Biohazard?
May. 19th, 2011 09:02 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
niyazi-a.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
shadow_vectorG
Bayverse
Barricade, Blackout, Starscream
crack
based off a prompt![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wicked3659 gave me.
Barricade hated Earth.
//Just…shut up and get over here,// Barricade sent over comm, trying to keep the panic from his voice. Fraggin’ xeno stuff. Possibly infested already. The tattered box in his back seat was tipping ominously as the…whatever vile creature it contained was struggling to escape. Doubtless eating its way out of the box. He could hear the telltale sounds of scratching. Which meant claws. Vicious needle-sharp talons.
He rolled down the highway, trying to keep his speed level. No sense making the vile thing more angry. Blackout would get here and then…it would be the copter’s problem. Because Barricade was totally, totally not above ditching his issues on the copter.
There, the turn off they’d set up weeks ago as a meetpoint. He hadn’t thought he’d needed it, but, well, thank Primus for military protocol. And Blackout’s stick-up-the-exhaust-port adherence to it. He rolled to a stop, gingerly, his tires crunching on the fine gravel and salt from a previous winter, checking his chrono anxiously. Where was the big rotored idiot?
The box rattled in his back seat, ominously, followed by a malevolent squeaking sound.
//Blackout! ETA.//
//Hold onto your diodes, grounder. Right here.// The sound of rotors whupping the sky floated faintly to his audio.
Thank. Fraggin’. Primus. He waited, impatient, barely daring to rock back and forth on his tires, as the copter landed, pushed back to his bipedal mode, lumbering over. He’d never been quite so glad to see the damn copter in his life. “What’s the big deal?” Blackout rumbled.
“Fraggin’ biological warfare.” Barricade growled. “Someone came up to me, while I was on recon, and slapped this box of…viciousness in my backseat.”
“Viciousness.” Blackout dropped to one knee, optics squinting into narrow red slits as he peered into the glass. “Looks like a box with human writing on it.”
“Probably says ‘lethal’.”
“Free…,” Blackout tilted his head. “Kittens?” His cheekflares shifted, contemplating. “Free Kittens? Is that some sort of cause?”
“Obviously Kittens is some sort of notorious criminal they feel is being held unjustly and this is some terrorist statement at Kittens Liberation.”
“Obviously.” Blackout sounded…dubious. “But I’m not finding like a Kittens Liberation Front on the human information network.”
“Underground,” Barricade snapped. “Secret organization.”
“So…you’re gonna stick to this story?” Blackout leaned in closer, his face inches from the window.
“Until proven otherwise.”
“Muh-huh.” Blackout shook his head. “Okay, pop the door.”
Barricade released his lock, the door swinging wide, eager to get the damn contaminated thing out of him. He’d hunt for clues later, do a facial match with some of his human police network, and make the terrorist pay.
Blackout stuck one hand in the cabin, squeezing at the ragged brown cardboard. The beast in the box went…crazy, squeaking and scrambling inside. Blackout jumped back, landing hard on his aft, rotors flared in alarm. “You didn’t tell me there was something alive in there!”
“BIOLOGICAL WARFARE,” Barricade howled. “What’d you think that meant?”
“I dunno. Germs or something.” He tilted his head, reaching in, grabbing at the cardboard, dragging it out of the backseat. It whumped on the ground, the…thing inside howling and thrashing around. It sounded…horrifying, and Barricade stood up, trying to forget that he had that…thing inside him.
“What do you suppose it is?”
“I do not want to know.” Barricade edged away. “Some sort of horrible parasite.” He pictured it as some hideous white worm thing, blind, squishy, like oozing flesh.
“We should learn about it. I mean, if it’s going to be used against us, right?” Blackout bent over, poking one finger at the box. His rotors flared as something in the box responded, thwapping against the box’s inside. “It doesn’t seem to be able to defeat the box, so…guess you’re okay.”
“Larval stage.” Barricade said. Obvious. Seriously. There was a reason he was the Science Officer and Blackout was the muscle.
Blackout grunted. “Take my chances.” He caught a flap under one finger, lifting it open. Barricade twitched, half-hiding behind the copter’s bulk, holding one rotor between himself and the box, like a shield.
“Huh.” Blackout reached into the box.
“What the frag is wrong with you!?” Barricade flinched as the hand came back out, holding a little blob of…fur? Vicious, alien fur, he thought.
“What’s wrong with you,” Blackout said. He turned, holding out the blob. “Kitten. Hatchling version of a cat.” He thrust it toward Barricade’s face. “Fraggin’ harmless.”
Big blue eyes—fraggin’ Autobot blue—stared up at him from a puff of grey fur.
“Kitten,” Blackout said. “And a runt, probably.” He prodded it gently, the thing turning around, rising up on tiny furry feet to swat at his steel finger. “Totally harmless.”
“Biohazard,” Barricade muttered, inching forward to peer into the now-empty box, smelling the sweetish ammonia of some sort of filthy discharge. Doubtless some sort of venom.
“Fraggin’ sparkling-cat, Barricade. Not venomous.” Blackout rotated his hand, holding the kitten up to his face. “Kinda cute, really.”
“Yeah? If there was nothing wrong with this little biohazard, why’d the humans throw it away?”
“Probably put it in you so, you know, the squishy police would take care of it.”
“I can take care of it just fine,” Barricade snapped. “Greasy furry blotch in about five kliks.”
Blackout swung the kitten out of his reach. “Don’t be a jerk, Barricade.” A beat. “Okay, don’t be that much of a jerk. Save all that violence stuff for Autobots.”
“Well what do you think we should do with it?” Seriously. Turning hatchlings over to Barricade was a really dumb idea. Which proved: humans were dumb, if nothing else.
“I dunno.” Blackout ran a finger down the tiny frame. “Guess no one wanted it.”
“Well, I don’t fraggin’ want it!” Barricade snapped. The thing was…vibrating at Blackout’s touch. “Probably going to explode or something.” He edged back.
“Kittens don’t explode,” Blackout said. “Science Officer.”
Barricade glared, his lower optics dimming as he called up this ‘kitten’ thing. Huh. Didn’t explode. And the vibrating was apparently called ‘purring.’ Still.
“Yeah, shut up,” Barricade muttered. “Just sayin’, not really, you know, equipped to store kittens. No kitten slot.” Huh. Maybe he could call the little thing Frenzy? What…was he even thinking? “When I’m in root, don’t even have steady compartment.”
“I know someone who does.”
[***]
Starscream jolted out of recharge, feeling…odd. Little miniscule prickles in his cockpit, up the ‘seat’ and then the sudden warm splotch. And then the unmistakable kthunk kthunk of mech feet trying to be stealthy, sneaking away. “Barricade!” he snapped, sitting up, the last foggy tendrils of recharge peeling off him as he sat up. In his cockpit the warm spot moved, then the prickles again, digging in wildly. “What is the meaning of this!?” He snapped the amber glass open, staring at his bare cockpit at…a kitten, staring up at him, dangling from eight little needle-sharp claws sunk into his cockpit seat.
“Thought you might like a new friend,” Barricade smirked, keeping carefully out of swatting range. “You know, someone who will respect you.”
Starscream growled, his hand scooping up the kitten, depositing it on his cockpit glass. “How little you know, Barricade. Cats are not known for respect. Quite the opposite.” He prodded the furry round shape of the body. “In fact, cats are known for their poise and independence.” He gave a ‘hmph’, his mouth calipers splitting into a grin as the kitten reared up, slapping at his talon, tail like a tiny whip. “I shall call him Survivor. He shall be our mascot.”
He looked up. “That was your intent in giving him to me, of course. Certainly nothing…nefarious.”
Oh, no, never. Barricade rolled his optics.
“Good. Now I shall delegate: You are responsible for his wellbeing, Barricade.” The red optics narrowed to slits behind their cages. “You would best hope that nothing bad happens to little Survivor.”
Frag. Barricade…hated Earth.
Bayverse
Barricade, Blackout, Starscream
crack
based off a prompt
wicked3659 gave me. Barricade hated Earth.
//Just…shut up and get over here,// Barricade sent over comm, trying to keep the panic from his voice. Fraggin’ xeno stuff. Possibly infested already. The tattered box in his back seat was tipping ominously as the…whatever vile creature it contained was struggling to escape. Doubtless eating its way out of the box. He could hear the telltale sounds of scratching. Which meant claws. Vicious needle-sharp talons.
He rolled down the highway, trying to keep his speed level. No sense making the vile thing more angry. Blackout would get here and then…it would be the copter’s problem. Because Barricade was totally, totally not above ditching his issues on the copter.
There, the turn off they’d set up weeks ago as a meetpoint. He hadn’t thought he’d needed it, but, well, thank Primus for military protocol. And Blackout’s stick-up-the-exhaust-port adherence to it. He rolled to a stop, gingerly, his tires crunching on the fine gravel and salt from a previous winter, checking his chrono anxiously. Where was the big rotored idiot?
The box rattled in his back seat, ominously, followed by a malevolent squeaking sound.
//Blackout! ETA.//
//Hold onto your diodes, grounder. Right here.// The sound of rotors whupping the sky floated faintly to his audio.
Thank. Fraggin’. Primus. He waited, impatient, barely daring to rock back and forth on his tires, as the copter landed, pushed back to his bipedal mode, lumbering over. He’d never been quite so glad to see the damn copter in his life. “What’s the big deal?” Blackout rumbled.
“Fraggin’ biological warfare.” Barricade growled. “Someone came up to me, while I was on recon, and slapped this box of…viciousness in my backseat.”
“Viciousness.” Blackout dropped to one knee, optics squinting into narrow red slits as he peered into the glass. “Looks like a box with human writing on it.”
“Probably says ‘lethal’.”
“Free…,” Blackout tilted his head. “Kittens?” His cheekflares shifted, contemplating. “Free Kittens? Is that some sort of cause?”
“Obviously Kittens is some sort of notorious criminal they feel is being held unjustly and this is some terrorist statement at Kittens Liberation.”
“Obviously.” Blackout sounded…dubious. “But I’m not finding like a Kittens Liberation Front on the human information network.”
“Underground,” Barricade snapped. “Secret organization.”
“So…you’re gonna stick to this story?” Blackout leaned in closer, his face inches from the window.
“Until proven otherwise.”
“Muh-huh.” Blackout shook his head. “Okay, pop the door.”
Barricade released his lock, the door swinging wide, eager to get the damn contaminated thing out of him. He’d hunt for clues later, do a facial match with some of his human police network, and make the terrorist pay.
Blackout stuck one hand in the cabin, squeezing at the ragged brown cardboard. The beast in the box went…crazy, squeaking and scrambling inside. Blackout jumped back, landing hard on his aft, rotors flared in alarm. “You didn’t tell me there was something alive in there!”
“BIOLOGICAL WARFARE,” Barricade howled. “What’d you think that meant?”
“I dunno. Germs or something.” He tilted his head, reaching in, grabbing at the cardboard, dragging it out of the backseat. It whumped on the ground, the…thing inside howling and thrashing around. It sounded…horrifying, and Barricade stood up, trying to forget that he had that…thing inside him.
“What do you suppose it is?”
“I do not want to know.” Barricade edged away. “Some sort of horrible parasite.” He pictured it as some hideous white worm thing, blind, squishy, like oozing flesh.
“We should learn about it. I mean, if it’s going to be used against us, right?” Blackout bent over, poking one finger at the box. His rotors flared as something in the box responded, thwapping against the box’s inside. “It doesn’t seem to be able to defeat the box, so…guess you’re okay.”
“Larval stage.” Barricade said. Obvious. Seriously. There was a reason he was the Science Officer and Blackout was the muscle.
Blackout grunted. “Take my chances.” He caught a flap under one finger, lifting it open. Barricade twitched, half-hiding behind the copter’s bulk, holding one rotor between himself and the box, like a shield.
“Huh.” Blackout reached into the box.
“What the frag is wrong with you!?” Barricade flinched as the hand came back out, holding a little blob of…fur? Vicious, alien fur, he thought.
“What’s wrong with you,” Blackout said. He turned, holding out the blob. “Kitten. Hatchling version of a cat.” He thrust it toward Barricade’s face. “Fraggin’ harmless.”
Big blue eyes—fraggin’ Autobot blue—stared up at him from a puff of grey fur.
“Kitten,” Blackout said. “And a runt, probably.” He prodded it gently, the thing turning around, rising up on tiny furry feet to swat at his steel finger. “Totally harmless.”
“Biohazard,” Barricade muttered, inching forward to peer into the now-empty box, smelling the sweetish ammonia of some sort of filthy discharge. Doubtless some sort of venom.
“Fraggin’ sparkling-cat, Barricade. Not venomous.” Blackout rotated his hand, holding the kitten up to his face. “Kinda cute, really.”
“Yeah? If there was nothing wrong with this little biohazard, why’d the humans throw it away?”
“Probably put it in you so, you know, the squishy police would take care of it.”
“I can take care of it just fine,” Barricade snapped. “Greasy furry blotch in about five kliks.”
Blackout swung the kitten out of his reach. “Don’t be a jerk, Barricade.” A beat. “Okay, don’t be that much of a jerk. Save all that violence stuff for Autobots.”
“Well what do you think we should do with it?” Seriously. Turning hatchlings over to Barricade was a really dumb idea. Which proved: humans were dumb, if nothing else.
“I dunno.” Blackout ran a finger down the tiny frame. “Guess no one wanted it.”
“Well, I don’t fraggin’ want it!” Barricade snapped. The thing was…vibrating at Blackout’s touch. “Probably going to explode or something.” He edged back.
“Kittens don’t explode,” Blackout said. “Science Officer.”
Barricade glared, his lower optics dimming as he called up this ‘kitten’ thing. Huh. Didn’t explode. And the vibrating was apparently called ‘purring.’ Still.
“Yeah, shut up,” Barricade muttered. “Just sayin’, not really, you know, equipped to store kittens. No kitten slot.” Huh. Maybe he could call the little thing Frenzy? What…was he even thinking? “When I’m in root, don’t even have steady compartment.”
“I know someone who does.”
[***]
Starscream jolted out of recharge, feeling…odd. Little miniscule prickles in his cockpit, up the ‘seat’ and then the sudden warm splotch. And then the unmistakable kthunk kthunk of mech feet trying to be stealthy, sneaking away. “Barricade!” he snapped, sitting up, the last foggy tendrils of recharge peeling off him as he sat up. In his cockpit the warm spot moved, then the prickles again, digging in wildly. “What is the meaning of this!?” He snapped the amber glass open, staring at his bare cockpit at…a kitten, staring up at him, dangling from eight little needle-sharp claws sunk into his cockpit seat.
“Thought you might like a new friend,” Barricade smirked, keeping carefully out of swatting range. “You know, someone who will respect you.”
Starscream growled, his hand scooping up the kitten, depositing it on his cockpit glass. “How little you know, Barricade. Cats are not known for respect. Quite the opposite.” He prodded the furry round shape of the body. “In fact, cats are known for their poise and independence.” He gave a ‘hmph’, his mouth calipers splitting into a grin as the kitten reared up, slapping at his talon, tail like a tiny whip. “I shall call him Survivor. He shall be our mascot.”
He looked up. “That was your intent in giving him to me, of course. Certainly nothing…nefarious.”
Oh, no, never. Barricade rolled his optics.
“Good. Now I shall delegate: You are responsible for his wellbeing, Barricade.” The red optics narrowed to slits behind their cages. “You would best hope that nothing bad happens to little Survivor.”
Frag. Barricade…hated Earth.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 01:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 01:31 am (UTC)This fic is so ridiculous I have to love it. Oh, Blackout and Starscream. You have soft spots for things that aren't Autobots--and can be used to torment others.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 01:29 am (UTC)Poor Barricade - he can never put one over on Starscream.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 01:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 02:21 am (UTC)No kitten slot, oh Barricade XD
Love it!
And ironically yesterday I wrote a quick P-bot snippet where Streetwise gets saddled with a batch of kittens - it was in the air or something, lol
no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 03:19 am (UTC)And what does it say that as soon as I read “I know someone who does.”, I knew you meant good ol' Screamer? Of course, he should have known the jet would manage to turn it back on him.
Too. Fragging. Cute. <3
no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 03:47 am (UTC)And just... really. Decepticon Mascot = Kitten? WIN. *chortles*
no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 04:56 am (UTC)Am I looking too much into it?
no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 05:20 am (UTC)Eeeeeeee heeheeheeheehee!
no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 05:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 06:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 07:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 08:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 11:15 am (UTC)Favorite line: “Free Kittens? Is that some sort of cause?”
Favorite exchange: “Well, I don’t fraggin’ want it!” Barricade snapped. The thing was…vibrating at Blackout’s touch. “Probably going to explode or something.” He edged back.
“Kittens don’t explode,” Blackout said. “Science Officer.”
Proof that one can never go wrong with kittens. Evar.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 01:51 pm (UTC)“Free…,” Blackout tilted his head. “Kittens?” His cheekflares shifted, contemplating. “Free Kittens? Is that some sort of cause?”
“Obviously Kittens is some sort of notorious criminal they feel is being held unjustly and this is some terrorist statement at Kittens Liberation.”
no subject
Date: 2011-05-20 06:07 pm (UTC)A cute kitten? Paired with cute Decepticons? What could possibly go wrong? xD
no subject
Date: 2011-05-21 11:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-25 11:41 pm (UTC)There are seriously no words for how awesome this was. :D
no subject
Date: 2011-05-31 05:48 pm (UTC)