A/N: So, despite being on the run from the Law (aka, the 'rents), I managed to wake up early (and not fall back asleep like a normal, sane person), I managed to hash this out.

Starfire201's bunny/prompt: you always see Prowl as Barricade, but what about the other Praxians?

So, I do hereby present, the Smokeycade!Bunny! :D


Shockwave was not pleased. He stared at the unconscious blue and red Praxian strapped to the exam table, and, had he possessed a more conventional mouth, he would have frowned. This wasn't the tactician he wanted. Not even close.

The rumble of his engine made the two mechs standing on the other side of the table cower. "Sir, Commander Shockwave, the Autobot Tactical Commander was too well guarded. We couldn't get him. We could get this mech, so... we thought it would be better to come back with something..."

"You thought. Get out of my sight."

"Yes, Commander Shockwave, sir, right away, sir."

Curse the stupidity of the mechs he commanded!

The two Decepticon grunts practically ran from the room, metaphorical tails between their legs. Shockwave remained in the lab, staring at the offline mech. Perhaps he could put this Autobot to use, after all. It would be a good idea to test the process...

. . .oOo.

Smokescreen woke with a horrible helm-ache. He moaned, rolling said aching helm to the side. "What did I do last night?" he groaned, lifting a hand to rub at an aching chevron.

Only to find that his arm wouldn't respond to his commands.

He glanced down. Thick, metalomesh bands secured him to a table. They wrapped over his chassis, over his arms, over his legs, and, when he tried to twitch his doorwings (which were beginning to ache – they weren't meant to be laid on), he found that there were bands securing them as well.

Movement made him glance to the side, and every process he had running froze.

Deep purple armor, so dark it was practically black. A single red-ringed yellow optic. An insect-like mouth, the vertical opening lined with long, pincer-like teeth.

Shockwave. Shockwave. He was strapped to a berth and Shockwave was standing over him.

Immediately, he started deleting things. Autobot access codes. The most recent plans he had been working on. Autobot troop movement and allocation. Base plans. Everything save for his personal memories and core coding. Then, with some hesitation, he pulled up a very old code, installed vorns ago.

Engaging Suicide Protocols;


Selected: Standby.

"What do you want, Shockwave?" Smokescreen forced out of a glitching vocalizer. "I've already deleted everything."

Shockwave's optic glimmered. "Yes, I assumed so. However, it's not your information I want. We can get that from... other places."

That scared Smokescreen more than he wanted to admit. "Then what? What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing much... Just the use of your frame and spark for a time."

Suicide Protocols;


Selected: Engaged.


"Oh, I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

The Praxian moaned as the pressure-pain in his helm increased. He abruptly became aware of something linked up to his processor, hooked into the medical port on the back of his helm.

Suicide Protocols: Deleted.

What? No. No! He couldn't do that!

Again, the pressure-pain in his helm increased, and he could feel the foreign coding streaming in. Forced downloads hurt, and this was a large one. The Praxian writhed in his bonds, whimpering as he felt his systems reset, one by one, and the new protocols and programming settling into place.

He felt himself being pushed back, being subdued. Struggling, he threw up firewalls, trying to stop the advance of the invading programming, but it blasted through everything.

Slagging Shockwave. Fraggit all!

"Frag you!" Smokescreen managed to rasp, right before his vocalizer reset. He could feel his control of his frame slipping away. Slowly, he stopped writhing, slowly, his frame began to follow new commands.

Something pressed up against his mind, battering him back. He dug metaphorical heels in, put all his strength into keeping it out.

No! he growled as it gained more ground. I will not be destroyed!

The invading force just pushed harder. Diverting some attention to his core coding, Smokescreen began frantically writing firewalls and counter-viruses, trying to find a way to save himself.

Realizing his attention was split, the force shoved again, and Smokescreen lost more of himself. With a growl, the tactician threw himself into his own core coding, and instead of fighting back, began lining up the invading code with his own.

He wasn't able to stop it. But frag it all if he just let it take over! He would hide himself in the program. Make sure there was still some of him alive. Something that could be saved.

He aligned his personality matrix with the new matrix that was being pushed into his processor, allowing his to be changed slightly, but in return, changing what was being forced on him. He would barricade himself away, keep himself safely hidden within his own processor.

Then everything went dark, and the program took over.

. . .oOo.

The Praxian mech stirred on the berth, still restrained, and opened his optics. They were still blue, but there was a menacing edge of red circling the outside. Shockwave clicked, and the mech looked over, optics focusing intently on the scientist.

"What is your name, Decepticon?" Shockwave asked, taking a step forward.

The mech twitched as the scientist lay a hand on his leg plating. "My name?"

"Yes. You must have a name."

"I... Barricade. I will be called Barricade."

"What is your purpose, Barricade?"

"To destroy the Autobots."

Shockwave would have been smirking if it were physically capable. As it was, his field radiated an acute sense of smug accomplishment. "Good. Welcome to the Decepticons."