Chapter 2

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"FRAGGE- AHHHhh!!" I cry out, helm thudding back against the cold metal of the berth. My servos clench, the metal grinding and creaking against each other with the strain, while rivulets of soft pink energon splatters onto the floor. Everything is fuzzy. Heady. I can't see my left arm. I can still feel it, the dig of the cuff around my wrist and where it bites into the delicate mechanisms there. How the stale air of the interrogation cell bites at the more delicate wiring and inner mechanisms of the upper bicep plating that had been ripped off some groons ago.


Turnover, the mech interrogating me who's name I had unwillingly come to learn, took a step backwards into my right field of view. His stocky orange frame flashing in and out of my view below the warning pop-ups that kept filling my remaining vision.


'Optical nerve removed.'


'Fuel line rupture detected. Attempting repairs.'


'Repairs failed. Insufficient energon.'


"C'mon con, don't make me take the other optic." He muses as he lifts my optic up in a pinch between his digits. It glints amber-orange in the light before he brings it back down to my face, bringing another heavy waft of fresh energon across my olfactory sensors. "Fancy model too. Not something a bot is constructed with. You must be forged or had them modded to be like, fancy that!"


With that Turnover crushes the optic between his thick fingers, his face flashing in a pleased sneer with the motion as he turns back around on his heel and heads towards the door of the cell. I give myself a moment of reprieve. My remaining optic sliding shut as I try to go through the motions of disabling the pain sensors around the left side of my faceplate yet again. It's hard, my processor is damaged and self repairs aren't doing a great job with it. Also the fact I was running off reserves and it wasn't even energon that was designed for a flight frame. I was well and truly fucked to be blunt. The pain sensors in the left side of my face are dampened by 48% but it's more than enough for me to steer my expression into that of neutrality and unaffectedness as Turnover stops at the door. His optics flit over my form, a look of consideration on his face almost as if he's reminiscing on something. He then abruptly turns leaves with a silent whir off his cooling fans, door wings hiked high up upon his back.


The door slides shut behind him with a click and I'm once again left with torn off blackened armor, drying energon and the dark thoughts that flit through my processor. Its a few long clicks before my frame goes into a fitful recharge cycle.


My owner boss walked ahead of me, door wings held aloft in tense air of false confidence as I shadowed him. We were in one of the few seedier parts of Iacon, though it would still make the fanciest streets of Kaon look like a slum. The lower levels of the city were dominated by the tall outline of skyscrapers above. Though, unlike the undercity of Kaon, you could still see the gleaming sky even from down here. Iacon truly was a marvel to behold.


Cybertronains of all frame types hustled about their own business as we walked, a quick cast of my tall gaze around us told me all I needed to know. The inbuilt programming telling me to keep watch for anything amiss running fullswing. A pair of mechs exchancing shanix for a vial of purple liquid in the dark corner of an alleyway. A prettily painted femme with delicate plating hangs from a club doorway, her arm extended invitingly as she tries to coax other bots her way. Our gazes meet for a moment, her own flitting to the Praxian I was shadowing before back to me. She gives me a wink and looks away. A pair of mechs, with highgrade in their servos, are conversing animatedly about something outside of a bar. There's an air of informality here, unlike the more pristine uppercity the higher caste resided in. Fields are more relaxed and open, I feel the faint brush of each of them as we continue forwards.

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I had been put into work as a body guard for Telloran, a Praxian noble who had moved to Iacon some vorns ago. My life before had been in the military since I'd been onlined. Telloran had specifically selected me due to my specifications fitting what he'd needed when he'd come looking to purchase a bodyguard. My musings were broken as Telloran halted his walk, head flicking back towards the femme I had previously sighted before he started off in her direction. His pedes moving with purpose. As my coding prompted, I followed studiously at his side, face blank and unreadable behind the amber visor over my eyes.


A coy smile pulls across her pretty face as she shifts from her lean on the doorway to step towards Telloran and I. "Telloran! It's been a while since you've been here, I've been missing you. And who's this handsome mech? You haven't come with company before."


She inclines towards me with a small hand, gaze craning upwards to meet my height before she looks back to Teloran. His doorwings have relaxed somewhat but are still held up with a tense arch as he speaks. "Ah yes, new bodyguard, I'm sure you've heard how things have been getting a little bit... tense with the senate lately and this Decepticon slag in some of the other city states. He's merely here as a precaution for my safety, don't mind him. I'd like my usual at the same price, he should be around if I'm to believe what's been told."


Ah, this must be a brothel, I muse to myself. It explains why Telloran bought me with him down here. I'd heard of other bots visiting them when I was in the military but had never been to one myself. The femme gives him a grin and motions for us to follow inside after her with a sway of her wide hips. Almost immediately I'm overtaken by the surge of EM fields around me. Lust and want fill them heavily. Such a change from how bots usually keep theirs draw tight to their frames in the rest of the city, here everything is felt so openly and vividly and it sends my systems whirring for a moment before the coding kicks back, my focus once again drawn back to Telloran and his safety. The hallways are dimly lit, overcast with magenta and purple lights as the sounds of metal and interfacing fill my audials. I pin my wings together behind my back and duck down to fit through the slighly too short doorway of a room the femme has led us to. Her and Telloran are exchanging words that I don't pickup because my attention is drawn to the berth in the centre of the room. It's covered in soft metal sheets and pillows, with a small mech sat upon it. He's shorter, shorter than Telloran and he only just reaches the bottom of my chassis. The smaller mech is slightly stockier than Telloran, lithe doorwings pulled down in a gentle arch of seduction and his frame is poised in a similar manner though there is an air of disconnect in his field.


"There's my favourite mech!" Telloran exclaims with a grin, doorwings hiking up with interest as lust flits through his field. The mech on the bed looks shut off from the situation, ice blue optics somewhere far off as he leans back onto the bed with a practiced motion and presents himself to Teloran. Arms drawn up above his head, back arching up slightly while one of his legs pulls up to show off his closed panel. His plating is orange and silver, scuffed around his slim hips and thighs with the paint of other mechs that must have been previous customers. He has a typical Praxian chevron, light blue, and small vents at each cheek. The dulled optics seems to spark with interest as his gaze flicks to me as I stand huddled in the doorway of the room, half in and half out. My plating tightens, wings pulling back awkwardly as I shift on my pedes underneath his burning gaze. The look is gone just as quickly as it came over his face, the impassive glaze coming over him again as he looks back to Telloran.


"I'll leave you both, send me a ping with payment when you're finished up Telloran, your always welcome here and the donations never go unappreciated." The femme says with a soft voice before moving around me and out the door, I step into the room to let her pass. It slides shut behind her, leaving Telloran and I with the buymech who still lays on the bed. Telloran turns his helm towards me, his interface panel already slipping open with a clack as he makes towards the berth, as he speaks. "Just stand outside the door there Blackout, make we aren't disturbed until I'm done with this pretty little thing. It's been too long hasn't it, other valve's just don't feel the same as yours."


I nod silently, already moving for the door. My optics meet those of the buymechs again, his gaze has already clouded over as he seems to go somewhere else in preparation of what's to come. The act almost seeming practiced with the lack of change in his EM field and the way he is already opening his legs for Telloran to fit his body between them. Concern flits across my features but the coding overrides any other thoughts I have, so I turn and head out the door.


The noises of Telloran interfacing with the orange buymech are all I can hear for the next 3 cycles along with the muffled clank of metal on metal, despite lowering my audials all the way down. The brush of their fields against mine is all I have to concentrade on as I stand vigil against the door, staring at the wall ahead of me and the faint stain of old transfluid. For a moment I contemplate the slave coding that had been implanted upon my transfer into ownership under Telloran, the inability to deny any order that he tells me among other things. The level of the coding I have is a lot more minimal than some of the other examples of slave coding I've seen throughout my life but it only takes a few small lined of code to change it, make it so I'm no more than a drone. It be a lot worse. I could be at the mercy of all sorts of bots like that poor buymech, who knows what kind of bots he's had to deal with. The servo shaped dents on his frame, unable to be fully buffed out, confirm the fact. His face flashes in my mind again, cemented to my memory banks.


I'm bought back to awareness from recharge and the old memory from those vorns before the war started. It had been so long, almost 1200 vorns since then. 946 since the civil war started and I'd joined the Decepticon movement. It had been a pretty easy decision to make to join them once Telloran had been killed in a bombing incident while traveling back to his home city of Praxus. Since the slave coding had been practically nullified due to there being no present 'owner', I'd been able to leave for Kaon to join the Decepticon movement as soon as it happened. It was an idea that had stuck with me ever since I saw the movement being posted on Iacon new channels. The few snippets of the manifesto and works written by Megatron I had managed to get a hold of in my spare time had struck something within me. Something that wanted change. My thoughts are pulled away as I heard the click of the cell door opening again, a quick check of my chronometer tell me that it's been almost 8 groons since Turnover left.


My remaining optic comes online as I drag my gaze towards the door, catching Turnover's bulky frame as he steps into the room. He's cleaned up, paint shiny and newly washed from the mess it was when he last left. His optics are bright and I see his biolights pulsing with energy. Hunger ebbs at my tanks.


(was written dec 2024, anything added from now will be recently written and not old stuff)

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⏰ Last updated: Dec 29, 2024 ⏰

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angsty damn

1mo ago

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