Thundercracker's Fate

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Chapter 1: Games We Play

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Thundercracker poured another round of drinks. No, they couldn't just sip out of cubes. They had to be served. In fact Perceptor had converted some of the glassware in his laboratory in to vessels specifically for them to drink from, and for their new toy to fill.

As he leaned past Jetfire to fill his glass from the pitcher, the big shuttle looked up from his hand of cards and smiled at him. And it wasn't a leering smile, not like the ones a lot of the other Autobots gave him, but a genuine smile, full of warmth.

But he did not return it. Although Jetfire had already won two of the "wax and buff" chits that didn't mean he had to be particularly kind to the one who would be demanding his services later.

As he moved on and refilled Ratchet's glass, the medic's hand slipped absently to his aft, as it so often did. The Autobot CMO seemed to have a thing for petting him on the rump. And he was petting right now, the fingers slapping it gently before sliding down the back of his thighs. He looked down at the cards in his owner's spread wondering if he had anything good. But he only had a pair of nines. Wheeljack would win this round. The insane inventor had a straight.

Thundercracker moved on to top-off Huffer's glass. And when he reached for it, the whiny little engineer grinned up at him, and unlike Jetfire's smile, this was one of the leering ones. Of course, stashed away securely in a pocket was a chit for an interface with the Decepticon, one of two issued by Ratchet that night. Huffer had won it by bluffing his way with only two pair. Getting fragged by the minibot would be nothing more than a nuisance, provided the minibot kept his vocalizer quiet. Having to listen to Huffer go on and on about everything that was wrong in his pathetic life, as much as Thundercracker might agree with him, that would be agonizing. If he could have chosen, he would have much rather Jetfire had won that prize and the other. Despite all the hateful things that Starscream spouted about the shuttle-former, his trinemate had plenty of good things to say when he was happily overcharged on energon, not the least of which was Jetfire's particularly capable skill in the berth.

Sunday was the night the Autobot scientists, medics, and engineers got together in the main science laboratory and played poker on even numbered days and played rollback on the odd ones. About midnight the games would cease and they'd sit about drinking and chatting or watching holo-vids until they either fell over or fell into recharge. Wheeljack, Ratchet, Perceptor, Huffer, and Jetfire were the core group at these little gatherings, but sometimes someone else would show up or come as a guest of another. Grapple and Hoist never missed a rollback night.

A human male they called Sparkplug sometimes showed up as well, and he was there tonight, sitting on the table next to Huffer, partly hidden behind his fan of cards. When Ratchet announced that he would be gambling with chits for Thundercracker's services in lieu of cash, two of which were good for an interface, the others had all teased the human about what he would do if he managed to win any of them. "Sell or trade them," he'd announced. "It's not like I can use a wax and polish, or a circuit rub, or … or... Have you seen that interfacing equipment? I'm not getting my John Thomas anywhere near that thing!" Thundercracker had given him a bitter look. Stupid fleshlings.

And now Thundercracker was refilling the drink of the human, an amber-colored organic liquid containing about 40% alcohol. The human did not look at him, but did mumble a small thank you.

The final player at the table was Grapple, the architect. He was terrible at both poker and rollback, but he probably enjoyed losing as much as he would have enjoyed winning. He came for the company and support of his fellow intellectuals. Though tonight he actually seemed to be concentrating harder on the game, seeing the spoils that would go to the winner. And while he usually consumed more energon than the others, enjoying getting overcharged well before midnight, tonight he was holding back.

The round ended with Wheeljack claiming the pot as predicted, but not the delicious prize still in Ratchet's possession. Huffer bowed out despite the encouragement to remain in the game. "I've got what I want," he grinned, flashing the data stick and rolling it between his fingers.

At that moment there came a knock on the door.

"It's open!" hollered Wheeljack.

The wide doors slid apart and Optimus Prime and Jazz entered.

Thundercracker tensed. Whether it was in battle or during a truce, the sight of the Autobot Commander always had that effect on him as well as most of the Decepticons.

The Autobots at the table rose. "What's up Prime?" Ratchet asked.

"At ease. We just came down to join you tonight if you wouldn't mind."

"I heard there was some interesting currency on the table tonight," Jazz grinned. "Any chance you could deal me in?" He immediately took the seat vacated by Huffer. His visor was clearly aimed across the room at Thundercracker.

Thundercracker's shoulders sagged. Ratchet had exchanged his services before, but this was the first time he'd allowed for an interface. His owner had finally given in to the requests to whore him out. At least it was only for two counts. Apparently the medic needed Earth currency to purchase something from the humans, and was counting on luck to win it from the others.

The others laughed. "Only if you have something to gamble with."

Jazz reached into a subspace pocket and withdrew a few tidily bundled stacks of paper bills. "I think I do." And then he looked back over his shoulder. "Optimus, get over here. You're playing too."

"Only if there's a place. I don't want to intrude," he said tactfully.

The others at the table all made room for him, and Jazz halved his cash and pushed it in front of the prime as he sat down. The Autobots played with human money, sent in regular installments by the federal government, which came in useful at times when there actually was something they wanted from the humans.

Ratchet nodded at Thundercracker, who fetched a couple of glasses, filled them with high grade, and set them before the newcomers. He couldn't help but feel the glare of their blue optics upon him as he worked. Thankfully most of the Autobots usually weren't too grabby and didn't grope him too often. Though occasionally he would get bumped or crowded when there was an opportunity.

As he returned to his station he accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in the set of mirrors used in some of the experiments. As always, he held back from smashing them in order to destroy his reflection. His hated reflection. He loathed what Wheeljack and Ratchet had done to him. How they had taken away his identity and made him into something weak and pointless. Inside he was still Thundercracker. Outside... he was pathetic. They'd stripped away everything that defined him and replaced it with nothing at all like the powerful seeker he'd once been.

Now he was just their little slave. Their plaything. A servant cursed with muteness and a frail frame.

Once again he fought back the sorrow. Countless tears had fallen over his fate as their prisoner.

Perceptor and Beachcomber, having been chatting at length over geology in another corner of the room, were intrigued by the appearance of their leader and third-in-command, and so came over to watch the game.

Cards were dealt. Grapple and Sparkplug dropped out. Beachcomber jumped in. Several rounds were played without much action. But on a particular hand, when Ratchet smirked and bet the other interface chit, cooling fans began to whir.

This was it. This would be the final game of the evening.

Huffer was eagerly eyeing Thundercracker again, imagining everything he would do to the Decepticon's delicious frame once he had it in his berth. His fingers again rolled the precious data stick between them.

When it was called, Grapple excitedly lay down a full house, and the others congratulated him. The yellow mech was grinning, his efforts and luck having come together to win a prize he'd quite enjoy.

At least until Optimus spread out four aces and the three of spades.

Grapple's head dipped in sorrow as the congratulations were turned toward Optimus. A message suddenly pinged on his systems from Wheeljack. ::Sympathies. If you wouldn't mind second prize, I'd be happy to let you take me home tonight.:: The architect looked up to see that the engineer was glancing over at him. ::I'm not as pretty as Citrine, but my equipment's just as good.::

Well, Wheeljack wasn't a femme, but he was a mech with some serious credentials in the berth. ::Second prize sounds great.:: he sent back.

Optimus was astounded by his luck. Joining the game had been Jazz's idea when the message had come up from Beachcomber as to what Ratchet had laid on the table. And admittedly he had been rather intrigued by the prospect of an interface with Ratchet's gorgeous slave. Apparently only her owner and his co-conspirator had been the only ones to touch her so far. But to have actually beaten out the competition for the pleasure of taking her back to his berth... "So when can I use this?" he asked, taking the data stick in his hand.

"Anytime you want," answered Ratchet.

"Like now?"

Ratchet laughed and pulled the lithe femme over to his side. "Citrine would love to go home with you right now." He turned his head and smirked wickedly at her. "Isn't that right, Citrine."

Thundercracker wanted to slap the smirk right off of the CMO's face. But instead he nodded obediently. If the Prime wanted to frag him now, best to just get it over with.

"I should probably give her a full security scan first. She was a Decepticon, after all," said Jazz.

If he still had his voice, Thundercracker would have defiantly stated that he was still a Decepticon. But one too many comments like that had led to their removal of his vocalizer.

Jetfire, gathering up the cards on the table, lifted his eyes to the femme. "And Citrine, if Jazz tells you that using his spike is the way we Autobots do security scans, it's completely true."

The others chuckled at the large white jet's rare moment of teasing humor.

"It is. Red Alert will back me up on this." Jazz smirked famously. He looked up to and waved at the camera in the corner of the room. "Right, Red?" Ever since the broken frame of the nearly dead Thundercracker had been dragged unceremoniously back to the Ark the security officer had been a nervous mess. At least his new form was exceedingly easy on the optics and gave some pleasure to the ongoing surveillance.

Optimus Prime stood and handed the data stick to Ratchet. "In that case, I hope you won't mind me taking my leave and redeeming this now. And here..." He pushed the money to the center of the table. "I understand you need copper wire from the humans. Keep it."

Ratchet smiled. "Thank you, Optimus. I just ask that you have her cleaned up and home by 8:00 tomorrow. She's on duty in the medbay then."

Optimus turned to where Citrine was standing at the counter where the high grade was kept. She was refilling the pitcher and setting an arrangement of mineral goodies onto plates, purposely avoiding the gazes.

"Citrine? Ready to go?" he asked.

Thundercracker sighed. The prime really meant to have him. So much for the rumors going about the Nemesis that the Autobot leader was so hung up on Elita-One that he'd not interfaced with anyone since leaving Cybertron.

Thundercracker nodded, wiped his hands on a towel, and moved on leaden feet to the Prime's outstretched hand.

Optimus escorted the femme out of the door amid cheers of goodbye and jeers of wishing him good luck. Jazz went to follow, but was dismissed. "I think I can handle her," he said confidently.

"Well I'm just a comm' away if you need any help. Any sort of help..."

"I'll let you know," he said, grinning behind his mask.

And as Optimus Prime led him through the halls of the Ark, leading him back to his quarters, Thundercracker wondered how this could have ever happened to him. Three deca-cycles ago he had been one of the Decepticon elite trine—Starscream's right hand mech. Now he was the beautiful femme frag-toy for the Autobot CMO and his cronies.

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"Thundercracker's Fate" continues in Chapter 2: "Coming On-Line"

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Author Notes:

Chapter Order – The chapters in this story are not in chronological order. Instead they skip around to unfold the events in a more dramatic fashion. Chronologically they belong in this order: 3-4-2-6-1-5

Slavery – I've read lots of slavery stories in which the Autobots are the abused property of victorious Decepticons, but there are very few in which the Autobots are the masters, and they're usually portrayed as being rather benevolent. In this one, I wanted to portray a situation in which the Autobots' keeping of a Decepticon is a little less than wholesome. Thundercracker, while neither beaten nor violently treated, is subject to the whim of his masters and is very much treated as property. His labor and services are theirs for the taking.

Warning – This will turn slightly sticky in later chapters (when Optimus gets Thundercracker/Citrine back to his quarters in chapter 5) and will be bumped up to an M rating.