Fanfic -- Compulsion
Jul. 27th, 2007 04:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dunmurderinTitle: Compulsion
Originally Posted: June 23, 2007
Fandom: Transformers
Characters: Red Alert, Bluestreak, Smokescreen
Prompt: N/a
Word Count: approximately 691 words
Rating:G/Gen
Summary: Red Alert has something he has to do.
Author's Notes: Takes pace sometime in the mid to late 1990s. Written largely for the hell of it and for the fun of playing with my ideas for Red.
Compulsion
Red Alert groaned as he booted out of recharge, his internal chronometer telling him that it was still the middle of his rest cycle.
Go outside and check the perimeter alarms. The Feeling was back, just as it always was, strong and insistent
“They're fine,” he told himself, even as he sat up and unplugged himself from the recharger. “I checked them before I came off-duty, they're all in working order. There is nothing to worry about.”
Even as he was saying it, he stood up and walked out of his quarters, heading for the Ark's main entrance. He knew himself well enough to know that all the reassurances in the world were useless until he actually checked. There was always the chance – however remote – that he was wrong. Simpler to check and be sure.
Luckily, Bluestreak and Smokescreen were on guard duty tonight which was more preferable in some ways, less so in others. If it were Gears and Cliffjumper, his departure wouldn't raise comment. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe would half-tease, half-accuse him of not trusting them.
Which, honestly, he did – mental glitches and momentary lapses of sanity to the side. He trusted all the Autobots. They'd all been through too much together for him not to trust them. But try telling that to the Feeling.
Go outside and check the perimeter alarms, NOW!
He walked faster, goaded forward by the sick, compulsive dread that something was wrong – defects in the alarms' sensors allowing in all manner of trouble; Decepticons sneaking into the base; human paparazzi infiltrating the base to get photos for the tabloids; human groupies sneaking in to get up close and personal to their favorite Autobots; human xenophobes sneaking in to bomb them. His mind flashed on all these possibilities and more. Though he was more than willing to admit that the chances of Godzilla coming to life and managing to sneak quietly through the woods until he got to the Ark were remote at best.
“Hey! Red, what's up?” Bluestreak's welcoming grin faded as he saw the frown on Red Alert's face. “Sorry. What's the password, Red?”
“'Mamma Mia'.” Red Alert relaxed as much as he could under the circumstances. “Countersign?”
“'Super Trouper'” said Bluestreak. “Jazz is back on the ABBA kick, huh?”
“Apparently so, yes,” Red Alert said.
“Well, I guess it's a good idea, I mean, like Ironhide said, if we don't understand the codes, chances are the Decepticons can't guess 'em, huh?”
“Let's hope so. Where's Smokescreen?”
“Right here.” Smokescreen stepped into sight, his expression concerned. “Something wrong, Red?”
The perimeter alarms! Can't you feel it? Something's wrong, something's wrong, something's WRONG!
“No.” Red Alert sighed, trying to soften the abruptness of his answer. “I simply want to make a spot check of the perimeter alarms. It shouldn't take long. I'll do a radio check from each marker. If I miss two radio checks, send a search party.”
“You got it, Red!” Bluestreak said.
“Sure you don't want one of us to go with you?” Smokescreen asked, head tilting to one side as he put on his sympathetic, 'tell me everything' face.
“I'm sure,” Red Alert said. “I simply want to verify a few readings for my own satisfaction and then I will return to my recharger. Everything's fine.”
Other than the fact that this damned little voice won't leave me alone until I make sure that the job I already checked, double-checked and triple-checked is checked once more. Not that I'm about to tell you that, since we both know whatever I tell you, you tell Prime and I really don't need another talk with him about this.
“Okay, Red, if you're sure,” Smokescreen said. “But, y'know, if you need to talk...”
“I know where to find you,” Red Alert finished for him. “Yes, thank you Smokescreen, but I need to start my patrol now. I'll see you upon my return. Good evening to you both.”
And with that, he started off, secure in the knowledge that nothing was wrong – but unable to rest until he was sure.
Originally Posted: June 23, 2007
Fandom: Transformers
Characters: Red Alert, Bluestreak, Smokescreen
Prompt: N/a
Word Count: approximately 691 words
Rating:G/Gen
Summary: Red Alert has something he has to do.
Author's Notes: Takes pace sometime in the mid to late 1990s. Written largely for the hell of it and for the fun of playing with my ideas for Red.
Red Alert groaned as he booted out of recharge, his internal chronometer telling him that it was still the middle of his rest cycle.
Go outside and check the perimeter alarms. The Feeling was back, just as it always was, strong and insistent
“They're fine,” he told himself, even as he sat up and unplugged himself from the recharger. “I checked them before I came off-duty, they're all in working order. There is nothing to worry about.”
Even as he was saying it, he stood up and walked out of his quarters, heading for the Ark's main entrance. He knew himself well enough to know that all the reassurances in the world were useless until he actually checked. There was always the chance – however remote – that he was wrong. Simpler to check and be sure.
Luckily, Bluestreak and Smokescreen were on guard duty tonight which was more preferable in some ways, less so in others. If it were Gears and Cliffjumper, his departure wouldn't raise comment. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe would half-tease, half-accuse him of not trusting them.
Which, honestly, he did – mental glitches and momentary lapses of sanity to the side. He trusted all the Autobots. They'd all been through too much together for him not to trust them. But try telling that to the Feeling.
Go outside and check the perimeter alarms, NOW!
He walked faster, goaded forward by the sick, compulsive dread that something was wrong – defects in the alarms' sensors allowing in all manner of trouble; Decepticons sneaking into the base; human paparazzi infiltrating the base to get photos for the tabloids; human groupies sneaking in to get up close and personal to their favorite Autobots; human xenophobes sneaking in to bomb them. His mind flashed on all these possibilities and more. Though he was more than willing to admit that the chances of Godzilla coming to life and managing to sneak quietly through the woods until he got to the Ark were remote at best.
“Hey! Red, what's up?” Bluestreak's welcoming grin faded as he saw the frown on Red Alert's face. “Sorry. What's the password, Red?”
“'Mamma Mia'.” Red Alert relaxed as much as he could under the circumstances. “Countersign?”
“'Super Trouper'” said Bluestreak. “Jazz is back on the ABBA kick, huh?”
“Apparently so, yes,” Red Alert said.
“Well, I guess it's a good idea, I mean, like Ironhide said, if we don't understand the codes, chances are the Decepticons can't guess 'em, huh?”
“Let's hope so. Where's Smokescreen?”
“Right here.” Smokescreen stepped into sight, his expression concerned. “Something wrong, Red?”
The perimeter alarms! Can't you feel it? Something's wrong, something's wrong, something's WRONG!
“No.” Red Alert sighed, trying to soften the abruptness of his answer. “I simply want to make a spot check of the perimeter alarms. It shouldn't take long. I'll do a radio check from each marker. If I miss two radio checks, send a search party.”
“You got it, Red!” Bluestreak said.
“Sure you don't want one of us to go with you?” Smokescreen asked, head tilting to one side as he put on his sympathetic, 'tell me everything' face.
“I'm sure,” Red Alert said. “I simply want to verify a few readings for my own satisfaction and then I will return to my recharger. Everything's fine.”
Other than the fact that this damned little voice won't leave me alone until I make sure that the job I already checked, double-checked and triple-checked is checked once more. Not that I'm about to tell you that, since we both know whatever I tell you, you tell Prime and I really don't need another talk with him about this.
“Okay, Red, if you're sure,” Smokescreen said. “But, y'know, if you need to talk...”
“I know where to find you,” Red Alert finished for him. “Yes, thank you Smokescreen, but I need to start my patrol now. I'll see you upon my return. Good evening to you both.”
And with that, he started off, secure in the knowledge that nothing was wrong – but unable to rest until he was sure.
