The creature was a horrible looking one. It's yellow optics glowed feebly and it's armor was dented, burned, and rusty. It was once blue, but now it was more of a grey.
It's owner hardly fit it. This was not to say that the owner had outgrown it; rather, the armor covered it like one is covered by a car. One one hand, a car can be a versitile object, capable of taking one places far beyond their dreams.
But in the wrong times...it can be a prison.
As he sat in the cell, all but forgotten, Cylas had no doubt what his armor was.
The two wheeler cursed her luck. It was bad enough that she'd woken from stasis on some weird organic world. And she'd thought her bad luck meter had been filled when the ship she'd awoken in had been that of the psycho spider that had put her in stasis in the first place. And had she mentioned the aforementoned psycho hunted people? And then put their heads on her walls?
But no, Primus couldn't give her a break. She had to be discovered and captured by the leader of the Decepticons. While this might have made her preen at the thought of how dangerous and generally awesome she was, it would have been far more epic if she hadn't tripped while attempting to punch the bucket-head.
Now she'd been sitting in a cell for who knew how long. She just wanted to...to...
Arcee could never finish that thought. A disadvantage to having not joined the army? No one cared if you lived or died, simply because no one knew you existed.
He was a monster, they said. Perhaps they were right.
He could still remember what he'd become, what creature he'd been. The feel of hot energon running between his teeth, his hands...
He was a monster.
He deserved all he got, his father had claimed as he was beaten. He deserved all he got and more.
His mother had never said such things. She never had to. Her silence was enough.
The silence had always hurt more than anything.
It hurt when he was beaten.
It hurt when he was not.
It hurt when those hands, those gentle hands of a nurse, had clamped over her mouth when it became too much, when the knife ran with his father's life blood.
It hurt in court.
It hurt on her only visit.
It hurt when she'd signed the papers that sealed his fate.
It was all he could think about as scientists labored over him, tested him, changed him.
They could hurt him as much as they wanted. Nothing they could do could hurt worse than the silence.
And now as he sat in his cell, surrounded by alien creatures, Jack Darby wished only for the silence to end.
Here we go again...
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