Fandom: Transformers Bayverse
Author: gatekat and ace_of_the_arts LJ
Pairing: None
Rating: PG-13
Codes: Gen (for now - Slash and Het expected)
Summary:
Disclaimer: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page ( gatekat-fics .livejournal .com/290 .html ) We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.
#Notes#: Set in the same verse as Everything You Never Wanted to Know ( a-o-t-a .livejournal .com/tag/series%3A%20everything%20you%20never%20wanted ) by ace_of_the_arts, though an AU to it.
klik = 1 minute; breem = 8.3 minutes; joor = 1.2 hours; orn = day/32 joor; metacycle = 6 (5.9285) years; vorn = 83 years/14 metacycles
~text~ comm chatter
Among the Hidden 02: A Whip is Born
Energy was sucked from his spark as he felt the sudden loss of everything.
Panic. Anger. Betrayal. Rage.
Helpless.
True panic.
The new spark struggled to hold on to its energy but it was no use. The drain was constant. Not enough to endanger him, but more than enough to be noticed.
He was trapped.
Instincts nearly as old as his kind kicked in, sending tendrils out to explore and report back.
The first data lines to trickle back stilled the panic.
He was in a frame once more. He couldn't remember what he'd been before, what that frame was like, but that didn't stop it from being familiar.
A frame was a frame after all, so different from being just a spark. The playing field was entirely different. It was one that felt familiar, however, and he began to explore it. Heavy armor, overpowered engine designed for sustained speed over torque but with a fair amount of it, alt mode meant for speed but strong enough to take the impact to disable a target, sensor-rich doorwings and comm-oriented, sensor rich chevron on the helm.
He powered on his optics and looked around. There was a visor over them. Meant for data but currently of little use.
A mech stood over him. Light build. Even more lightly armored.
It was a scientist, or a medic.
Easy prey, and easily offlined, he dismissed. Hardly a threat.
His optics roved around, seeking to know where he was, who else was there, and most importantly, how to get out.
He saw more scientist-medics, and the still frames of several identical mechs that looked like they conformed to the same specs as his own. Walls... and a door for his future egress.
There was no security in evidence, and he wondered if it was arrogance or something else that made that so. It seemed foolish that they wouldn't have protection during activation. They had no way of knowing how a new mech would react. Fools.
With the room mapped out, he began to move ... but froze as his thoughts nearly whited out in response to a code that clamped down with a vengeance, sinking claws deep into his processor. He screamed inside, and raged ... so this was the security.
Fury swept through him, his spark burning hot and bright as he fought back. No one caged Whiplash in his own frame. No one.
He lashed out with a mental snarl, fighting it with everything that he had but it was like a noose, a barbed, razor-wire garrote. Every time he struck at it the more it tightened around him, squeezing, demanding his obedience until he could fight no more without extinguishing.
In a split nanoklik decision he surrendered, submitted to its demands.
He would learn it, twist it, break it.
He would be free. And then he would... educate these mechs on the error of their ways.
He listened intently to the word of the orders that the mech was listing off. He could wait. He would wait. Patience was also required of a hunter and no matter how much his spark burned to dismantle his target, he had an equal level of restraint.
So he marched out with the rest of those who looked exactly alike, trying to piece together exactly what he was supposed to do and what his freedoms were in this place and frame.
Greeting them were row upon row, a dozen score and more of identical mechs. Only those in front were different and he marked them, took in every detail from appearance to vocalizer print to mannerisms to EM fields to what a data ping gave him.
None would escape him.
He was so focused on identifying the Enemy that when a private comm request came from an unknown mech he was startled. Cautiously, he opened it up but didn't allow any personal impressions go across it. Who...?
The first impression that he received was one of formality, as the mech introduced himself. ~Greetings, young one,~ he said. ~I am Field Verdant, of the Downlink cadre, of the Downlink clade, of the Codedrift contingent. I welcome you.~
~Which one are you?~ Whiplash asked, giving a sense that he wanted an impression of where on the field the other mech was.
The mech, Verdant, directed his senses to one towards the left edge of the mass of identical mechs. It was enough.
~Whiplash. I'm going to tear them to shreds.~ He growled, defiant of the pain that punished him for the thought. It only made him more determined.
The mech was quiet for a moment that stretched in the silence of the unused comm, but when he did speak again, it was not directly in response to Whiplash's statement. ~The obedience code must hurt you a great deal, fierce one. Whiplash. Will you let me make alterations to it so that you may be less pained by being yourself?~ A certain amount of distant fondness wended its way into Verdant's words but it was as coolly formal as the rest of him.
Whiplash considered the offer. Yes, it would be very nice to hurt less. But by giving a stranger access to his systems?
~Can you send me the patch and directions?~ he went for a middle ground to test the reaction.
After another pause he received the impression of a nod, ~I am uncertain if you will be able to apply it but we may try.~ Verdant fed him the packaged program and information. ~In nearly every case it is applied by a Field, a caretaker,~ he added.
Whiplash responded with a sense of 'no reason to trust you that much yet' and began delving into the code, studying what each bit did, what permissions it gave to others.
~That is your right,~ Verdant replied calmly, waiting for Whiplash to figure everything out. It took longer than he expected, longer than most. What little he could get from the secretive mech across the comm was that Whiplash really was picking apart the patch line by line. It was paranoid beyond even most Sensors.
A flair of intense pain, then frustration leaked through the comm channel.
~Is there anything you wish to know, or something that I can assist you with?~ Verdant asked, fully expecting to be rebuffed. This one... Verdant didn't expect that he would keep Whiplash for very long. Mechs with sparks like these, they tended to choose their own company and rarely needed a caretaker. If Whiplash chose him, he would be there for him, but he didn't think that it was very likely.
A wordless grumble came back first.
~I'm going to hurt them,~ Whiplash snarled, furious. ~Why? Why are they such ... such...~
~This is how it has always been,~ Verdant told him, not unsympathetically-the very same fire was banked within his spark. ~We are much more useful if we are unable to disobey orders and it keeps us biddable.~
Hatred, the kind that would either incinerate code or extinguish his spark, roared its outrage to the only outlet it had. But then Whiplash brought it under control. A hunter needed patience. Patience was rewarded.
His chassis would be trembling, panting if it were allowed.
Once more largely centered, Whiplash considered the patch a final time, then unlocked access to the processors required. ~Would you install it?~
Verdant let the towering rage roll over him. ~I will,~ he said, not under any illusion that he was actually trusted. At least not much further than it would take to loosen the fierce one's collar. Careful to keep his actions within Whiplash's processor easily traceable, he applied the patch, making sure that there were no conflicts between Whiplash, the obedience code, or the patch, rare as they were. Job done, he withdrew, leaving Whiplash to re-secure his processors.
A bit of tension left the young one, both at the loosening of the obedience code and that he hadn't been betrayed. By the time he'd finished inspecting himself again, the code was no longer blocking movement. Without a second thought he was in the nearest shadow, then scaling the wall.
"He will be a handful, Field Verdant," a voice next to the old mech spoke up.
"A handful that probably will not be mine, Vision Killquick," Verdant said, "He is a suspicious, pained spark."
"Mm, perhaps he will be mine then," he said thoughtfully, watching the mech climb. "Even the most paranoid of sparks will trust someone in the contingent."
"I wish you luck then," Verdant nodded and sent him the very limited datapack he'd gathered on Whiplash. "You should probably follow after him though."
"Of course," Killquick smirked at his cadre's Field, then made quick work of scaling the building after the hunter. For a hunter he had no doubt Whiplash was, at spark. First to the shadows, which he blended into far too well, then to the best vantage point. It would be an advantage to Killquick, as it was likely to relax the rookie.
Not trying to hide his ascent, or appear to be trying to sneak up on the mech, Killquick gave Whiplash plenty of time to warn him off, ending up not too far from the one that Verdant had so nonchalantly redesignated "fierce one."
"So who are you?" Whiplash asked, blaster loosely in hand but ready to use.
"A mech who prefers the heights, like you," he gestured to the shifting white mass far below them that was made up of the rest of the contingent. "Designation's Killquick, Vision, Downlink cadre, Downlink clade, Codedrift contingent."
"Verdant's unit," Whiplash seemed to nod, his optics taking in everything, his doorwings held high and wide, fanning in the breeze to pick up extra data. "So who'd I get assigned to?"
"If you want it to be, it could be me," Killquick suggested, "or if I don't work for you, you can hang out with Verdant until you find someone you like better or until you find a cadre of your own. It's your choice, really."
Whiplash cocked his head slightly, looking at the mech he looked exactly like. "All the order, and I'm not assigned to anyone?"
"And what would you do if we assigned you to someone that you couldn't get along with?"
"Ignore them," he shrugged. "Or get them deactivated. So which parts of the order do the Enemy control, and which is ours?"
"The way I introduced myself? That's all contingent, all us. The Outsiders don't even have a clue that we have any kind of social structure besides the ranks they deign to give us. Beyond that..." Killquick shrugged, "While we always have to do what we're ordered to do, we usually consult our own to make sure that the orders can be adapted, as much as they can be, to benefit the contingent, clade, and cadre. It'll probably be easier if I just give you a data dump on who's who, and who does what." He glanced back at Whiplash's blaster, "Going to keep that out?"
"Yes, a data dump would work," Whiplash opened a comm channel and routed it directly to his databanks to be sorted through after a viral scan. He glanced at the blaster, then at Killquick. "Generally."
The Vision snorted, amused by the reply and sent the data, as well as some extras, like the preprogrammed biased ID pings. He settled into an easy crouch and waited until Whiplash seemed to be focused largely on the outside world again. Like most Visions, Whiplash never really focused inside, instead splitting his processor power on keeping tabs on the outside world while delving into his databanks.
A small smile crossed Killquick's lip plates as he watched the rookie in front of him improve his skill at splitting his attention just in the few breems he had. He also noticed that Whiplash never lost track of one particular rookie either. Something about ... Rebound, a femme, had him locked on her.
He shifted his wings interrogatively, "Questions?" His own curiosity, he momentarily satisfied by bouncing an information request off of Verdant to the mech who was looking after the femme.
"Why structure society so strictly?" Whiplash considered the mech before him. "Don't the Outsiders inflict enough restrictive order on our lives?"
The Vision didn't fail to notice Whiplash's automatic change in address of the Outsiders. "Hard questions first, huh?" Killquick's smile was wry, "If you want an in depth answer to that question, I ask you to find a Core. They'll be more than happy to regale you with whys and bits of the past. For me... the simple answer is that it doesn't really seem restrictive. Everyone has some kind of affinity with a number of the positions, you get to choose your cadre and your cadre chooses you ... It isn't strict to me." Killquick spread his hands "I'm not really sure how else to explain it. Your cadre is... important."
"We're social creatures, so we form a society if we aren't given one," Whiplash murmured, his gaze distant for a brief moment before it came into focus sharp focus on something beyond the compound's walls. Without a thought the blaster came up to his shoulder and he settled into a sniper's lounge, sighting in his target.
His gaze following Whiplash's targeting, Killquick winced in remembered sympathy as soon as Whiplash's sights settled on a mech that read as an Outsider commanding officer. Predictably, Whiplash's frame locked, finger not even making it to the trigger. The whine of pain that followed was predictable as the obedience code, loosened as it was, slammed down.
Carefully he moved closer and Killquick regretfully placed his open hand across the top of the blaster's muzzle so that he could lower it. "Not going to work," he said, but the more he thought about it, the more a familiar chaos began to fuzz his processors. The obedience code fought with the way it had been loosened. He shouldn't regret that Whiplash couldn't kill the mech. He should have tried to stop Whiplash. But... He didn't want to do either of those things.
Killquick winced at the conflict, feeling as though he had been knocked from a particularly high perch even though it had been a long time since that had happened. His fingers clenched around handholds, steadying himself.
Then a strong hand was on his arm and he focused to see Whiplash, his denta gritted against the pain, offering very real support against something he grasped on an instinctive level, but didn't understand.
Killquick squeezed Whiplash's hand in thanks and took a moment to cycle his vents. When the conflict stalemated, the worst of the vertigo vanishing when it did, he cycled them again. "Thank you for the support," he said, voice rough, "though I am sorry you had to see that. It's lucky that we were up here and not down there with everyone else."
"What would have happened among others?" Whiplash asked cautiously, settling on the roof once more, but closer to Killquick that before.
"I just prefer to not be like that with others," he replied, "though sometimes an imbalance like that can cause a similar conflict in others." He gave a subvocal hum, "I'll see if I can't get Verdant to take a look to get everything a bit better balanced." Perhaps this episode would have chipped out a little more of the code... though he wasn't expecting it so. There was a reason that they recorded every incident.
"Ah," he nodded, settling in a bit more. "Has anybody ever managed to shoot one of them?"
Automatically quashing the initial run, Killquick shunted the whole line of thought to a dispersed processor so that he didn't agitate the already upset obedience code. He wouldn't think as quickly, but would be easier on him, especially if Whiplash was going to continue throwing these kinds of thoughts at him.
Killquick tried to think of incidents... and actually managed to turn up a few, to his surprise. "Well there was that time... It was friendly fire."
Wondering if it was appropriate for such a young mech, Killquick wavered between telling how they dealt with the mechs who were deemed a danger to the contingent. After giving a mental shrug, "We also maintain intercontingent communications so that if we need someone who is a danger to us taken out but is a CO, we can bring in someone who has no relationship to our chain of command." It still took a lot of mental acrobatics but it made it possible to make them just another dangerous target.
Whiplash nodded, apparently content with that answer. His gaze went to the city beyond the compound again. "So we live here, but our duties are out there," he jerked his chin towards the city.
"Yes," Killquick smiled, looking out over the city. There really was no other place like it. He loved doing his job, hunting among the populace for criminal dregs of the population. When they ran ... he could run them down, bring them down.
The rookie next to him picked up on the tendrils of excitement in his field and Whiplash's engine revved. "How much is hunting?"
"Most of it is just patrolling," he said, though he watched the way that Whiplash ran a finger along the barrel of his blaster out of the corner of his optic. He really needed to figure out how to get the rookie to put that away. "On the surface the city might seem disgustingly well behaved, especially compared to places like Kaon, but there's still a live and well criminal populace. It's just a matter of rooting them out."
"Hunting of a different kind," Whiplash purred. "Any kind of hunt is good. When will I have my first shift out there?"
He consulted the roster, "So eager, are you? Unfortunately for you, it won't be for a few orn, but we can use it as a chance to get you better integrated." Killquick had a sneaky, but not really sneaky idea. It was blatant manipulation. He brought a small cube of sweetened sparkling energon out of subspace and took a whiff. It was a shame that he was going to have to use the treat as a bribe.
He, or rather the cube, had Whiplash's attention almost instantly. Even though he'd never refueled before, never tasted energon of any kind, he knew what it was and his systems chimed up in their desire for it.
The sudden sharpening of attention from Whiplash secretly amused him. "You want this then?" Killquick asked, holding the cube up for display. "If you want it, I'm going to have to ask you to do something for me."
"I'm listening," Whiplash was instantly wary, but to the Vision, that he was listening at all spoke volumes of how much he'd come to accept Killquick. Any other mech would likely either be looking down the blaster barrel or at thin air by now.
The fact that he was being less than secretive about it probably helped too.
"I'll give you a mouthful if you put your weapon away," Killquick told him with a disproportionately serious, life or death expression. "It's quite a treat for us. Much more special than normal energon, or even high grade."
Whiplash looked at his weapon, then at the cube, up to Killquick's optics and then out in a general alert.
It wasn't good. It shouldn't be difficult to choose. He wasn't asking for the blaster, just for it to be put away. The sweetened energon was quite a treat.
Yet he gave Whiplash time to think.
"The full cube," Whiplash countered calmly.
Killquick hesitated, actually mentally debating haggling over it with the young mech before he decided that that would just be a little pathetic. It wasn't like he had much to haggle with either. He nodded, holding out the cube but not handing it over just yet. "Your blaster," he said.
It was set on safe and holstered, then Whiplash extended his hand for the small cube. When it was handed over he took a small sip, allowing the thick, liquid energy to roll over his glossa, learning it as much as savoring it.
"Good?" Killquick asked knowingly.
"Yes," he purred, then considered the cube, then Killquick, and offered it to the older mech.
Killquick paused, tempted, but eventually shook his head, "Not part of the deal. The whole cube is yours."
"And I'm sharing," Whiplash told him.
Killquick peered oddly at Whiplash. "Thank you," he said, gratefully, and accepted the cube. As their EM fields brushed close with the near contact of their fingers he realized that it was an outward show of acceptance. Whiplash had tentatively taken him into his cadre, whether or not it would be official. He sipped the sweetened energon, savoring it just as much as the younger mech had, letting out a low hum of pleasure. It really was a treat to have. Now much happier, despite the simple cause, he returned the cube back to Whiplash and watched the rookie continue to enjoy it while they watched the city they protected.