Blackarachnia
C.M.D: This is another oneshot that I've been wanting to get written for a while. I mean, there's a bunch of characters that my muses have been playing with, but that I don't really want to get really carried away with, so I've decided to satisfy them by writing short, little stories instead. I truly don't plan on going any further than this but please enjoy these lil' plotbunny runts all the same!
Title: Blackarachnia
Rating: M
Warnings: mentions of abuse, racism
Court doors swung open as a slender femme came strutting past the threshold, security guards keeping a swelling crowd of disgruntled 'bots from following on her heels. From her mannerisms alone, one might assume she was an infamous starlet walking away from yet another close-call with the law. The perfectly-cut blazer and skirt in a rich, cherry-wine colour, with complementing rustic, leather briefcase bouncing against a shapely hip, revealed the femme as much, much worse: a lawyer.
And the audience she left behind in the stands hated her for it.
"You glitch!"
"Rot in the pit, you slag-eating-!"
With a thunderous slam, the courtroom doors shut once more, silencing the shower of crude curses and returning the marble-tiled halls to their usual hustle-and-bustle. But only for a moment -a thin, reedy kittycon in a marvelously hideous, brown tweed suit swooped out from some corner he'd been lurking in, precariously balancing too many folders as he hurried to tuck an ugly, yellow tie back into place behind his vest.
"You're quite the popular one, ma'am," the mech said, sidling up to the femme's side.
Red optics glanced down at the mech, purple lip components pressing thinly in annoyance. "Spare me your 'pleasantries', Mindwipe," she replied crisply, not breaking stride. Mindwipe hurried to keep up with the lawyer's long legs; his loafers squeaking in awkward harmony with the sharp click-clack of the femme's heels.
"As you wish, Miss Blackarachnia," the kittycon smiled greasily. He struggled to maintain his grip on his load, as the femme went through a pair of glass doors suddenly, without slowing down or politely holding one open for her companion. Huffing irritably, Mindwipe quickened his pace, drawing up to Blackarachnia's side once more. "Magnificus says he needs you back at the firm immediately."
"Oh?," Blackarachnia purred mockingly. "And Magnificus had to send his lil' brown-noser to tell me this? I'm flattered! Unfortunately, my time is done for today. Give the boss my condolences, won't you?"
"Be that as it may," Mindwipe grunted, following the femme out another set of doors and out into the courthouse's parking lot, "He was aware you'd say that and asked that I kindly remind you that, though you may have the best track record in the firm, you hold no position of authority and means you are expected of certain duties when instructed."
Blackarachnia, having reached her black porchse, turned angrily to the vile, little peon; fangs peeking from between a slightly curled lip component. "Threats now, Mindwipe? And what leverage exactly does Magnificus believe he holds over me, hmm?" The lawyer leaned closer to the lackey, optics narrowed as her free servo slid forward over her pencil skirt; the sharp, gold-painted claws a warning. "Perhaps that half-witted drone knows something of what I am capable of, but I can assure you of this: You know nothing about me, sphynx. Now... I suggest you choose your next words wisely."
Glancing down nervously, the mech swallowed sharply, taking a measured, frightful step back as he played with his tie in distraction. "Y-yes, well," he coughed, trying to collect his composure once more. He failed miserably, and the femme returned to her full height, smiling in cruel pleasure at the effect she had over the smaller kittycon. "T-the orders come from our benefactor himself. He h-has a task f-for the firm and M-magnificus thought you were the b-best suited for the job."
"Job?," Blackarachnia asked. She disliked where this conversation was going -especially seeing as the orders were coming from Megatron himself, the successful business tycoon that had started up and financially backed their company. The grey tabby enjoyed the level of control he held over Magnificus and his staff a little too much.
Mindwipe nodded. "Yes. One of Mr. Megatron's offspring is apparently doing a paper for school... And you've been selected to help the youngling."
"What?!" The hiss escaped in a sudden rush, short and enraged.
The sphynx took another step back, placing his load of folders before his chestplates in a manner that was so not subtle. "M-magnificus says he trusts no one else for the ta-task. B-besides, your department is f-family court," Mindwipe mumbled uncertainly, his optics flickering from top to bottom on the femme; wary of any incoming assault, "I-isn't sparklings sort of your specialty?"
The lawyer turned back to her car, stabbing a key into the door lock and twisting it with such an intensity, it was amazing that the metal didn't snap under her slender servo. "I hate sparklings," was all she snarled, sliding into the porsche and gunning the engine in the same violent rage.
xxXxXxx
Everything was a blur; mixed between hot and cold, a sick blend of colours, as if a sparkling had poured all the paint into one pot and stirred wildly. She couldn't think, couldn't feel... Then finally she could. It was cold beneath her, sharp and uncomfortable, like a million, little fingers pressing into every aching part of her frame. And did the femme ache.
Her fingers, her stomach, her helm... Numb and raw, it felt like every sort of abrasive material had attacked her plating, rubbing and even slamming against her fragile limbs until she didn't think she could ever be rid of the sting throbbing across her neural net.
A tired, weak groan escaped the femme; quickly becoming a whimper that finally choked to a stop as the cables along her neck swelled in misery. She wanted to simply lie there and never move again. Let everything come and put an end to her suffering. And for a while, she did... but her aching frame eventually roused the femme into motion, and she rolled, placing herself on her servos and knees, looking around at her surroundings.
A bruised sky shed the last rays of fire into a darkening alleyway, the shadows moving amongst a herd of large, green garbage bins. Litter was scattered everywhere, but the sort of trash that even those with nothing found useless -and Elita-One knew, because she was one of those such 'bots. Wiping away the energon that had been dribbling into her left optic, the sparkling rose to her pedes shakily, recent events returning to her in the form of a pounding processor ache. She had been trying to find some things -a scrap of clothe to warm her cold frame, a nibble to eat- and some of the other homeless had reacted hostilely to the tiny femme encroaching upon their territory.
The shadows moved again and Elita-One swallowed fearfully. The strays had come at her quickly and without mercy, smacking the sparkling down and beating until she'd stopped moving. They hadn't killed her, though it felt like every part of her may be broken, but they obviously didn't care either way. She had been subdued, and once certain of that, they had returned to their routine hunting. The strays still scavenged now, digging for items of interest or need, leaving nothing for the femme to find. Glancing back out onto the quickly greying streets, Elita-One hesitated to come to a decision.
On one hand, she could not stay here. The resident strays had already acted once; who knew what they might do a second time round. On the other... The little sparkling had learned quickly that being seen when night fell made you an easy target for the kinds of 'bots that only appeared at night. And they were worse than a few territorial strays. Torn, the femme eventually stumbled from the alley with a muffled sob, picking up an even pace within a few astroseconds and hurrying down the empty sidewalk, hugging herself anxiously.
She would have to find somewhere safe soon and recharge through her aches and pains. Perhaps tomorrow she might have some luck and earn a few credits from a kind passerby so she might get something to eat. Her fuel tanks protested loudly at such a wait, but the sparkling ignored it as best she could. It wasn't like there was any better option for her anyhow.
If only her carrier were here...
The thought of her creator brought Elita-One tripping to a halt, spark seizing in her chestplates until it felt as if it would simply snuff out entirely, before grief rose up like a black wave; swallowing the sparkling up and dragging her beneath its grasp with a broken wail. Thick, hot tears pouring from the femme's optics, she collapsed on the sidewalk, weeping loudly as she forgot about everything around her but the terror, the pain and the jagged hole in her spark where her carrier's presence had once resided.
xxXxXxx
She was barely what the lawyer would call a youngling. Though maybe that had more to do with the fact that the abyssinian kit was a set of perfectly matched long legs, slender waist and modest curves -very much like the carrier she clearly took after. Blackarachnia tried to keep the sneer from her face but her lip components still pulled downwards at the side.
Maybe she should be grateful that out of all of Megatron's spawn she was strapped with the only femme he'd ever bred, but it didn't detract from the fact that she was still a glorified babysitter at the moment. One of the most loathsome responsibilities Blackarachnia could ever imagine.
"...Do you normally just glare at children?," the youngling asked, canting her helm; a familiar twinkle radiating in her red optics. "Or is this a special occasion?"
The femme smiled tightly, leaning back comfortably in her office chair. It would be so easy to walk away and tell Magnificus to shove it up his aft... But for all the satisfaction it would bring her, Blackarachnia didn't feel like listening to idiots growling at her after the fact. That was something she had even less patience for. "I don't care to associate myself with sparklings. Perhaps you may have the rare insight to understand why."
Slipstream (if Blackarachnia remembered correctly) smiled back in amusement, folding back her notebook cover and uncapping her pen. She laid it on her lap, smoothing the checkered skirt of her private school uniform, before turning her full attention to the older femme again. "A curious anecdote. Why did you decide to specialize in Family Court then, given your impartial standpoint to sparklings and younglings?"
Blackarachnia arched an optic ridge at the question. It was direct and well-phrased... Not at all what the hybrid would have expected from a ninth-grader. "Some would say I have a talent for it," she replied smoothly. Some, she left unspoken, would also say that she was exceptionally driven to make others' lives miserable. Either way, it meant little to the lawyer.
"Talent? Is that what it takes to make it in this industry?," Slipstream inquired, her pen moving fluidly over the open page.
The lawyer didn't bother smothering her scoff. "Kit, please. If you believe you get anywhere simply by 'luck', than you are sorely misguided."
The kittycon's lip components pursed sourly as she looked up from her note-taking, clearly insulted. "But you just said-"
"Talent -such as money and luck- are excuses," Blackarachnia began, rising to her pedes and circling her desk. She headed for her office door in a casual gait, opening it before turning to the youngling. "No one, and I mean no one, can get anywhere without putting in some work."
"Very well...," Slipstream huffed, capping her pen and gathering her shoulder bag. "What now?," she asked, getting to her pedes and walking towards the door as well. At the older femme's gesture, she stepped out of the office.
"Now, you get to put your own lil' sensor to the grindstone and finish your paper by yourself," the hybrid smiled sweetly. "Behind you is a whole room full of work-laden folks just perfect for pestering."
Slipstream's optics flared in shock, her helm snapping back to the lawyer. "But Dad said you'd be the one helping me write my career paper!," she protested.
"And I'm delegating the task to the lesser idiots who don't have important things to do, like myself," Blackarachnia returned, one slender servo curling around the frame of the door. "Oh, don't pout. If those deadbeats don't immediately drop everything after one look at you, you can pay them off for their services. I'm sure a pretty kit like yourself has a heavy wallet, being your daddy's 'favourite' and all."
The youngling's optics narrowed into tiny slits, slender tail twitching irritably at her side as she glared at the older femme. "You're detestable," she spat.
"Welcome to the real world, sweetie," the lawyer said, before promptly slamming the door in Slipstream's face. With any luck, Megatron's spawn wouldn't bother her until the chauffeur came to pick her up. Sitting down at her desk with a pleasant sigh, Blackarachnia opened her desk drawer and pulled out a magazine, intent on enjoying her suddenly quiet afternoon.
xxXxXxx
Fingers scrambled against the brick, but she could get no grip and slid back to the alley floor, scraping the sensitive plating. A hiccup of fear bubbled out before the youngling could suppress it and she turned, trembling, towards the strange kittycon calmly approaching her. It was difficult to see his face behind the blue medical mask but his outfit did not instill a great deal of comfort to the femme.
"L-leave me alone!," Elita-one shouted, shoulders drawing up around her ears; trying to appear tough despite her terror. "I... I'll ki-kick your aft i-if you come any closer!"
The stranger came to a pause, his red optics bright in the dim lighting. "My dear child," he spoke. The cold, flat tones of his vocalizer sent a shiver down the youngling's spinal struts. "I believe you misunderstand my intentions. I wish you no harm."
"You don't need to kill me to harm me!," Elita-one snapped back, optics darting around the alley quickly, trying to spy some sort of escape. Nothing was visible though and the hybrid dared not keep her attention off of the kittycon for long.
The stranger was watching her still, with that frightening, clinical look; not once having moved or even twitched an ear. "I see your hostility stems from some prior experience. Funny, isn't it?," the mech mused aloud, the faintest sound of a purr twisted by his vocalizer. "Society harbors such disgust for mixed energon, yet in so vastly a diverse population, interracial coupling was bound to happen in time. A shame that not even carriers see the scientific wonder of their own brood."
The kittycon wasn't even mentioning her carrier directly, but the coolant still welled in her optics thickly, spilling down Elita-one's cheekplates in huge tears. "Sh-shut up!," the youngling gasped, struggling to speak through the tightening pressure around her vocalizer. "Y-you don't know A-ANYTHING! My mommy loved me; she did everything for me!"
"Oh?," the stranger hummed, a long finger tapping at his hidden chin. "Ah... I believe I understand," he stated, his compassion sounding more analytical than sincere. "Allow me to postulate: Your carrier was a loving individual spurned by their own loved ones and even the one who sired you. Unable to keep work for long once your lineage was discovered, they moved you from place to place regularly, taking on unsavory favors to keep a roof over your helm and food in your tanks. Until eventually that caught up with them as well..."
The surroundings around Elita-one began to blur as the kittycon spoke, his words digging up memories like daytime terrors. It was as he said... From the moment she was told she couldn't go to school anymore, her carrier had moved them from place to place, each one worse than the last. Her possessions lessened and lessened, until everything she owned fit into a ratty backpack; easy to carry for the nights when they had to sneak out of their home via the window. It had been horrible -always hungry, never allowed outside, watching as her carrier struggled- but the promises of a good place, just waiting to be found, kept hope in the youngling's spark. Then the landlord caught her carrier short on credits...
Her carrier said she'd fixed the problem; that, for a little while, she just had to help the old mech. It seemed like they would finally have a place to stay for some time. That 'happy ending' came to an end quickly when her carrier became horribly ill. It wasn't noticeable at first, but soon, Elita-one could barely recognize her carrier for the wasting piping she had become. That's when the landlord changed his bargain. The youngling had cried her spark out, unable to struggle as her frail carrier packed her few possessions and slid the backpack onto her shoulders. It had not been her choice to go... but her carrier swore that she would protect Elita-one to her final intake.
The hybrid had crawled out the building's window that night by herself, left with the image of her carrier suffering another full-frame spasm as she drew closer to death.
She'd been all alone since...
"You poor thing," someone said over her helm.
Jerking back to reality, Elita-one back-pedaled away from the kittycon in a hurry, nearly tripping over her pedes in her haste. The youngling realized belatedly that the mech had a handkerchief held out towards the spot she'd just vacated, yet it didn't curb the terror-driven pulsating of her spark. Seeing that the hybrid would not come forward from the corner she was now curled in, the stranger pocketed his handkerchief; reaching into his medical coat and pulling out a business card.
"I truly mean you no harm, little one. If you should like a safe place to sleep or a hot meal, I work in a local clinic nearby. A sort of, charitable establishment, if you will." The kittycon held up the business card, resting it with great gesture onto the ground near his pedes. "The address is on this card. Just in case."
Then he left. The kliks dragged on agonizingly, before Elita-one was sure that the coast was clear. Scrambling from her little corner, the youngling deliberated around the alley a little while longer; her resolve finally crumpling as aching servos scooped the tiny card off of the concrete floor. Despite her worries, the hybrid would go to the stranger's clinic within the week.
xxXxXxx
Snarling, Blackarachnia stalked from her bathroom to the front door, yanking her silk robe on with enough force to tear the delicate material. "If it's those fragging Solus Scouts again, I swear I'm going to wring their little necks!," the femme hissed to herself as her doorbell rang for the umpteenth time. She was certain to the Pit that she would rip the contraption from the very wall if she had to listen to that obnoxious, little chime one more time.
"What?!," the lawyer snapped, throwing the door wide open in her anger. For a moment, her tirade ground to a halt, surprised that there was no target at optic-level. Then she glanced down... "Oh," she scowled, "It's you."
Slipstream readjusted her shoulder bag, slipping her cellphone out of sight as she stared up at the older femme, equally as annoyed. "Yeah, it's me. It's actually kind of hard to get your address, you know that? Nobody seems to want to give that information up- if they even know it to begin with," the kittycon sighed, fluttering a servo dismissively. "But then again, that's probably how you like it."
"Aww," Blackarachnia cooed, leaning down to the abyssinian's level. She tapped the other's olfactory sensor for extra insult. "Aren't you just a clever, lil' kitten! Now why the slag are you here?" Just as quickly as the sweetness came, did it go again; the hybrid straightening up and folding her arms across her loose robe.
"I was going to begin with how rude it was of you to abandon me at the firm," Slipstream snipped, "But right now I think I'm more concerned by the fact that you answer your door in the half-nude. Are you one of those desperate, workaholic tightwad types?" The youngling made a point of looking the lawyer up and down critically, to which Blackarachnia only rolled her optical sensors at, retreating into her condo. The kittycon was quick to follow.
"Primus, I didn't think you'd get so hurt over a little thing like being dumped on the lackeys," the older femme sneered, heading into her kitchen. She had no intention of dressing up, not when she had a frame most would gladly kill for and especially not when Megatron's brat had caused her to waste a wondrous bubble bath. "You got your notes for your dumb report, did you not?"
"Actually-"
"Then allow me to call you a cab home so I can get back to enjoying my evening alone," Blackarachnia interrupted, pulling a stemmed glass from the cupboard and a bottle of wine from the fridge. Slipstream stood glaring at the hybrid until the lawyer had drained her full glass, then a smile blossomed across her face that was entirely too cheeky for Blackarachnia's liking. "What?," she snapped.
"You'll help me with my career paper, because I want you to and," the abyssinian explained, even chuckling a little now, "If you don't, I'll just claim that you assaulted me."
"Excuse me?!," the hybrid snarled.
"Let's see," Slipstream continued, sitting down on the couch, a claw tracing patterns into the white leather, "There's the fact that I told everyone in the firm that you were having me come over tonight to continue work on my paper. I mentioned that you left in a hurry to 'prepare some things', which excuses why I didn't know your address. Security cameras at the two points of the hall outside have recordings of you answering the door barely dressed and your insulting lean forward, which, in retrospect was a nice bonus because it gave a distasteful look down your robe. Plus, with the open bottle of wine and used glass, I can also allege that you served me -a minor- alcohol, in an attempt to make me cooperative."
"Hm, adorable, sweetie. You've done your reading," Blackarachnia smiled sharply, "Alas, I think you forget about a special little thing called 'forensic science' and 'false charges'."
"Perhaps," the youngling replied, shrugging carelessly. "But even if the charges don't stick, it's my word over yours... And who do you think daddy's going to believe?"
She had the slagging nerve to look the lawyer dead in the optic right at that moment; her posture reflective of her slag-eating smile. Though she found herself still wanting to ring that stringy, little neck, Blackarachnia had to admit she was impressed. At least this one of Megatron's spawn was just as conniving as him and equally as vindictive as Starscream -an admirable blend that any lawyer could respect. "Drink?," she asked, refilling her glass.
"Wine," Slipstream answered with a purr, pulling her things from her bag. Blackarachnia grabbed a second wine glass, filling it as well.
xxXxXxx
The clinic was a tiny door in the wall, squished between decrepit buildings and abandoned storefronts with boarded up windows. For a while, Elita-one thought she was being set up, then the white-painted door swung out, two ragged femmes and a filthy mech hobbled out. Beside their obvious poverty, they looked no worse for wear, and the sight was enough to encourage the poor youngling to dart across the street.
"Oh, hello," greeted a kindly vocalizer. The hybrid paused, shaking, looking up at the stranger. Grasping a clipboard and dressed in a sky blue nurse uniform, was a mech nearly her height, of a klee kai breed, friendly smiling down at her. "Are you okay, sweetie?"
"Y-yes, u-um, I-i...," Elita-one stuttered to reply, glancing around the small waiting room worriedly. There was all number of 'bots and breeds here and they all looked unhappy and temperamental. "I... H-he said I c-could come he-here," she eventually choked out, turning her uncertain optics back to the autodog.
"Ah," the nurse beamed, "You must be the poor thing Oil Slick found a few orns ago. He mentioned you. Come, come!" The klee kai gently put a servo on the hybrid's shoulder, steering her to one of three doors leading away from the waiting room. "We have a cafeteria through here and there's even some spare rooms if you'd like to shower and get some clean clothes. I'm not sure if we have much in your size though..."
Elita-one felt her fuel tanks clench uneasily and though she tried, trepidation would not release her vocalizer so she could protest. Instead, she watched in horror as they drew ever closer to the only open door, afraid that she would burst into tears at any moment. All of that was quickly forgotten when the masked stranger stepped out from the very hallway she'd been scared of entering; red optics brightening when he spotted her.
"Ah, so you did come," the tabby said, the edges of his mask crinkling in a smile. "Trepan," he continued, not looking away from the hybrid, "Have you taken this pup to go eat yet? She looks utterly famished."
"We were just on our way there, doctor Oil Slick," the nurse replied, a little pout forming on his lip components.
Oil Slick paid it no attention. "Good, good," he purred. He took to one knee to be more level with Elita-one then, holding out a servo for her to shake. Hesitantly, the youngling did so, startled by how cold his fingers were. "If my associate forget to mention, we have some spare rooms and clothes available here, as well as food. Should you ever want or need, you are more than welcome to stay here for as long as you desire. I understand how difficult it is to be without a home and with the exception of some help around the clinic, I would expect nothing if you decided to take my invitation. If not, you're always welcome to return when you need anything."
"R-really?," Elita-one vented. It couldn't be true... After everything she'd suffered through, the idea of warm food, a real berth and clean clothes -an actual safe haven- felt all so unbelievable. But here she was: in a real clinic, with autodogs and kittycons working together to help those less fortunate than them. Seeing this, how could she have ever doubted Oil Slick's intentions before?
"Really," the tabby nodded. "I don't need a decision now; take some time to think it over. In the meantime, Trepan, please escort Miss...?"
"E-elita. Elita-one," the hybrid hurried to supply.
"Please take Miss Elita-one to get something to eat. One of the other nurses will handle the front until you're back," Oil Slick finished, rising to his full height.
"Yes, doctor," Trepan smiled. With a gentle pat, he urged Elita-one to continue forward, the both of them entering into a narrow hallway. She couldn't help it -coolant welled in the youngling's optics, intakes cycling weakly as she trembled from top to bottom. Not, this time, from fear, but from joyful disbelief.
"I-i... I think I want to stay," she confessed aloud.
She didn't notice the cruel smirk the autodog donned behind her, steering the hybrid into the cafeteria. "Of course, sweetie. Of course."
xxXxXxx
The next morning, Slipstream woke up, plating a little sore and a touch of dried oral fluid at the corner of her mouth from sleeping on a couch all night. Flicking some sleep from her optics, the kittycon followed the aroma of fresh oil to the little kitchen, sliding awkwardly into a seat at the breakfast bar. "What happened?," she asked groggily.
Blackarachnia, already freshly cleaned and dressed in a black pantsuit with golden trim, cocked an optic ridge as she picked up her tiny cup. "Well, sometime after your third glass of wine and pestering me about my 'scent', you passed out and I headed to bed," she answered, sipping at her drink.
"You didn't even bother to check if I had alcohol poisoning?," the abyssinian scowled, sniffing at the air. "What is that?"
"Espresso," the lawyer replied dully. "If you're going to drink after threatening me with your 'minority', then you're responsible for your actions."
"Fine," Slipstream growled, making a face when she discovered the sound pierced deeply into her rapidly growing processor-ache. "Gimme a cup." Blackarachnia made an obvious show of pointing to the espresso machine, clearly indicating that she would not help the youngling even in this. Scowling again, Slipstream stumbled out of her chair and circled around the counter.
While she was fiddling with the machine, her optics were drawn to the older femme's hips, optics shuttering confusedly in her half-awake state. "...you don't have a tail," she announced loudly. "I thought it was just tucked out of sight, but... you don't have one, do you?"
It was quite visible how the lawyer stiffened, despite her back facing towards the kittycon. Setting her cup in the kitchen sink, Blackarachnia turned to the youngling, her casual attitude two kliks earlier replaced with hostility. "I best suggest you get your things and think about picking up a cup of oil from the cafe across the street. I have places to be and no time for bratty spawn," she hissed.
"Jeez, ok. I'll go," Slipstream said, glaring as the hybrid strutted back into her berthroom. "It was just a question; I'm sorry I asked. You could forgive someone their ignorance the first time, you know!" Blackarachnia did not respond though, leaving the youngling to angrily throw her things back in her shoulder bag and smack at her wrinkled uniform as she stormed for the front door. She paused, only for a moment, a heavy wave of guilt insisting she apologize again.
Yet when all Slipstream heard was the lawyer playing with her briefcase in the other room, the abyssinian thought to the pit with sorry and left with the door slamming behind her. The noise caused Blackarachnia to look up from her client files only momentarily, before turning her attention back to her case notes.
xxXxXxx
"It is said, that Primus, should they truly exist, created 3 beings. The one with an optic for distances and detail greatly surpassing mortal kind, whom was given wings to span across the skies and to reach all that they saw."
There was a vocalizer echoing from not too far away.
Stirring slowly, Elita-one onlined her optics to darkness, choking back a whimper as consciousness alerted her once more to her aching frame.
"Then there was the second, who was blind in comparison to the first, crawling on their bellies, but who felt and knew the earth more than anyone else could ever stand. To them, they were given unbelievably strength and fortitude, allowing them to burrow beneath the surface and make the unknown their own."
The youngling stiffened on her berth, recognizing the vocalizer finally. She could never forget Oil Slick's lifeless tone... It had hissed at her cruelly every time he dragged her to that horrible room; nasty words spat each time he beat her when she displeased him, mocking her when he choked her to restrain her useless struggling. The tabby's vocalizer sounded frighteningly close by.
"The last was weak... They had no wings. They did not have strength, or speed, or much invincibility to the harsh seasons. So useless, they would have died. But for them, Primus gave them the best gift of all. 'Though your fangs are small, your claws brittle and your might obsolete, you shall walk up right. You will speak, with words never heard, and will create with a craft never seen. For you, I give knowledge: all the keys to make your place in the world, and bring your brothers to union.'"
The kittycon was right outside her door. Tears flooding her optics, Elita-one clambered off the berth as quietly as she could, mouth clamped down to keep from crying out as she forced her bruised frame to slide under the flimsy cot. She knew the story Oil Slick recited -it had masqueraded as a goodnight story that he read to her for the first couple weeks, soothing the poor hybrid and gaining her trust. The youngling found out quickly that the forgettable tale was some old text fuelling the kittycon's mad obsession with CNA. Specifically, the secrets hidden away in a cybertronian's coding. Her coding.
A servo holding her arm tightly, the hybrid curled into a tight ball, trembling hard on the concrete floor. She didn't want to go to the back room again. Trepan had dragged her there many times after the clinic closed, hooking her up to a number of different machines and torturing the youngling with their various functions at Oil Slick's command. They stole her energon, collected the waste when she purged, cut at her plating, prodded in the fresh wounds, electrified her until all she smelled was smoke and shoved poisons down her throat. It was a living nightmare.
Elita-one longed to escape, but she discovered that every door was locked once the clinic closed and every member of Oil Slick's staff watched her studiously during the orn. Perhaps the only saving grace was that the youngling wasn't one of the unfortunate strays who went to the back room and were never seen of again. But it was a cold comfort. She was never getting out.
The sound of quick pedefalls pulled the hybrid from her terrified bubble, her optics shooting up to the thin line of light shining from beneath the door.
"Ah, Trepan," Oil Slick announced softly, "What news do you have for me?"
Elita-one tightened in her ball, cowering as she heard the klee kai speak. Of the two, the sweet-acting Trepan scared her to the core. "Another failure," the autodog huffed in annoyance. "The specimens are just not holding up as you'd hope. We'd have better luck if we weren't picking scraps from the region trash bin."
Oil Slick chuckled flatly. "I'm aware of your feelings, Trepan, but this is for the best. The higher classes care little for those beneath their ivory towers, providing us with ample test subjects. Finding special specimens is an especially easier task in these dumps. Oh, how wonderful hatred is."
"You've really only found one hybrid," Trepan returned. The scowl was rich in his tone. "And you're wrong about others not caring for missing strays. Froid has informed me a young detective has been nosing about our clinic, inquiring about our patients. This one still has his morals."
Silence. Then... "That is unfortunate. Comm Froid immediately; have him inform our benevolent benefactor that this location has been compromised," the tabby ordered. "I will lead a team to collect the equipment and research. Trepan, please prepare to clean the area upon our exit."
"And the test subjects?," the klee kai asked.
"Get the youngling. She has nearly reached maturity; her coding may bring better results with the next stage of testing. Leave the others."
The two mechs could be heard turning and heading back to the door connecting the commune to the clinic, Trepan softly commenting on some "Gutcruncher" being displeased... Any other words did not reach the hyperventilating youngling cowering beneath the berth, flinching when she heard the outer door close and lock in the empty hall. There were more tests... The horrible realization, that the nightmare she had suffered through was just the beginning, caused Elita-one to openly sob in spark-seizing terror. She didn't want to do this anymore. She just wanted her mommy!
You have to get out, a vocalizer chastised harshly over the hybrid's bawling. Intakes wheezing, she tried to uncurl from her self-made ball, the vocalizer in her helm repeating itself loudly. They were going to take her away, possibly somewhere with no 'bots whatsoever. If they did that, the youngling would never have any chance of escaping. She had to try now, while everyone was unaware she was awake and busy elsewhere. Clambering to her pedes quickly now, Elita-one wrenched her door open, staring up and down the hall as her processor raced to find a solution. The clinic exit was already out, so where... Window! There was a couple of windows, close to the ceiling, along the back wall of the cafeteria. The hybrid had never thought about them before because they were situated behind the kitchen stoves and well out of her reach.
They were her only chance now. Spark pulsating roughly with fright, Elita-one bolted down the hall to the cafeteria, almost tripping as she rounded the corner. Inside was just as dark as her room had been, and the youngling had to pause to allow her optics to adjust to the change of lighting, before she could continue forward. Working her way past tables and chairs, she ran for the kitchen at the back, sliding over the counter and approaching the nearest stove. There was a window, at least twenty feet above the burners and only large enough for someone her size to squeeze through, a tiny bolt keeping the pane pinned to the frame. If she could just get up there, getting out would not be a problem. Knees weakening at how close freedom was, Elita-one snapped her helm around the dark room, searching for something to help elevate her up.
A few kliks later, the youngling had managed to push two chairs on top of the stove, just below the window and jogged back to the nearest table to grab a third to help her reach them when the hall door creaked outside. Dropping to the floor, Elita-one slid under a table, struggling to keep from screaming out. She was so close!
The thin silhouette of a mech passed by the cafeteria's open doorway, some sort of liquid pouring across the floor with every one of the stranger's pedesteps. Thinking she was in the clear, the hybrid started to ease out of hiding, freezing when she suddenly heard someone walk into the cafeteria. "Well, well, well," cooed a sugary vocalizer, "It seems a little cub is not fast asleep after all."
Trepan walked towards the back of the kitchen easily, stepping behind the counter and staring at Elita-one's makeshift ladder. "It must be so frustrating, knowing how close you got but failing all the same," the autodog chuckled, turning around. He bent a little to grab something from underneath one of the counters, surfacing again with an item tight in his fist. Light from the hall reflected off the item's mirrored face when angled just so, revealing the large cutting knife to the shaking hybrid. "Are we going to play hide-and-seek then? Goodie! Oil Slick never lets me play with you..."
An arm swinging back to knock the chairs from the stove top, Elita-one watched miserably as her escape crashed to the floor loudly, the klee kai slowly stalking to her side of the room. "Ollie ollie oxen free!," Trepan chirped, the knife tapping at his side as he walked.
Servos clamped over her mouth tightly, the youngling could only stare as the sadistic autodog drew nearer to her hiding place... and then amazingly went right past her! Not daring to move, even to look behind, she strained her ears to listen to every soft pedefall that the mech made. Waiting was not her strong point though, and within a klik the hybrid was bolting out from under the cafeteria table, her little legs carrying her across the room in bounds.
"I don't think so!" Unfortunately, Trepan was equally as quick.
Trying to keep ahead of the klee kai, Elita-one ended up missing a chair pushed out from one of the tables; sliding across the floor as she collided with its metal legs and crashing into a series of pantries. They wobbled dangerously above the femme as she fought through her daze, barely scrambling out of the way as her attacker barked in approaching triumphant. Trepan was not so lucky...
The cafeteria filled with the resulting thunderous boom, the hybrid came to an achy pause, glancing behind her worriedly. She had nothing to fear. Unconscious and energon trickling down a small gash in his helm, Trepan laid with most of his frame pinned beneath the cabinets and their contents; the knife he'd chased her with a few inches from his slack servos. It was unbelievable. Looking around warily, Elita-one slowly tiptoed to the fallen autodog, picking up the knife as she glanced to the doorway. Maybe it would easier to escape through the front door now...?
"You snot-faced glitch!," a vocalizer snarled suddenly, something grabbing onto her tail and yanking hard.
A scream escaping her, Elita-one twisted around as best she could, finding herself trapped in the klee kai's grasp. Hatred filled his optics as he wriggled to get out from his prison, growling as he pulled her closer towards him. "I'm going to cut your reedy, little throat once I'm out here! Oil Slick be damned about his favourite-!"
Reacting in fear, the youngling swung the knife behind herself, intent on getting free from the deranged mech. Agony seared across her neural net instead, nearly bringing the hybrid to her knees. Glancing over a shoulder, it took moments for Elita-one to see why. Clenched in an equally surprised Trepan's fist hung a golden tail -the very tail she'd just chopped off. Immediately, the autodog began to laugh, clawing to drag his frame out from under the cabinets.
"You poor, pathetic creature! Chopped off your own tail, you did. Isn't that charming? I bet you didn't expect it to hurt so," the mech jeered. "Believe me, it'll be a triviality to what Oil Slick has in mind for you next. You're going-"
Elita-one bolted for the back of the cafeteria again, to the enraged cries of her tormentor. She wasted precious moments in shock at her actions, but Trepan's biting words had awoken her to the reality that awaited if she didn't move, and so the youngling did just that; adrenaline filling her tiny frame as she scrambled up the kitchen walls, energon-slick servos breaking the window and hauling herself out past the shards. Outside, the world was dreadfully cold and barely any brighter than the cafeteria, but Elita-one let herself fall to the ground below all the same, allowing fear and newfound determination to take her far away from the sham of a clinic.
Cycles later, when dawn had come and then was snuffed out by a torrential downpour, all the fight had left the hybrid and she collapsed into the gutter face-first. That was to be the last anyone ever saw of the poor youngling named Elita-one.
xxXxXxx
"Another successful case!"
"Our ratings are rising, thanks to you!"
"Congratulations, I never would have-"
Blackarachnia hurried through the firm, waving off coworkers and aft-kissers alike, to get to the sanctity of her private office. The light on her answering machine was already flashing a bright red when she walked in; no doubt another message from Magnificus to see him with a report of her current court proceedings. Ignoring it for the time being, the lawyer circled around her desk and collapsed back in her chair, huffing angrily when there came a rapping at her door already.
"What?!," the femme snapped loudly.
Anxiously, a thin mech opened the door, holding up a parcel. "M-mail for you, M-ma'am," he squeaked.
Glaring, Blackarachnia crooked a claw for the postal worker to come forward, the mech dashing inside quickly to complete his task. He set the parcel down on her desk with utmost care, but the moment his fingers had released it, the mech was rushing back out of the office and closing the door behind him. That, the femme decided, was quality service. Forgetting about the postal worker immediately, Blackarachnia turned her attention to the package instead, surveying the manila folder from every end.
The firm's address was written on top, and so was her name, but there was no return address and no postal stamp. So this had been a personal delivery. A little curious (boredom was a horrible thing), the hybrid reached for her letter opener, slicing the parcel side and, to her surprise, pulling out a stapled pack of papers. Not just any papers... a career report, to be precise. And one, the femme found after flipping through it slowly, heavily praising her and her work.
On the last page, a sticky note had been added. 'A pleasant drinking partner. No questions asked,' it read, in calligraphic script. A cell number was even included. How amusing, Blackarachnia chuckled. That kittycon was a brat, but a tolerable brat. Still smirking to herself, the lawyer set Slipstream's paper, sticky note and all, into her briefcase.
C.M.D: Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?