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Disassembling

The upgraded Prowl was disassembled by Lockdown.

Every single detail is made up!!

This is mostly just machine translation.

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"I've always… wanted to open up a motorcycle."

Prowl felt his face contort as he struggled and writhed within his restraints as much as he could.

But seeing him try so hard only made the bounty hunter's smile widen. "Inner beauty outweighs the outer. Though you're not bad like this, either."

Primus knew what "inner beauty" was supposed to mean.

As if realizing how wrong that sounded, the hunter reined himself in a little, a strange expression crossing his face.

"You pervert…" the ninja muttered darkly.

"Means taking each part apart," the hunter grumbled in addition, already starting to hum to himself in amusement. "Don't worry, kid. You'll be put back together."

The mechanic turned to adjust the disassembly table's height.

Lockdown had already disassembled Earth motorcycles. Their construction had nothing in common with that of a mechanical lifeform. Mechanical lifeforms were far more complex, requiring much more precise instruments to operate.

Tss. Tss.

The mechanic tested the coolant spray nozzle. The mist of liquid droplets spraying from the thin metal tube caused the figure on the table to stir restlessly.

"What is this?" Prowl asked, tense.

"Coolant."

"What's it for?"

"To keep you from getting overstimulated while I work." He pulled down an overhead lamp and switched on the monitoring equipment on the side.

"What are you going to do to me?"

Lockdown removed the tires from the motorcycle's servos. Popping off the aftermarket armor required no real skill—as easy as taking off clothes. But the original, natural armor required some coaxing.

"No hurry."

The modifications were uninstalled piece by piece.

Lockdown had taken apart many things: not just mechanical devices, not just mechanical lifeforms, but also different species of creatures, including organic ones. He didn't view his ship as a vehicle, but rather as a living body—not a collection of parts, but tissues and organs. He was fascinated by the structure and function of biological organisms with an engineer's passion: discovering the commonalities and causalities in their evolution, finding a certain pattern within, then mimicking the creator's exquisite design to build new devices—

Everything that followed began with disassembling a natural unit.

"You'll be whole again."

Prowl felt something off in Lockdown's gaze. It was as if when he looked over, he no longer saw a whole body, only the skeleton within.

The hunter had locked onto his prey.

Lockdown didn't know if there was anything there. Unless he went in for a closer look.

When he probed the motorcycle's elbow with a small pry bar, the motorcycle giggled.

"Anesthetic! Anesthetic!"

Click. The arm armor came loose.

The motorcycle's metabolic rate spiked. The moment they were pried open, most prey were on the verge of passing out. The sense of imminent danger ramped up the body's stress response.

As the smooth, shimmering inner layer was exposed, he indeed heard the motorcycle start to pant.

This was just the arm… That was pretty weak.

"Breathe deep…" He twisted the pry bar in his hand, guiding the other to follow suit.

Mainly because inhaling more air would make the subsequent ignition system reaction more pronounced.

Prowl did as he was told.

Using a transformation signal generator, he melted a small incision into the membranous shell, revealing the neatly aligned traction cables within.

This inner lining, beneath the armor, was a Cybertronian's outer skin. It encased the internal cable structure and enhanced adhesion to the armor. It wasn't hard itself; applying a minor transformation signal via the generator was enough to open it.

In a newborn, the adhesion between armor and inner lining was high, the continuous membrane providing a mold for the growth of natural armor. With age, as the armor finished differentiating, the inner lining separated, transforming into segmented, more flexible interlocking plates to facilitate transformation.

Lockdown sometimes felt that this kind of general biological growth pattern vaguely presaged the possibility of external armor replacement—i.e., modifications.

He used a retractor hook to part the traction cables, triggering a tremor of panic from the motorcycle.

"Don't shake."

Sensory receptors were distributed throughout the traction bundles, but fiddling with them should theoretically only pull on the lines, not cause pain.

"Stop moving." These silver-gray cables could be quite harmonious or utterly annoying. The way Prowl tensed up nearly wedged his hook tight.

"Why won't you anesthetize me?" Prowl whispered, utterly defenseless.

"It doesn't hurt, does it?" Lockdown was getting impatient.

Prowl shuttered his optics. He started to emit a humming sound; the harmonics made the lights flicker and interfered with the monitor's signals.

"Frag." Lockdown grabbed an electrode and inserted it into the arm's opening. The needle delivered a mild current, just enough to make the motorcycle dazed and stall for a few seconds. This injection corrected the disturbance, but also pierced a hole in the arm's protoplasm.

Protofluid leaked out.

The motorcycle made a sound somewhere between a moan and a gasp.

Now that hurt.

Lockdown moved to the head of the disassembly table and removed the pesky helmet. Then he fetched a suction tube and siphoned away the leaking fluid.

When Prowl twisted his head around and witnessed this scene with his own optics, he passed out cold.

If the Death's Head didn't have built-in neural networks, it wouldn't be susceptible to Processor Over Matter. Luckily, the motorcycle had no idea how this little trick worked, and Lockdown had no intention of telling him that this ship was alive.

After stopping the leak, he collected the protofluid. It carried encoded information, and the arm was a convenient extraction point.

He fiddled with the gray wheels. The wheels usually had dull sensation. Though half-conscious, Prowl still flinched.

Interesting.

Then he loosened the restraint on one leg. He removed a shuriken, its gold surface reflecting his face. Lifting the leg's side panel revealed a thick bundle of traction cables running straight into the thigh. He brushed over the raised contours. The seemingly seamless surface always made him imagine where hidden mechanisms might be. He started at the knee.

Parting the dense traction cables, he saw an extra row of energy conversion stacks arranged on the main shaft. This kind of modular structure was common in some sturdy, heavy-framed machines. So that's why these legs had so much strength, especially when they moved.

Some tiny fiber tubes were damaged by the clamp, leaking tissue fluid. That's where the coolant came in handy, until he finished installing the stack modules.

None of this was particularly new to him.

Regardless, he still hoped these legs would move on their own. A mechanism, moving spontaneously.

He studied the unconscious Prowl for a moment, then glanced at the monitoring equipment. Vital signs normal.

Prowl was an elusive, unpredictable rogue, but right now, the ninja lay sprawled on the disassembly table—clear, obvious, with no suspicious phantoms or uncertain signs.

Even if Lockdown removed the motorcycle's head, the motorcycle wouldn't be aware.

Where was he supposed to find that kind of thing?

He stared at that expressionless, long face. It looked stupid, no answers offered.

Under the light, the front of the fairing had a strange, shimmering corona. The natural armor was spotless, its curved design incredibly smooth.

It must be some kind of special alloy.

This creator had their own exquisite quirks.

The streamlining reduced wind resistance. For a lightweight model, speed was a very suitable advantage.

He seemed to see his own hand moving down along the golden lines, past the dim headlights…

The Autobot insignia underneath was a bit of an eyesore. He narrowed his optics, releasing the thrusters at the shoulder joint.

Prowl inhaled sharply, startled awake. "What?"

Lockdown took a step back, not even laying a hand on it, just as the fairing lifted itself up, blocking the motorcycle's view. Like a hungry scallop.

The structures beneath were hidden by the membrane, blurry and indistinct, save for a soft glow emanating from the center.

"What are you doing?"

"Inspection." He leaned closer, unsure what he hoped to find.

Four-wheeled vehicles and two-wheeled lightweights were vastly different. Lockdown knew his own core chamber's construction well, but he'd never seen a small bike's core chamber. Under the hood of an Earth vehicle, there were only things like dashboards and wiring—miscellaneous junk.

All of that served interaction, designed for the owner's use, displaying signs of being a tool, passive, even quite legible. But a mechanical lifeform was difficult for him to understand. The initiative of a living being wasn't held by an external manufacturer, and thus didn't need to serve the owner's reading or use. Instead, it was held by something higher—the creator's design.

Even though Lockdown could modify and disassemble his own body, he would never reach into his own core chamber. Doing it alone, without any assistance or collaboration, was far too dangerous. Besides, his current understanding wasn't enough to decode the structure of a Spark, and none of his techniques or instruments could handle it.

So the creator's secret could only remain "as it is."

Anatomy didn't start with oneself. One could assume that all Cybertronians, regardless of body type, shared a common core system. So taking apart one specific subject was equivalent to understanding oneself.

"No… don't disassemble me. No…"

He had expected too much. Telling Lockdown not to take something apart was like telling him not to exist.

Following the sheet-like contours, he pried open the connecting seams, inputting transformation commands to induce automatic folding and opening. The core's silvery, clear chamber structure was exposed. Ring-shaped lamellae concealed the container. Symmetrical traction cables ran through on both sides. Some black wiring spread across the surface, along with a few anchor points and stabilizers.

This was the chamber's casing. He usually inserted a probe from below the center of the chest, just under the midline. Further in was the core: the energy pump, the conversion stacks, and the Spark.

"Don't… analyze me…"

"It's just a checkup," he comforted, then sneered, "You've never had a checkup before? Don't you clean out your own accumulated grime regularly?" Lockdown usually considered this part of maintenance and upkeep.

Prowl gritted his dentae, furious and humiliated, unable to form a sentence for a long moment.

Lockdown sneered. "What do you think 'you' are?"

He stared at the layered, ring-like structure, feeling like it was pointing toward the core.

"If you're not looking at me, then what are you looking at?"

"What am I looking at?" Lockdown pulled his gaze away, sinking deeper than he'd intended, and blinked.

A transgressive attempt.

Curiosity always offended people. Curiosity drove one to dig up more information, and from more information, to generate more thoughts. How could anyone shut a thought out? On the contrary, thoughts always hid in the grass, behind the bushes, behind the chaotic environment. Only a hunter would notice them, and pursue them tirelessly.

"You can't see through it…"

What was hiding behind that? He was addicted to the curiosity.

"Okay, okay, not looking, not looking."

The instruments on hand weren't well-suited for a motorcycle frame, but at least they could hold the casing open. The pulsating wiring also spread out, many fine silver tubes pressing around the ring-shaped opening, keeping the small cables neatly arranged. The conversion stacks on both sides expanded and compressed with the rhythm of breathing. The thickest pipelines led deeper into the body, beyond his field of view.

Besides the filtration system, there was an asymmetrical compartment on one side. It seemed to lead toward the abdomen and wasn't obviously a core component, so he simply reached in to probe.

"Mmm…" Prowl made a sound. Very soft, but enough to make Lockdown yank his hand back, losing interest.

He closed the side panel, hoping it would calm the motorcycle down.

But the motorcycle started emitting an awful, whimpering sound that made Lockdown's scalp prickle and his entire frame itch.

He shoved the workbench away, tools clattering noisily. He paced back and forth, trying to get the other to be quiet. "Don't be like this."

It didn't work. He punched the edge of the disassembly table. Still no use. He resorted to covering Prowl's mouth. So the motorcycle bit him.

"Ughah."

A look of triumph surfaced on Prowl's face. "You think these things can hurt me?"

"Did I hurt you?" Lockdown looked shocked.

"Your tools… can never define… that thing."

Lockdown glared at the motorcycle, finding it utterly absurd. A ridiculous, far-reaching stupidity had infected the Autobots. He wasn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed.

Finally, he let out a snort. "How about you tell me what exactly this 'thing' is that's so 'rich in meaning' no one dares define it."

Unless it wasn't knowledge at all.

"You will remain ignorant! You think the world submits to your understanding? This is just your own self-directed performance!"

A surge of anger seized Lockdown. He stepped forward and tore off the last piece of covering. Firelight spilled out, releasing a translucent color, looking pale beneath the red glow.

Heat radiated against his palm. The Spark was covered in a thin, semi-liquid membrane, preventing the core from leaking out. Though the surrounding matter stirred up a whirlwind that still seeped through, radiating an enticing heat. If a single grain of dust landed on it, it would seize up. That's why Lockdown never disassembled himself down to this layer—extinguishing the Spark would happen in an instant.

Whatever it was, he wanted to finish this now.

"Get away!"

A kick landed on his abdomen. At some point, the motorcycle's legs had broken free. The nearby supply table was knocked over.

He lunged forward, trying to pin the legs down. But the motorcycle's arms had also broken loose and punched him in the forehead.

Dazed for a moment, he still managed to climb onto the disassembly table, using his entire body weight to hold the motorcycle down.

"You know what I do know? Every move you make, every word you say, every trick—I've seen it all, countless times, from things like you. So fragging substandard, riddled with holes. I'm practically going easy on you."

When the bounty hunter got angry, he didn't shout or roar. He lowered his voice, hammering each word, darkly and viciously, into the other's brain.

Before Lockdown could call upon the machinery, a searing, dual sensation of ice and fire stabbed into his side. As he let go to check the wound, the motorcycle slipped off the table, retreating several meters away.

It was futile, of course. He stepped down from the table, grabbed the golden blade's hilt, pulled it out, and tossed it aside, gasping.

"Seen it countless times, yet you still react like it's the first?" Prowl taunted.

He glanced down. Energon was leaking between the fingers he pressed to his side.

"You're right… need anesthetic," he finally considered Prowl's suggestion.

Even now, the ninja was "stripped bare," without weapons, without that sleek, seamless exterior. He looked smaller, frailer, but to Lockdown, he seemed even more smug.

"Come here. I'll put you back together," he beckoned. "Kid."

Prowl grabbed something from the rack behind him—it was full of equipment. He staggered closer, one hand clutching his side, the other raised in surrender, kicking the discarded armor pieces behind him as he moved.

"I won't hurt you." Even though you just fragging stabbed me, he thought. "Why… don't we learn from each other? You give me what I want, I'll give you what you want. You just… have to ask. That's all."

He was close enough now to see what Prowl was holding. It was a broken gun. And he was holding it backward. Lockdown snatched it away and tossed it aside.

Prowl was completely unarmed. Lockdown reached out and grabbed the motorcycle, provoking a struggle. He clamped onto the other's waist, shoving him against the wall to keep him from grabbing anything else, and buried his face in the warm hollow of the other's neck. The motorcycle grabbed Lockdown's waist in return, his fingers sinking into the gash.

Lockdown groaned, pried that hand away, and began kissing Prowl's tense face. The motorcycle's resistance melted into squirming within his grasp, finally gripping the spike on Lockdown's shoulder. His fingers touched the blue core, eliciting a choked whimper.

See? This was what it looked like when these parts worked together. Nothing to do with him. It is what it is.

Disappointing.

"Why are you doing this?" A voice barely a whisper.

"Why are there so many whys?" He mimicked the tone mockingly, stroking the writhing body in his arms.

A "why" never yielded knowledge.

He pulled back, opening his chest panel. The red firelight illuminated the space between them.

"Lockdown…"

A thrill went through him. He caressed the thing in his hands.

"I didn't know… you were so fascinated by me."

"…Am I?" He was lightheaded, ecstatic.

A blow landed on his chest. The searing pain shocked him into numbness, his body going limp as he crashed to the floor. When he pushed himself up, his vision was still dark.

"Yes." The ninja kicked him, half-sprawled on the ground.

He rolled over in agony.

For a while, he lay curled up on the floor, struggling, hearing the sounds of collisions in the distance. When his vision mostly returned, he got up and saw a familiar figure walking toward him—fully geared up, ready to go.

"You put yourself back together." A surge of electricity ran through him. "Good boy."

Prowl had returned to his judgmental, condescending self, not at all as alluring as he'd been moments ago in Lockdown's embrace.

"Prowl… Prowl…" His head heavy, he stumbled closer. Looking up, a blade pressed against his throat.

"Take me back."

A strange sense of confusion washed over him. Seeing Prowl narrow his optics, that slightly disdainful expression, Lockdown almost bared his dentae in a snarl.

A brand new, seamless, self-repairing motorcycle. But the frame was skinny, savage, argumentative—a handful no matter what. Who would like something like this? Who?

The blade tilted up his chin. Prowl could clearly see what he was thinking. The corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly.

Lockdown felt intensely uncomfortable, a physical reaction that was already unpleasant.

---

#tfa #transformers animated #tfa lockdown #transformers #tfa prowl #lockdown/prowl #lockprowl

gimikii

Lockprowl: The Innate

An excerpt from "The Innate."

The piece is weakly connected to the original prompt.

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Years later, Lockdown encountered Prowl. This motorcycle had a trick: disguising himself as part of the environment, using holographic projections to divert his opponent's attention.

It was a frustrating evasive tactic, very indirect, but terribly effective against Lockdown.

Back then, Lockdown couldn't tell Prowl apart from his projections. The two were too similar; it made it difficult for him to decide where to strike. Stabbing might just be a waste of energy. All he could do was stop and observe.

And be toyed with.

Watching him panting, his saw-blade struggling to turn, Prowl would often smile. That enigmatic smile. And Lockdown, dizzy and disoriented, was already starting to get angry, a little mesmerized in spite of himself.

He saw a crowd of Prowls grinning at him, like a hallucination. He could only retract his saw, brace his hands on his knees, and watch that row of shadows circling him.

Prowl even threw in a comment. "Brute force is so... limiting."

sh4y-ur-joking

a colored artwork of what i imagine the ending scene to look like! This should have been posted sooner but life gets busy..

Anyway thank you for writing i really enjoyed the fic! Your art and writing, especially lockprowl related, is genuinely awesome!!

gimikii

!!!! Aaaaah!!! 😳I saw your reply in the middle of a class... and I couldn't stop grinning like an idiot. Thank you so much for the artwork – the atmosphere and the characters' look are absolutely spot on!

#tfa #tfa prowl #tfa lockdown #lockprowl #transformers animated #lockdown/prowl #transformers

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