In These Hands

Things Lost and Things Kept

The news of the massacre shook Iacon, and as soon as the footage streamed and the killers listed and posted across every media outlet, the wavering support for the anti-functionist movement suddenly came to a standstill. Travesty and absolute horror over the retaliation swayed much of the populace toward the likes of Sentinel Prime as he declared the movement terroristic and vile, swearing war on them and their supporters. Unease and distrust gripped the planet in the following cycles. There wasn't a single Cybertronian troubled in some way, shape, or form.

Except Ratchet.

Mountains of condolences and pity was heaped upon him and his state, but it never stopped the medibot from walking straighter, helm higher, and field stronger, especially when it was right into the holding center to visit old friends.

"You know you shouldn't be doing this, Ratchet. In fact, I wish you wouldn't." When Barricade glanced around with wary optics it wasn't to the other prisoners who were both familiar and unfamiliar, but particularly toward the guards, the ones glaring, sneering at the newest additions. He looked back toward Ratchet then, the medibot who took time out of his schedule every day to come and visit him and the others that were unfortunate enough to fall into the Elite Guard's servos. "I've heard what's going around. If you keep moseying here, they're gonna put you on a blacklist."

"Like I haven't been on one before," Ratchet retorted.

"Well, yeah, but you've got a lot riding for you this time, especially . . ." As soon as he glanced down, Barricade averted his optics, knowing it was rude to stare. But he suggested enough.

Ratchet vented, his arms shifting on the table, his optics fluctuating in thought. The sparkling was idle that day. "Until it comes I've got unofficial immunity, in respect to its deceased sire. I'll do what I want for now."

Barricade shifted uneasily. "I'm sorry; about all that happened."

"Don't be." Ratchet was shaking his helm. "The bastards had it coming after what they started. I didn't care about a damn spark in there."

"Not even Megatron's?"

Ratchet looked at Barricade, he was quiet for a moment. They both were.

"I'm glad he did what he did," Barricade began, light and gentle, knowing full well the controversy the subject carried with the medibot. "After everything those 'bots have done, especially to you, I'm glad Megatron finally had the bearings to do it."

"To become a murderer, a terrorist?" Ratchet's optics glared, the light in them harsh, even as Barricade sat before him in one of the harshest environments on Cybertron.

"What did you expect would happen? After you left, after that damn Promise, after the bombing?" Barricade leaned back, crossing his arms and shaking his helm. "They wanted this fight, and we're going to give them one slag of one. It's like you said: the bastards had it coming."

The unrest continued from there. Entire sectors were gripped with paranoia, mixed reactions estranged neighbors, friends, and even family. Isolation and prejudice rose to near extremes and evictions were not that all uncommon.

Villages, towns clung to scaled cities for support and protection while these flocked cities reached out to cling to those closest for ramp. This strained pacts and unions as well as trade, Cybertron was thrown into spiraling chaos before the uprising rivalries.

Iacon would have fallen into a similar state if not for the presence of Sentinel Prime and his Guard. His return to the northern hemisphere after the senate attack spurred the golden city's defenses and laid heavy monitors on its citizens and all coming to seek refuge. At the moment the Prime was working on stretching the Guard's influence into other afflicted and paranoid cities because right then, the southern hemisphere began twisting in on itself.