Warnings: This story contains enslavement, racism, and graphic violence in the form of morally dubious gladiatorial games. Don't like, don't read.
The high grade swished in Optimus' servo. It was the expensive stuff, the kind that cost a small fortune to create, flavored with distilled oils and elements. He hadn't taken a sip since the games began.
He looked down to the arena through the nigh invisible wall of glass. They were in the highest level, looking down on the violence with luxury framing and surrounding them like foliage. The only word that came to mind in this isolated, high up room was elitist.
…Elitist and something else that wasn't a word. It was a thick feeling that laced the atmosphere and etched itself into every movement.
Sitting next to the Prime, Sentinel Magnus spoke and drank and smiled on his throne-like seat. "You would not believe the trouble we went through to get that one, old buddy," He chuckled. "But it was worth it, so worth it. The audience adores him."
'Adore', what a choice of words… Optimus watched as the ancient victor lifted off its prey. It was all fangs and talons, sharp edges and of such a large size, it must have been as big as a shuttle. It was the first of its kind that he'd ever seen, and truly, it was more beast than mech. "But predacon's are so rare as to be virtually non-existent." He said incredulously, voice quiet against the muffled thunder of the crowd. "How in the name of Cybertron did you find one, let alone capture it?"
"A whole hell of a lot of trouble," Sentinel snorted. "Easy enough to find, the beast was wreaking havoc. From what I'm told, capturing it was hell."
The defeated Decepticon was in shreds. Gunmetal gray armor sparked at the edges, burnt and lacerated. Optimus' tank churned and roiled at the sight. Internals were showing, spinal column bared, and what was left of one of Starscream's clones was husk of mutilation.
The audience howled and screamed as one.
The predacon flicked its wings and watched the crowd with optics radiating like twin yellow dwarfs. A growling hiss escaped its massive jaw, mouth turned in a spiteful snarl.
Then it transformed out of its beast mode.
Something intangible about it – no, about him, the predacon, startled the Prime.
He transformed with a savage grace. The action drew more frenzied shouts and cries from the audience, and the predacon took it all in with a proud back and narrowed optics - narrowed optics that gleamed a brilliant and beautiful golden and belayed an immense and ancient intelligence.
This mech, Optimus could imagine this mech sitting atop Sentinel's throne. Uneasiness edged at his fingertips.
"So get this, he calls himself Predaking." The Magnus took a swig of engex. "Even early 'cons couldn't think up good names."
The predacon, Predaking, walked off the arena and into the darkness of the pits. Every step was well placed, regal and demanding a presence that lived up to his name. No remarks, no soaking in the glory – his silence was more powerful than anything else.
Optimus stared after him. The warbuilds, especially the predacons, they were made to be beasts, living war machines. They were ruled by instinct and coding, helpless to the all powerful urge to kill they were born with. The Prime had read plenty of accounts on it, the beasts growing disobedient to their wardens and slaughtering hundreds. And if such a monster existed with the intelligence Optimus witnessed, well… There was no telling what Predaking could do.
"Is this safe?" He turned to Sentinel, ignoring the bots that came to clean up the corpse. "If the predacon escapes -"
Sentinel barked a laugh. It was loud and oh, so unsubtly condescending. "That won't happen."
"You can't be sure-"
"But I can!" There was a big grin on the Magnus' face, his eyes large and excited as though he'd been waiting for this. "You always were behind the times, Optimus old buddy." He paused and, when Optimus didn't reply, relented and continued. "It's called secondary coding, the Ministry of Science just released it. All the 'cons in the games had it inputted as a precaution."
Where this was supposed to ease it, the uneasiness grew and traveled up Optimus' arms. He set down his obscenely expensive engex and couldn't stop the tight press of his lips. "And what does this 'secondary coding' do?" He asked cautiously.
Music began playing. The audience had to be entertained while the next battle was prepared. It was from the Golden Age – the fool Sentinel was trying to equate his reign with that era's prosperity. For Optimus though, it reminded him of Earth, when Sari had reluctantly showed them old human music. He remembered how 'Swing', as she called it, was strangely similar to the Golden Age stuff. There were fundamental differences, but the rhythm and melody were so alike.
Whenever he was homesick on Earth, he would listen to Swing.
Funny how now…. It was so odd that 'home' could change places so quickly.
Sentinel spoke, dragging Optimus from his musings. "It's like the coding you're onlined with, but added later. Apparently it took years to mimic the stuff." He gave a nonchalant shrug. "For these 'cons, the programming added makes them obey orders."
"Obey orders."
"Yeah, give 'em an order and they have to follow it. Like, have to, it's physically impossible for them not to. All the gladiators are ordered to eliminate the spark of their opponent, but y'know, make it flashy and flesh it out. And so we get a show."
Why had he never heard of this? This was – this was big, and important. It didn't take a genius to know this would change everything.
This was slave coding.
"Oh, c'mon pal, don't give me that look."
Optimus caught himself slack jawed and disturbed. He closed his mouth as Sentinel clapped a servo on his shoulder and continued. "It's not that bad. We all know that the 'cons can't be trusted to do anything other than war. They can't do anything but follow their coding. Don't tell me you're getting soft on them now."
"Sentinel," Optimus started, and then added before his friend could say anything, "Magnus." He choked on the words that followed, blinded by a soft and righteous flame and hesitant because of this. "Of course I'm not. I've witnessed what they're capable of first-hand… But this is slave coding."
Sentinel raised a brow, and stated simply, "No, it's secondary coding. Were your audials fritzing out? Besides, it's not your call to make." He started saying something else, some sort of insult to the Prime's intelligence, but Optimus didn't listen.
His optics were drawn to the arena again. Music still played, but the next fight had begun. They were clashed hand to hand and pede to pede, pushing against each other with growls and snarls on their lips. Optimus recognized Blitzwing, but the other, he couldn't place.
It was savage and almost terrifying. There was a hypnotic edge to feral way in which they tore into each other. Energon spilled and splattered in the air. Optimus knew, from every fiber that showed on their frames, they were desperately attempting to terminate the other.
The music was so cheerful, the fighting so grotesque, and the audience so beastly, it made the Prime dizzy. Something felt terribly, horribly off, he couldn't shake that feeling.
But it was common knowledge - Optimus was fully aware (hell, even Bumblebee and Sentinel were aware), that warbuilds were designed to be sociopathic machines of violence, their only purpose was to kill, wage war and only war, and no level of sentience or intelligence could change such an ingrained and fundamental part of their being. By birth, they were monsters.
Monsters of the Autobot's creation, but monsters nonetheless; if given the opportunity, a Decepticon would always choose to kill.
Was it really right to condemn slave coding (even if given a different name, it was still slave coding) when it was used to prevent further loss from out of control Decepticons? After all, it wasn't as if they were treated terribly. They were well fed, even offered fame and luxury and a lifestyle that suited their function.
Still, though…
The duel was quick to end. A well placed shot in the abdomen ended the nameless 'con. Optics flashing, he fell to the ground with a sickly creak of joints.
I don't know if I can condone this.
Blitzwing panted and loomed. He stood there, critically damaged, staring down at the dead body with dull, ruby eyes. Obviously unaware of the world around him, oblivious to the cheers and boos in tandem… For all intents and purposes, Blitzwing looked to be in shock.
I don't know if I can condemn this.
Optimus didn't say anything.
This all felt so barbaric. The audience was a mob, a singular beast that seemed to scream for blood. People were lost in a high, Sentinel included. The luxury and the jolly music and fervor of it all, life seemed to be lost in a haze of smoke.
Of course. Feed off of the power, entertain the masses, keep them occupied. Let them like you, let them want to keep you because you give them the games, let them not see your fallacies for what they are, keep them in the haze – they will behave.
What a dangerous game the Magnus had started. Optimus wondered if Sentinel knew he was playing with fire.
"I can hear you thinking."
Once again, Sentinel's voice brought Optimus from his mind. "Huh?"
Sentinel smirked in good humor. "Optimus," He drawled, "You need to loosen up some. That's what I brought you here for in the first place. C'mon, have a drink."
Optimus obliged him and picked up his engex. It was thick and smooth and so good on his throat. Beyond good, it was the best engex Optimus could ever remember drinking. His nerves eased at the tingle of warmth it cast through his body. Idly, he wondered if Sentinel was trying to woo him or something. Nah, he was probably just showing off.
He leaned back in his seat, it was soft against his frame, and turned to look at Sentinel. "I don't think 'loosen up' and 'Optimus' belong in the same sentence." He managed a smile.
At that, the Magnus' grin widened. He raised his glass and laughed. "That won't stop me from trying. Maybe some Sentinel intervention is all you need."
This was nice. This was like how it was before Elita. He told himself that over and over.
The unease still whispered.
"Maybe I just need a vacation."
"You need a vacation? Psh, I need one. A Magnus has a lot of work and responsibility."
Yes, like these death battles you call games.
Optimus didn't respond, and they didn't speak for a few klicks after that. The air felt a little easier, like the Prime might have an ally here.
He watched as Blitzwing was guided away and the arena was cleared for the main event. The crowd was already winding up about it. An announcer spoke of it with a booming cadence, whisking away every bot to the anticipation of this next fight. As far as anyone could tell, it was going to be big.
And then something came to mind. "Is Megatron going to be a gladiator?"
Sentinel gave him this look, like it was a tiresome thing to reply, but fun to speak of nonetheless. His mouth curved, "Nah, the scientists keep on saying he's resisting the coding. I swear, that mech is unnatural."
"Hm." Optimus doubted that was true. As much of a larger-than-life force of nature the Prime had come to know Megatron as, he was still Cybertronian, was still susceptible to such things. If anything, Perceptor and the council had undermined Sentinel. It was obvious that putting the Decepticon leader into the games would guarantee a violent and excessive reaction from the massive amount of remaining 'cons in New Kaon. Right now, Cybertron could not afford that.
"A lot of seats were sold for the main event," Sentinel said nonchalantly. "Longarm – Shockwave, whatever you call him, he's really unpopular. So 'bots want to see him fight."
They want to see if he'll die. Optimus already knew, it had been advertised for weeks; the public was humming with anticipation of watching the Shockwave get the scrap beat out of him. And, well, the Prime could see why. If there was a Decepticon as heinous as Megatron, it was probably Shockwave.
Optimus replied to his friend with a dry, "Ironic."
Sentinel opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it almost immediately. His optics were caught on the arena and they flashed with an ill-contained excitement and…something else, something more feral. The Magnus gripped the arm of his chair with one servo and smacked Optimus' arm with the other.
"It's coming." He said.
Optimus looked as well.
Shockwave was just as the Prime remembered him. He entered the rink with that enigmatic gait and eerie stare. The singular crimson optic that served as a face peered left and right, helm tilting slightly as he took in the sights around him. Massive claws swayed loosely at his sides and his antennae twitched.
It occurred to Optimus that in his old age, this might not have been Shockwave's first time in the center of a Gladiatorial Arena.
And then a steel projectile careened into the Decepticon's helm. He staggered and clutched at where it'd hit, optic fizzing out momentarily. But there was no time to rest, it seemed.
Optimus watched as the booing, roaring mob of an audience began throwing more debris from all sides. Chunks of metal, energon cubes, and small goblets of oil started to litter the arena. And Shockwave stepped back and back, shielding his helm with his arms and taking heavy blows that visibly battered bits of his frame.
This was… This wasn't right. It didn't matter what the 'cons had done, every fiber of his being automatically screamed against this.
Optimus whirled on Sentinel, that righteous flame was back and lighting to a small fire. The Magnus' lopsided grin as he took in the mockery and the way his optics flashed with a lace of hunger only fueled the Prime's anger.
They were all animals.
"Make it stop." He hissed. Knowing all too well what the response would be.
Sentinel snapped from his little haze and glanced to Optimus, brow arched and mouth crooked. "Huh?"
"I said," Optimus spoke a little louder, "Make it stop."
The Magnus laughed, "What, this?" He waved a servo to the arena, smile faltering.
When the Prime didn't respond, didn't move, Sentinel's intake curled downwards into a frown, his brow furrowed. "Why? The 'con's getting what he deserves."
A well aimed wrench hit one of Shockwave's antennae. It nearly snapped in half, the top part bent at an awkward angle. The Decepticon let out a grunt of pain and brought a servo to the wound.
"No one deserves this. The games, I can support. The coding," Optimus paused, this was it, this was his choice. Could he condone… "I can support that too. But the public humiliation? This is barbaric."
"Shockwave deserves this." Sentinel snapped, "Megatron, Starscream, all those filthy 'cons, they're monsters. Hell, I think we're going easy on 'em, after all they've done! And you wanna talk barbaric?" Sentinel's mouth twisted like he'd just tasted something repulsive, disgust written on his face.
They glared at each other as Shockwave's opponent entered the arena.
"What about all he's done?" Sentinel continued, "His kill count's in the thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands! Mind hacking and those pit spawned experiments. Have you seen the pictures, Optimus? If you saw those pictures, you'd be smiling along right next to me!"
Optimus had, in fact, seen the pictures. Just the memory of them made his tanks roil and his spark seethe with a hatred he'd never known himself capable of. But that didn't matter, his opinion didn't matter. What mattered was right and wrong.
But that little voice… that little voice that agreed with Sentinel, that said maybe this wasn't so bad; Shockwave wasn't in any form of detrimental duress, after all…
Then Sentinel spoke again. His lips were curled up to reveal gritted denta; voice quiet but simmering with that uncontrolled fire that resided within. "Don't fight Justice, Optimus." He hissed, "Us Autobots, we're about peace and equality, yeah. But we believe in Justice, too. And this? This is Justice. And if you aren't all Autobot, old buddy, then you aren't Autobot."
A colder, wry side of Optimus remarked that that was the most well veiled threat he'd ever heard Sentinel make. It was also the most compelling argument Sentinel ever made. And though that wasn't saying much, it mattered.
Because maybe Sentinel didn't quite understand it, but Optimus did. Justice was a fist that never opened, it was not a kind thing. Justice, in all its righteousness, was one of the only forces that could distort the right and wrong, make the gray and dubious pure and virtuous.
Was this Justice? Optimus… didn't know, and he couldn't risk Sentinel accusing him of treason on an uncertainty.
So he sat back and capitulated. Perhaps if he paid close attention, perhaps… He didn't know, maybe the uneasiness would fade. Or maybe it would turn to something tangible.
"Thought so," The smirk was etched into the Magnus' voice so thickly, Optimus could practically feel it in the air. Aft.
He crossed his arms and shifted his focus to the arena with a heavy breath.
And then his optics snapped to attention.
It was the female clone, the competent one. Optimus had called her a cheap knock-off – and he still thought she was – but that didn't change the fact that when he took the time to analyze her, the Prime had found her to be incredibly effective, possibly even more so than Starscream.
What was her designation? Optimus didn't know. He asked Sentinel.
"Slipstream." The Prime didn't have to look at Sentinel to know the sour expression on his face.
They watched as she half circled the arena, a servo outstretched and running along the walls of it. Her gaze was piercing, bright and solely focused on her opponent. Her chest visibly moved, up and down in deep and even invents, every fiber focusing and claws curling in a way that could only be described as predatory.
The crowd's savage roars slowly dimmed to a murmur as all was focused on the arena. Nothing was thrown, the air was still.
Like the descent of a thick fog, the tensions built, and even Optimus found himself leaning forward in his seat. How hypnotic this was, it would be so easy to let himself go into the chaos of it all.
"She's popular, the pit spawn that she is," Sentinel grumbled. "Booby trapped a whole mine when we found her. Blew up the damned thing too. The wench won't shut up about it, or anything else for that matter."
If he weren't so focused on the oncoming storm, Optimus would've laughed. Apparently Slipstream was very good at falling as far from the Magnus' favor as possible.
Shockwave walked closer to the center of the ring; helm once again high and posture lax. His frame was already notably battered from the audience's abuse. And though it was incredibly well hidden and slight, the Prime could see that he favored his right side, a tell tale sign of internal bruising.
Something, Optimus knew, that could not have been caused by anything thrown.
If the Prime could spot it, Slipstream most certainly already had.
Would this be a fair fight?
"So," the clone lilted. The corner of her mouth curved into a devious grin and she dragged a talon softly down her cheek, "How does it feel, Shockwave, to be food for the sadists of the Autobot fold?"
Shockwave's optic brightened and flashed in ill contained… something, but he didn't respond.
Her grin widened, optics narrowed. "I'll take that as answer enough."
And just like that, the battle truly started.
Slipstream was incredibly fast on her pedes. She darted from the edges of the arena to the center in a nanoklick, wings bent to an aerodynamic level and arms behind her like an arrow.
The moment before she met Shockwave head on, the Decepticon scientist pushed forward, side stepped with the slide of a pede, and used the momentum to grab her by the waist and throw her to the ground.
Optimus clutched the arms of his chair as it all played out in bullet time before his optics.
The snarl on Slipstream's face was visible. She landed on her back with a loud crack of air – but angled her fall so that her wings were undamaged and her pedes were up in the air and…
Her thrusters went off with a wave of heat that distorted the air. They hit Shockwave's upper arm, and the Prime could hear the grotesque sear and screech of metal.
Arm drawing back and weight shifting in a natural glide of movements that landed Shockwave in a defensive position, he had just enough time to block against the vicious jab of a clawed servo as Slipstream rolled upwards.
Immediately after, she jumped back with a blast of her thrusters.
Shockwave stood straight again, if only for a moment, and Optimus could see the melted armor of his arm, revealing a sliver of vulnerable protoform. There was no way that didn't hurt like the pit, but he seemed completely undisturbed.
And then he charged at the femme. It was a brash and open move, and she dodged easily in an upward leap. Using the thrusters once more, the Seeker clone jumped high and in an acrobatic turn and arch, her servos landed on Shockwave's shoulders. Upside down, the distorted flames erupting from her heels, her legs kicked in the air to land behind him.
Then Shockwave shifted his weight to the left in a flash, the tread of his shoulder nearly touching the ground. And when Slipstream shifted the other way to keep balance, one leg close to his helm – Shockwave harshly turned his helm in a deliberate and calculated movement that made his one good antennae hook behind her knee and knock it from its course.
Smartly, Slipstream immediately offlined her thrusters and landed in a low crouch, balanced with one pede and one servo to hold her up. She took no hesitation to shift and thrust herself between Shockwave's legs.
With one well placed kick, she landed a sharp pede right on his modesty paneling.
There was only a grunt in pain, no other response or indication that the small pause of Shockwave's movements was from the indecent attack.
And there was only the briefest, intangible, unusable moment before Shockwave turned his right pede, hooked it under Slipstream's back, and flipped her over to splay her onto her abdomen. The same pede crashed on top of the clone and pinned her to the ground.
It all took place in a moment.
This was… the fighting was incredible. The styles so unique, unsuited to fight the other, but for all intents and purposes, they seemed equal. Optimus almost forgot about his misgivings.
Shockwave raised a massive servo as his opponent struggled and snarled and hissed underneath him. He brought in down quickly, the force of his entire frame drawn into the blow...
Optimus could barely hear the hideous crack of a twisted and dislocated joint. Time slowed.
Shockwave's arm seemed to come down so slowly. And Slipstream - by twisting and pushing her wing against her arm in an awkward push-pull - dislocated the joint at her shoulder. It was an entirely unnatural, disturbing angle of her arm, contorted and she used the new angle to shoot an arm rocket through the pede at her back.
The small missile tore through the dense warbuild armor like a stone thrown at steam. A wide hole gaped and energon gushed in pulsing streams through completely severed fuel line and onto their frames. Paces away, the rocket crashed into the arena wall in a flare of explosion that sent debris skittering across the ground and flying precariously into the air.
Baying in pain and growling low, Shockwave's blow came down, unable to stop. It scraped across the Seeker's face and pierced the derma in long gashes. He stumbled back and Slipstream darted a few paces away.
Like a brief drizzle, the debris rained down on them as ash and thick grains of metal, rang like small bells against their plating.
The clone crouched low at a distance, her arm dangling uselessly at her side and sparks flickering across the broken mesh of the three scratches across her face.
Despite being unable to support himself on one pede, Shockwave rushed forward, knowing an advantage when he saw one. If he gave Slipstream any moment's rest, she would be able to reset her arm.
And yet, there was a certain desperation to Shockwave's movements and a certain ease underneath Slipstream's ferocity that felt… off.
The clone's thrusters blasted on as she immediately took to the air.
But Shockwave was too close, and before she could clear his reach, a servo savagely grabbed her by the pede and Shockwave flung his entire body into the throw. His arm catapulted her to the side with such a force that Slipstream could do nothing to stop herself from careening into the arena walls.
The metal cracked and even crumbled where she landed. Energon dribbled to the ground in a luminescent quality.
Shockwave immediately darted to his opponent. His own fluids from his right pede leaving a trail as well.
Slipstream was just collecting herself when Shockwave was upon her again. He pinned her to the wall with a servo that easily encompassed her waist and arms, rendering her near immobile.
With one optic fritzed out and the other damaged, Slipstream glared and parted her lips in a violent snarl. And then, before he could land any blows, the Seeker bent her knees and angled her wings. And then she onlined her thrusters to full power.
At first, Shockwave was able to hold her there, pushing against the force of her pedes. He pulled an arm back and landed a blow to her chestplate that crumbled the armor and brought a shrieking roar to her throat. And he grunted and snarled in a faceless way and pushed against the thrusters even harder as they seemed to burn with even more energy.
The wall behind them cracked.
And then Slipstream fired her other arm rocket. It sliced through the side of Shockwave's servo – a mesh wound – and hit the ground. The resulting pulse wave and explosion loosened Shockwave's grip enough so that the femme was able to free herself from it.
Immediately, she tried to take flight.
The Decepticon scientist grabbed her pede again before she could get too high. There was such a desperation to his movements, it seemed unnatural, as if a demon possessed him, commanded him.
His body shifted once again in a move to throw her, but this time, Slipstream was prepared.
Her reaction was instantaneous, a fluid continuation of Shockwave's own movements. With an agility Optimus could only dream of, the Seeker shut off the thruster of the disabled pede, arched and fell backwards, abdomen exposed, and reached her servos to the ground.
She pushed downwards with the help of her singular thruster until her hands made contact with the ground, and Shockwave jerked down with her. Clawed servos planted solidly on the floor, Slipstream bent her legs and – in a feat of strength unheard of in a femme - flipped in a half-somersault, still lame in one arm and carrying his weight, aided with the momentum of it all. She sent the Decepticon crashing to the floor on his back. It cracked around his frame, the thrust of her heels exaggerating the blow three-fold.
Finally, Slipstream darted to the air.
She hovered well above Shockwave, both rockets gone and one arm still dangling uselessly. She immediately took to resetting it.
And then Optimus understood. He watched Shockwave heave and collect himself for a few moments and realized. Of course, Shockwave, unlike most Decepticons, was incapable of flight and possessed no long range weapons. Once the Seeker achieved that advantage, the fight would get that much more difficult.
He could see, in Shockwave's singular optic, the dullness of the color, the half lidded gaze at the femme in the air as he calculated and calculated and thought, that Shockwave knew the outcome that would arise.
And still he faced her with a damaged back and useless pede and melted arm.
There was a stillness in the air; time itself seemed to be holding its breath, waiting, as the two stared at each other. Shockwave waiting, Slipstream preparing.
Even the monstrous roar of the crowd did not penetrate the center of the arena.
A heat wave rippled through the air and set the world alight once again. Slipstream's thrusters roared as she dove towards her opponent.
The battle began.
Slipstream twisted to an offensive position, thrusters brandished as their own weapon and she used the velocity to kick. The clone barely reached her mark, just grazing Shockwave, burning him minimally as he dodged and hit her with the sharpness of his talons. For a moment, she went flying helplessly; but before she could hit the wall, her pedes rearranged and she darted upwards, back to the haven of the air.
It was repeated multiple times. And each time, each kick and burn of the thrusters, like twin torches, Shockwave got more and more desperate.
And each time, Slipstream got a little closer to her target, got a little better.
Again and again, like a predator slowly weakening its prey. The music played in the background, so cheerful, begging the listener to dance with the rhythm. Again and again, it made Optimus' tank roil as the unease stopped whispering and started burning, shouting incoherently and grasping at his spark with playful talons.
Wide eyed, Optimus watched every detail.
Energon from both adversaries splattered and painted the ground in an eerily beautiful piece of abstract art. Frames were battered, broken as they tried frantically to terminate each other.
Until finally – finally Slipstream stopped. She hovered in the air, chest heaving and armor cracked on every surface; bleeding in small, steady rivulets through the worsened wound of her chest. Gashes and gouges from Shockwave's claws littered her body, and her pedes were dented and burnt at the edges.
Shockwave was even worse. He leaned heavily on one side. All across his frame were splotches of melted mesh and armor. It bared and scorched his very internal wiring. Grossly cauterized fuel lines were visible and pulsing. Compromised major organs twitched and let a steady flow of smoke escape the wells that revealed his inner workings. A servo clutched at a gaping indent on his left side, sparking and even dripping with energon despite the cauterization.
And his face (or lack thereof)…. Both antennas were drawn back, twitching every now and then. His optic was incredibly dim, a maroon orb that held within it the spirit of someone completely defeated.
Shockwave spoke.
It was said so quietly, Optimus was certain that from as high up as he was, there was no way he could hear it. He shouldn't have heard it, and wondered if it was a trick of the mind.
The Decepticon said two words, angry and hissed like a threat, containing a savagery so at odds with the cultured, soft and svelte voice he so naturally spoke in.
"Kill me."
Slipstream's battered optics narrowed, her mouth set in a thin line. Dangerous, lean servos clenched into fists, shaking in their ferocity. She darted down again.
Shockwave was quick to grab her by the pede. Unlike the usual calculated frenzy of his fighting, these movements were frantic, jerky in his injured state; pained, as though he were not in control of himself.
Instead of throwing her, he wasted no time using her velocity against her and slammed her to the ground. With the other servo, he made to grab the femme again and shifted his pede in a way that would even his weight distribution – energon spilt from his wounds.
Just before he could get her, Slipstream shifted onto her servos and kicked outward, thrusters burning. Her heel caught behind his left knee and the joint gave with a revolting and audial splitting crack. The flame of it melted the rest of the knee joint, rendering it utterly useless.
Shockwave's frame could not stay upright. He fell to his knees.
Still, his arms were of use, and he utilized this closeness to Slipstream. His claws tore through her abdomen, and the unprepared Seeker let out a violent shriek. The softer mesh parted easily, deeply, and oils and fluids splattered across Shockwave's frame.
Slipstream, optic flashing near white, kicked outward and burned her thrusters right in Shockwave's face. He withdrew with such a pained shout, Optimus' fingers curled and dented his seat.
She could not move fast now, energon literally poured from her deep wound, circuitry and fuel lines and internals showing, broken. But she did not need to move fast. Her thruster at the Decepticon's face turned off and shifted only halfway down.
Smaller servos were quick to grab Shockwave's arms and yank him forward.
Her heel slammed against the armor just below his spark casing.
She onlined her thruster.
It all happened so quickly and then the fight was over.
The heat tore through Shockwave's frame, not enough to pierce all the way through him, but enough to gouge deeply.
Slipstream released her grip on his servos.
Shockwave started fading to gunmetal gray before he hit the ground. There was no splatter or flood of energon, everything was burnt, melted, and cauterized. His back hit the floor and a plume of dust rose in a halo around him, then faltered.
The audience came to life with thunderous applause, and a collective noise of screams and roars and shouted words incoherent among the mob rose and conquered every other sound in Optimus' audials. He would've cringed at it if he were not so intent on the sight of the victor and loser.
For there was a small moment, a singular one, where the dust cleared and before the sight was obstructed again – a moment where Optimus could see the ending blow. It was a deep, seared and burnt gouge that tore halfway through Shockwave and revealed his spinal column. It sparked and wires still twitched inside and… through a slim opening of the spark casing, a near invisible, small, soft flicker caught his optic. Vaguely blue, vaguely luminescent like…
Slipstream placed a servo on the wound to balance herself. She was on her knees, dripping energon, and leaned down 'til her intake was level with Shockwave's audial.
It was so slight…
The audience - everyone around was lost in a haze, frantic and wild like beasts. They tasted blood, had their fill, and now it was time for sport. Time for the hunt, the true, unnessesary sport of the hunt.
The femme's working optic was ablaze, narrowed and intense like a predator. Her mouth was not smiling, not frowning, stern as she spoke something.
There was no way the Prime could hear her words, lost in the insanity of the mob, but could see clearly enough the movement of her lips, the words they formed.
The first few movements Optimus missed, but what he did catch made him stiffen.
…Set you free. Soon.
And then she stood, leaning over Shockwave and covering the view of the gaping hole with her body. A snarl parted her lips and revealed dangerous fangs.
She put all her weight into the kick. Her pede connected with his shoulder blade with a loud clank. The blow was enough to roll him over onto his abdomen. Another kick, to his arm this time, and then the Seeker stepped back and clutched an arm around her abdomen, as if to hold herself together.
"I hope you burn in the pits of hell, you rusted, piston licking, piece of shit excuse for a Decepticon!" She spoke it with such a spiteful vehemence, loud enough to actually be heard above the chaos, and spat on the body. And the audience only responded with an even higher volume, excited and feral and beastly.
With that, she limped away. It was a slow walk, with staggers and dragged pedes, but when medics came from the pits and offered assistance, she brushed them off.
And then, in a last instant of rebellion, Slipstream raised a fist and stuck her middle digit out for all the world to see just before she disappeared from the arena. It was a gesture Optimus had learned from Earth, and he doubted anyone else in the audience knew what it meant. He could've laughed.
But it didn't matter. Everyone fed off of whatever they could get, and it wasn't long at all 'til the crowd fell to a tumultuous celebration. It was crazed and dizzying, and Optimus found himself disproportionately disgusted.
Looking to his side, Optimus saw Sentinel to be just as lost in the haze. A feral grin split his mouth and his optics were alight in a way the Prime did not delve on. The Magnus chugged his engex and chuckled and it was obvious he was over-energized. Significantly over-energized.
With nowhere else to cast his attentions, Optimus looked back to the arena.
…Had he really seen a sparkbeat?
But that was – that was impossible.
People were throwing things at Shockwave's body again. They were so lost in this.
He leaned forward and focused on the body, tried to see if…
…There.
And there and there.
The frame was not completely gray. Splotches of Shockwave's original color still appeared here and there on him. They were easily missed, his dark colors blending so well with the gunmetal shades. But it was there.
Vaguely, he noticed Sentinel being led from the room by some poor servant, leaning heavily against the other, his cape draping over both their bodies. The door slid closed.
Optimus was alone.
Shockwave was alive.
Incredibly damaged, could probably never recover fully, but alive.
And Optimus knew, he knew about the warbuilds, had studied them as he had studied history. He knew they were designed to remain functional unless completely and utterly lifeless. Where an Autobot would eventually die in partial gray-ness, a Decepticon was designed to survive such things – near invincible monsters… Shockwave could survive this, would if someone didn't intervene…
Slipstream didn't kill him.
All the gladiators are ordered to eliminate the spark of their opponent.
That was impossible - the coding - she'd had to offline him, it should have been physically impossible for her not to. Unless…
Primus. For some reason, for some strange and unfathomable reason Optimus couldn't even guess at, the clone was resistant to the coding.
Alarm pulsed through his fuel lines, made his servos itch and his optics widen. Oh Primus no, she was planning an escape. This was not right. This was too much, this should not have been happening. What hell would she raise – how many Autobots would get hurt, would die if she succeeded?
Optimus jumped from his seat and whirled around. He headed for the door to warn the council, report the faulty coding, make sure something was done.
And then, with a sharp flare and pulse of his fuel lines, just like that, the uneasiness stopped his pedes and he couldn't move them. It was a force against his own, this terrible, horrible feeling that something was wrong, off. He hated it, fought it, because now was not the time.
…If given the opportunity, a Decepticon would always choose to kill.
…Didn't…
It grew and changed; the uneasiness rested at the pit of Optimus Prime's abdomen and planted a seed. He hated it…
He ran out the door.