Title: Gone Fishing
Warning: Seduction, awkward social issues, weird power issues, dubcon?
Rating: R
Continuity: IDW
Characters: Nautilator/D.J.D., Overlord/Nautilator
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.
Motivation (Prompt): In the More Than Meets The Eye comic, there exists a Seacon with the voice of Megatron, and a group of sadistic murderers who idolize all things Megatron. Naturally, they have to cross paths. Prompts written for Candy From Strangers have finally been separated out here.
[* * * * *]
Overlord - "Pontificate"
[* * * * *]
You're not sure what you expected, but it wasn't silence.
Snap Trap meets you at the airlock, and you'd brace for a beating if you aren't already wincing for a totally different reason. You give your captain a sickly little wave of greeting through the airlock door window, and his optics narrow to angry crimson slits. Oh, yeah. You're getting your aft handed to you. Permanent filter-scrubbing duty. You can almost hear his fingers drum against his upper arms where he'd crossed his arms to wait, impatient to begin pounding you to tinfoil.
You honestly have no idea what he thinks you did this time - beyond the usual, and usual involving doing anything with the D.J.D. in the first place - but Snap Trap's giving you the look of doom. He obviously thinks you did something.
You want to protest your innocence, but you're guilty. Dear armaments and all their ammunition, are you guilty. Just, y'know, not of whatever your captain thinks you did. Well, no, probably of that as well, but you're not sure what it is you did, so you can't say that with any certainty.
The silence is unnerving you. For some reason, you expect all attacks and powerplays to come with grand speeches attached. You generally don't understand everything said by the higher ranks when they give a motivating speech before battle, but it's what you're used to. Pep talks, gloating, and overconfident boasts of victory are the Decepticon modus operandi.
They seem to be unnecessary when the power gap is extreme, however, or maybe Overlord just doesn't consider you or your captain worth wasting words on. The airlock door rolls back with a hiss of air pressure. It makes more noise than the massive Decepticon who's been waiting out of sight around the corner behind you. His footsteps are frighteningly quiet. You stay still as they pass you in three long strides.
Snap Trap's optics pop round, tracking upward until they meet Overlord's smile. They bleach pale.
You expect flung words: angry accusations, panic, an attempt at bargaining from Snap Trap, or a scarily pleasant-sounding threat from Overlord. You think Overlord will at least purr an explanation for why one of Megatron's invincible super-soldiers is advancing on your captain like a tidal wave on a rowboat. Knowing Snap Trap, there'll be an explosion of rage and an attack, futile as it might be. Your boss is kind of a killing machine. Putting him up against Overlord doesn't seem like it'd be that much of a deterrent, really.
Instead, there isn't a word said. The captain grunts as Overlord grabs him by the back of the neck while striding past, and you're left behind, staring after them. The last thing you see of them is Snap Trap's wide optics as he's dragged along behind the much larger mech, heels screeking across the floor.
You give another lame little wave. What else can you do?
[* * * * *]
Seacons - "squish"
[* * * * *]
You've never been close to your combiner team, but right now you guys couldn't get any closer without combining. The five of you are squished together, listening while barely daring to vent in case you miss something.
Five mechs, one door, and six very friendly tentacles. You guys are exploring new territory in unit cohesion right now.
"Cut it out," four of you hiss at the same moment.
"Sorry," Tentakil says, not sounding very sorry at all because he's an enormous jerk with personal space issues.
The tentacles stop violating the rest of you, for the most part, and you squirm deeper into the pile of Seacons leaning on the door of Snap Trap's office. It's an unpleasant experience even without the tentacles, as Skalor is abusing his ooze to keep his place nearest to the door. He growls at you when you decide the stink is worth getting a better spot to listen at. It's not your brightest idea - he reeks, he reeks so bad, auuugh, it is awful - but it works. You put your audio to the door and listen.
With this many mechs here, it should be difficult to hear anything. There are five sets of heavy-duty ventilation fans whirring away, and Tentakil is keeping his tentacles to himself in an entirely inappropriate manner that makes yet more noise. You shouldn't be able to hear anything.
You hear enough. Snap Trap shrieks, and you're abruptly squashed flat to the door by your team.
"What is he doing?" Overbite asks you, breathless and not just because of Skalor's odor.
"How should I know?" you say back, and there's a faint, hiccupping cry of what could be either pain or pleasure from behind the door.
You've never heard your commander make that noise. It's strange. It's frightening. It's exciting enough that your interface array lights up like an airstrip. He sounds weak, vulnerable, and after the next shrill, piercing shriek dies off, his cries breaks into rhythmic bursts that sound perilously close to begging.
Seawing attempts to iron you flatter so he can get closer to the door himself. "Why's he here? Not like somebody like you," a sneer that earns him a pincer digging into his thigh as retaliation, "could stop him, but I thought Snap Trap said you're not allowed to bring anybody home with you." A rule put into place after Dodge The Captain got put on the list of banned activities for the ship. For anywhere, but mostly the ship. Your captain didn't hang out socially with you anywhere else, after all.
You wheeze a bit under his weight but stubbornly refuse to give up your spot. "I didn't bring him. He brought me." Semantics to twist the purpose of that rule, but you're grasping at straws. You know better than to break the rules. You just didn't argue when Overlord decided to.
He didn't ask before escorting you home personally. He certainly didn't ask before hauling your captain off to lock in this office and do utterly horrible things to for the past three hours.
Snap Trap screams for Primus, and your breath catches in perfect sync with the rest of your team at that trembling tone.
Three of you immediately begin coughing. Skalor grumbles as he's ejected from the group.
Muffled pleas for mercy come from behind the door. Snap Trap sounds exhausted, desperate, and helpless to stop himself. The low chuckle is a barely audible reply, and the other Seacons look at your strangely when you start laughing. From personal experience, you know there is no mercy to be had.
[* * * * *]
Snap Trap - "heartache"
[* * * * *]
Overlord leaves as undramatically as he arrived, not even pausing when confronted by a frozen tableau of eavesdroppers outside the office. There's quite a crowd when he finally emerges, but he zeroes in on you like the rest of the crew doesn't exist. You get the feeling he doesn't really notice people standing around him in horrified little defensive groups anymore. They're a standard part of the scenery for him, like being surrounded by a crew of idiots is Snap Trap's default background and panic is such a part of your life these days that you're learning to block it out.
Embarrassment is harder to block out, possibly because it appears in brief, hot, unpredictable flashes. Overlord stoops as he passes by, and your electrical wiring goes white-hot in total embarrassment as he drops a perfunctory kiss on the side of your mask. It's an open goodbye acknowledging you as - his lover? Fragtoy? Whatever you are, that kiss is given in front of most of the blasted crew, and you sputter in delayed response because it was split second pause. He's already gone, striding back toward the airlock and his shuttle.
Seawing promptly takes command of the ship, but with half his visor trained on the office door at all times. Snap Trap could be alive for all anyone knows. Somebody would check, but there's a feeling of dread for what might be on the other side of that door. Snap Trap's a brutal, angry, cold-sparked murderer, but he's one of the better captains in the Decepticon fleet. If he's dead, nobody wants to be the one to find the body. More accurately, nobody wants to be the one tagged to clean up the mess if the door opens to bits of ex-captain scattered across the floor and walls.
Then you get a ping, and that answers that question.
Shanix changes hands as you wince and reluctantly stand. "We'll engrave your coffin with something nice," Overbite jokes, clapping you on the shoulder.
You think he's joking, anyway. He might not be. You wonder if there will be enough of you left for a coffin as you trudge for Snap Trap's office.
Inching inside when the door opens, you stop and forget to come to attention. "Uh…sir? I - uh, should I call the medibay?"
Snap Trap doesn't try to get up to greet you. You don't blame him. From the looks of it, he managed to stop most of the bleeding, but that's part of his chest over against the far wall, and you can see sparklight. Your own spark throbs sympathy inside you, and you're suddenly much more aware of how lucky you are to have escaped Overlord's berth intact. Every one of your commander's interface hatches are ripped open, jagged hinges and broken-off covers sticking out obscenely from where he sprawls over the desk like an offering to satiating Overlord. He still steams faintly.
His optics are dim. For a moment, you think he's called you in here to witness his graying, but no. It seems he's just exhausted. "This ship has rules for a reason, Nautilator."
Oh no, not a rules speech. You eye the distance between the desk and the door and take a healthy step back. There's no way he's going to be running you down in that condition, and as long as you stay out of reach, you think you have a good chance of getting away from this lecture without fist-shaped dents. "Yeah. I, er, well, I kinda know."
"You 'kind of' know?" He scoffs and chokes on coolant. You politely wait for him to clear his throat again and keep talking, which he does. "You know, but you brought Overlord onto my ship anyway." You start to protest, but he twitches a hand. "I'm well aware that he made the choice to come here. He told me all about how you felt I might blame you for his actions, and he felt it best to come here in person to," he hesitates an almost painfully long moment, "explain."
Explain. Right.
Ouch.
You cringe. It's difficult to look at him without picturing the kind of explanation pounded into him, so you look around the office. It's in even worse shape than Snap Trap is. Twisted pieces of armor lie about on the floor where they were thrown aside, the desk tidy is driven halfway into the wall, and there's a set of handprints on the wall that illustrate far too clearly what position Snap Trap had been in while Overlord stood behind him and -
Hot flash! Okay! Not thinking about that!
"I'm sorry," you squeak because you think you should. You're not really sorry about anything, but you can't think why else you've been called in here since Snap Trap's obviously in no condition to beat anything but a limping retreat to the medibay. You might be flattened into sheet metal by him over this, but it won't be done today.
He rolls his head to the side to glare at you. You try to look suitably cowed despite how pathetic he looks right now. "Apology accepted," he says after what he can't possibly think was an intimidating pause.
The imprint of his back on the wall behind his desk caught your attention, so you didn't notice the glare or waiting until he accepts your apology. It takes you by surprise. Wow, really? Just like that? Overlord must have 'explained' the bolts off him. "Really? I mean, uh, thanks!"
"On the condition," he clarifies, and your shoulders hunch, "that any further interactions you have with him - "
"I know, I know," you interrupt, beastmode legs down in submission, "off the ship."
"No."
"Huh?" You look up, and this time Snap Trap is carefully not looking at you.
"You will bring him back here."
"Bu Snap Trap…sir," you tack on hurriedly, "I don't have room for - my bunk's not - he's too big for my berth," you finish stupidly. All you can picture is Overlord's huge legs hanging off the edge of your bunk. He's so tall they might brush the floor. Your roommates will have spark fluxes.
"Your bunk isn't big enough. Obviously, you'll have to use mine," your captain says, studiously calm. "I will, of course, expect to be included." That wasn't a request, you can tell.
It takes a second to click home, and then you go hot. Embarrassment floods you.
"Understood, Nautilator?"
You mutter something to the floor between your feet.
"Do I need to spell every-fragging-thing out for you? Fine. I expect a threesome with you and him, at the very least, since I sincerely doubt he has any interest in fragging me outside of your - "
"Yessir understood sir got it okay are we done here?!"
Battered, mangled, and still capable of controlling you, Snap Trap huffs a tired laugh. "Dismissed."
You flee the office.
[* * * * *]
"tipsy"
[* * * * *]
You knew this would be the difficult part.
The thing with Overlord has become one of those subjects smart Decepticons don't talk about within audio-range of Snap Trap, who spends three days in the medibay recovering. Not talking about it means that everybody just waits until he's away before clustering around you wearing grins too big for their faces. It's actually sort of fun. There's limits about what you're willing to spill for gossip, but Overlord - whoa. Definitely in the top ranges of Epic Frags. It's a stroll down Erotic Memory Lane describing a few of the things he did to and with you.
The crew's suitably impressed. You've never narrated any of the D.J.D.'s berth habits, but Overlord assured you he doesn't mind his lovers talking about him. You're well aware that the super-soldier's just as terrifying as Tarn and the rest, but there's a lot more charm involved, interfacing Overlord. He can make you forget he can kill you any second on a whim. He makes sadistic mass-murdering tendencies scary sexy instead of terrifying with a thin edge of hotness.
By the time you get to the part where he gave you head, there's a ship-wide plot starting to just go full-on orgy on him when he comes back. You're not sure what to think about everyone's confidence that he'll be back, but you shrug it off. Weirder things have happened.
So you don't get your face punched in over getting your aft stolen and sold to Overlord, if only because Snap Trap won't talk about it. You think he might have even forgiven you, at this point. The way he's positively mellow for the week after the Thing That Didn't Happen is pretty telling, even before he insists you write a full report on what went on during your time on Overlord's shuttle.
Yeah, he doesn't care that you got kidnapped anymore. He just wants to get his hands on all the smutty, filthy details of what happened while you were at Overlord's mercy.
"Should've just gotten your aft autographed," you mutter while trudging away over to start embarrassing the Pit out of yourself by writing out said smutty, filthy details. It's like writing porn starring yourself. Hmm. How vague can you be without getting smacked? "My boss is a fanbot."
"What was that?"
You squeak and spin around to look into Snap Trap's optics from far too close for comfort. "My boss is - is fantastic!"
He glares you down. "That's what I thought you said," he growls once you're convinced he's going to rip your claws off. "Now get to work."
Embarrassed is a better fate than being beaten into a lobster patty. The bridge crew sniggers as you scurry to your duty station and bend to industriously pecking out the report. You keep your optics on your work and marinate in shame.
It takes three agonizing hours of hot flashes and trying to hide your console screen from nosy crewmates, but you finish at last. Snap Trap's vents give a funny little fluffle when you send it to his inbox, and half a dozen heads cock around the bridge as he strides off toward his wrecked office.
"I heard fans~," Seawing singsongs once he's gone.
"Move over, loser!" Skalor and Tentakril bodyslam into you from the side, knocking you off your chair and fighting over your console.
"Hey!" You kick and fight the feet trampling you. "Hey! You can't read that!"
"Can it, legs, or we'll drop you into an ocean trench," Seawing orders. He's already taken the captain's chair, assuming command. You glare at him from the floor and sullenly let half the slagging crew step up for a download, because he'll do it. You don't think you'll forget how to swim again - speaking of embarrassing - but the other Seacons aren't above tying blocks of lead to you if you don't sink naturally.
The report spreads like a fire through a refinery. There isn't a mech onboard the ship that doesn't get a copy, and suddenly everyone's eying you speculatively. That would be pretty neat if you don't feel like they're sizing you up for dinner. You're getting the willies something fierce every time Snap Trap's gaze lingers on you, which it's doing more and more often, now.
When you get the message ping after the ship docks , frag yes are you ready to escape. Even if it's into the arms of mechs you're nervous around on a good day, it's got to be better than staying trapped in the ship. You really, truly don't want to be stuck anywhere accessible as the first round of mechs stumbles back from leave, fendered out of their processors and prone to bad touches. You prefer your bad touches 'teehee naughty!', not 'ew, I know where you put that last.'
The response to your enthusiastic agreement is oddly delayed. Baffled isn't a term you apply to Kaon, especially not his text messages, but there it is. *Are you sure?* drops into your inbox twice over, as if he doesn't believe you read it the first time.
*Yeah, why not?* you send back. *Unless I should run the other way? Should I run the other way?* You can run the other way, but it never seems to get you far with the Justice Division. They keep sending Vos after you, and he's faster than you.
The response pings back hastily. *No! No, we'll file the leave request right away.*
And he does. You know he does it immediately, because you can hear when it transmits. Not the transmission itself, but Snap Trap bellows your name so loud the bulkhead vibrates. "YOU STUPID GLITCH!"
Well, it's one of your names.
You jog up to the bridge in order to speed along the inevitable. Nobody is stupid enough to make Snap Trap hunt a glitch down, at least not anymore. He lives for the hunt. The whole crew's seen the mad gleam in his optics whenever somebody makes the doomed mistake of attempting to hide. There isn't a lot left of his prey most of the time, so nope, nobody that stupid's left to make that mistake anymore.
He's looking ready to rend you from limb to limb, insane look bright in his optics and fingers clawed on the armrests of the captain's chair, but you knew this was coming. More like Overlord knew this was coming, but same difference. Overlord told you, and you knew he was right, because Snap Trap might have forgiven but he certainly hasn't forgotten. There's a reason you don't have dockside leave and are stuck in the ship, after all.
"You," he hisses, tensed to lunge.
Your vocalizer abruptly feels about nine times too large for your throat, and fear seems to be coming out your optics. Mute and frightened to shivering, you hold up the holocube like it'll defend you.
Enraged, Snap Trap nearly smacks it from your hands before the elegant script along the front registers. He blinks. He blinks again.
"What?"
You just keep holding it out. If you try to step forward to hand it to him, you're probably going to collapse in an oily little puddle of fear.
It's okay, because your captain's intrigued enough to stand up and not instantly kill you. "'A gift to make up for any inconvenience'?" he murmurs as he takes the holocube. "How long have you been holding onto this? Idiot." The cuff upside the head is expected and only sends you sliding across the floor to slam into a wall. That's nothing but how Decepticons get a mech's attention. You shake off the static lacing your optical feed and climb back to your feet as Snap Trap reads Overlord's note and chides you, "You're supposed to give me anything tha - "
He stops midword as he activates the holocube. He stares. The bridge crew stares.
"Why," Snap Trap says after a long period of dumbfounded staring, "who how what?"
He sounds a bit strangled and disjointed, but he asked you a question and therefore you must answer. That's how the chain of command works around here. "Because Overlord thought the Terrorcons would pay out the manifolds for it," you say obediently. "He's Sixshot. Overlord told him to pose like a pin-up model, and he was drunk enough to do it. That's a pin-up picture of Sixshot." You run the questions through your head, checking off your answers. Yes, okay, got them all.
Yet Snap Trap is still staring. The bridge crew is starting to look unnerved by that stare, however. Nothing good ever comes of the captain getting that particularly crazed look of glee on his face. The urge to combine into Piranacon itches in your gestalt links, but there's no battle to rush into. There's only the disturbingly happy expression on Snap Trap's face, and the holocube now greedily clutched in his hands. Mechs sidle toward the doors when the cackling begins.
"So, uh…can I go?" you venture three minutes in.
Collapsed over his chair, staring into the holocube and laughing hysterically, Snap Trap waves you on your way.
[* * * * *]
D.J.D. - "repopulation"
[* * * * *]
The thing about going further is that now they know your boundaries are negotiable. Eh, they probably knew that before. You're pretty easy to talk into trying new things. You're pretty easy in general, honestly, but they can coax you into stuff you should really know better than to try.
It really doesn't take much to get you to pop your chest. The intensity they pour into getting you in the mood scares you a bit, but there's been various grumbles about Overlord thrown into the conversation ever since they got you back onboard the Peaceful Tyranny. It's probably some kind of one-upping competition that you've been thrust into as a game piece. You'd be nervous about getting between the clash of titans, but it's hard to be terribly frightened by competitive fragging. That just makes you picture a Tarn-Overlord sandwich with Nautilator filling, and then you have to have a short sit-down.
Mmm. Sandwich.
Maybe a long sit-down. Sitting down until you can walk straight again.
Regardless of why, Kaon has your chest open, and he's making you kick and wriggle as he dabbles inside. His fingers are webbed in lines of electricity, dancing traceries of energy that whisper over your spark chamber in tiny jolts of live current. Helex is peering into your chest from the other side. They're both drunk off the sound of their Lord Megatron in spark-deep pleasure, and slag if you're not happy with what you're getting in return.
Except that then they're already thinking of the next phase, something bigger and presumably one better than Overlord got from you.
Kaon strokes over your spark chamber and shivers at the deep moan that wells up your throat. "As enjoyable as we find this," he says in a low voice, "we thought this time that…maybe a little spark-on-spark play..?"
Even twisting on the berth, mind clouded and body on the cusp of overload, you hear that clear enough. Blinking rapidly, you mute your vocalizer and pant to regain some control. You're having a great time, especially as Helex brings all four arms into play continuing the massage this particular bout started out as. Spark-on-spark is a little - okay, a lot - intimate for Decepticons. You don't quite get why they'd want it, considering how much quieter you get as the pleasure turns inward, but you're not thinking straight and Kaon's doing things with his fingertips on your spark chamber that aren't helping that.
"Okay," you gasp out on the third try. "One - one time."
The observers in the room rustle, excited, and you absently wonder if this has been the goal all along. Whether or not it is, Kaon's straddling you now while Helex uses one set of hands to part the smaller mech's chest. This won't be so bad. It's been a while since you've done direct sparkplay, but it's tons of fun when there are trusted people involved. Lacking that, Kaon will do.
You really hope he doesn't electrocute you.
You also hope you haven't lost your knack for using the gestalt bond to bleed off the pleasure. It's always fun to surprise non-combiners with your endurance, because there's just something about direct sparkplay that takes away every inhibition and barrier a mech has.
Kaon leans over you, smiling and eager as his spark chamber opens, and you're out from under him and across the room before anyone can stop you.
"Where's your - ?!" You hold your arm protectively over your open chest, gesturing wildly at Kaon. "The doohickey!" The Justice Division is staring at you like you've hit them over their collective heads. You stare back at them and wave your arm. "The doohickey! Where's your thingie!"
Yes, this is your life, Nautilator: shouting at the D.J.D.
"What are you talking about?" Tarn asks in that peculiar, delicate tone he pulls out when he thinks you're being unreasonable. You don't tend to agree with his version of unreasonable, as it usually involves stuff that leaves you explaining later to Snap Trap that Piranacon now has inbuilt BDSM gear. These are not fun conversations for you to have.
Sort of how the missing what's-it in Kaon's spark chamber won't be leading to anything other than Snap Trap dragging you down to the medibay to have you sterilized. Is that even possible? Can mechs be sterilized? You don't think so. If they could, then the Decepticons would probably be doing it to Autobots already. You don't personally know anyone who's been involved in spark-splicing or anything, but it's been a long war and as far as you know, the famous Phase Seven won't begin until the war's over.
It makes sense to you. No sense repopulating until people are done dying. That's why Nova Prime's Spark-Splicing Programme stopped, wasn't it? The civil unrest back before the war got so bad that the clinics put out advisories against splicing, and then the war started.
It also makes sense to you that every soldier be issued a spark…thingiemajig to ensure that nobody accidently spliced and required a cold-constructed frame that might not be available whenever or wherever the splicing happens. It was a big deal, back at the beginning of the war. There used to be mandatory checks during maintenance in the medibay. Now it's just kind of assumed everyone has one.
You're not sure what would happen if you didn't, but it would probably be bad. You can't think of any reason why it'd be good, anyway.
Tarn's giving you a strange look, however. Tesarus and Helex are staring. Kaon has both hands in front of his chest to shield his chest, because Vos is peering at his spark chamber like it's a specimen to be studied.
"The doohickey," you repeat.
More strange looks.
"The…the spark-splicer preventer thing. For Phase Seven."
A couple blinks, and Helex is starting to look uncomfortable. Kaon's face twitches.
"What do you mean?" Tarn asks again, sounding less sure of himself.
And your brow furrows, because there's something off about all of their reactions. Normally you wouldn't do this, but you're riled up enough to be bold. Dropping your tone, you order, "Open your chest. I want to see your spark."
He doesn't like that. He likes the voice, but Tarn's optics narrow. You gulp and step back.
Fortunately, you weren't specific on who you were ordering. Tesarus shrugs and pops his chest above the torso tunnel. You duck your head to avoid Tarn's gaze and edge around to accept the hand up from Tesarus so you can look at his spark.
You stare. "Where is it?" No, seriously, where is his thingie? You're not working from a large sample of spark chambers since sparkplay's not a typical fragbuddy thing, but this is weird.
"What's 'it'?" Tesarus asks, and you look up into his X-optic structure. It widens visibly as you describe the contraceptive device as best you can. "That…I've never had that," he says weakly when you finish. "I mean, I've - I've 'faced a few times, not a lot y'know, but a few times, and I've never…is splicing common..?" He sounds like he hopes you know.
Which is scary, because it means he doesn't know. He's been sparking around without a doohickey, and he doesn't even know the risks.
"Did your partners have one?" you ask suspiciously, suddenly less confused and more accusing. Tesarus flicks a glance at Helex, and you hiss in against your fans because Helex has all four hands over his chest, looking appalled. When you look around, the whole group looks taken aback. Kaon's snapped his chest closed, hands flat over the seams and empty optical sockets wide. Vos is shifting from foot to foot. "Did you…uh, did you ever check with your partners afterward?"
"I didn't know I had to?" Kaon admits, making it a question.
Alright, that's it. This is officially the weirdest thing they've ever done to you. "It's in the regs," you wail. Wriggling free of Tesarus, you drop to the floor and turn around to stare at each of them. "It's in the pre-Phase Seven medical regs! You're the D.J.D.; why the frag don't you know this?!" This time, it comes out an accusation. It's like a personal betrayal that you know something about the Decepticons that they don't. Isn't the Justice Division supposed to know everything?
"Ah. Well." Tarn makes a small, stilted motion with his hand, as if he was going to shrug but changed his mind. He glances at the others, something a tad helpless in his optics. "There are...different medical regulations for different divisions. Genericons are under a different set of rules. We are, ah, apparently not as restricted as the rank and file."
Indignation pierces the almost-fear building in you. "You're breeders?! Were you trying to breed me?!"
"What."
"No! No no no no!"
"I can't what no you I no."
"I don't want to spark-splice!"
"None of us want to spark-splice," Tarn growled, interrupting the chaos. He steps forward, crowding you, and glares. "There will be no splicing until Phase Seven."
For once, you glare right back instead of finding a table to hide under. "You've spark-fragged, admit it! He did, at least!" Tesarus backs away, uneasy at the finger you point at him, but you're shaking your other pointer finger up at Tarn. "With no protection! If you've been sparking around without a doohickey, how many sparks have you spliced without even knowing it? Are you trying to get new sparks?"
The hulking tank backs off for a second, optics wide, and you crowd him right back, accusing finger pointed dead center of his mask. Fear is feeding an irrational anger that gives you temporary courage, because you were this close to having to inform Snap Trap that somebody needed to cold construct a body for a new spark.
"Were you going to disable my thingie? Is there some kind of secret desire for new sparks here that you're not telling me about?" you demand, and Tarn's engine redlines.
Suddenly you're the one backing away, reminded that you're a small, disposable genericon as he advances on you. "I would rip it out of you myself," he snarls down at you, all treads and looming threat.
The whole room pauses as everyone catches up with what he just said.
Your altmode shrinks on your back, and you swallow hard. "Eh-heh." Just going to back away slowly, very slowly from the mass murderers. The mass murderers who wouldn't hesitate to kill you or any newly spliced Decepticon sparks. The sparks spliced for the Decepticon Empire, but the Empire has this gang of mass murderers for its justice system.
This would be a poor time for breeding, yes. You completely agree with installing doohickeys in every Decepticon soldier.
Even the other Justice Division members are giving Tarn startled looks. He drags a hand down his mask and steps away from you, giving you room. It fails to reassure you. "I didn't mean that I want to kill newsparks," he says roughly. "It is just - it's a situation I've never given thought to. It's not a problem we've run into before." He gives his unit querying looks.
Shrugs and shaking heads go around the room, and your head tilts slowly to the side. It's just sinking in that this is an entire unit that's spent the whole course of the war interfacing without spark protection.
You keep backing away from Tarn. "I'm going back to the ship."
Frustration tightens his treads, but he doesn't move to stop you. "If you must."
"C'mon, you don't gotta do that," Tesarus says, reaching for you. "We can still have fun without doing the spark stuff."
"Are you going to get a thingie installed?" you ask sharply, and nobody will look at you. Exasperated anger wells up in you, and you turn to storm from the room. "You are irresponsible. You are irresponsible and bad." There's only one proper response to a situation where you have such a strong opinion but so little influence. "You are irresponsible and bad and I'm telling my captain on you."
Uncomfortable silence erupts into a flustered scramble. "Get back here!"
"No!"
[* * * * *]
[ A/N:According to how cold construction is described in MTMTE, most of the Autobots and Decepticons still don't know that they were lied to about where the sparks for cold construction came from. I like the idea that the Decepticons are convinced they'll be able to repopulate themselves during Phase Seven, but they have to take preventive measures among the grunts until then. Meanwhile, Decepticon High Command can't figure out why their attempts to duplicate spark-splicing don't work.
And there is a picture of Sixshot the Pin-up model on Tumblr. It is wonderful and is what inspired that part. Snap Trap is going to have Hun-Grr promising him any and everything to let the Terrorcons have that picture.]