobot ranks. Again the captor stepped forward, jamming that thumb into a crevice along the Chevrolet's side, meanwhile getting close enough for their chests to touch. "This will be the longest night of your life."