Bluh, sorry for not having this out yesterday, but ffdotnet wouldn't let me upload any documents. That meant I couldn't get this chapter here until today. But good news? You get two chapters today. WOOO!

Transformers belongs to Hasbro


Cybertronians were a very special species, sparked by Primus himself, who had created the Allspark to give them life. The Allspark was their treasure, and its power permeated all planets inhabited by Cybertronians, sharing its energy through the temples and places of worship that the bots built for it. The Allspark was what enabled bots to create new life. When a couple decided they wanted a sparkling, they built a sparkling frame and came to the Allspark temple to give it a protoform and spark. Sometimes, usually in times of great need, fully grown bots were sparked-it took far less time to raise them, and though they were generally glitched in some way, they could perform most adult tasks in less than a stellar cycle without supervision.

Very rare, very blessed bots would be surprised to find-after the glow of the blessing faded-that the sparkling frame they had brought with them was gone, and that the Allspark had placed the spark directly inside their sparkchamber, allowing the sparkling to grow naturally from their own energies and materials. Bots onlined this way were generally blessed in some special way; they usually went on to do great things, and had special skills and abilities normal bots did not.

And there was a third way . . a much less common way to create life.

A way that involved no Allspark at all.

This method was the topic of the council's discussion this sol, and it is boring Kup into a stasis coma. With the Allspark lost in the war, they have not had any sparklings in a very long time, and the council is starting to get desperate, resorting to topics they normally never even think about. He leans back against the door to the council chamber-he's a guard of sorts, valued because he's worked for the Autobots for such a long time and sent so many bots successfully through bootcamp. So in his 'old age' they've been giving him cushy jobs that make Kup want to shoot his optics out just to keep online.

He's not fraggin' old. Well, not that old. He's better off than Alpha Trion. Kup's just . . . battered. He's been in a lot of fights and it shows on his frame. There are struts that have been replaced so many times that the joints and bearings that keep them in place just can't take any more, and he moves a lot more stiffly because of it.

Sure, there are a few replacement surgeries that might help, but they're a lot more expensive and labor-intensive than Kup can afford, or the Autobots can justify for one old soldier mech.

So he takes the jobs they offer him and tries not to complain about them too much.

"-if we could just find a carrier, we could at least give ourselves more time to find the Allspark," some rustbucket council member says. Kup long ago gave up trying to keep track of all of them. Too many get cycled in and out, and too many end up offlined.

"You're being a glitch, Scour Power," Botanica says primly from her seat a bit higher up than most of the council members. "You know the last carrier, Hotspark, was sparkbonded to the leader of Mil-Wal. No other carriers have come forward in the last twenty decavorns."

And no bot with it would be dumb enough to come forward. Kup knows about it, has the special attachments in his chamber that he looked up after 'facing another bot the first time and finding out their chambers didn't match. If that first bot had been a femme, it is very likely he never would have gotten out of her berth. He's just lucky him and the other teenbot mech were both pretty dumb and young, not knowing what really was going on other than really fragging wanting to overload over and over.

He did a lot of studying, and found out that his chamber was pretty unusual. Not that he believes by any means that it is half as rare as they say it is. Any bot with it most likely did exactly what he did and hid it behind false chamber sides he installed himself. He's not gonna let any 'Con find out he had them and force him to spark.

He's not fragging any 'Cons at all.

The councilbots are yelling about this now, and he seriously wishes he was allowed to turn off his audios for this. It isn't allowed because he needs to be alert for sounds that are out of place, but it isn't like he can hear anything above the council's screaming.

Giving him a fraggin' processor ache.

"For the love of Primus," he growls, slamming a servo against the wall near him, "shut the frag up." The council falls quiet and stares at him. He doesn't usually burst out like that. "Carriers can't be that fraggin' hard to find. I mean, I have the fragging equipment for it. It's not like it can really be so fraggin' rare."

The bots stay silent, even though they would normally be reprimanding him for interrupting them.

Kup stares at them, and they stare back at him.

Or more accurately, they stare at his sparkplates.

He shifts from ped to ped, taking an instinctive step back towards the door, "Eh... I'm sorry for interruptin' yer talk. You can get back ta it now."

Botanica stands up, and he takes another step back since femmes have always been something he avoided and he has no intention of letting one near him now. She leans forward, tilting her head and fluttering her opticlashes in a far too pretty of a way, "Do you really... Kup?" She says it like she was trying to remember who the frag he is, and just suddenly realized he was interesting.

Which he supposes is true. He doesn't expect her to even know his name at all, and is surprised she even does.

Maybe it was a very bad idea to admit it, but he's already here and he said it. It isn't like other bots don't have it. "I do. Can't be that rare, like I said. Not if I got it."

There seems to be a hidden signal that goes off, and he's surrounded by medicbots, two of them holding his arms firmly, as if to keep him from escaping, and one in front of him. "Please open up so that we can confirm this."

"I'm not fraggin' opening in front of the entire council," he growls at them, shooting a glare at the councilbots just letting this happen. "I only spoke up because you're noisy fraggers and you were givin' me a processor ache. I keep the equipment hidden. Pretty easy panel install. I figured it out when I wasn't even an adult yet. I bet lots of mechs do it. Don't wanna end up sparked by some 'Con."

"Please open up," the medic says again, and the mech's servos are trembling a little. The two bots holding his arms are holding him lightly, and he could break out of the hold if he really tried. "It is standard protocol to investigate any claim about a bot being a carrier. You will not be harmed."

Kup's been in a fragging Decepticon detention cell before. He's been fragging tortured by the enemy, and has suffered all sorts of injuries over the decavorns. He's not afraid of a couple of medicbots hurting him. "No."

The medic fumbles in his subspace, and pulls out a slim lever that is very nervously placed against his chamber seams. "Please? I do not want to break your locks to insist."

He looks at the lever, a standard medical one that would break pretty much any bot open. He isn't 'pretty much any bot,' though, so that isn't going to do squat. He's modified himself against forceful opening of his chamber quite well. One thing he's proud of is having a 'Con slip his thin claws in and trying to twist, only to lose his claws. He's not gonna just open from a medical lever.

"I'd like to see you try."

The medic makes a distressed sound, and several bots mutter about breaking open a potential carrier, when Ultra Magnus interrupts them. "Sergeant Kup," Kup stands at attention, automatically responding to his Magnus's authoritative tone, "I apologize for this, but... we must know if you are truly capable of carrying. If you are, we have made a grave error in sending you out into combat so often. Please, open your chamber."

Disobeying the Magnus's direct orders is treason, and Kup is not a traitor.

He slides his plates open and lets the medic poke around, feeling a bit of shame at baring his spark to so many bots. It's not a pretty spark like some bots have, but it's not unhealthy either. He fuels properly and self-services regularly. There's some superficial sparkchamber damage he's suffered over the decavorns-one 'Con had shoved a metal spike through his chestplates and impaled him against the side of a building one time, leaving him there to offline. Fragging good thing he'd managed to get himself free when the 'Con wandered off, bored with waiting for him to go grey. His spark had been injured by that lance of metal, but the scarred bit is well hidden and so old that it's not noticeable unless you're up close.

So, of course, that's what the medic focuses on. "How did you get this?" The scar is poked questioningly, "This shouldn't be-"

He shoves the servo away, feeling humiliated at having his spark exposed and poked at in front of everyone. "That isn't what you're checkin' for. If you aren't going to do what you're supposed to, I'm gonna close up right now, and demand a different medic."

The medic stops, chastised, "Right." The mech touches the sides of his chamber, which he can't feel at all, since they're fake panels, not hooked up to anything at all. The bot fumbles for a bit, then finds his hidden latch after a bit, looking genuinely surprised when it comes out in his servo. "Primus... These look incredibly real." The next ones are removed, until all his original chamber is exposed for the first time in decavorns, "You said you made these yourself?"

"Yeah. Wasn't hard to do." He shifts and the medics grab his arms again.

"They're... Oh, Primus," the medic gasps, dropping the plates to the floor with a clatter as he reaches in again, optics full of wonder. "You... you are a carrier." Kup can feel the sparking equipment being touched, and he shifts uncomfortably this time. It's not much, really. As far as he can tell, it's just some energy cables and some other random bits that allow his spark to collect spark energy and mix it with his own. Creating a sparkling without the Allspark.

Kup mutters, staring down at the shattered panels on the floor, "You're paying me for those, fragger."

Ultra Magnus makes a small sound, that is surprisingly audible in the silence of the council chamber, "You will be reimbursed, Sergeant Kup, do not worry." The Magnus shifts a little bit, seeming trying to avoid looking anywhere but him, "You will be taken straight to the medical bay and have maintenance done on you so that you are at your healthiest. We will be discussing what is going to happen, and then talk to you when it is finished."

He isn't sure if he likes the sound of that, but it is his Magnus. He can't refuse.

He salutes, closing his chamber at the same time, "Yes, sir." He'd prefer not to, but he will accept anything they want him to do.

To a certain extent.

He will refuse to be passed from bot to bot to spark with them all. He's not going to go from totally celibate to whorebot. No matter who orders it.

The council will see he's a carrier, and then hopefully realize that carriers must be more common and when he's treated respectfully, the hidden bots will come forward, realizing that they aren't going to be forced to spark constantly, their entire purpose in life boiled down to carrying sparks for the Autobot cause.

Autobots aren't like that.

Kup gruffly pushes the servos of the medicbots away as they walk beside him, "Fragging, I'm not some sparkling. I can walk on my own. Been walkin' on my own since I figured out how to make my legs work." The medical bay is a short distance away, and Kup settles onto a medical berth with a scowl. "Not sure what you think you can do. Not a whole lot wrong with me that you can fix. I'm just old and rusted up. Had too many replacements. Only so many times you can safely have leg struts replaced."

The medics share a look, and the main one gives him a small smile, "Just lay down. We'll do everything we can. The council has already approved a very great deal of things for you, so there is no worry about a what we can or can't do. Just lay down and let us fix you."

He glares, "I'm not gonna-"

The mech pushes him down firmly, pulling out a sedative, and flipping open one of his access panels to his fuel line, "You won't have anything to worry about. All the femme medics are carefully locked out of this room and unable to enter. You will not online to find one trying to claim you. You will be safe."

"Not... not gonna... ," he blinks, the sedative making him drowsy and weak, unable to fight back against them as they croon gentle words at him. He tries to fight it, and fails utterly.

Recharge claims him.

When he onlines, the first thing he does it check his chronometer.

Over a full sol has passed since he was knocked out.

A full fragging sol. What the frag had they done to him?

He onlines his optics and sits up, blinking with shock when the action doesn't twinge his joints with pain.

He looks down at his frame and is... amazed. He's bright. His paint is brand new, and he can actually see his reflection in his gloss. It is... amazing. He didn't even have this sort of thing as a sparkling. He was just... a plain old truckbot, even as a sparkling. Nothing special at all.

He stands up cautiously, and it is almost liberating on how easily he can do it. No pain, no slight limp that never went away after an unfortunate run-in with a 'Con that liked to make self respecting Autobots hobble to run away. He barely made it out of that online, and only because he had found more Autobots to drive the Decepticon off.

Stepping in front of the mirror, he nearly collapses in shock. He looks... decavorns and decavorns younger. If he didn't know better, he'd say he was looking at a bot that just hit adulthood. He pauses, studying his faceplates, then gives himself a slightly rueful smile. Not quite that young. His optics still show his age. He still has the slightly haunted look that only comes from going through countless fights, and knowing that you're going to be shipped out again just to fight more.

Glances down at his frame and sighs ruefully. They've narrowed up his waist and widened his hips a bit too. Made him fragging prettier for them. His fingers have been sharpened, and he has fragging useless claws now-claws that mean he's gonna have to completely relearn to fire his weapons and grapple with other bots. And they've done this all to him without his consent.

He feels deeply violated.

At least his sparkplates are still a solid color. He'd half-expected to online with them gone or transparent. His fragging tires are made of a softer rubber now, one that's more supple to the touch. He prods at his tires and frowns at them. Fragging stupid, useless things. They'd blow out if they took so much as a low-energy blast from an enemy rifle.

He really doesn't like this at all. It does not speak well for how the Council intends to treat him.

He checks through his subspace, and curses when his servo comes up empty of all his weapons, and worst of all, no cy-gars. He kind of needs a smoke when he has to deal with this, and he has nothing. He just bought a new box! Or he thinks he bought a new box, he doesn't really remember if he did or not. He had a full box in his subspace, and he should still have it, for Primus's sake. Even if he doesn't remember buying any boxes for the last stellar cycle. He must have, or he wouldn't have had an almost full box.

He rubs his optics, glad that they hadn't been modified into a prettier femme shape, and groans. He is really craving one now that he realizes he doesn't have any.

He looks at his peds, and groans louder. He has heels. They don't feel any different than his normal peds, but he has them anyway. He has certainly been modified for the berth.

The thought hurts his spark. He had thought that Autobots were better than this.

He makes his way out of the medical bay, only to be stopped by the sight of Ultra Magnus, who is leaning against the wall outside, tapping one ped impatiently. The bot's optics light up at the sight of him, and Ultra Magnus looks him up and down, "Hello there, pretty bot. I'm glad you agreed to the mods. They look excellent on you."

"Didn't agree ta nothin'," he grumbles, scuffing his new heels on the floor. "Fragging medics did it all while I was offline. Fraggers."

Ultra Magnus stares at him, and then narrows his optics, "I see. I informed the medics that you were to have a choice in which procedures were done on you."

He glares at the floor, "Well, they didn't do that." He doesn't like that the Magnus called him pretty. It means only bad things, and he's not looking forward to being used as a brood mare for all and sundry in the council. He wishes he hadn't said a damn thing.

The Magnus gives him a compassionate look that makes him feel a tiny bit better, "I'm sure you've figured out what is happening, Kup. ... May I be so familiar as to call you by your name, and not your title?" He shrugs, and the Magnus smiles, "You can call me Ultra."

He sighs softly, "If that's what you want to do, sir."

The bot looks horribly disappointed, but nods. "I have been allowed to ask you if you want to be with me first. If you don't want to, I am more than willing to let you go to the next bot. Alpha Trion may not give you the... choice to turn him down, though." The Magnus reaches over, then pulls away just before touching him, nervous about something, "If you want, you can spend time alone to think this over. You can take all the time you need."

Kup feels his servos clench into fists. "How much time are ya willin' to give me, sir? How long before I'm forced to spark with someone?" He hisses, "We're not fraggin' 'Cons here. We should be better than this. I'm not rare. I bet thousands of mechs are carriers and are just hidin' it 'cause they know they'll be treated like this if it comes out. I-"

"We are in desperate need of new mechs and femmes," Ultra says quietly, his optics averted. "The war has offlined so many of us, and the Allspark is lost to our species. We are desperate. I am... so very sorry." He rests a servo on Kup's shoulder briefly. "Please, you can have all the time you need to think about your options. You do not know your own value."

He offlines his optics, knowing he has to say yes. His Magnus is asking this of him, and he knows he can't refuse. Ultra Magnus is asking him for this, and being so nice about it. Like he actually has a choice and could refuse when Ultra Magnus wants him to do something.

But still... "I'd... I'd like a little more time alone, sir."

Ultra Magnus nods, "If that is what you wish, then you are certainly welcome to take all the time that you need." He is gently led to an unmarked room, "It has a lock on it, and a berth. You are welcome to lock anyone out and take a nap. I will be just outside the door, and be there for as long as you may need me."

"Yes, sir," Kup says as formally as possible, letting the door slide shut between them, engaging the lock that has to be purely ceremonial. There's not a single lock in this entire building that the Magnus can't override and get past.

Well, perhaps Perceptor and Wheeljack's lab has unpassable locks, if only to prevent damage to the rest of the base.

He sits on the plain, simple berth, hunching forward.

He'd kill for a cy-gar right about now, even though he doesn't feel the drugged addiction in his systems any longer. They may have wiped the chemical need, but the psychological one is still there in full force. "Frag," he mutters, rubbing at his faceplates. "I am so fragged. So fraggin' stupid. Why did I say that in front of them?"

He feels so fraggin' dumb. Like he couldn't have figured this out. He had been hiding it for so long, and he said it to make them shut up. He should have just turned off his audios, or started to play music in his processor to drown them out, even if it disobeyed direct orders. Anything would be better than what he ended up with now.

He doesn't know what he's going to do.

Well, scratch that. He knows what he's going to end up doing. He's going to go to Ultra Magnus and let his leader use his spark over and over until he's with a sparkling. Then they're going to transfer the sparkling away, and he's going to be given over to the very next bot in the rotation until he sparks with that bot. They're going to just repeat until he either offlines from overuse or until he just gives up on his own.

It isn't something he wants at all.

It's something he's going to have to accept. His only other option is to defect and flee, and turn traitor to his cause. No. He's not gonna go traitor. He's not a filthy 'Con, and he's not defecting to the neutrals who like to pretend like they're not affected by the war. By Megatron. Like the Autobots don't protect them from being made into slaves by the Decepticons all the fragging time.

He'll do what his Magnus commands of him. He was willing to offline on the battlefield for the cause. He's willing to offline in a Decepticon brig.

He's willing to offline from being forced to spark nonstop.

He just wishes... well, he hopes they let him see his sparklings sometimes. Kup also hopes they don't. He doesn't want the sparklings to get attached and then see him suffer and offline some sol.

It's going to be a hard life.

His whole life has been hard.

Why would this be any different?

At least Ultra Magnus is well known to like truckbots. The first bot he 'faces since he put up the false panels won't have to pretend to be interested in him. He knows he likes that. He doesn't want a bot absolutely disgusted in his frame, and only doing this in order to get sparklings. Even if he had to be in a fragging femme frame to do it.

He'd have liked to have drawn the attention how he looked before all the modification, but that was pretty much impossible. He had gone out of the way to make himself unapproachable. The lack of care to his frame and cy-gar addiction part of that.

He got called pretty by the Magnus because of this.

Fraggin' sparkbreaking.

Kup curls up on the berth like a sparkling, pulling an old, tattered heating blanket from his subspace to wrap around himself. He wonders what his future will hold for him. How long he'll last with all the sparking. He really isn't a young mech, and his spark is scarred. That can't help.

He offlines his optics, and then jerks when a pair-three pairs of arms surround his frame, and stasis cuffs slip onto his wrists. He jerks, the charge shocking his frame, and barely makes out the form of a Decepticon staring at him blankly. Three Decepticons. With the same frame.

Unless his optics are blurring and there's actually only one.

He can't really tell, because the next thing he knows, he's dropped offline.


Please Review

Okay, like I said on the top, sorry for not getting this to you yesterday. I couldn't upload any documents, so it wouldn't let me do squat. But good news! You don't have to wait until tomorrow to read the next chapter o3o

So how about you hit that leave a review button, and then go to the next chapter?