casusfere

Title: End of Days
Rating: PG-13
Warning: None
Universe: G1
Summary: Vortex and his team face the punishment for a failed attempt at overthrowing Shockwave. Flash fic, 1 hour.

tf_speedwriting prompt: End of Days

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening! Vortex struggled against the restraints, against the Mayhems dragging him down the corridor. They’d screwed up, they’d failed - No! There was a plan, there was always a plan. Onslaught had something in mind, he had to.

He planted his feet, but his captors were larger than him, stronger and with better leverage. They hadn’t bothered to say anything to Vortex, not even to taunt him, and it was unnerving the helicopter. He’d be okay. They’d get out of here. Onslaught had a plan. They’d escape, go underground for a while, then come back stronger than ever. They would. It was a mantra he kept repeating to himself as he fought every step of the way, processor scrambling for a hint of what it was that Onslaught had planned.

Whatever it was, it had to be a good one, because Vortex was coming up blank. Of course it was complicated, it had to be to get around Shockwave. He kept telling himself that as the Mayhems dragged him into the room at the end of the corridor. Onslaught would be here. They’d make it out. He wasn’t going to panic.

A familiar shade of teal catches his gaze as he’s shoved inside, staggering before being hauled upright again. Onslaught! Vortex feels a brief moment of relief. Onslaught was here, everything was going to be -

Onslaught wasn’t moving, sprawled out on one of the tables, chestplate gaping open. Vortex felt his fuel pumps seize up. That couldn’t be, Onslaught was getting them out of here, it was a trick, he was faking it...

One of the techs was placing something in a box, essential parts that Vortex refused to recognize. The other shoved Onslaught off the table, letting him fall limply on a sprawled pile of bodies. Familiarly shaped bodies, a lolling head with dark optics - but that wasn’t right, Swindle wasn’t grey. Those weren’t Brawl’s treads. They weren’t- they couldn’t-

Hands grabbed Vortex, hauling him up onto the table and strapping him down, gripping tight no matter how much he struggled. Fingers were prodding at his helm, prying open his chestplate. His vocalizer whined. Why wasn’t Onslaught doing something? This wasn’t happening! Onslaught’s plans were too good for this, Swindle could talk his way out of anything, this couldn’t be happening!

Darkness.