A/N: I disappeared again, I apologize! I was even more disheartened when I realized that I had missed celebrating a year since I published this story. We shall celebrate it now. Thank you for putting up with my stupid, stupid habits of not updating. Happy one year!


Adulation- high praise


Chapter 11

This event was an anticipated one, that was obvious. Fate hadn't been so nice to her these past decacycles, but her luck would change today.

In all honesty, Darkstrike didn't know what to envision. She had no clue who she would be fighting and she had no clue if she could actually defeat them. She knew their names, but that was it. Gaining more information required contacts, something Darkstrike didn't have.

There was a large audience; if their loud screeches were anything to go by, then she could be certain that there was a full arena. The situation was overwhelming and her lack of knowledge wasn't helping. Overall, she felt completely apprehensive entering to her death.

Darkstrike had everything to lose.

Despite the rigorous training she had endured, anxiety still managed to gnaw at her spark. The word defeat echoed in her processor. She heard multiple voices reminding her, ranging from insane owners to pesky spiders. Surprisingly enough, she didn't hear Soundwave's voice.

Speaking of the mech, she wasn't sure if he'd come to her match. Not that she cared... Of course, he didn't need to, if he chose to come, it was on his own terms. She wasn't going to force him to watch her, he had already done enough. Although... it would be reassuring to see him there.

No. I need anyone right now. I can do this. Soundwave's not always going to be there, deal with it.

It sounded a bit harsh muttering these words to herself, but it was a reality she mentally prepping herself for. These were words she repeated to herself in moments where she needed to be tough.

They always said that if you repeated a lie long enough, it would become truth.

She looked down at her sword—actually, Soundwave's sword. The one she was supposed to use had broken during their spar.

She recalled the small moment. Darkstrike had stubbornly tried to mend the pieces together. After a good number of kliks, Soundwave must have grown tired of her useless attempts. The mech had wordlessly thrown his own sword to her. If Darkstrike hadn't had the reflexes she had, it could have easily wounded her. Luckily, she had caught it with ease. Darkstrike would hold on to it tightly.

She tilted the weapon slightly to see her reflection. Unrecognizable, vermilion-colored optics stared back at her.

In just moments, she would face off with the mechs that could possibly end her career as a Gladiator. Those moments would determine her progress or her end. Darkstrike had to accept that the two were a possibility.

Nonetheless, she needed a strong mentality if she chose the victorious path.

If—no, when she won, (positive thoughts) she would pay off her debt with Swindle, receive energon cubes, see Magnesium, and receive a newly crafted sword. She attempted not to think about the consequences of failure. Nothing came without a price, after all. What was that saying... Roll the dice, you pay the price.

Three...

"In this corner we have..."

Two

The crowd screamed.

One

"Darkstrike!"

Time to shine.

The light reflected onto her armor, and her optics illuminated the way. Bright lights flashed throughout the entire arena. Whistles and wolfish calls went her way. Darkstrike could feel her spark beat violently in her chassis. It was a terrorizing feeling to see so many Cybertronians watching her. Airachnid did not lie when she said she knew how to advertise.

It took a few moments for the Gladiator femme to stop herself from freezing up. Her purpose was to entertain, and she would do just that.

She looked at Soundwave's sword. It was a beautiful peace of metal and the fact that Soundwave had entrusted her with it filled her spark with some kind of strange emotion. Darkstrike took it and raised it in the air high. She stood in a melodramatic pose, and even dared to raise her wings, something she didn't usually do.

"I am the femme that challenges these two mechs," she hadn't even fully analyzed her opponents until now. When she did, she couldn't help but hesitate. Her optic-ridges raised in alarm.

Two mechs stood proudly beside one another. A thin lanky one, double wings raised high in pride, and a small bulky one. One an actual authentic seeker and the other a strong grounder.

However, all expectant optics were still on her. This was no time to regret her actions. In an act of courage, Darkstrike decided to point the sword in the mechs' direction. This bold move caused the crowd to echo their own glee of the destruction that would come.

The two mechs looked at one another, exchanging words. Their optics seemed to crawl up and down her body. They laughed together, as if hearing the funniest joke. Her face tinted with blue and she reserved a glare for the both of them.

If her glare didn't kill, then she was sure that the sword would succeed in getting the job done.

The announcer beckoned them closer. The mech eyed her warily, probably the cause of the last stunt she had pulled with him.

"You all know the gist of it. Anything is allowed. Shake servos and begin," the speaker told all three Gladiators.

The lanky one stepped up first, extending his arm. Darkstrike gladly took his servo with hers. The femme didn't bother hiding her sly smile. The seeker narrowed his eyes.

Suddenly, her servo clenched so intensely, one could have heard the screech of metal from miles away. Darkstrike then proceeded to flip him over in a single motion.

She grinned, finally understanding the humor of the situation.

"Let's begin."


Airachnid settled next to Lanyard, brushing off the seat before gracefully sitting. Her long legs crossed, and her head was held up high in pride as usual. Pink optics brightened when they caught sight of this fight's 'challenger.'

"Fancy seeing you here," Lanyard nonchalantly smirked. She gave a slight chuckle.

"I wanted to see how much my work paid off," the spider femme replied.

"And can I say what a wonderful job you did? Not that you ever disappoint, but a pretty little thing deserves compliments often, right?" he asked, optics slowly drifting down to her lips. If Airachnid had noticed, she chose to ignore it.

"You flatter me, Lanyard."

"That was the idea, Sweetspark." His optic closed in an effort to wink at her. The owner made a move to bring the spider femme closer to himself, but he was quickly interrupted. Rather obnoxiously, a nearby mech made sure alert everyone of his presence. Egotistical purple optics made contact with the owner's irked green.

"Well if it isn't my old friend, The Femme Airachnid. Haven't seen you in..." Swindle licked his lips, "A very long time." She hummed in amusement.

"Missed me, have you?" she flashed her fangs. The arms-dealer quickly took an empty seat next to the spiderbot. His arms measly wrapped around her shoulders, uncaring whether she approved the gesture or not.

"Don't you know it Sweetspark."

The owner was aware of Swindle, and he wasn't fond of it. The powerful mechs sat on either side of Airachnid, both glaring at each other. She was aware of this, but decided to act casual for the fun of it.

"You mechs anticipating the outcome of this fight? I'm sure others are." The spider pointed at the crowd.

"Yeah, I'm not too worried, though. My femme's is a sufficient little thing. Darkstrike hasn't let me down recently," Swindle remarked. His optics flickered away.

"Darkstrike?" Airachnid instantly frowned.

"Your femme?" Lanyard finally decided to speak up, "I'm the one that owns her." He arose his posture to demonstrate his pride as an owner.

"Well, you're not the only one who's gotten to know her."

By this point, Airachnid was far from amused at their change in subject. The femme was accustomed to being all of their attention, and she wasn't liking this change. This wasn't what she was aiming for when she changed the topic.

"We'll just have to wait and see what happens then."

"And I'm confident she'll succeed."

"She's already succeeded with me. I've gained made more money in a measly cycle than your business will ever gain in a lifetime," Lanyard said in a contemptible tone.

"At least I know my business will last," Swindle defended.

She should have known that it was all competition with them. Those mechs loved to size each other up, despite it being about trivial things. But the femmebot didn't appreciate the fact that they had spoken of another femme besides her. It ground her gears and made her drop her sultry smile.

It made Airachnid unnaturally quiet.

She was patient. Patience was a virtue they said. Defeat would come, oh the moment would be priceless when it all burned down for that Gladiator.


He hadn't expected such an audience, but it wasn't much of a surprise. Every Gladiator had their fair share of audience, the femme included. Darkstrike was truly a sight for sore optics in this case.

Soundwave wasn't going to be absent in the femme's fight. Not after he had diligently trained her for consecutive cycles. Best if she was the champion of this fight or it would reflect bad on him. All those cycles would be wasted time. The mech didn't just mentor anyone; Darkstrike should be grateful he had even taken up such a pitiful thing. Soundwave knew he was superior among the Pits and he had granted the femme a ray of these skills. He had done what he could, now it was up to the femme to prove her competence.

He unconsciously replayed some of the memories between him and the femme. Those last couple of cycles had been eventful, to say the least. The young femme was a handful to keep in line.

Soundwave almost never commended her. It would give her too much ego; the femme already beamed at whatever adulation he gave her. Though Darkstrike was exceptional, he did his best to remind her who the superior one was. It gave the message that he should still be feared, but it encouraged the femme to try harder and progress further.

The mech disliked all type of physical contact with Cybertronians, but having the power to make the infamous femme submit satisfied him. Soundwave almost glowered at himself. Many times, he needed to remind himself why exactly he did what he did. Entertainment. Experimentation. That was all.

It was not sympathy; sympathy was burned and it lit the path of destruction. He had been the one to light the match, and now he would see if Darkstrike would survive the trail of fire.


They fight had begun interestingly.

Darkstrike now realized why she had to endure such rigorous training. The scent of failure was a pungent odor she refused to intake. It was evident that these bots had anticipated an easy fight. The femme would not give them the satisfaction, she wasn't called a Gladiator for nothing.

Her audios heard the dull shriek of the crowd's voice in the background. Femmes and mechs alike roared in sync, their cheers rising at each swing of their weapons. There were flashes everywhere, bright lights that would have easily distracted her if she wasn't entirely engulfed in the fight.

She fought the seeker, seeming to give him most of her attention. That was what she wanted him to think. In reality, a large portion of her focus was on the grounder. He attempted to attack her most vulnerable areas, something she had prepared for. She sensed his brute strength, while the seeker's main strength lied in precision. Darkstrike had many scratches to tell the tale.

Neither mech she fought had sensed her strategy: keeping both of them in her peripheral vision.

It was aggravating knowing that both were dancing around her while she tried to keep up. There were swords at every side of her blind spot. It was one mech on one side, then the other taking his place. They bounced around her, taking turns on who would take a hit at her next.

Darkstrike wasn't making it easy for them that was for sure.

At the moment, she hadn't delivered many blows towards her opponents. She found it cumbersome to do so while she defended herself. Darkstrike wasn't getting any closer to winning at this rate. Besides, she needed to give the audience a good show if she wanted to please Lanyard.

Flashes from the seeker were her only warning of his advances. The grounder's huge frame let her know that he was always there, on all sides of her. It was becoming sort of a game. The two mechs bounced around the pretty little femme, trying to confuse her until she fell. At times, she didn't know who she was hitting, if she hitting anyone at all.

The thought of failure was growing with every klik and Darkstrike couldn't take it. She couldn't lose! Primus-dammit, she wasn't! The femme was going to put an end to this game of tag. Her cooling fans were the result of her ever growing movements. She definitely needed all her stamina for this, no doubt about it.

The seeker brought down his sword, but Darkstrike reflected it with the armor of her forearm. The femme bent her knees and backhanded the mech. He was thrown to the other side of the arena. He fell down, vulnerable, but she didn't have time to defeat him.

Just as the grounder was going to pound her into the ground, the femme quickly turned around and bought forth her sword. The crowd went screamed in delight.

The two weapons rammed into each other vigorously causing sparks to ignite. Darkstrike knew she wouldn't have much time before the other mech would stand up to take her on once more. She had to finish this one once and for all.

The Gladiator femme began quickening her pace, a much more advantageous strategy than his brutish force. She would attack before he could even notice. She struck clean and fast. Before the mech could even react, there had already been a wound, and Darkstrike was going for more.

"Arg!" she roared striking down numerous times. The mech couldn't take so much pressure, and eventually began to stumble on his own pedes. She brought up her long leg and aimed it straight at his chest. He fell on his back, and before he could get up, the femme dug the sword into his arm, making a clean slice all the way through. Her weapon went straight through his limb and stuck to the ground below her pedes. The grounder was stuck to the grounds, preventing him from getting up. Blue energon began spilling quickly, and Darkstrike didn't want any on her. She flicked the mech's fluids off her servos as she looked up at all the bots watching her.

She had finished off the first mech. Darkstrike's optics brightened into a crimson from her victory. It wasn't until she was leaking energon that she realized that only half the battle was over. The seeker had gotten up, unnoticed and had taken advantage of her distracted state.

Her back and wings now held a rather large gash, an affect of the mech's lethal weapon. The wires in her wings burned in agony.

Darkstrike caught herself before she hit the ground. The femme turned around as her darkened optics murderously glared at the mech.

She was at a disadvantage. He had a weapon and she didn't.

The reflection of her claws briefly flashed at her. Maybe she wasn't completely bare after all.

That seeker thought he was slick, having the sword and all. Ha. When he bought it down at her, Darkstrike's claws reached out and gripped his weapon it before it hit her.

She suddenly realized that she had literally just caught a fragging sword. It hurt like pit. In fact, she could already see the blue bleeding out.

However, her opponent was just as dumbfounded at her actions. While he was distracted, her gripped tightened even more. Darkstrike managed to take away his sword and throw it behind them.

"Now it's a fair fight," she said as her fist crashed perfectly into his faceplates.

Needless to say, that seeker wasn't happy about that. He seemed to be doubling his efforts to gain leverage over her.

One could say that things were becoming messy all too fast. Oh, he was furious. It was time to change tactics, to take a strategy that seeker would never expect.

So she took advantage of the one thing that distinguished her from other Gladiators. She wasn't going to like it and she wasn't too experienced with it. It would also classify as downright humiliating... but whatever it took to win... right? She didn't think there was any way to resort to a lower level, yet there she was.

It wasn't easy automatically changing strategy. Darkstrike attempted to throw him bait with smirks and flirtatious winks. At first, this seemed to befuddle him, and the femme took it a step forward by gently, and as subtly as possible, rubbing her wings with his.

He hadn't responded the first few times, but then he had realized she was doing it intentionally. She knew he had felt it because he had let out a loud purr. It was common knowledge that contact with a seeker's wings was either threatening or erotic...

The crowd sensed the change in atmosphere among competitors.

By now, the seeker held a smirk and a dark glint in his eyes. Darkstrike could only play along in the ruse.

"What are you playing at, femme?" he asked with a coy grin.

"Why the violence?" she questioned in the middle of their chaos. It seemed like an innocent question.

"Because I plan on winning," was his reply. He took a nasty hit to her side.

"I'm not saying that shouldn't happen. But shouldn't we make this... worth while?" The pain was too excruciating to hide. Darkstrike hissed and had to take a deep breath.

"Are you suggesting you drop this charade," the seeker asked, "And... we both have a good time?"

The femme felt her face heat up. They were evenly matched at a dead end and she wasn't sure how to proceed. Darkstrike had never really tried seducing a mech and she was sure she was doing it wrong.

Slag, he's going to see right though me!

"What do you think then?" she asked smoothly. At least she thought she was... He probably thought otherwise.

"Let me get back to you on that."

His response came only nano-kliks later.

"If you forfeit," he chuckled lowly, "I'll make it worthwhile."

Darkstrike was sure she was blushing now. That time he had gotten a little too close to her audio, yet he had left no mark.

It took her a while to realize that her opponent was being serious. Given the current circumstance, it didn't take her long to respond. Darkstrike needed him to think that she was seducing him, either because he was handsome, or because she was cowardly for trying to prevent more injuries. There were high chances he would accept, given that femmes in Kaon didn't exactly have a reputation for being brave. To him, she was just someone saving her own armor or someone captivated by seekers.

"I agree then," she said. The mech seemed pleasantly surprised by her decision.

"Then when I signal you, you will kneel in front of the whole crowd... and submit to me," he commanded.

"Just say the words," she remarked. The mech suddenly shoved her forward, a distance from him. Darkstrike fell on her front and the mech placed his pede on her back, in between her wings.

"Do it now!" he yelled. She froze, and so did he. All prying optics were on her. At that moment, Darkstrike knew he was watching. Darkstrike knew Soundwave was watching. Her next moves would determine everything.

Darkstrike felt the pede apply more pressure onto her back. She slightly struggled. Her optics looked up into the crowds.

Silence.

"I submit."

The crowd broke down in excitement.

"She forfeits! This proud femme is now on her knees... for me!" the tall seeker gloated his prize to everyone watching.

Enraptured in her own bubble of concentration, Darkstrike exhaled. This arrogant seeker was going to speak again, and in that moment, he had taken his optics away from her.

Darkstrike rolled over, making the seeker stumble back. She was on her pedes in one jump.

She launched, long legs propelling her in his direction. The femme tackled him to the ground, her claws igniting with seething heat. They slipped right into his abdomen. Darkstrike could have yanked a few of his wires out, but that wasn't something she wanted. The femme had already given him the necessary inflicted wound.

Once she was satisfied, the femme stood up, kneading a pede on his wound and pressing on it in case he wanted to stand. The seeker groaned. She kicked him to his side. One of his wings twitched as she took a hold of it. He hissed as she squeezed it tightly.

"These proud mechs have fallen!" her vocal transmitters were loud so that everyone could hear, "And everyone else will follow!"

Her claws dug into his wing.


Confidence had slowly faded away into disbelief. Whispers and murmurs spread throughout the crowd. It was at that moment of silence that signified all attention.

Airachnid's pink optics flickered towards the owners. One nonchalantly lounged back, optics affront and still. The other, Explo, she believed his name was, had his legs and arms crossed, optic-ridge arched in interest. Lanyard looked as if he was going to fall right out of his seat in all the crazed excitement. She looked at Swindle. Even he seemed to be awed by that Gladiator's prowess.

Airachnid wasn't picky herself; she enjoyed a good disembowel of a mech. However, in this case, she had wanted the Gladiator femme to be torn apart. Things had not gone out as anticipated, another mistake on her part. Yes, the spiderbot was discontented, absolutely vexed at the outcome. When she wanted someone to disappear, they disappeared. That seeker she had hired was supposed to finish the job.

This revealed that brushing off the Gladiator-femme wasn't an option anymore.

The spiderbot's exterior posture hadn't changed, her calm and sultry behavior dominating her internal ire. Maybe not now, but a certain someone would fall.

For once since the fight had started, Airachnid smirked.


"Do it now!" the Darkstrike's opponent yelled. Soundwave had seen how Darkstrike's movements changed as she interacted more with the seeker. Soundwave's optics analyzed her, drinking up her motions. Something had changed. Their deadly moves had lessened and harmless contact increased. He didn't approve of her smile. The area was for death and energon, most definitely not absurd gestures. When their wings had touched, it immediately caused suspicion within him. She only made physical contact with him, not a mech aiming to offline her.

Then Darkstrike was under his pede. Soundwave watched the femme colder than usual. He told her not to be stupid. If she did not listen, her own reprimand would be defeat. Though, he would not underestimate her. He knew her too well for that.

"I submit." The words emitted from her vocals so smoothly Soundwave would have believed it.

"What an interesting turn of events," Megatronus smirked. He sat back, arms folded as he arched an optics-ridge in surprise. "She is full of surprises, Soundwave."

It was almost as if he was congratulating him. Soundwave didn't respond besides a curt nod. The giant group of Cybertronians in the stands did not stay silent during this period of time.

"She forfeits! This proud femme is now on her knees... for me!" the mech opponent yelled.

The Gladiator watched her intently. Soundwave waited patiently, his posture revealing nothing. No one noticed his subtle movements as his helm leaned a little closer in her direction.

The movement was swift, too precise for a normal optic. Soundwave's optics weren't ordinary. It was crystal clear, the moment she launched and the moment the mech was on the ground. There were wounds. It was silent.

"These proud mechs have fallen! And everyone else will follow!"

The same wing that had been gently touched, was now brutally torn.

The silent mech didn't predict this, but he had already anticipated something more from this femme. There was more depth than most could see, he had been there to witness it personally. He didn't gloat or boast his thoughts, but Soundwave was no fool in realizing his superior mentor skills. The mech constructed the femme, piece by piece and all their difficult work had paid off.

"I like her. She seems interested in similar matters, wouldn't you say, Soundwave?" Megatronus asked calmly, despite the loud roars.

He nodded again.


The speaker approached the area. He threw her a heated glare when he gripped the microphone. He was still peeved about that other cycle. Nonetheless, he held a professional attitude to their current situation.

"There you have it, Bots! Exceeding our expectations since her first fight," he mocked. "Give an applause for the femme not afraid to get her claws dirty!"

Their applause was like thunderous. Darkstrike breathed in and out. She grinned, raising her arms in victory. There was a feral glint in her optics as she accepted the audience's praise.

After she felt like she had basked enough in the moment, she tuned down her audio receptors and made for the mech on the ground.

Ironically, the sword that had wounded her was the one she would bring to Swindle. Seeing as her presence was no longer required in the arena, she made for the exit.

Her wings drooped, and the femme forced her posture straight. The urge to limp wasn't as strong as her pride. Passing through the arena doors was a haven. Darkstrike let out the breathe she was holding. She grimaced at her injuries. Unable to support herself correctly, she leaned on the wall.

Pedesteps were a sign she wasn't alone in the dimly lit corridors. Darkstrike looked up, believing the new presence was Soundwave. Two magenta optics revealed themselves just as the flier was about to speak. Darkstrike realized that this was not the company she had anticipated.

The spiderbot clapped slowly, in a melodramatic manner. The smirk on her faceplates suggested that she was mocking her. Darkstrike's lips curled in a wary snarl. Her claws still stung from her recent attack, but the unstable appendages were still available for usage.

A melodious laugh filled the hallway.

"Well done, well done indeed." Airachnid stopped not too far from her. Darkstrike had nothing to say to this dangerous Cybertronian-er, whatever she was. "That mech certainly had your back, didn't he?"

Her backstrusts began to throb in pain, causing her to wince aloud. A single trail of energon dripped from her dark wings. Airachnid saw the bright blue fluid, her pain only causing the other femme satisfaction. Tension was in the air, hate in pink optics and aggravation in the Gladiator's scowl.

"I am a femme of my word, cheating you out of our deal would just seem unprofessional wouldn't it?" It was a rhetorical question but Darkstrike still felt the urge to remark.

"That's Swindle's forte, isn't it? But you seem so well acquainted with him; you might have picked up a few things..." she replied. The Gladiator noticed the way the comment didn't suit well with the sponsor. There was a forced laugh from the spiderbot.

"Injured and with a sense of humor? The audience won't be able to get enough of you. They'll be tearing your wings off just to get to you," the smaller femme hummed. Darkstrike's wings gave a violent hitch. She was easily riled by the femme, but not completely convinced by the bait. Airachnid was a sponsor and a good friend of the owners. Other Gladiators were expected to treat her with respect or face the consequences.

I hate you, Darkstrike wanted to say. The taller femme deadpanned.

"What happened to that sense of humor of yours? What's holding you back?"

Her back injury stung even more at the words. Darkstrike didn't even know why she was still there. Neither of them liked each other, why the frag did they still interact?

Because they had a rivalry. A competition to see which resourceful femme would come out on top. They were both feared on different levels. They both knew things. They both were dangerous. There was a mutual intimidation emanating from both femmes, all of it masked by their pride.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to leave," her words were short and to the point.

"What was it I wanted to tell you...?" she murmured to herself. Her heel tapped on the floors for a few nano-kliks. "Oh yes, your sword will be delivered in an orn's time."

You little—

"You should really get that repaired. It isn't good to walk around with an open wound." As much as Darkstrike wanted to sink her sword into that little slagger's body, she had self-control. "I'll leave you to it."

Heels eagerly clicked down the hallway.

"Until next time, Airachnid," she commented under her breathe. Darkstrike's words echoed though the hallway and those heels didn't seem to have the same avid skip as before.


Any Gladiator that walked by would have suspected that the energon room was empty. It an wasn't implausible thought, no one went in that room besides when energon wasn't available. At this late joor, there was nothing and nobot in there.

Only the observant mechs weren't fooled. A lone femme sat at the very corner of the room.

Said femme sat on the ground, ignoring the logic of sitting in one of the empty seats. The Gladiator slurped the energon in her servo, stray drops dripping from her bottom lip. Darkstrike was careful not to consume it all in one take. If she was celebrating her victory, she would have to savor it. The femme's wounds were still open and energon still coated her armor. Anyone sane in the processor would have paid the medic a visit. Unfortunately, she didn't really qualify as "sane."

She hummed a little tune, swaying her her cube to the rhythm of it. The old tune was certainly contagious. The liquid swished in its container, but Darkstrike didn't pay any mind to it. She gave herself a crooked smile to lighten her mood.

Her optics closed, even as someone entered the room. Darkstrike continued, even as the pedesteps got closer. Those loud steps belonged to a mech, and not just any ordinary mech at that. The bot reached her and simply stared down. The cold presence gave her a familiar chill that awoke her from her state.

The internal temperature in her frame seemingly dropped a few degrees. Darkstrike stopped humming. Her optics saw the shadow that loomed over her, casting a light shadow over her faceplates. Her red optics slowly elevated from the mech's pedes, to his promising, gorgeous, tall structure. The femme gulped.

So someone had noticed her, after all.

Darkstrike felt like he was judging her with his silent stare. If he were more talkative, the flier felt like he would have wearily sighed at her. Soundwave slightly leaned down and yanked her arm up. Her weight was easy to handle and she was up on her pedes in a flash.

Soundwave's visor reflected her deep wounds. His grip on her arm tightened, a sign that he was reprimanding her for not getting those fixed.

He watched as Darkstrike squirmed unhappily as he began walking out the door. He knew that the femme was accustomed to his yanks to the point where she didn't question it anymore. If he actually cared, Soundwave would question how the femme was smart enough to win the battle but stupid enough to sit with open wounds.

He didn't care, but the femme should have cared. It annoyed him to an extent, but there he was. It was inevitable. She was hopeless.

Soundwave didn't wait for her to catch up, and this caused her to stumble on her pedes.

They were inside his room in an instant. The mech didn't bother secretively typing his passcode; Darkstrike knew it as well as he did. The lights immediately turned on. He wasn't gentle, the femme would have fallen forward if it wasn't for his berth.

"Remove your armor," he stated.

She hesitantly looked up at him, but he had gone into his workspace to find his healing remedies and tools. Darkstrike still seemed shy when revealing her frame to him, but Soundwave hardly cared; it wasn't as if he hadn't seen her bare before.

Once he found his things, he turned his attention back to the femme. She had stripped of most of her upper armor and Soundwave analyzed her. He was intrigued by her unique built and not for the first time, he searched for what could be potential weaknesses. His optics roamed her frame from behind his visor. As before, he was pleased with what he saw.

Darkstrike had noticed his audacious gazing and this didn't surprise Soundwave; he wasn't subtle with his actions. He knew it made her uncomfortable which was why he purposely made it more blatant.

He motioned her to turn and she easily complied. Darkstrike's back was a creamy color protoform with the ugly blemish of the gash as evidence of her fight. He began aiding her carefully. Her wings seemed to twitch in pain when he touched the damaged area. Soundwave watched the downward wings, recognizing that they had come in contact with some seeker's wings. The idea didn't sit well with him.

The mech had to reattach some wires and stop the bleeding. After Soundwave had done all he could, he looked at the wing damage.

Soundwave seemed reluctant to leaving it like that. Though, her wings didn't seem to be in pain when they were rubbing against that other mech's.

His servo spread out wide and he stroked her left wing. If she were a seeker, she would have jolted. Nonetheless, he felt her small reaction. He assumed that she knew his servo was there. His long fingers pressed harder and stroked them roughly, leaving four symmetrical small scratches there.

It was a primitive thing to do, marking her, but Soundwave wanted her to know who was her actual superior, not that stupid seeker.

Her back arched up and her claws dug into his berth. He couldn't see her face, but her posture said it all. After that, Darkstrike's wing was quickly repaired, minus his mark. She had flinched and winced a few times but that was expected. Victory came with a cost.

The femme made a move to stand up, but his servo snaked away to her abdomen. He was cautious enough to avoid her wound. Darkstrike stiffened up, a light blush coating her light faceplates. Soundwave pressed on it, motioning her to lay down. She squirmed beneath his servo, much to Soundwave's gratification.

"Recharge," he commanded. Many things burst through her mind, her loud thoughts unintentionally reaching him. Questions such as "why are you doing this?" were frequently on her processor.

"Suggestion: Darkstrike depart in current state?" he asked.

I shouldn't be so surprised, came from her mind. He didn't say any more. Soundwave expected her to recharge and allow the graceful silence to engulf them, but he knew better. That processor of hers never stopped ticking, it always went on and on, even in her recharge.

"I won," she said. She was attempting conversation with him again. Soundwave didn't find himself talking much, but he was interested in what she had to say.

He nodded.

"Those two mechs live, though. I could have killed them..." she said, "There weren't any rules that said I couldn't."

Soundwave turned to her. "Mechs still live."

"Correct..."

"Query: Why?"

She glanced at him with wide optics. "Why...?" she repeated. He didn't anything, rather just stared in her direction. The flier took a moment to think, pressured by his sudden question. The dark-armored femme knew he was going to ask her this.

"I wanted them to survive so that they could live with the humiliation of the femme that defeated them both. The seeker has to live with the damage on his wing. Everybot knows a seeker would rather be killed than be permanently grounded."

Soundwave was inwardly pleased with her response. This was no longer the high-caste that had entered this arena. Darkstrike had proved her worth and had survived. She had made it farther and exceeded his expectations. Because of this, he had healed her. She deserved some type of reward.

He turned his back from the femme and grasped the ends of his helm. There were multiple clicks and his visor was off. Soundwave could feel the femme's optics on his back. Darkstrike was very interested in his aesthetic for some reason. She waited for him to turn around. Those red optics of hers were just begging to see him once.

"Your query?" he asked. He purposely didn't turn.

"Uhm... no... I-I," she coughed in embarrassment, "Thank you."

She shuffled and turned to lean off her wound. This once, Soundwave allowed a smirk to grace his lips.


A/N: Soundwave doesn't like that mech all over his girl it seems. I hope you enjoyed that fight, I really put a lot of effort into it.

Also, with Airachnid, I somewhat like her character (but I hate who she kills) so you all get to see her being a smartass and such.

Welcome me back and kindly tell me what you all think.