DeadlockDrift
Deadlock….no! No, he was Drift now….or was he? He didn't feel like the old Drift, didn't feel like that guttermech that shot up on stims and sold himself for creds just to start the cycle all over again. He didn't feel like that hopeless, helpless mech that became so enamored with a medic that asked him to make something of himself.
He didn't feel like the mech that both succeeded and failed that medic.
Dea...Drift...didn't feel like that ruthless, angry mech he became as Deadlock. Didn't feel that itch to make his enemies bleed and howl in agony. Didn't feel the lust that came with the anger at the medic who still made his spark rage against its casing.
Oh he was certainly still angry and prone to reacting with violence first, but it wasn't the all consuming, twisted thing it was before.
He..he didn't really know who he was now. Deadlock or Drift or neither. Or both.
That's part of the reason he came to this planet. He needed an out, a way to distance himself from what happened to Wing.
Wing….
He was the whole reason Dri...Deadl...Drift began to question himself.
In a way, he was part of the reason why Drift couldn't decide who he was. And that should have, would have enraged him before; both as Deadlock and as Drift the guttermech and leaker.
Now though...he just felt a sad hollowness.
Funny how such a short time with some mechs can impact you in the biggest of ways.
Venting heavily, Drift – it's settled, he's going by Drift again, no more running in circles – takes a moment to appreciate the clarity of the stars on this planet. They were beautiful and glistening so brightly, so unlike what Cybertron looked like nowadays.
This planet didn't have the light pollution that Cybertron used to have.
It didn't have the towering layers built upon the corpses of those unlucky enough to be considered disposable.
This planet didn't have the stink of war and spilt energon.
Something almost like peace washed over him.
Here he could try and find himself again.
But he had to move on, had to keep going and find that purpose again.
Find a purpose other than destruction and death and usage.
Muttering softly to the sky he says, "Wish me luck Wing, where ever you are."
Folding back into his alt mode, he admired the sleekness of the particular model of vehicle he scanned; it was built for speed and appearance. The first he cherished, the sense of freedom it gave him was exhilarating. The second...well he'd just ignore it until it came in handy.
He'd made sure the land somewhere out of the way. The humans knew Cybertronians existed. Hard not to when the Autobots and Decepticons made it a point to drag their feud onto this tiny world. Still he'd landed away from any cities or towns.
He was just cautious like that.
Didn't want any greedy hands to get technology they had no business with.
The drive from where he stashed his ship was short, all things considered. He was able to find some kind of major roadway.
Luckily him. Made it easier to blend in.
Merging into traffic, Drift finds himself...well drifting around. The particular city he'd found wasn't big, not by Cybertronian standards, but it was out of the way and a place where he likely wouldn't be found. Who knew trying to find a purpose could be so boring.
Maybe he should have stuck with the Autobots that had decided to stay on Earth for a time.
Though that probably would have backfired...considering his reputation and past.
Nevertheless, here he was driving around alone, looking for something he didn't even know how to define.
The heat of the asphalt on his tires was grounding in a way, just a little shy of being actually painful. The harshness of the sun beating down on his plating was refreshing in a way, even if the air in this part of the world was damp.
He felt more at peace than he had in a long time.
Even if it was temporary.
He parks in the lot of some little….shop...boutique it says…?
He's not really sure what boutique means, but he can tell that this place is one for a higher class of people. You can tell just by the way they hold themselves and refuse to acknowledge the homeless people just around the corner.
Things aren't so different here...was greed and despair that universal then?
Drift hopes not.
The universe wouldn't be worth much if that's the case.
Tanks churning, he squeals out of the parking lot causing heads to turn and sneer. That little action released some of the pent up anger that he felt.
Useless though it was.
Drift is always angry these days.
So he begins his aimless wandering again.
It isn't long before he finds himself in the seedier, shadier part of the city. The kind of shady that had little to do with the homeless and more to do with the destitute that had given up and turned to drugs and crime to get by. There wasn't anything here he particularly wanted or needed here, but just maybe he could find something to keep himself occupied. Or relive parts of his past he'd rather wipe out of existence….
Honestly he was hoping for the former rather than the latter.
The farther he travels into this section, the worse the twisting feeling in his tank grows. It hadn't really left him sense he'd sped off from that shop. The faces of the people here remind him that even the beauty of this planet and its skies were tainted with darkness.
The sound of raised voices, one more aggressive than the other, prick at the edge of his sensitive audials. The sudden loud piercing wail that is choked off only seconds later send shivers through him. The feeling in his tank grows more and more leaden as he hauls aft in the direction it came from.
Drift's audials are more attuned than most, an upgrade to a natural talent that was one of the most useful to him so far.
The level that those voices are at send a cold, heavy feeling through his spark. He recognizes those kind of desperate cries. He'd made them once upon a time.
An open area filled with broken down metal and toys for children, along with a stretch of trees is what greets him as he takes a corner far too fast. He thinks these places are called parks or playgrounds, but Drift isn't really sure, he's no expert on humans or their culture. Not yet any way.
It doesn't take Drift long to hone in on the sounds, frantic screams and shouts mixed in with snarling curses. A cold chill races down Drift's spinal strut and settles like a chunk of ice in his tanks. Even from a different species, he's sure those kinds of terror sounds won't ever leave his memory.
A red haze settles over him and he feels the blood-lust he felt as Deadlock. Unthinkingly he squeals his tires and launches himself across the deserted playground and toward the wooded area, transforming deftly. Some of the trees are taller than he is, but most aren't and give way to his rage and fear.
The snarls turn into panicked screeches when Drifts flies into a clearing, looking for all intents and purposes like a robotic demon from the pit. It only gets worse when Drift realizes that the human that the scumbag has pinned is a youngling of the species.
Worst of all the youngling's coverings were either missing completely or hopelessly torn.
He'll kill this slag-eating pit fucker.
Two pairs of wide eyes stare up at him, one set overflowing with tears and feral terror and the other filled with lust and dawning fear. He spots the creature's hand move from between the youngling's legs and Drift loses it.
He's not stupid, he'd made sure to learn as much as he could about humans before he landed. And considering that humans had their reproductive organs between there legs, Drift knew this….filth was assaulting the child.
Giving the pitiful human a feral look of his own, he doesn't hesitate in swiping his servo at them.
It's funny how easily the human goes flying, he thinks viciously. He watches the way they rag-doll into a tree; the impact the filth makes against the trees makes the blood-lust curl in his chest warmly. That thing won't be getting up ever again.
The crunch that beast made only gives him satisfaction. No guilt at all.
Beings like that don't deserve the consideration or guilt or sorrow.
Never fucking ever.
Drift kind of wishes he'd made the fucker suffer when he turns around and spots the youngling. They're very nearly catatonic, hitching breathes escaping every-so-often, but not moving and starring straight up at the sky.
He doesn't realize that he makes a sound of despair until he hears it echo softly around the clearing. He knows that the small being is suffering terribly. He remembers his own experiences vividly.
His spark starts to ache in sympathy and regret.
No one should have something like this happen to them.
Another noise slips from Drift's vocalizer. This time it isn't something he recognizes. For a second he didn't even realize that it's him making it.
It doesn't feel wrong to make the soft humming and chirping...it's just strange is all. It's not like he was taught things like this. Wasn't taught the basic programming of their race.
Like the old regime would have let bots like him.
Shaking himself, Drift accesses his subspace and pulls out a clean polishing cloth. Moving slowly, he kneels close to the youngling and gently places the cloth over them.
Fear starts to taint the concern swirling in his spark when they don't react, not even a twitch.
Blank amber eyes stare soullessly past him, fixed on a point that Drift isn't even sure exists. He's seen that look before, staring him straight in the face from his reflection in dirty windows and metal.
Tanks churning, Drift gently starts tucking the edges of the cloth around their body, servos being careful not to catch their delicate protoform—skin, whatever they call it. They still don't move, just limply laying there, and suddenly Drift's spark begins to attach itself to this tiny being.
Looking around the area, he notices the ragged covering that holds some kind of berth-like object. If it's possible his spark sinks lower in his chest. This is where this poor youngling has been living, in a dwelling that barely classifies itself as shelter.
A decision starts solidifying in his processor.
Looking down he gently picks them up and holds them close to his chest and spark.
No one will ever hurt you ever again.
I swear on my spark.