Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the Freedom of Existence.

Summary: Prowl wakes up in the Autobot workshop, on a strange planet, with no recollection of how he got there. Additionally, he is faced with an odd conundrum: why are his fighting companions treating him like an enemy?

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to Hasbro and Dreamworks/Paramount, not me.

Chapter One.

It was Prowl's hearing that returned first, and even that was in short bursts. He strained his audio processors to listen to what he could tell was various parts of one side of a conversation. Like a bad radio signal, the voice faced in and out.

"…..tried to rescue…download memories and…..totally slagged…damage usually results in Sparkdeath…still faintly alive but….will attempt, but never known….main processor gone, body more offline than online…..so much damage….little hope…expect to pronounce him non-functional…sorry, but we tried," the speaker said.

Prowl tried to place the voice, he knew that voice. It was…it was….so hard to think….it was…

Ratchet! The name popped into his head. It was their medic, Ratchet. 

Prowl last recalled being en-route to meet up with some other Autobots. He tried to remember what had happened. At first, his mind stubbornly refused to work, and then he remembered.

Decepticons!

He'd been captured, alone and without backup, by a group of Decepticons. He tried to remember what had happened beyond the fight, which had left him alive but crippled, easy for the Decepticons to take prisoner, but could recall nothing more than a suggestion that he join them, or die…an offer he had refused. He tried to remember, but no, his mind stubbornly remained a blank.

Maybe he'd remember later; the important thing was that unless Ratchet had also been captured, he himself must have somehow been rescued, but from where, and what? He ached all over and seemed not able to move much, and was so weak he must be almost out of energy.

He heard the tread of footsteps, felt the gentle play of a scanner flicker over his systems. Then he heard another set of footfalls. A deeper voice asked "Any change, Ratchet?"

He knew this voice too-the leader, Optimus Prime. If he was speaking with that sort of authority, there was no way he or Ratchet were captives. His Spark wanted to dance. He had been rescued!

"The Spark's still alive. Somehow," He heard Ratchet say. "The body systems are a slagging mess, but somehow he is still hanging on."

"Yet his main processor is destroyed?" Optimus Prime asked.

"Yes. Sparkdeath can't be far now. I would have expected him to be gone by now."

There was a pause, and then Ratchet said "Okay, I'll check again." If Prowl could have, he would have chuckled, for he guessed that Prime had given Ratchet one of those looks, the ones that said 'You're the expert, but humour me, and check again.'

Prowl felt his head gently turned, felt a light finger locate his cerebrodorsal data ports, and almost panicked, for an unauthorised interface was the most demeaning thing any Cybertronian might have to endure, but he forced himself to relax. Ratchet was only doing it to check that he was still alive, and if the interface would prove that, prove to Ratchet that he had a chance, then he had no objections. He knew that Ratchet would not pry beyond his professional need.

He felt the cold end of an interface connector click into his systems, and along with the questing feeling of the medic's mind, he felt a surge of energy. Ratchet was sending power as well as his own investigative mind down the link. It gave him the energy to do the things that he had been too tired to previously, and he unshuttered his optics slowly.

Only one optic seemed to be functioning, and the images he was receiving seemed to be blurred: he could see two fuzzy shapes, the closest one green, the other, mostly blue, but with red on it in places. He struggled to focus the working optic, but it seemed to be an uphill battle to get anything to function. Another set of footfalls sounded as his single optic snapped into focus abruptly. Although their colours were different, and their alt-forms unknown, their faces were familiar. The one in green wore Ratchet's face, the one in blue and red was their leader Optimus Prime, and then the owner of the third set of footfalls came into view. The name of the owner of that craggy face came into his mind.

Ironhide.

Prowl found he now had the energy to move his hand. He moved it up towards Ratchet's shoulder in a gesture meant to convey gratitude and comradeship, as one soldier to another, but as the black, sharp-clawed appendage in question came into his optic's view, Prowl stopped moving it, and stared.

This was not his hand!

Then everything happened at once.

Ratchet said, in a disbelieving voice "There is still a functional main processor in here!"

Ratchet was suddenly pulled aside, the interface suddenly disconnected as Ironhide said "The slagger was playing dead the whole time! It's a trap!"

Prowl was dizzy and confused, and without the extra energy, he was weakening again. He started in disbelief as he found himself looking down the business end of one of Ironhide's cannons. As he began to lose sensory function again and his optic darkened, he heard Ironhide speak.

"If you so much as twitch, Barricade, I'll blast you!"

His last coherent thought before the darkness took him again was 'Who the frag is Barricade?'

Chapter Text

On The Freedom Of Existence.

Chapter Two.

As Barricade's single functioning optic dimmed, and those parts of his body he had been able to tense and move relaxed, Ratchet grabbed Ironhide's cannon and pushed it away.

"Not in my medbay!" he growled. "He is no threat to anyone like that, can't you tell?" he asked. "Power down now!"

"You yourself said he appeared near death, and then suddenly he's moving and raising his hand to claw you!" Ironhide protested. "He was pretending, trying to lure you closer. Sounds like a perfectly laid trap to me, and you almost took the bait!"

Ratchet snorted. "You can start lecturing me on when someone's pretending to be ill once you qualify as a medic-mechanic and know what you're talking about!" Ratchet said. "Until then, please trust my diagnosis: you can no easier fake fatal processor damage than you can fake Spark-death, Ironhide." He sighed, looked at Optimus, then back at Ironhide, but speaking loud enough so that both could hear.

"I don't know what is going on, but my scans indicated a completely burned-out master processor," Ratchet explained. "When the master processor is destroyed, that's generally it: no personality, no understanding, no ability to learn. Spark-death is usually swift in following. Usually, if you reach them in time, the processor can be replaced, but there is almost always some change in personality, and often a lot of memory loss, some irreversible. I don't have a spare master processor to give him, and though I could build one, he'd likely be in such a bad way – if his Spark had not left his body already by then – that to keep him alive with it would be an unkindness: he would be unable to move, communicate, or take in fuel. That is no life." Ratchet sighed again, lowering his head. Then he looked up again, his optics glowing with hope.

"However, my recent interface confirms something is working in there," Ratchet continued. It may be he had a back-up, just in case something like this happened. Through the interface, I could sense a degree of cognition that suggests his life would be worth living if we can stabilise him and bring him back on-line. If he's got even the barest chance of survival, I want to give him that chance. Or would you rather we acted like Decepticons, and threw him out to die, maybe help him along with a well-aimed cannon blast, perhaps?" Ratchet asked.

Ironhide powered down his cannons, looked at the floor, and muttered something unintelligible: he hated the way Ratchet could, with a few well-chosen words, make him feel like a guilty Sparkling, especially considering he wasn’t that much younger than Ratchet.

"Well, it's just the sort of thing a sneaky 'con might have tried," he said.

"Your opinion has been noted and I assure you: I will not be taking any unnecessary risks," Ratchet said. "I shall be off-lining him to repair his systems, and then placing him in recharge on constant monitoring for twelve hours: I want you to have some restraints ready after ten of those hours, restraints that can be placed on him during the minute or so it takes most Cybertronians to come back on-line. Don't worry, just because Barricade is damaged does not mean that I shall underestimate him," Ratchet stated.

Ironhide nodded, and moved away to look through his supplies, calling Cliffjumper to come and assist him. Cliffjumper had been a craftsmech before the war had forced him to train as a scout. Ironhide had an idea for some simple restraints that could, with Cliffjumper's skills, be fashioned within the time Ratchet had specified.

Ratchet, for his part, had begun to work on Barricade's damaged systems, replacing burned-out wires and damaged parts.

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Several hours later, Ratchet had made all the repairs he could on the body, and had placed Barricade in recharge. Should Barricade survive, at some point, Ratchet knew, he would have to carry out a delicate operation involving going into Barricade's processors to remove some of the circuitry and delicate processor-structures that had been damaged in the latest battle he had engaged in, the same one that had resulted in him being brought to the Autobot med bay.

Ratchet remembered that battle, how Barricade had, as usual, attacked with a ferocity that might have been expected from a larger mech, but for any Autobot unaccustomed with Barricade's battle style, could give Barricade an advantage against that Autobot. There were few Autobots who had underestimated Barricade and survived to tell that tale, but nobody who had seen Barricade fight would ever underestimate him.

All of the Autobots involved in that particular battle knew how Barricade fought, and when Barricade had lunged at Cliffjumper, the small red scout who had also unwisely rushed ahead in his eagerness to battle, both Hound and Mirage had tried to distract Barricade by both firing on him.

Neither of the two could have told Ratchet which one of them it was that had caught him in the back of the neck with an energy pulse, a pulse that had entered his systems via the dataports, and caused a shutdown of his processor clusters. He had been fortunate that the pulse had only been at half-strength: had it been at full strength, it would have likely destroyed his Spark.

When Autobot reinforcements had turned up, the Decepticons had fled, leaving behind their fallen comrade. As Barricade's Spark had still been alight, and relatively strong, Ratchet had, as a medic, felt duty-bound to insist on taking him back to try and save him.

Ratchet had a simple philosophy: Autobot, Decepticon or Neutral meant nothing to a medic: a Spark was a Spark, a life was a life, and he was sworn to try and preserve life if he was not having to defend himself or save another life at the time. To Ratchet, a patient was a patient, no matter what insignia, if any, the patient wore.

When Ratchet, upon bringing Barricade back, had run a deep scan, he had at first thought that it had been a futile exercise when he had detected what appeared to be a totally burned-out master processor, and no processor activity had at first been detectable. However, his direct interface with Barricade had indicated differently. Somehow, he had received two completely conflicting results, and while he had nothing to do but wait for Barricade to finish recharging, he decided to carry out a full diagnostic, for the only reason he could think of for the disparity was that one of his scanning mechanisms must have a glitch.

Ratchet entered voluntary shutdown, to make the process a bit faster.

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Several hours later and three separate types of diagnostic later, Ratchet was still puzzled: no glitches had been found. Barricade's recharge was almost over when Ironhide came down bearing four adjustable metal cuffs that would, he explained to Ratchet, confine Barricade.

"They are attached to his wrists and ankles. They will then magnetise, holding him down to your worktable," Ironhide explained. "As long as you have disabled his other weaponry, you should be able to be around him while he is awake without peril to yourself."

Ratchet blinked his optics disdainfully at Ironhide.

"His weapons, including his extendable shredding-arm, are offline. I'm not stupid, Ironhide,” he stated.

When Barricade was sufficiently recharged, Ratchet had him moved to his worktable. He put the cuffs on Barricade's ankles and wrists, which Ironhide activated, and brought him back online, in the mechanical sense. Whether his processors would come online was dependant on whether those processors were actually functional, and whether the automatic reboot circuit that usually brought the processors back online in situations such as these was still functional or not.

Something was not right, Ratchet realised, for although the body was now fully online, the mind was not. It had to be a non-functional main processor or a damaged reboot circuit. The first situation would mean that no more could be done. However, if it was the second, a reboot could be carried out via interface-which would be the most precise method of finding out which of the two situations was the case.

Ratchet carefully turned Barricade's head to expose the dataports, and once again interfaced with the Decepticon.

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Prowl could feel and hear the interface. A name was being called.

'Barricade. Barricade. You are safe.' There was a pause, and then the mental voice 'spoke' again. 'Barricade, I know you are there. Come up, Barricade.' Then, there was another pause. Then the 'voice' called 'Barricade, Barricade, respond. Barricade, Barricade, Barricade!'

Prowl was getting annoyed, he recognised the distinctive touch of the Autobot medic, but wondered why he was calling someone else. At the next pause, Prowl responded, but not in the way that Ratchet was expecting.

‘Stop calling me that! That is not my name! Is Ironhide there?’ he thought. Prowl felt a start of surprise in the medic's mental touch, then Ratchet replied.

'Yes, Ironhide is here. Will you want to speak to him?'

'No, I want an assurance that I'm not going to be treated like an enemy by someone whom I have fought beside! I don't want to find myself looking down his cannon again!' said Prowl.

Once again, there was a surprised reaction to Prowl's response, stronger than the first. He felt Ratchet's consciousness retreat a bit, guessed he was talking to someone, and then the medic spoke again.

'Ironhide is now out of the med bay. You will not be threatened. It is just you and I now, Barricade. Will you come up? I can aid you in rebooting your processors,’ Ratchet asked.

'Only if you stop calling me by a name that is not mine!' retorted Prowl. 'I don't know who this person is that you seem to think I am, but my name is not Barricade!' There was a pause before Ratchet addressed him again.

'If I am to address you by a name you will accept, I must know what that name is,' Ratchet told him. Prowl was confused. Had Ratchet lost a few memory chips that he didn't ecognise his face?

'Don't you remember me, Ratchet?' he asked. 'It's me, Ratchet, it's me, Prowl.'

There was a surge of mixed emotions - disbelief, confusion, and shock – and then the connection was suddenly terminated, leaving Prowl alone within his own head.

Ratchet had discontinued the interface.

Chapter Text

On the Freedom of Existence.

Chapter Two.

A/N: Bold type is memories.

WARNING: Non-graphic torture near the end of this chapter.

Prowl?!

Ratchet jerked back, involuntarily severing the connection. He immediately leaned forwards, ready to reconnect to assist with the booting-up process, but it seemed that Barricade (Prowl?) was now booting up as normal. He groaned as his optics unshuttered, tried to raise a hand, but his magnetic restraints stopped him. Barricade – or could it really be Prowl, who had been missing for so long? – looked up in confusion.

"So, I'm still being treated like an enemy, am I?" he said, sounding as hurt and confused as he looked. There was something else there too in his optics, a shadow of fear.

"Just for now, until we prove or disprove that you are who you say you are. You see, you don't look like Prowl used to, and even your voice sounds different, and Barricade – that's the Decepticon you look like – is an expert at fooling people, in fact takes great pride in being so convincing, at getting people to accept his lies as truth, that we have to be careful, because he is so good, so convincing, that he may even fool me," Ratchet explained. "So, you understand, that we can't just take you at your word."

Prowl nodded: he had himself been in a similar situation many times: trust someone or something, and risk his Autobot companions, or not trust, and risk the potential death of one person, although he knew Ratchet well enough to know that Ratchet would need absolute proof that he was his enemy before allowing him to die, or be killed, and this was not even a situation that would necessarily require that.

"Ratchet, what do you need to do to prove to you who I am?" he asked, although he was sure he knew what most of what it would involve already.

"I need to operate on your head, remove anything damaged, and replace it with new parts, then have a direct interface with you, involving me opening memories that you or your subconscious may prefer to remain secret," Ratchet explained gravely "I'm sorry, but that is the only way."

Ratchet was talking about a direct and sustained interface, his mind connecting to Prowl’s, and doing a lot of looking into his memories, even some that Proel might wish to keep buried, or keep to himself, or may not even realise were there. It would be, even if Prowl gave permission, in part a forced mental interface, because not many could lower their mental barriers enough to allow the memories and thoughts to be sifted through by another without resisting in some way. It was something Prowl was certain some Decepticon 'medics', and non-medics, sometimes engaged in with captured Autobots, to try and find out secrets, cipher codes, and tactical information. 

Prowl did have a possible out – if he refused to allow it, he knew that Ratchet would not do it. However, this would also mean that nobody could trust him, because the knowledge – or special 'sleeper' instructions - might be within his processors, either unconsciously or consciously, as far as anyone knew. The very thought of laying bare his feelings, thoughts, memories, and emotions made him feel ill, but the thought of his friends and comrades in arms not trusting him – or worse, trusting him, and being betrayed by his own subconscious, or later embedded instructions, was even worse.

"Well, do whatever it'll take to get your proof but please hurry up,” Prowl stated. "I want my old life and my friends back."

Ratchet nodded.

"Okay, I'm going to offline you now, I am not going to be physically poking around in your processors while you are activated, that would hurt," Ratchet said. "If you would push your upper abdomen up from the table?" he asked. Prowl did so, allowing Ratchet to slip a hand under the left shoulder plate and activate the reset relay concealed beneath.

Prowl/Barricade relaxed, and Ratchet waited a short time to be certain that he was completely offline before carefully removing a side panel so he could access the mech's processors.

A couple of hours later, he had removed several burned-out memory chips, an over-large master processor, and other assorted wires, chips, connections and circuitry that needed replacing. He put them aside for later investigation, for he had his suspicions about that over-large processor, and some of the attached circuitry. Even beneath the slagging and charring, he could tell that the damaged master processor, and the chips that had been attached to it, were newer than the other master processor and chips that still lay inside the mech's head.

He carefully fastened back the plating he'd removed, and brought the black-and-white mech back online. The optics unshuttered, and fixed on Ratchet again.

"I need to do the interface while you are aware, and conscious. Are you still willing to allow me to do this?" he asked.

Prowl would have rather not undergone the interface Ratchet needed to do, but nodded.

"Yes, I am ready," he said.

Ratchet took out his interface cable.

"I intend to try and access the last memory you have before you woke here on your original processor chips. I had to remove the newer ones, they were damaged beyond my ability to repair, although I may yet be able to retrieve some of the data on them and transfer it to others," Ratchet said.

Prowl turned his head to expose his data ports. Ratchet carefully raised every firewall he had to guard against dormant viruses his probing might activate, inserted the data lead, and delicately started sifting through the mass of date-information on the memory chips in the head of the mech who said he was their lost comrade, Prowl. He rapidly found the one he sought, started trying to undo the blocks on it – some parts imposed by the mech himself, a method of blocking the memory of unpleasant events, but most imposed by a third party.

The mech beneath him tensed, clawed hands gripping at the sides of the table. This was obviously not a pleasant feeling, and maybe it was not a pleasant memory. Ratchet almost withdrew, but unblocking this memory might be key to finding out if this mech really was Prowl, as he said he was, or whether it was Barricade, consciously or otherwise, with a different agenda.

As Ratchet broke through the last block, the mech beneath him cried out and his whole body went tense, but by then, Ratchet was through, in the memory, and seeing it as it had happened, from the mech's point of view.

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Prowl had been badly damaged, not badly enough to kill him, but severely enough that the Decepticon party who had attacked had been able to capture him, and now the mech in charge of this small party addressed him.

"You have one chance to save your own miserable life, Autobot. Come, join us, work with us, and take your rightful place as one of those who will rule over all the weak and unworthy creatures in this universe."

Prowl did not recognise any of those who had taken him, but realised why he was being given this chance. Ordinarily, a captured Autobot was killed, or tortured for information, or, if it suited the Decepticons, used for a prisoner exchange or as a bargaining chip. However, this small band numbered only four individuals. With him in their ranks, their chances of surviving being attacked by a band of Decepticons whose loyalties lay with any one of four potential leaders – this band apparently were Megatron supporters in search of their lost leader – were increased.

Prowl gave a short laugh in response, damaged and in pain as he was.

"Go to the Pit, you useless lump of slag, I'd rather die than join with your twisted, Pitspawned group."

"Very well," said the group leader regretfully. "Someone finish him off. Kill him."

The mech behind him had jammed a narrow cannon barrel up against his dataports, and Prowl had stared at the group leader, determined to go out with defiance in his optics, when another voice spoke.

"I have a better idea."

All optics, including Prowl's, turned to the medium-sized mech who had spoken.

"Tell me your idea, Salvage," said the leader.

"Let me have him, perhaps I can change his mind for him," The mech addressed as Salvage had said.

"Never!" said Prowl. "Nothing you say will change my mind. You may as well kill me rather than waste the processor space trying to convince me to switch sides. I won't do it!"

Salvage laughed unpleasantly.

"You misunderstand me, Autobot. You will have no choice. I won't be needing to persuade you to change your mind, I'll be changing your mind in such a way that you will believe in our cause. By the time I finish with you, you will have a new belief, a new purpose, a new name, and a new identity. I used to be a craftsmech, I can totally redesign you, processors and body, you will even end up looking quite different to the way you do now."

Prowl felt a fear greater than any he had felt before. This creature intended to reprogram him!

"Please, just kill me," He managed to whisper. The group leader just laughed.

"We need new soldiers, and Salvage is very good at what he does. Like him, I despise waste. Take him, Salvage, remake him into a fierce Decepticon fighter who will do our side, and our Leader, proud."

It had been pure agony.

Salvage had begun by changing his body first, and hadn't bothered with offlining him first. He had been forcibly restrained, his limbs clamped to the table by restraints on his ankles and wrists, as Salvage cut away and re-welded plating, and Prowl had resisted and twisted and screamed...

Ratchet pulled back from the interface abruptly, coming back to himself in a moment.

Prowl's screams still sounded, this time in reality, not just in the mind, and Ratchet looked at the twisting mech, realised, as Ironhide came running in from the corridor outside, that he and Ironhide had unwittingly recreated part of Prowl's real-life nightmare, as Prowl tried to free himself from the magnetic cuffs binding him to Ratchet's worktable.

"Ironhide! Release those cuffs, let him go!" Ratchet snapped.

Ironhide eyed the screaming mech uncertainly.

"Ratch? Are you su-" Ratchet cut him off.

"Do it! For the love of Primus, Ironhide, trust me and just do it!" Ratchet cried. Ironhide released the magnetism of the cuffs on Prowl.

Prowl was off the table and on his feet in an optic-shutter, and then launched himself at Ratchet. He wrapped his arms around Ratchet, who let out a cry as the hands thudded onto his bodywork, the claws dug into his back, and the arms tightened so much that Ratchet feared for his torso's structural integrity.

Ironhide went to grab one of the wrists, but Ratchet yelled "No, Ironhide, don't! He's not attacking me, not intentionally, he just wants to hold me!"

"What?" asked Ironhide.

Ignoring the trickle of coolant running from the punctures created by the claws, Ratchet said "He's not attacking me, he's holding me." Ratchet responded by carefully putting his own arms gently around Prowl. He looked up at Ironhide.

"He's terrified!"

Chapter Text

On The Freedom Of Existence.

Chapter Four.

Ratchet sent a databurst to Optimus: 'Help needed, force not needed, believe your presence may be calming. Barricade is NOT our enemy, nor who we think he is. Bring Jazz."

Prowl had calmed, but not by much. His anxiety seemed to have been relieved by releasing him from restraint, but obviously the newly-released memories were still causing distress. Not that Ratchet could blame him, considering the disturbing nature of the ordeal Prowl had been put through. However, to allow him to stay in such a state of agitation was not good for Prowl's systems.

Something would have to give, and considering his weakened condition, Ratchet feared that what would give would be Prowl, body and/or mind, and Ratchet had no desire to lose Prowl, particularly not as he had only recently been found again. Ratchet hated losing patients, even if he didn't know them, or had only known them as enemies. The loss of a friend would hurt even more.

As he struggled to support Prowl, trying to calm him with strokes to his upper arms, the help he had requested, in the shape of Optimus and Jazz, came striding in. Ratchet quickly databurst them both.

‘Barricade claims to be Prowl. I believe him. Whether you do or not, address him as Prowl. He refuses to answer to the designation Barricade.' Optimus gave no sign of having received this communication, until he spoke.

"Autobot Tactical Officer Prowl, it is I, your commanding officer, Optimus Prime. Report."

Optimus did not raise his voice or make any action, but the note of authority was unmistakeable, and Prowl reacted to it.

First, his legs grew steadier, then he stopped crying out, and then his arms released their death-grip on Ratchet and he pushed away from Ratchet, turning to face Optimus.

"Tactical Officer Prowl reporting, Sir. I was captured by Decepticons, altered physically, and, I believe, reprogrammed. I am not clear about everything myself, but will endeavour to work through this. What are my duties, Leader Prime?" he asked. He tried to stand straight, but all present could see him shaking as he fought to control the recently-unlocked memories.

Ironhide spoke.

"This is Barricade-but you call him Prowl?" he asked. "He says he was reprogrammed. Do we know this to be fact, or might it be just a lie?"

Ratchet turned to rebuke Ironhide – in his opinion, sometimes he tended to speak his mind a bit too freely – but Prowl spoke first.

"I understand Ironhide's disbelief, in his position I, too, would have doubts, for Decepticons thrive on lies and half-truths. Treat me with as much caution as you warrant, I would rather be incarcerated needlessly than have something in my processors put you at risk. I apologise for my earlier….loss of control." He said.

"Hey, Prowler." This was Jazz.

"Jazz," Prowl said. "Despite my pleasure at seeing you again, I must still remind you that my designation is not 'Prowler'. It is Prowl."

Jazz grinned.

"That's Prowl, unmistakably Prowl," Jazz said, grinning even more. "I know it, after all, we are friends and workmates, we often patrolled together, an' I know that that's a typical Prowl response to that greeting."

"Ratchet, have you done enough direct interface with this one to be totally certain that he is who he says he is?" asked Optimus.

"Not by Ironhide's rigorous standards," Ratchet admitted. "Due to the nature of what I have seen, I believe he is who he says he is, but I understand that without checking further, you cannot be expected to take my word for it. Due to certain…..disturbing incidents today, I will probe no further into his most recent memories, at least not while he is on-line," Ratchet explained.

"However, I can look at memories from earlier, of his time with us. That should be enough to confirm or refute his assertion of whom he is." 

Ratchet addressed Optimus, facing him, although everyone in the room was meant to hear. "Once he is ready – and only then – I can look at those memories while he is offline, for I can choose incidents where we were both present, and compare them. I can tell if he experienced them, or if they are just direct copies, taken from another mind, and I can also detect fabricated memories, but I will not force this issue. I shall only carry this out if and when he is ready."

"I'm ready now," Prowl said.

"Ratchet, Prowl, as your orders involve each other, I shall give them to you now," Optimus said. "Carry on as Ratchet has suggested, make sure that he can confirm – or refute - as much as possible that the one we know as Barricade is in fact our lost tactician, Prowl. However, Ratchet, I suggest that you first get Cliffjumper to check over your back."

Ratchet blinked. He had forgotten about the injuries Prowl had inadvertently inflicted on his back. He was tempted to dismiss it, for he knew that the injuries would self-repair, but knew too that Optimus wouldn't let him get on until he'd had them checked. He nodded, and called the craftsmech-turned-scout to come and look at his back.

Prowl walked a few steps till he could see Ratchet's back, and shuttered his optics in a rare display of emotion,

"I apologise for the injuries I inflicted during my lack of control earlier," Prowl said to Ratchet, "It will not happen again.”

"There is no apology necessary, Prowl," said Ratchet. "Considering the cause, your reaction was understandable, and more controlled than mine might have been under similar circumstances."

Cliffjumper came in-and pulled up short when he saw Prowl. He braced himself, but looked at Ratchet.

"You wanted my assistance, sir?" he asked.

"Yes, I need you to check my back and carry out minor repairs if necessary. I'd do it myself except that it's in an awkward place."

"Yes, Sir," said Cliffjumper, his optics flickering over to where Prowl stood again.

"Cliffjumper, relax, he won't hurt you. Perhaps I can explain while you deal with my back," Ratchet said, pulling Cliffjumper over towards another worktable.

Prowl looked puzzled. "Has my face been changed that much?" he asked. Optimus nodded, leading Prowl over to a reflective surface, one hand on his shoulder. Jazz followed along behind.

Prowl looked at the surface, looked at his hands, and raised them to his face, fingers feeling over the points and angles of his spiky face, and then looked at the claws on his fingers, flexing them and turning the hand to look at it front and back.

"Think Cliffjumper can make me look a bit more like I used to?" he asked. His voice was calm, but his optic shutters betrayed his shock at his appearance with a slight tremor. "No wonder people hesitate when they see me. I look terrifying, I look cruel."

Jazz put one quadradactyl hand on Prowl's arm.

"Looks can deceive, maybe. That's why, as y' know, we don't take things at face value. We always try to look deeper. Maybe you look kinda different, but you're still our friend, Prowl. We know that."

Prowl seemed about to reply, but then caught sight of movement at the med bay door.

"What is that? he asked, moving over to look more closely with fascination at the little biped that had just walked in, and had not yet seen him.

He moved around for a better look, and that's when the creature noticed him.

"Oh nonono!" Oh shit! BUMBLEBEE, HELP!" yelled the biped, and ran off back the way he had come, at what Prowl estimated to be the being's top speed.

"Whatever it was obviously doesn't like the way I look," Prowl said, disappointed. "Maybe he was put off by the disparity of our sizes?"

"That's Sam. He's gotta reason. P'rhaps Optimus can explain, while I go and find Sam, and explain who you are," said Jazz, walking off down the corridor.

Prowl looked at Optimus. "Okay, I think I need to know what I've been doing while I have...not been myself," he said. Optimus nodded,

"Very well. For that, you need to understand that before today, we knew your designation as Barricade…" Optimus began to explain.

Chapter Text

On The Freedom Of Existence.

Chapter Five.

Jazz met Sam as he and Bumblebee were headed back down the corridor towards the medical bay. Although Bumblebee had not brought his cannon online, he was powered up and ready to do so at a moment's notice. Bumblebee had also put himself in front of Sam, between his human charge and the potential threat he was ready to face, and he had dropped his battle mask: the usually peaceful Autobot scout was fully ready to defend and protect his organic friend.

Jazz strolled over to the two, spreading his star-shaped hands in a calming gesture and smiling at them.

"Hey, guys, chill," he said. "The 'Con in the med bay has made no threatening moves, and if he's tellin' the truth, he's one of us reprogrammed to be one of them, and has no memory, Sam, of meetin' ya at all."

Sam looked sceptically at Jazz. "Yeah? I'm afraid I can't so easily forgive and forget. Being picked up and thrown onto a car windscreen kinda doesn't inspire confidence in the one who did it."

"No-one's askin' ya to forgive and forget, Sam," Jazz assured him. "I was just givin' ya the facts. Ratch is, as we speak, preparin' to probe into his memory chips to be absolutely certain that he's tellin' the truth. Ratch'll look through Barricade's memories, and if there's any indication that he ain't bein' all up front and honest with us, Ironhide'll haul his aft into a locked room faster'n ya can blink."

Bumblebee used a finger to lift the eyepieces of his battle mask, peering at Jazz curiously.

"You said that he is claiming to be 'one of us reprogrammed to be one of them.' Explain," he said curiously. "Who or what is Barricade claiming to be?"

"Well, Bee, he claims to be our Prowl – you remember our Prowler, Bee, so fulla rules an' regulations he's got 'em comin' outta his aft?" Sam was unable to stifle a giggle at this, and Jazz winked and smiled back, but continued talking.

"Well, Ratch interfaced with him and probed what musta been a pretty bad memory, judgin' by Barricade's reaction to it. Anyway, whatever Ratchet saw seems to have him convinced that Barricade is actually our Prowl, reprogrammed an' made to forget his real self. Till now, that is," he said. "Ratch can't explain what he saw, patient confidentiality an' all that, but Ratchet wouldn't say he was convinced unless it was summit pretty concrete, although that hasn't convinced paranoid old Ironhide." Jazz snorted. "I believe it's our Prowler, - especially after he reacted as I'd expect Prowl to respond to that nick,' he explained, flashing another grin.

Bumblebee's optics shuttered twice, rapidly.

"Prowl!?" he asked. "Could Barricade really be Prowl?"

"Who?" asked the clueless Sam from behind Bumblebee's right foot. Bumblebee turned to look at his human friend.

"Prowl was an Autobot, one of us. He was Optimus' most trusted, most concise, and most honest and outspoken tactical officer. He was never afraid to speak his mind. I was fortunate enough to be present when he called Optimus a 'double-glitched, slagged-up, burned-out-processored idiot,'" Bumblebee explained.

Sam, who had developed a healthy understanding of Cybertronian cuss words, stared as his mouth dropped open. He couldn't imagine why anybody would say that to the noble Autobot leader, and neither could he begin to imagine what Optimus' response would be.

"He cussed out Optimus Prime? Yelled at him? Why?" Sam asked. Amused by his human's response, Bumblebee briefly reverted back to radio-speak to deliver a quick burst of canned laughter.

"Prowl doesn't yell, Sam, he said it in the same sort of volume he uses for everything except dire emergencies, when yelling might be needed," Bumblebee explained. "However, his tone left nobody in any doubt about his feelings on the matter. To answer your other question, Prowl told Optimus Prime that his plan had 'a hole in it big enough for the AllSpark to pass through – at full size.' Then Prowl told Optimus where and how his plan was tactically unsound."

"How did Optimus Prime react? Was he torqued?" Sam asked, eyes wide.

"He nodded, thanked Prowl for his excellent tactical input, asked for his aid in correcting his plan, and changed the plan to get rid of the problem," Bumblebee said.

"You knew this - Prowl, character, right?" Sam asked. Bumblebee nodded once.

"Do you think that the bad cop-car really could be one of you? He seemed pretty hostile towards you back when you two had that fight," Sam said. "Why wouldn't you have recognised him if he was someone you knew?"

"We are not like you, Sam, as our Sparks and memories can be transferred from one body to another, but we are like you in that our faces and bodies can be restructured, sometimes way beyond recognition," Bumblebee explained to the human. "Memory chips such as ours can be wiped or rewritten, personalities can be altered or wiped out." Bumblebee's optics shuttered and his body trembled slightly at the disturbing scenarios he was describing.

"It's funny, though," Jazz said. "Ratchet once told me that sometimes ya can't tell who a reprogrammed mech used ta be unless some distinguishing physical mark on or in its bodywork remains recognisable. This is because the original chips and processors 're usually taken out and totally replaced with a new set, pre-programmed with a whole new set of values, beliefs, an' often, entire fabricated histories," the fifteen-foot Autobot saboteur explained.

"Thus, they have no memories of their original life left – 'cept that somehow, our Prowler has a substantial amount of his memories left – who he is, what side he is on, an' even memories of how it happened. I'm confused, but maybe our Ratch could shed some light on it for all of us?" said Jazz. "So how's about we take a wander down to the med bay, an' find out?" he said.

"Well, okay if you think it's safe," Sam said, looking from Jazz to Bumblebee.

"Chill, Sam," said Jazz. "Optimus an' Ironhide are down there. They won't even let us in if it ain't safe."

"Well, okay, Bee, if you're alright with it, let's go and find out just what in Pit is going on," Sam said. Jazz cocked his head to look at Bumblebee.

"Ya been teachin' Sam how to cuss like a Seeker, Bumblebee?" he asked sounding amused.

"'Pit' is hardly strong, Jazz," Bumblebee said, reaching his hands down for Sam to climb into.

"That's so, 'Bee, but it's what else ya may have taught him I'm wonderin' about,” Jazz said, amused. Bumblebee made an unintelligible sound, and headed with Sam towards the medbay, a grinning Jazz in his wake.

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"I don't wonder that the human fled from me,” Prowl said in dismay once Optimus had finished explaining. "I would not blame the organic – the human – if he was never able to trust me."

"Sam is more logical than he seems," Optimus said. "He also has a good sense of fairness. Given time, he may be willing to try trusting you. His disposition and youth make him open to new ideas and new ways of thinking. As with anything else, trust must be earned, that is true of both our own kind and humans." Optimus sighed and smiled a little. "Our two species, born light years and millennia apart, have more in common than you might think."

Prowl looked over at where Ironhide still regarded him suspiciously, and sighed.

"I guess you're right about that," He said. "I assume that there is only the one way that you can all be certain, and that is to allow Ratchet to interface with me once again."

"I'm afraid that that is the only way. I regret that I cannot offer you another option," Ratchet confirmed. Cliffjumper had just finished re-spraying and smoothing his back, and had you not known about the damage Ratchet had sustained, you would never have realised from his gleaming paintwork.

Prowl sighed and walked over to Ratchet's table. "Okay, but please do not access that memory you unblocked earlier while I am conscious," he asked, as Ratchet reached for his interface cable. "Oh, and Ratchet?" he called.

Ratchet turned back to look at the black and white mech.

"Yes?" he asked?

"I believe you said you might be able to copy the Barricade memories onto fresh memory chips?" Ratchet nodded.

"I should be able to," he confirmed.

"Then is it possible you could do so, and place them back in my head? There's bound to be some Decepticon tactics recorded in there that might come in handy, you know," he said.

Ratchet nodded. "I shall," he said.

Prowl nodded, and tipped his head forwards to expose his cerebrodorsal data ports in an unspoken acceptance of the interface.

Sam, Bumblebee, and Jazz came in while Ratchet was skimming through Prowl/Barricade's memories. They stood by Optimus and Ironhide, not speaking or moving much until Ratchet discontinued the interface, coiling up the interface cable and putting it back in its storage area. He re-onlined the black spiky mech and helped him to sit up.

"He is who he says he is," Ratchet confirmed. "He is Prowl."

The responses were all positive, if varied. Jazz was the first to react, walking over and placing one tetradigital hand on Prowl's upper arm.

"Glad to have ya back with us, Prowler," He said.

"It's Prowl, Jazz, Prowl," stated the mech they had previously known as Barricade.

Bumblebee's reaction was not quite as reserved. He carefully tipped Sam out of his hands onto a flat surface, then ran forward to embrace the tactician.

"Prowl, you're alive!" he said.

Prowl looked down at the yellow mech whose arms were wrapped around his chest, holding his arms out from his sides, looking surprised.

"If you could control your reactions, scout, perhaps we could retain some semblance of dignity and decorum,” He stated.

"Ah, c'mon Prowl, shove the attitude in th' Pit, and show some of those emotions you're scared t' admit ya got," Jazz said.

Prowl sighed, allowed his arms to relax, and his hands to clasp the scout's shoulders.

"I am pleased to be back in the company of my friends and fighting comrades also, Bumblebee. Maybe Ratchet could explain to us all just how all of this happened, and how I came back to being myself?"

"Gladly,” stated Ratchet. He held up the master processor and attached memory chips and circuitry he'd removed from Prowl's head earlier that day.

"I have examined this, and have transferred the memories to new chips as you requested, Prowl," Ratchet stated. "This was designed to confine Prowl's own personality and beliefs, suppress it beneath another, which allowed Prowl's considerable tactical expertise and experience to be utilised by the Barricade personality. This personality, incidentally, is made up from memories from various mechs, and the rest, such as his history, is a complete fabrication, so you do not have to worry that you have been given the processors and personality of a dead mech, Prowl."

Prowl nodded, as Bumblebee released him, and both Ironhide and Optimus came over, both keeping their welcomes confined to a squeeze to the tactician's shoulder, and Ratchet continued to speak.

"Prowl's tactical expertise is all, I suspect, that prevented them from removing his own processor and memories. However, it seems they wished to utilise his skills, and used this master processor to override Prowl's own, so that although his tactical experience could be accessed, his personality would not be able to come through. When the cannon blast hit the dataports, both the processors – your own, Prowl, almost inactive, and the one with the Barricade personality - took a hit, but it was the more active processor that took the most damage. Yours was able to self-repair, while this was not able to, as the damage was too great."

Ratchet dropped the tangle he was holding on to a nearby surface, and turned to face Prowl again.

"The irreparable damage sustained by the Barricade-processor allowed you – Prowl – to reassert yourself. That is why you awoke with no knowledge of how you got here or who you'd been. It must have been a shock to you."

Prowl nodded.

"I dearly hope I never end up looking up the muzzle of one of Ironhide's cannons again," He stated. "Optimus has told me some of what I did as Barricade." He looked at Sam. "I apologise for the distress I caused to you and your mate, and of course, I apologise for how I treated Bumblebee. I am disgusted at what they made me become," he said quietly.

"Prowl, you must not concentrate on what they made you become now," Optimus told him calmly. "Now it is time for you to concentrate on how you can make a difference, and I know that your tactical skills will make a huge difference to the future battles we must admit will be coming. It is time to look forwards, Prowl, not back. You are back where you belong, amongst friends and fighting colleagues. This is what you should now concentrate on."

"Yes, yes I should, and I shall," Prowl stated. "What do you wish me to do now, Leader Prime?" He asked, standing to attention and facing the Autobot leader.

"Rest for tonight, go with Jazz, you can share his room until tomorrow, when I will have one of your own prepared for you," Optimus suggested.

"Come with me, Prowl," Jazz said, and led Prowl to his room. "I dunno about you, but I'm beat."

To Prowl's surprise (and gratitude) Jazz did not put on any music when they got in, but indicated the rest berth.

"You take one side, I'll take th' other," Jazz said. They lay down next to each other, not touching, and as Prowl watched, the younger mech slipped into shutdown. He had obviously not been exaggerating about how tired he was. Following Jazz's example, hew let himself enter shutdown, wondering what time they would be expected up the next morning.

It was only three hours later that Jazz was jerked back into full awareness by the sound of Prowl's screams.

Chapter Text

On The Freedom Of Existence.

Chapter Six.

Jazz brought the lights up with a databurst, sitting up himself and looking at Prowl. Prowl was lying back on the berth, twitching and screaming although his optics were still shuttered. Jazz had no previous experience of this, he knew of the human concept of 'nightmares', and also knew that battle trauma could bring unwanted memories to the fore even during recharge, but he had no experience of dealing with this situation in others. He did the only thing he could think of, and databurst Ratchet for advice. Ratchet's response was short and direct.

"Wake him. Get him conscious, I'm coming up. Be careful, in his confusion he may not know who you are," Ratchet said.

Jazz leaned over, grabbing Prowl by the shoulders. He shook him as hard as he could, both vocally and by databurst, yelling "WAKE UP, PROWL!"

Prowl's optics unshuttered, staring beyond Jazz's face, not focused, and he sat up abruptly, making a grab for Jazz with one of his heavy clawed hands. Jazz, recalling Ratchet's warning, and the damage Prowl had inadvertently done Ratchet with that same hand, took a leap for the wall to his left, magnetising his hands and feet a second before they made contact with the wall, landing eighteen feet up it. Thus able to use the wall to move about on and stay on, Jazz scrambled further up, to be out of reach of those hands, and looked down at Prowl with concern.

Prowl had stopped screaming, and all that could be heard for a few minutes was the sound of Prowl's plating-edges clicking together as the black-and-white mech shook, and fought to bring his emotions under control. He looked up, his optics brightening as they focused on the wall-clinging Jazz.

"Jazz…thank you. I will be okay now," he said, his voice calm and even, as controlled as Jazz recalled it being before Prowl had disappeared, at odds with the usual voice of Barricade that  Prowl possessed. Jazz could not recall a time Barricade had not shouted and sounded angry. “Please, I won't hurt you, come back down. I apologise for disturbing your rest," Prowl urged.

Jazz climbed back down, demagnetising his feet and dropping the last five feet on to the floor.

The door buzzed: someone was asking to come in.

"Come in," Jazz said, databursting the door computer the 'open' signal. The door opened and Ratchet came in.

"Prowl, I apologise," said the medic. "I can put a filter on those memories, but didn’t know if it would be needed. It is now apparent that it is, but different mechs deal with trauma differently, and your processors may have been able to block it themselves. They still may, given time. However, a filter will help in the interim, or if your processors do not deal with it themselves. Come down to the med bay and I can do that now, as well as give you the Barricade-memories you asked for. The filter will not block the memory, but means that you will only think about it and remember it when you want to."

Prowl nodded.

"Yes please, Ratchet, I would like the filter and the Barricade-memories. This memory could be very inconvenient if it invaded my thoughts while working, or in a battle, and the Barricade-memory may help if we need to plan for battle, or may help me recognise a strategy the Decepticons might be using."

"I should warn you that some of the Barricade-memories may prove to be distressing as well, and that some of his reactions may have become so deep-seated in them that you might find yourself feeling his rage, his hatreds, at times," Ratchet said. "However, you should, under ordinary circumstances, be able to keep control, for these feelings are only ghosts, echoes of a time before. Occasionally they may take you by surprise, but if you learn to differentiate between your feelings and the echoes of the Barricade-persona, it should not pose too much of a problem."

Prowl nodded again.

"Thanks for the warning," he replied.

They reached the med bay, and Ratchet offlined Prowl. He took the opportunity to finish looking at the offending memory. He was horrified to discover that this Salvage person had deliberately brought Prowl back online whenever he had gone offline from the pain of being altered, before continuing his work. Whoever Salvage had been, he had been a real sadist.

"I cannot make you feel your memory and personality being changed for our purposes, but I will make you feel every moment as your body is changed, plate by plate, circuit by circuit, into the magnificent Decepticon you will become," he had stated coldly. "Goodbye, Autobot tactician Prowl, hello Decepticon warrior…well, we'll find a name later," he had said.

Ratchet shuddered, pulling out of the memory. He carefully set up the filter, and then set to putting in the memory chips he had copied Barricade's memories to.

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Prowl tensed as he came back online, his body shaking for a short time, but then he regained control and composure, and sat up.

"Yes, I see what you mean about the emotional echoes. There is hatred of the Autobots in there, and fear, particularly of you," Prowl told Ratchet. Ratchet's optics widened.

"Fear of me? Why?" he asked.

"I recall that there were some pretty nasty rumours circulating amongst the Decepticons about the Autobots in general, and about certain individuals in particular. One of the rumours concerned you," Prowl told him. Ratchet blinked his optics again.

"What do they say about me?" he asked.

"They said that you will reprogram any mech you might find on the battlefield who you think may be useful. They say that if you don't find him useful enough to reprogram, you'll find him useful in a different way, to cannibalise for spare parts, even if he's still alive and functioning," Prowl told him.

This time, it was Ratchet's turn to tense, shutter his optics, and shake. It was a good minute before Ratchet was able to open his optics and speak, and his voice was thick with disgust, horror, and disbelief.

"I would never do something like that!" he said. "Who started that rumour? Salvage?"

"No, I don't think he did," Prowl stated. "In fact, I think Salvage believed it himself."

Ratchet still looked shocked, so Prowl decided to change the subject.

"Could you and Cliffjumper alter me back to the way I used to be?" he asked. “Face and body, that is?"

Ratchet nodded slowly.

"We can change back your appearance, Prowl, although I think replacing the hydraulic joints and systems you've been given could be very awkward. I would recommend you keep them."

Prowl nodded. "The hydraulics will make my legs and arms steadier, my grip surer, and improve my aim. They are efficient." He allowed a small smile to turn up the corners of his mouth. "I think I could live with that."

"Good,” said Ratchet. “Changing your appearance will take a while, requiring numerous visits, but I can change your body and facial appearance to resemble as closely as possible the way you were before your capture. You will, of course, be offlined for all of the reconstructive work. I can give you a new vocal processor as well, you won't sound exactly the same as you did, but it will be less threatening than it is now. Cliffjumper will have free rein over re-sculpting your face, he is the craftsmech, after all. He will welcome the chance to use his pre-war skills. If anyone can give you your old face back, it's Cliffjumper."

"I am glad," Prowl said. "It is discomforting to look in a mirror and find myself viewing the face of a foe. It will be a relief, too, to be rid of this voice."

Ratchet nodded. "The filter is on, the memory chips installed. If you have any further problems, come and see me. Until then, I suggest you go back with Jazz and finish that rest."

Prowl shook his head.

"I can't relax, not after that. I'm sorry, but I'd rather stay awake."

"Then come an' see our R+R room, an' meet some of the others – don't worry, I'll explain who ya are – have some energon, and unwind," Jazz suggested.

Prowl nodded slowly.

"Yes, thank you, I think I will. I would like to become reacquainted with some of my old fighting comrades, and the earlier I do so, the quicker they find out who I really am. I'd rather explain myself in a peaceful, relaxed situation than find myself possibly being shot by my own side if there's a surprise Decepticon attack anytime soon."

"Very wise," said Ratchet in approval.

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"C'mon Prowler, I'll give ya the Base orientation tour, an' we'll end up at th' R+R room. I can even teach ya how to play 'pool'," Jazz said.

"The name is Prowl, as I have told you before, yes, I would welcome a Base orientation tour, and I would like to find out what this 'pool' is before I learn to play it. I hope it does not involve bodies of water," Prowl said.

Jazz chuckled. "No, it involves no water at all, Prowl. Follow me."

Jazz, as promised, took Prowl around all the Base, and then led him into a room not at all far from the med bay, with a glass partition.

Prowl walked in, and allowed his gaze to sweep the room. There were, he noticed, the Twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, and despite the fact the pair headed his 'nuisances' list, he was gratified to see that they had survived to get here. They were throwing metal projections at a cork board with a picture pinned to it.

Further down the room stood Mirage and Hound, at an oblong green table with red and yellow balls on it. They both held tapering wooden cylinders, and as Prowl watched, Hound used his to hit a white ball, which hit a yellow ball, which ricoched off it to enter a cavity in the table's side. There were six of these cavities, Prowl noticed, one at each corner, and one in the middle of each longest side. To one side sat Ironhide and Powerglide, with mugs of energon, Powerglide being his usual boastful self, and Ironhide the quiet listener.

The first one to notice him was the yellow twin, Sunstreaker. His reaction was entirely predictable.

"It's that slagger, Barricade! He's escaped somehow!" he said, powering up his cannon and rushing over. "Jazz, get down, I'll blast his aft into the Pit for him!" he cried.

"No, Sunstreaker, he ain't gonna hurt anyone, he's Prowl!" Jazz said, but Prowl could see that Sunstreaker wasn't even listening. Knowing that his actions might be taken more notice of, Prowl pushed the protesting Jazz behind him, before taking two steps forward. This both placed himself squarely in front of the yellow Twin’s aim while  simultaneously protecting Jazz from any potential harm, and crossing his arms at the wrist at waist-level as he did so in the almost universal sign-promise of no hostile intent.

Even Sunstreaker hesitated at this, long enough for Ironhide to stride over and grasp Sunstreaker's cannon, pushing down on it to force it to point at the floor.

"No Sunstreaker, Jazz says he's not a danger, and I agree. You should let Jazz explain," Ironhide said.

Sunstreaker, knowing that Ironhide was as cannon-happy as he if the situation warranted, nodded. "If you're willing to let Jazz explain the presence of that vicious 'Con in our rec-room, then I'll wait to hear the explanation. If it's not a good enough reason, I'm blasting him," The yellow Twin said. Prowl stood aside to let Jazz come in front of him again, leaving his wrists crossed and raising them to be visible above Jazz’ helm, almost at the height that would signal a surrender.

"Barricade was brought in after that last battle because Ratchet felt duty-bound as a medic to treat him," stated Jazz. "Ratchet has carried out a thorough investigation, includin' a full interface, and it turns out that Barricade is a remodelled, reprogrammed Autobot, one I know you all know. This is Prowl, and now that Ratchet has removed all the Barricade-personality overlay, he knows that, but getting' his body recognisable is gonna take quite some time. Ratchet is certain he's Prowl. If ya don't trust our Ratch, that's up to you, but I trust him. If ya wanna blast Prowl, ya gotta get through me first," Jazz said.

The red twin stepped forwards.

"The Hatchet may grouse at us a lot, and he's too free with his wrenches for my liking, but I would never question his professional competence," Sideswipe, the red twin said. Sunstreaker nodded his agreement, powering down his cannon.

"Don't you have a rule about no weapons to be powered up in the rec-room?" Prowl asked Ironhide.

"Not yet," Said Ironhide.

"There is now!" said Prowl, and Ironhide nodded his agreement

"Now there is no doubt," Said Sunstreaker. "That's Prowl, all right."

"Trust it to be Prowl to be the next arrival," said Sideswipe. "The amount of rules is going to double!" There was no rancour in the tone, it was a playful comment. 

Prowl smiled a little. With the Twins verbally sniping at him, he felt strangely at home.

"Thank you, Sideswipe, I love you too," he said back in a similarly-jocular manner.

The commotion had attracted the attention of every other mech in the room and they had all come over in time to hear Jazz's explanation. Mirage was the first to speak and react next.

"Welcome back, Prowl, you've been missed," he said. The rest of the mechs echoed his welcome and murmured their agreement. "You want to learn how to play pool?" he asked.

"Jazz mentioned this game. What is 'pool?'" asked Prowl.

"Come over here, me and Jazz'll play a game, and then you can have a go if you like," said Mirage, putting a hand on Prowl's shoulder and leading him over to the green table.

Jazz and Mirage played a slow game of pool, explaining the rules and point of the game as they played. Then Jazz played a game against him, allowing him to re-take some shots to give him a chance, and then Mirage began playing against him, to give him some practice.

Prowl was about to take a shot on his yellow ball when he paused. A distant look appeared in his eyes. Mirage thought he was just measuring up the shot, until he just dropped the pool cue and turned, heading at a run out of the room.

"Was it something I said?" asked Mirage. A moment later, the Base-wide intercom (installed so announcements could be heard by mech and visiting human alike) switched on. It was Bumblebee making the announcement.

"Sensors indicate that a landing is about to occur nearby. The signal coming from it indicates that the arrival is a Decepticon. Hang on a moment, I think there's an identifying message as well." Bumblebee paused a moment, and then spoke again. "The new arrival, it seems is some Decepticon we do not know, whose name is Salvage."

There was a ripe explosion of invective at this from the direction of the medical bay. Mirage’s optics widened at the colourful and inventive expressions, and he and Jazz went out, wondering what had prompted the outburst. They found Ratchet heading towards them, and Ratchet grabbed Jazz's arm.

"Where's Prowl?" he asked. Before either Jazz or Mirage could explain, the question was answered by Cliffjumper, who was manning the gate, speaking over the intercom.

"Can someone explain to me why Prowl has overridden the gate controls, and blasted out of the gate like half the Pit is after him? He just said something to me about going to meet an old friend. Shouldn't there be people going with him?"

Ratchet let out another blistering string of cuss words, and headed for the gates, Jazz and Mirage right behind him.

Chapter Text

On the Freedom Of Existence.

Chapter Seven.

Tracing and locating the signal's current placement was simple, especially when Prowl saw the flaming meteor flash across the sky. He put on a burst of speed as it landed, and when he got to the crater, the protoform that had landed was just finishing unfolding from travel-configuration.

Prowl had learned from the Barricade-memories that Salvage had been alive and fully-functioning when he had last seen him, and it seemed that he had managed to reach Earth unscathed.

The silvery bipedal form in the crater sensed his presence, looking up, and gave a relieved smile.

"Barricade, you made it," Salvage said. He reached up a hand. Prowl took a firm grip, and helped Salvage out of the crater he had created in the soft earth of his landing spot.

"Salvage," Prowl acknowledged. "You will require an alternative disguise form. Come, the road is quite close by; I shall take you to it to acquire a disguise. Then I would like to show you something, teach you something, and then I'll call someone else to escort us to Base."

Prowl led Salvage to the road, and they both crouched to remain hidden, and waited while the protoform viewed each passing vehicle with disdain.

"None of them are armed!" Salvage said in disgust. "How do they defend themselves?"

"This planet is enjoying a period of nil conflict on the continent we are on," Prowl informed him. "Military vehicles do exist, but would look out of place on a civilian road, so would not do well as a disguise-form. You can rely on your own in-built weaponry for defence. I suggest you just scan something suitable. If we stand here for much longer, you, at least, will be seen," he suggested.

Salvage quickly scanned a vehicle with suitable mass: a Jeep, a fact that pleased Prowl, for this fitted in nicely with his plans. Resuming bipedal form, the two moved away from the road, into the reasonably deserted fields around.

"You said you had something to show me, and teach me," Salvage said. "Well, show me then."

"Yes, I guess here is as good a place as any," Prowl said. He leaned forwards and tapped a piece of Salvage's plating. "Yes, that is reasonable armour. You chose a good form to take."

"I guess it does," said Salvage. "What's this all about, Barricade? I know about gaining good armour, so what is it you wish to teach me?"

"A lesson," Prowl said. "At least this time, it'll be a fair fight."

Before Salvage had time to process Prowl's words and work out their meaning, Prowl had sprung for the larger mech, his weight and momentum bearing Salvage to the ground, his clawed hands reaching for the other's wrists.

Salvage hit the ground, landing on his back with a thud. Salvage massed greater than Prowl, but Prowl had the advantage of surprise. His hydraulic hands locked themselves around Salvage's wrists.

"Barricade, what are you doing?" cried the other.

Prowl gazed fiercely into the other's optics.

"The-name-is-Prowl," he stated. Salvage's eyes widened.

"You – remember?" he asked. "How?" Prowl ignored the question.

"You changed me, Salvage, and hurt me,” he stated with a savage snarl. "Now, reap the fruits of your labour!"

As Prowl released his grip on one of Salvage's wrists, Salvage took him by surprise, pushing up at him with a speed that Prowl had not realised he possessed. As he landed on his side, one hand still fastened around Salvage's wrist, he belatedly accessed the Barricade- memories to find that he had underestimated Salvage: Salvage had taught 'Barricade' his own frighteningly savage battle style.

Salvage fought to rise, reaching his free hand towards the hand still gripping his left wrist. Prowl released the wrist and rolled to his feet, now fully battle-alert, noting that his grip had crimped the metal of Salvage's left wrist in a way that, although it did not seem to impede its movement, must have made movement painful.

As Salvage lunged for him again, Prowl found himself backing off, on the defensive, and thus at a disadvantage. As Salvage extended his back-of-hand blades and slashed, Prowl dodged and ducked. He narrowly avoided first a slash, and then a grab.

"You wonder why I changed you, Autobot?" he sneered. "It's because you are so weak! When I changed you, I did you a favour! Come, give in, and surrender to me, and I'll just turn you back into Barricade, rather than killing you."

'Slag!' thought Prowl. 'I am out of practice!' 

He dodged again, wishing he'd thought this out before revealing that he was no longer Barricade. He tried to think tactically as he dodged and jumped back, tried to concentrate on finding and exploiting Salvage's weaknesses. He dipped back into the Barricade-memories, both to access 'Barricade's' own fighting style and in the hope that 'Barricade' might have seen Salvage's weak points.

He had spotted two when instinct kicked in – not his own instinct, but the echo of the Barricade-personality. Prowl suddenly realised by the feelings of rage and excitement that flooded through him, that 'Barricade' had taken combat personally, and enjoyed it.

As the rage took hold, he was part-Prowl and part-Barricade, and he lashed at Salvage with his extendable spinning-blade saw. Salvage was hit full-on by it, staggering back in surprise and looking at the shallow but nasty-looking lacerations on his chest-plating. Prowl snarled, lunging forwards to grab Salvage around his waist. Hydraulic joints took the strain as Prowl lifted the bigger mech off the ground, lifted him almost over his head, and then threw him with as much force as he could muster into the ground. His own rage had now joined and augmented the echo from the Barricade personality, and he was able to take that rage and direct it.

Stunned at the unexpected retaliation, Salvage belatedly tried to roll out of the way as Prowl lunged at him again, but he was not quick enough: Prowl's clawed fingers impacted on Salvage's chest as he rolled, and Salvage cried out as the motion turned holes into gashes.

Prowl grabbed Salvage's left wrist with his right hand and squeezed, feeling the already crumpled metal buckle further, and Salvage cried out in pain again as the hand flopped uselessly. The bigger mech whimpered and stared up at Prowl with fear-filled optics as the black and white mech transferred the grip of both hands back to Salvage's waist and began to squeeze.

Crushing the metal of Salvage's waist took more pressure than had been needed to disable one of his hands, but it, too, began to bend and buckle: by now, Salvage could only make an agonised keen of pain. Turning Salvage over roughly, Prowl snarled as he brought his claws down hard on Salvage's back, puncturing the hide and drawing them down to carve twin sets of slashes down Salvage's back. Tortured sounds issued from both the stressed metal and Salvage's vocal processor. However, Prowl had not yet finished.

Prowl flipped the mech over again almost disdainfully with one foot as he sent a databurst back the way he had come. The action forced a series of whimpers from Salvage as coolant and energon seeped from the wounds Prowl had inflicted. Paying the fluids no heed, Prowl straddled the mech's waist, settling his aft firmly on Salvage's abdomen, and then almost casually reached over to catch up Salvage's right wrist in his left hand, and crush it, rendering Salvage's hands – and the melee-combat blades on the back surfaces of them – useless. Prowl leaned forwards to speak to Salvage, but the mech was not as far gone in pain as Prowl had thought, and snapped at Prowl with his sharp teeth.

Prowl sighed, and moved his hands up to clasp Salvage's head between them, stopping the head from moving. Once again exerting pressure, Prowl began slowly squeezing Salvage's head with his powerful fingers and hands, feeling metal begin to stretch and plating start to pop apart at the seams.

"Please….mercy…..stop…..please…." Salvage whimpered weakly. Prowl let out an animal-like snarl, not releasing his grip but not exerting any more force as he brought his face closer to Salvage's own, snapping his own sharp teeth at him in unconscious imitation of Salvage’s own earlier actions. Salvage's pain-filled optics widened in fear, and he let out another wordless whimper, this one of terror.

"Isn't this what you wanted of me, Salvage?" Prowl whispered savagely. "A warrior without conscience, without compassion, without mercy, without fear? Somebody who would take delight in gaining trust – and then betraying it in the cruellest way possible?" he hissed angrily. "You remodelled me and reprogrammed me, Salvage, turned me into a vicious killer." His voice turned mocking. "Don't you like what you created, Salvage? You don't like it so much when what you created is turned upon you, do you? If you create a killer, do you not expect it to carry out its primary purpose?"

Prowl saw despair join the pain and fear in Salvage's optics, and turned away in disgust. He released Salvage's now dented head from his grasp.

"I'm not what you made me any more though, Salvage, although I do possess the memories from when I was. I'm not a natural killer, which is fortunate for you, I'm not a Decepticon without a conscience or a care for the feelings and opinions of others. I'm an Autobot, and I'm not going to kill you in the name of revenge."

As he finished speaking, Ratchet, Mirage, and Jazz came into sight, optics widening at the sight of the mangled mech Prowl was straddling. Prowl got up, stepping away from Salvage, as Ratchet activated a powerful light, training it on the injured mech.

"As promised, Salvage, here is our escort to Base – the Autobot base, that is," he said, stepping further back as Ratchet bent to examine the almost-fragged mech. "Ratchet, Mirage, he's all yours."

"Mirage, we need to turn him, carefully now, this will hurt no matter how we do it, but carefully is best," Ratchet stated as Mirage bent by Salvage's legs. Salvage began to shake and whimper again as the two put gentle hands on him to carefully roll him onto his front.

Prowl was careful to hide the smirk that crept on his face: Salvage believed the rumours, not only the ones about Ratchet, but all the others that related to the Autobots – including Mirage's undeserved reputation as a stealer of his enemies' Sparks.

Prowl was Autobot enough not to kill for revenge, but not so virtuous that he wouldn't find another way to take it

Chapter Text

On The Freedom Of Existence.

Chapter Eight.

Salvage's whimpering increased in volume and rose in pitch as he was rolled face-down, partly due to the pain, and partly due to his fear of Ratchet and Mirage. Even though he was a Decepticon, and had done one of the cruellest things that Ratchet had ever heard of to Prowl, Ratchet could not ignore the pain and fear in those cries: this mech was now his patient. He touched the mech's shoulder, trying to reassure him, the cries quieted but did not stop, and he flinched. Clearly, Salvage was still terrified.

"Easy now," Ratchet said, in the soft voice reserved only for those patients who were so severely injured or so scared that they needed him to be gentle in every way possible. Usually, Ratchet's manner with his Basemates was more brusque and snappy; if he were to use this voice when talking to any of his Autobot friends in the med bay, they'd begin wondering just how badly they were hurt. "You'll be repaired soon," he tried to soothe as his practiced eyes scanned the mech's back for his reset relay. This mech was so badly injured that he'd need to be carried back, so to take him offline as they did so would be the kindest thing.

The mech turned his head enough to turn red, fear-filled optics on Ratchet as Ratchet spotted what he was looking for. As Ratchet reached down to activate it, Salvage realised Ratchet's intention. A terrified cry escaped his lips as the remembered rumours fuelled the fears that mushroomed in Salvage's head, a cry that was cut off as Ratchet offlined the mech.

Ratchet grunted as he hefted the now-inert mech over one of his broad shoulders, and Mirage picked up any pieces that had been knocked or fallen off.

"It's a good thing I'm designed to bear several times my own weight," Ratchet said. "This one is pretty hefty. I'll walk back to Base with him, Prowl, you're with me, Mirage, you go ahead and make sure that there are no humans in our path who might see us."

Mirage nodded, and shimmered out of sight as he left to follow his instructions. Ratchet turned to Prowl.

"This one sounded as scared as Pit, Prowl. Do you have any idea why?" Ratchet asked the tactician who was walking beside him.

"I would have thought that that was obvious," Prowl replied. "Don't you remember what I told you back at Base? That there are rumours that circulate the Decepticon ranks that Salvage believes, including the one I told you had been started about you?"

"Oh’” Said Ratchet, comprehension and annoyance colouring his vocal tone. "Honestly, it looks like the Decepticons'll believe anything!"

"Well, when you hear several rumours about the opposing side's members repeated over vorns, you start believing them," Prowl said. "My Barricade-memories suggested my Barricade-personality believed them."

Ratchet said something in Cybertronian under his breath, which Prowl didn't quite catch, but mentioned Decepticons and didn't sound very complimentary.

"You say there are other rumours?" asked Ratchet. "About the Autobots in general, or about specific members?" he asked.

"Both," Prowl told him gravely. "I suspect they were concocted to discourage new recruits or those with second thoughts from defecting." 

Ratchet sighed.

"I should have guessed," He said. "It's best I find out from you what they are before I find out from this one's reactions,” he stated. "Tell me about them Prowl, start with the ones about the Autobots in general first."

"The first rumour is that children are abandoned by Autobots as they would slow them up, but that's not relevant to Salvage." Prowl said. "The second is that captured prisoners are used for forced Sparkmerge, medical and scientific experimentation, and as moving targets to practice on." Prowl explained.

Ratchet gave an alarming growl.

"We signed all the Protocols of the Treaty Of Iacon – including the one about prisoner's rights," Ratchet stated. "The Decepticons attended, signed Protocols Two and Five – which they still don't always keep - and that was probably just so they could regroup their forces! I'd like to get my hands on whoever started these rumours," Ratchet said. "The only thing anyone brought into this Base might have to fear from me is my temper and my sharp tongue!"

"Don't forget flying wrenches if you get really torqued," teased Prowl. Ratchet gave him a mock-glare.

"Okay, those too, but you'd have to wind me up as badly as the Twins do," Ratchet stated.

"On that subject, there's a rumour about them, too," Prowl told the medic. Ratchet sighed.

"Okay, Prowl, let's hear it," he said.

"They say the Twins share everything, including their enemies, so they tear them in half," Prowl quoted. Ratchet's scowl deepened.

"They can be slagging nuisances, especially when they get into fights for the heck of it and then expect me to patch them up." Ratchet said, jerking a thumb at his own chest. "They even do things that as a medic, I find morally questionable, but that isn't one of them! Even that pair have their limits." He sighed. "Who else have they started rumours about?"

Prowl held up a hand, ticking of the fingers with every name he recited. Ratchet had to repress a shudder: Prowl's clawed fingers gave him ghost-memories of fixing the injuries they had all too often caused when Prowl was still known as Barricade. The sooner they got Prowl looking more like himself, the happier he would be

"Mirage, Ironhide, Bumblebee and Optimus Prime," stated Prowl.

"Optimus Prime? What are the slaggers saying about him?" asked Ratchet.

"Once Optimus Prime's mind is made up, he'll never change it," Prowl said, reciting from the Barricade-memories. "They say that no-one can offer asylum without his consent, in case he decides otherwise, and kills the one seeking sanctuary if he doesn't like the way they look. They say that nobody stands against him."

"Diodes!" exploded Ratchet. "He listens to everybody, gives more chances than some deserve, and you and I have both given him our opinions on ideas of his – sometimes in not-very-polite words, either."

"You know that and I know that, but most of the Decepticons don't. The lower ranks lived in abject fear of ever meeting Prime, be that on or off the battlefield," Prowl told Ratchet.

"What about Mirage?" sighed Ratchet. "He's one of my med-bay assistants, I may as well learn what I'll have to quash to this one before I get Mirage to help patch him up."

"The one about Mirage is particularly nasty," Prowl warned the medic. "They call Mirage the Spark-Stealer." Ignoring Ratchet's angry growl, he continued.

"They say that he creeps up on you while he's invisible, and put his hand in your chest before you know it. Then that he turns visible and pulls out your Spark. They say the last thing you see is him holding your guttering Spark and laughing at you."

"Primus!" exclaimed Ratchet. "Whatever you do, don't repeat that one in front of Mirage! He once saw Swindle tear out a Spark on the battlefield, and even thinking about it makes him back up his fuel lines in reflex!" Prowl nodded his understanding and fell silent as the Base gates, with Mirage standing by them, came into view. As Ironhide opened the gates, Prowl continued telling Ratchet about the rumours.

"They call Ironhide the Executioner," Prowl said, indicating the big mech who had obviously relieved Cliffjumper from gate-duty. "They say he shoots first with such force that there's nothing left alive afterwards to ask questions of."

"That's a lie!" grumbled Ironhide, who had overheard. He turned worried optics on Prowl, raising his hands and spreading his fingers to emphasise his point. "You know that, Prowl, you must know that! I prefer to disable rather than kill. I kill if I have to, but I try not to. I'm a weapons specialist, that means I can calculate how much force would be needed. I'd rather be using my guns to blast asteroids than other people, and I'd far rather be building bridges and raising Sparklings than fighting in this Primus-forsaken war!"

"Well, that's nothing, Ironhide, compared to what is being said about others," Ratchet said. "Okay, you said Bumblebee as well, Prowl?" asked Ratchet as they headed into the Base. "Tell me what they say about our eager little scout friend."

"They call him the Assassin-Spy," Prowl said. "They say he delights in feeling his enemies' bodies being ground beneath his wheels."

"What, Bumblebee?" asked Ratchet in disbelief. "Bumblebee, like Ironhide, will kill if he has to, but it's a choice of last resort, not of first, and he certainly does not gain pleasure from doing so!" He looked up at his Autobot-in-Decepticon-form comrade. "If that were true, you would not be here to tell me this."

Prowl accessed the Barricade-memories of the fight they had had while Bumblebee was protecting Sam and Mikaela, and nodded.

"No, I wouldn't be, would I?" he muttered. As they went in the med bay, Ratchet carried Salvage over to his operating table, and with Mirage's help, lay him on it.

"We'll be keeping him offline for most of his major repairs, Mirage, and I can't have you here when we re-online him." Ratchet said. Mirage looked puzzled.

"Why not?" he asked.

"It seems the Decepticons have been spreading some vicious lies about some of us, including both you and I. I need to be there, no choice, but I can get Cliffjumper to assist – unless there's a nasty rumour about him, too?" asked Ratchet, looking at Prowl, who shook his head.

"No, you've pretty much heard them all," Prowl said.

"What have they been saying about me?" Mirage asked. Ratchet shook his head.

"Believe me, Mirage, you don't want to know," said Ratchet.

"Yes I do!" Mirage said, looking at Prowl, who gave him a look.

"No, Mirage, you don't, take my word for it," Prowl said. Something about the look, or what Prowl had said, must have made Mirage think, because he said "Okay, you're right, I don't want to know."

"Much as one part of me would like your assist, just to give this slagger a taste of fear, the larger, medic-part of me is overruling it and telling me not to reduce myself to his level," said Ratchet. "As such, Mirage, once we've done what we can with him offline, I must ask you to leave and send Cliffjumper up in your place."

"Okay," Mirage agreed, and Prowl nodded.

"That's about the only thing that stopped me killing him, if I had, he would still have won, because he would have turned me – Prowl – into a vengeful killer. I have an excuse for the earlier times, that was an artificial personality, but as I am now me, there would have been no excuse." He smiled, not a nice smile. "I'm afraid, though, I have to admit to a perverse pleasure that it is you, Ratchet, whom he fears, who he has to rely on for repairs."

"Well, I have work to do, so go. As soon as I can set the record straight, I shall," Ratchet said, shooing Prowl out.

"Don't set the record straight on everybody just yet,” Prowl said. "I'll do that myself once you've fixed him."

Prowl forbore to mention that he'd do as he said, but after he'd brought the people in question - the mechs themselves all unknowing - to say hello to Salvage first.

Chapter Text

On The Freedom Of Existence.

Epilogue.

Three Weeks Later.

Ratchet looked up from his work to see Prowl walking in.

"What is it now?" he asked grouchily. Between Prowl's quite deliberate introduction to Salvage of some of the other Autobots – always those that were the subject of unpleasant rumours – and Ratchet's personal opinion that Prowl was now recovering, and recovering well - from his ordeal, his manner had gone back to normal.

Ratchet's manner in itself was both a useful tool and treatment for some of his patients. The 'bots knew that if Ratchet was brusque with you, you were going to be fine. It was when he was considerate and concerned that they began to worry, for that only happened if they were a new patient, or Ratchet felt there was something seriously wrong with them. Similarly, if Ratchet spoke quietly without swearing, it meant he was furious, and whoever he was speaking to began hoping his anger wasn't directed at them. So Prowl was not in the least put off by Ratchet's attitude, but walked over.

"Salvage is to be permitted two to three hours out of his locked room every four joors, as long as he is accompanied by the Twins, or two other medium to large mechs. So do not be surprised if you see him out, but if he is seen unaccompanied, call me or Ironhide," he said.

"Well, he was in the best possible condition he could be when I released him, so he is no longer my concern. Did you have to frag him up quite so badly?" Ratchet groused.

"Yes. You're lucky, what I really wanted to do was kill him. Perhaps the beating will make him think twice about treating anybody the way he treated me," said Prowl.

"You didn't come down here just to tell me about Salvage – and the sooner we exchange him back to his own side in return for something the better – you could have done that by comm. Why are you down here?" Ratchet asked.

"I was wondering, seeing as you are no longer working on Salvage, and we have had no battles with the Decepticons recently, if you had time to begin changing my appearance back into some semblance of what it was originally," Prowl said. He held up a clawed hand, put a hand up to the sharp contours of his face.

"The sooner these can be changed, the better," Prowl said.

Ratchet nodded. "Okay, I have to agree with you there," he said. "Come over." He led Prowl over to his worktable, and got him to lie down on his side.

"Now, I'm going to offline you. I'll work on your face and hands, and if I get time, I'll work on your head and back as well."

"Thank you," said Prowl.

Offlining the black and white mech, and sending a general databurst requesting he not be disturbed except for essential things, Ratchet took out his medical tools, and set to work.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo 

Prowl unshuttered his optics and saw Ratchet standing over him.

"How do you feel?" asked the medic. Prowl ignored the generic question and held his hands up in front of his face.

The vicious claws were gone, his fingers rounded and far less cruel-looking, although they were stronger than they looked, by virtue of the hydraulics Ratchet had advised him to keep. 

He moved the hands up to explore his face, felt the sharp features and spiky protrusions had been smoothed and flattened into a less terrifying countenance. As his hand brushed the top of his forehead, he felt a welcome, familiar sensor-chevron atop it.

"It was a simple matter to shift the sensor array into a more familiar arrangement with no loss of function," Ratchet said. Prowl smiled, then raised his other hand to feel that Ratchet had managed to restyle his faceplates to give him mobile liplike plating, and when he slipped a digit under them, he could feel that the teeth had been blunted and flattened, even though they would no longer be obvious unless he did a big grin.

He ran a hand over the back of his head, brought the other around to feel his back, and in both locations Ratchet had managed to mould the points into curves and flattened sharp edges and protrusions into the plating. It felt good, but what did it look like? Prowl sat up, swung his legs off the worktable, and headed for a shiny surface.

"I wasn't able to put your appearance back exactly the way it was before, but I think you'll find it an improvement," Ratchet stated. Prowl reached the reflective surface, and got his first look at his new face.

The features were a mixture of familiar and strange. Ratchet had done his best to reconstruct his old face, even to rearranging his sensor array and having it painted red, and reshaping his optic sockets to a more familiar shape, and altering his colour filters to turn his optics back to the piercing blue most Autobots favoured. However, Salvage had altered his cranial structure while creating his Barricade-form, a procedure Ratchet had earlier warned Prowl he would be reluctant to attempt to correct, and this made his face longer than it originally had been, the face shape slightly different. The mouth was slightly smaller than his original, and his chin was still a little sharper than it had been, but Prowl had to agree with Ratchet's assessment.

"A definite improvement,” he agreed. "Different, but I can live with it. Thank you, Ratchet, as always you carry out your work efficiently, and to a high standard."

"Okay, Prowl, thank you. Now, if you feel up to it, we have a prisoner exchange to conduct."

Prowl looked up in surprise.

"We do?" he asked. Ratchet nodded.

"While I was working on you, we had another landing, but the Decepticons found him first. I had to pause in your alteration to negotiate an arrangement to swap our prisoner for theirs." 

Prowl nodded.

"I'm up for it. Like you, I am eager to have him taken off our hands." 

Ratchet smiled.

"I got the impression that they will be as glad to hand their prisoner over as we are to hand Salvage to them," the medic stated. At Prowl's look, he smiled again.

"Bluestreak is probably talking their audios off."