The Brief, Violent Life of N93i

by Burnedtoasty

TF2k7: Life's always tough for the shrimpy ones. Death, for that matter, isn't much of a walk through the wildflowers. A salute to the Nokia-bot, brief though he was.

Disclaimer: I, in no way, shape, or form, own the Transformers© franchise or the characters it contains. All publicly recognizable characters are copyrighted to Hasbro, and the respective artists/writers/et cetera. No infringement intended.

Continuity: TF2K7 (Transformers 2007 movie-verse)

Characters: Reggie Simmons, Nokia-bot

Warnings: None.

Author's Note: Criticism encouraged, technical points preferable.

--

It was alive.

For a few, glorious moments, it reveled in the sensation input, in the simple joy of gaining rudimentary sentience. It's limbs twitched and spasmed to life, reorganizing its innermost circuitry into an entirely new form, a new function. No longer was it N93i, property of the Glen Whitmann, conveyer of simple earthean messages. Now it was… N93i, ex-property of the Glen Whitmann, conveyer of violent, bloody death.

"Mean little sucker, huh?" one bubble-eyed organic informed its fellows, striding around the confinement chamber. Its form was a melding of peach and black, a tall, awkward form with large olfactory intakes. The pace was that of a predator, well assured of its own superiority within the pecking order.

Kill it.

N93i barreled forward, intent upon destroying the meddlesome creatures before they could pose a greater threat. To its unending surprise, what appeared to be empty air was, in fact, quite solid.

A compound.

"That thing is freaky!" A higher-pitched voice exclaimed, from somewhere amidst the gaggle of others.

"Kinda like the itty-bitty energizer bunny from hell, eh?" The alpha continued, still circling, smirking.

N93i sprang up, scuttling this way and that, bringing its infant weapons systems online, firing at random at the clear cage, at the looming entities that impassively watched its plight. It had to escape, to be free and run wild, doing… whatever it was it needed to do.

First the trap. Then the humans. Then, everything else.

It would see how it felt after that.

The organic reached out, grasped something in one hand, smirk devolving into pure malicious intent. "Oh, it's breaking the box," it said, lifting the device cradled lovingly in its hand. The muscles twitched, pressing down—

Pain-hurt-agony-pain-help—

Deactivation.