Bleed Like Me
Universe: Prime
Pairing: RatchetxDrones
Story Rating: R/MA+
Chapter Rating: MA
Warnings: Mention of Non-con; Unethical things (you'll understand when you read it)
Description: One day Ratchet shows up without any warning on the Nemesis and living with the Drones no less. When he shows them an ounce of kindness several decide to take him under their wings or wheels without any question as to why he left the Autobots.
"And it's ironic too,
'Cause what we tend to do,
Is act on what they say,
And then it is that way.
And I'm sorry, so sorry.
I'm sorry it's like this.
I'm sorry, so sorry.
I'm sorry we do this."
~ Jem "They"
"Ratchet, really, it's not that bad. I'm ready to go back to work," he tried to reason with me even as I was rushing down the corridor towards the main bridge.
"Shut up, Gene, you're no more ready for action than Puck is for high-class society!" I snap, irritated but not at the grounder. It was good to see the mech at their morning ration time but as soon as I had gotten wind that Gene was scheduled to go out with his team to accompany Knockout on a mission, I had a bone to pick with Megatron. "Go back to your room."
He didn't listen and followed after me until he could catch up enough to grab my arm. "Ratchet, no matter what you do, they're not going to listen," he points out gravely. It only encouraged me to shake his grip off and continue on my way.
"I'll make them listen," I mutter under my breath just as I reach the control room. I don't have to wait long before the door slides open for me; Soundwave was always watching after all. "Lord Megatron."
The hulking mass of a leader turns slowly, curiously gazing down at me. "Ratchet, I don't remember calling you here," he states with a quirked optic ridge.
"You didn't, sir," I say, gritting the word out like it hurt to say. "I've come to ask why my patients are being set out on a mission when they haven't recovered completely yet."
Megatron's optics widen, thoughts rushing through his processor. What did he think I was doing here? I didn't come to grovel at his pedes like he would prefer. "Patients? The drones," he realizes before a nasty smirk crosses his faceplate. "Ratchet, I allowed you to tend them because I just don't have enough grounders as it is. They are healed enough to go on a mission."
He may have dismissed me but I stood my ground. Dreadwing watched me with cold detachment but I could see the slight hint of respect for me to stand up to the mech that had beaten me to near death before. "With all due respect, they will slow Knockout down and be detrimental to your mission," I try to speak to his reason, if it even existed.
He turns with red, hot fury in his optics but Dreadwing is quick to cut off his angry response. "My Lord, the Medic speaks truthfully. Surely, we could fill in the spots of the weak with the able," he explains with his optics staring into his Lord's bravely. Megatron saw Dreadwing as close to an equal as possible and took some time to assess the situation before the tension drained from his body.
"Very well, Ratchet, give Dreadwing a list of Vehicons that are up to the task," he dismisses us both with a frivolous wave of his servo.
Releasing the air through my oral vent, I walked out of the room with the Second-in-Command. "I cannot tell if you are brave or foolish, Medic," Dreadwing comments once we are outside the control room. "However, the fewer drones we lose the better. Shockwave has been running out of material to build them back on Cybertron and we cannot afford to take anymore of his...less-than-adequate models."
I fought the frown. Of course he would be worried more about numbers than the actual Drones. I wanted to scream sometimes when I saw the way the Decepticons treated them. I would think that Megatron, of all mechs, would see the resemblance of this situation to the one that started the war back on Cybertron. He was treating the Drones the same way the upper-class had treated him on our home world; his insanity had all but blinded him to his own actions.
"You don't get to be my age without a little of both," I shrug, hiding my annoyance with the Lieutenant. I pulled out a datapad that I had been allowed after the mission and pulled up the numbers of the six Vehicons that were unable to go into battle. "Here are the numbers of the six that are not battle ready."
He takes the datapad and skims the numbers without really seeing them. "You did all of this for six drones?" he questions with a quirked optic ridge. Sometimes, I thought he and Megatron were the twins.
I cross my arms over my spark chamber. "You forget that until recently, the only thing between Megatron and total victory were six Autobots," I point out seriously. He glances at me with an unreadable expression before handing back the datapad.
"I'll keep your injured drones out of battle for another day," is all he responds with before disappearing back into the control room.
My spark eased back to its normal rhythm and I couldn't help the victorious smile that passed over my faceplate before I started down the hall. I needed to tell Gene to get back into his berth or he'd hurt himself. A small victory, to be sure, but a worthy one nonetheless.
I wasn't surprised to find Gene waiting for me when I opened my door. He slowly rose from my berth with a disbelieving look in his optics. "How did you get them to listen?" he almost whispers in awe.
My derma spread into a slow smirk. "I have my ways. Don't be so surprised," I chuckle, moving to push the mech back onto my berth. "Sit down. I'm going to run a diagnostic to make sure everything's healing properly."
I sat down on his berth to let him run his tests but my processor was whirling a thousand miles an hour. It was odd to think that Ratchet could talk Megatron into letting me have the day off; it was exciting to have a voice with the higher-ups but..."Ratchet, you didn't have to threaten your life for us again," I whisper, watching as his bright blue optics rose to look at me. "Megatron's..."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he mutters, reaching up to take my mask off. "I hate it when you guys wear your masks around me."
I can't help the smile that slips across my derma. He would be bothered by something so simple as a mask but only when it stood for something bigger than just hiding our faceplates. It was to make us look the same. It was easier to send a mech to be killed when they didn't look like normal mechs. Humans called it dehumanizing someone to make them easier to get rid of.
We stay silent for a few moments before he pulls the jack out of the port in my arm and steps back. "Well, everything's healing the way it should," he states and I smile slightly. "You need to take it easy, Gene. I got you a day off but if I had my way, you'd be out of commission for a good week."
My optics look up at him in shock. A week of doing nothing? "I would be bored out of my processor," I chuckle lightly, scooting over so he can sit next to me. "I can't remember a time when I wasn't doing something to occupy my time."
"Even in space travel?" he questions curiously, leaning back against the wall casually.
"There's always something that needs to be fixed or cleaned," I point out, leaning back as well. If I didn't need to be anywhere, I'd spend as much of it with Ratchet that I could. Strange how that was true. Before this Medic, I would much rather be spending my time alone in solitude; I liked my silence and my time to think. I still liked those things but...I found myself enjoying the small group's company just as much.
We stay in a comfortable silence for a long time and I revel in it. Ratchet spoke when he had something useful or important to say; he never said meaningless things and didn't mind silence. So many mechs filled silence with babble for one reason or the next. Ratchet knew when to speak and when to be silent; I guessed it had to do with age or maybe it was innate for the Medic. It was comforting too, the silence, but something had been nagging at my processor since I had thrown my lot in with this small band of misfits.
"Ratchet," I speak up once I gather the courage. He glances at me, away from his deep concentration on his servos, and quirks an optic ridge. "I don't care why you left your faction..."
He tensed visibly. "But?" he fills in the void, his smile faltering.
I look at his faceplate silently. "You're not using us, are you?"
His expression shifts from anxious to shocked; I had thrown him off his guard. "What?" he nearly whispers, a look of disbelief twisting the shock.
My own derma purse as if the thought were a terrible taste on my glossa. "Are we just a stepping stone on your way up to becoming a General?" I finally voice my worry. My processor told me that I was a traitor for even mentioning it but...I had to know.
"No! No, Gene! Primus above! Is that what you think?" he rasps, shock clogging his throat.
I shift on the berth to better face the Medic, pinning him with a serious expression. "What is harder to believe, Ratchet? That you are being nice to be nice to us lowly drones or that you are just using us to climb into Megatron's favor?" I ask in all seriousness.
Horror, raw and painful, crosses over his faceplate until my spark pulses strangely. "The fact that you have to ask that...hurts," he whispers, disgusted. "It's hard to think that you cannot trust anyone for fear that they are using you. That...someone being kind to you is harder to conceive than betrayal."
He wasn't hurt by me but...by the thought processes that had been cultivated in my brethren and me. "Kindness is not something we are accustomed to from outsiders," I say, feeling that it was the most obvious thing in the universe. His faceplate twisted in a way that I had seen humans do when they were about to cry but instead, he covered his face with his servos. "Ratchet, it isn't fair but...it's how we live."
"I'm so tired of you guys saying slag like that!" he mutters under his breath with barely contained anger. His faceplate heated and I felt the warmth coming from his form in waves even as I reach out to touch him. I was touched by his rage at our condition but...it was pointless, wasn't it? To brood over something that would probably never be changed was useless.
"This is who we are, Ratchet. Nothing can be done about it so we adapt," I try to explain even as his gaze grows angrier with the seconds. I soften my expression just a bit. "This is the order of things."
He jerks his arm away from my servo and stands off of the berth but doesn't go anywhere. His servos clench into fists until I hear them creak in protest of the stress. "Do you realize how badly you outnumber the Generals, Gene?"
That was blasphemy. "Don't say that," I whisper, looking at the ceiling as if I could truly see Soundwave's cameras. "Soundwave is always watching."
"Four generals against almost seven hundred, Gene," he continued without even a flutter of the optic.
I jump up from the berth, hiding the wince as pain shoots through my abdomen, and grab him by the shoulders. "Stop talking, Ratchet, you're going to get yourself killed," I whisper even as he is brushing my servos away. "We're helping in the war, aren't we? It's enough."
He wheels around, flames licking from his optics. "You don't have any desire for freedom? To do the most basic of things without worry that a general will kill you? To go outside and put your wheels to the road without clearance? Without a reason! You don't want any of that?" he is nearly screaming with anger now. "Sermin has been raped more times than I care to know and you think this life is okay?"
My face heats with my own anger this time. "No, I never said that!" I snap, crossing my arms over my spark chamber defiantly.
"You just said you were okay with this life!" he all but accuses me harshly. "Sermin should be allowed to love who he wants and deny who he doesn't!"
"I agree with you but that's not the lot we've been cast!" I declare weakly. He was right. He was completely right but there was nothing we could do about it. It was pointless to even argue about it. "There's no point in thinking about it!"
"There's always a point in thinking about freedom! I don't understand how this can be done to you when this was the exact same reason the war started centuries ago!" he sighs, losing his angry temper as his energy runs out. He just looks tired as he rubs the space between his optics in frustration.
"Wait," I say, touching his shoulder gently. "Why was this war started?"
He froze then look at me, shocked. "You don't know?" his incredulous look makes me feel a little inadequate but I push past it.
"I've heard stories but they are always different," I answer, watching his faceplate but he wasn't looking down on me. He was just shocked and disgusted that I didn't even know what I was fighting for. I, honestly, hadn't really thought about it; this war had been going on since I was created by Shockwave and history wasn't really in our education. Why hadn't I ever wondered?
"Megatron was once a gladiator in the Pit back on Cybertron. The Pit was a lower-class area where manual laborers worked and then there was the upper-class area that held all of the politicians, medics, lawyers and such. Megatron got tired of being looked down on and abused by the upper-class so he brought together an army of lower-class citizens who became the Decepticons," he explains to me. Slowly, my processor wraps around the information and though it is watered down, I start to understand. "He started this war because his people were looked on as less than citizens...now, he's doing it to you."
My spark pounded against its chamber and I swear I can feel my world flip upside down. It was common knowledge for Ratchet but we were kept in the dark about it. Did Megatron keep the truth from us because he was afraid we would get ideas? Did he truly fear our numbers? No, he didn't know how to feel fear. He didn't think we were smart enough to understand the tactics of war; he didn't think we cared. Truth be told, he probably didn't think we had processors; we were just mindless Drones to him.
I wondered why I hadn't thought of this before. He was right. We outnumbered them 1 to 175, give or take. Megatron also had a small contingent of insecticon by his side as well, which needed to be taken into consideration. They were never on the ship though and were far off unless they were allowed through the ground bridge.
It was as if this new knowledge had unlocked something inside of my coding because a torrent of battle plans flushed through my processor. I never thought of battle plans and tactics before but they just seemed to come so easily; I could see the Nemesis' blueprints and schematics in my processor like it was right in front of me. We all knew this ship like the backs of our servos; we could navigate it better than any of the Generals, especially if we could lure them into this area where they never spent time.
Ratchet was watching me but I couldn't move. So many different plans were forming and then organizing themselves into banks in my processor. I didn't know I had this kind of processor space before but…it was there and unused. "I don't understand what just happened, Ratchet," I whisper softly, the plans still forming even as I spoke.
The Medic grabbed my arm and inserted the jack into my data port again. He was searching for something but I didn't mind the feeling of him searching through my thoughts, my memories. It wasn't like he could find anything there that would incriminate me. They were all pretty basic. Drones didn't have childhoods like Ratchet or Megatron; we were created as adults, fighters. There was no time to grow up; we were needed on the frontlines immediately.
"You're coding has been changed," Ratchet finally explains, surprised. "It's not the same as a few moments ago but…"
"Ratchet?" I question just as he rushes from the room.
"Recharge, I'll be back," he calls before the door closes.
I had to meet up with the one mech that would know what was going on; he was the only Cybertronian that knew Shockwave. I just hoped that this didn't backfire on me. I had a feeling it wouldn't but Soundwave wasn't the most predictable of mechs, especially on this ship.
The door to the control room was open even before I stood in front of it. Thankfully, Megatron and Dreadwing were off the Nemesis, overseeing some mining areas. Soundwave was the only mech in the control room and I didn't fear walking in, even when the door closed behind me.
"I know you heard the conversation, Soundwave," I say without stalling. The communication's officer wasn't one for small talk and neither was I at the moment. "Shockwave rewrote their coding, didn't he?"
He turns to face me, his face an emotionless mask as usual. "Assumption: Affirmative," he doesn't hesitate in saying.
I hate the way he speaks. "You assumed as much but you weren't certain?" I clarify. He nods. "Does Megatron know?"
"Negative."
I had to be surprised by that. "You've been trying to fix the code, haven't you?" I ask, watching his mask as if I could read his emotions through them.
"Affirmative. Objective: Complete," he states, pressing a button on his console. My voice drifted out, repeating my conversation. "Objective: Unknown."
"I don't quite know either," I admit, staring off to the side. Did I take the Vehicons and unlock all of this coding? Who knew how far this coding went in their processors. Did it just hinder their ability to question Megatron's orders or did it actually keep them from forming battle plans? "I'm still not sure what I said exactly to set this in motion."
He presses something on the console again and a chip pops out of the side. Taking it off, he offers it to me in his long, spidery servo. "Contents: Recording," he monotones and I take the chip, confused.
"What do you want me to do?" I ask, sure there was a plan formulating in his processor. "And will you please speak normally, Soundwave? I'm not an enemy."
For the first time, I see some hesitation in responding. "If my theory is correct," he finally speaks with a normal tone. I was shocked that it was so musical; it was almost like hearing two voices stacked on top of one another. It was a beautiful harmony. "Shockwave created the Drones in a plan to overthrow Megatron once he was ordered to Earth, which wouldn't have been very long now. His failsafe, if I'm correct, is to put certain coding into certain generations."
He paused so I could think his words through. "So," I start slowly. "You think that each generation has a certain…occupation that Shockwave would need in an army?"
"Not just in an army, Ratchet," he comments, gesturing with his servo. It was a little more emotion than I was used to seeing in him but it was welcome. "In a civilization."
I press my servo to my forehead, trying to grasp what was being said. "Are you saying that he planned to repopulate Cybertron with the Drones?" I ask in shock.
"He wants to rebuild and repopulate Cybertron with the Drones," he points out. "The Drones would be so thankful that he opened their optics, so to say, that they wouldn't question him."
My spark pulses in a painful way. "He wants to use them just as Megatron does," I finalize and he nods his helm solemnly. Well, truthfully, I can't tell if he's solemn or not. "Do you have a plan?"
He nodded his helm, running a scan on his computer to make sure no one was listening in on our conversation. "I cannot do anything other than help to cover your trail," he explains easily. "But, I am also tried of this war."
He wanted me to complete the plan Shockwave had set into motion with his coding and overthrow Megatron. "Why?" I can't help but question.
"Megatron's original reason for starting this war was…logical and something I stood behind," he clarifies slowly. "The dark energon has driven Megatron insane. His objective has changed and I no longer agree with it."
It was a pretty standard reason but there was more to it. "You don't agree with the way he treats the Drones either, do you?" I feel myself smirk as he looks to the side.
"I am in charge of the surveillance, Ratchet," he states stoically. "I have seen their personalities. I snuffed enough sparks in the Pits; I do not desire to do that anymore." His tone is completely honest and I am amazed. Should I be, though? Everyone but Megatron seemed to be exhausted of the fighting, the constant war. Even Soundwave, the mech that Megatron had started the Decepticons with was weary. "I am ready for peace."
My spark soothed a little at the tone in his voice. He truly was tired; he truly was ready for a good long rest. In war, no one recharged deeply. There was always the chance of an ambush; there was always the chance that someone would slit your throat. "Me too, Soundwave," I whisper softly.
He nods his helm subtly. "I do not think there is a code word or exact phrase to unlock the code," he gets back down to business. "Shockwave would want to use a vague topic that none of us would be able to think of uttering. It would have to be something taboo, such as the reason why the war started. You are the first to ever tell the Drones why the war started; I don't even think the double-digits know why the war was waged in the first place."
I nod my head in understanding. "So, all I have to do is tell the others how the war started and the code will unlock," I reiterate before smirking. "Then, I had better get started."
Even if I can't see his faceplate, I get the feeling that he's smiling. "Yes, I will do my best to keep Megatron blind. Just be subtle," he warns but I wave my servo dismissively.
"I understand," I say but pause before leaving. "What about Knockout and Dreadwing?"
He glances at me from his computer. "I will deal with them; focus on your Drones," he promises, returning to his computer.
I walk back to my room, running through plans until I open my door. Gene, instead of recharging, had my datapad in his servo and was writing something down. "Shouldn't you be recharging?" I chuckle, walking over to sit beside him.
"Ratchet, something's wrong with my processor," he gives a nervous laugh before showing me the datapad. It had what looked like a servo-drawing of the Nemesis' floor plans and it was very detailed. I took it from him, staring in awe at the impossibly straight lines and the labels. There were several escape routes pointed out and when I flicked to the next screen, I found a battle plan on how to take control of the ship. "I don't know where this came from. It just…popped into my processor along with almost a dozen more!"
My optics scanned through the written plans that would make Prowl proud. "These are…amazing!" I smile, finding a map of the world where he had pinpointed the exact location of the insecticons. VC-303 was his original designation; that must mean the three-hundred-generation were tacticians. "Do you know how many double-digits we have left?"
He looks at me in shock but thinks for a few minutes. "Maybe…fifty, if that," he admits, still confused.
"One-hundred-generation?"
"A little more…seventy? Ratchet, why are you asking me this?" he finally questions, sounding frustrated.
I was doing calculations in my processor but I was a Medic, not a tactician. Then again, I did have one right in front of my faceplate. "Alright, I'll explain everything," I smile softly, watching him relax noticeably. "Okay, you know who Shockwave is, right?"
Exhausted, I was happy to walk with Puck and Gabriel into the mess hall. Ratchet and Gene were already there, sitting at our table. It was good to see them after the day we had and I couldn't help but want to just sit down at the table without grabbing my energon. Puck's servo pressed between my blades and pushed me forward, somehow sensing my thoughts.
The line was already long but I sighed and surrendered to the inevitable. "You hear the rumor?" the Eradicon, EC-134, in front of us turned to say softly. I wasn't into gossip but Puck was an insatiable gossip monger.
"What?" he asked, completely lost.
"Ratchet got the six injured Vehicons a recovery day!" he states, making me perk up.
"No way!" Puck gasps, looking over at Ratchet and Gene.
"No, it's true!" the Vehicon, VC-1034, in front of the Eradicon claims quietly. "VC-409, one of the injured mechs, is on my team and Dreadwing told him to stay here to recover!"
I watched Ratchet laugh with Gene and felt my spark warm slightly. He was a miracle worker, he had to be. We were lowly Drones; we were sent out injured all the time. Pit, Sermin had worked with his injured arm for almost a month straight and had only been told not to slow the rest of the workers down before he was sent back into the mines. It was hard to believe that he had convinced Megatron to allow the injured Drones a day of recovery but…
"Is it true!" Puck mutters, looking around like an idiot. "Did you have the day off?"
Gene blinks a few times but smirks. "Ratchet got me an extra recovery day," he confirms and I nearly drop my energon cube in shock.
Gabriel catches me easily, helping me to sit down. "How did you manage it?" I can't help but ask. It just seemed so improbable. Did…did he have to do something for Megatron? Something obscene because if that was the case than it wasn't worth it.
Ratchet smirks behind his cube. "Went to talk some sense into him," he tells me confidently.
Gabriel doesn't seem convinced either and leans forward, staring at the mech from behind his mask intently. "What did you have to do for him?" he asks the question that all of us are too afraid to ask. He was forward and blunt but he was more worldly than the rest of us; it was normal for him to think that way.
A small gasp comes from behind us and we turn to find Sermin standing there a look of horror on his faceplate. His servo faltered on his cube but I jumped up to grabbed it so that it wouldn't fall. "Primus, no, Sermin! I didn't have to do anything for him!" Ratchet's confident smirk drops when he understands why we were worried. He stands to move around the table, wrapping an arm around the young Drone. "Dreadwing helped talk some sense into him. No favors were exchanged, I promise."
I set the cube down on the table as Ratchet guided the terrified mech to sit down. He seemed traumatized and I couldn't help the small bit of sympathy that flows through me as I rub his back gently. "It's okay, Sermin," I soothe, feeling the small tremors that rush through his frame.
"I'm sorry," he wavers more than chuckles, staring at his cube. He was folding into himself and I had a feeling there was more to this than what he was letting on. "I'm just…"
"Knockout?" Gabriel speaks up.
Sermin nods his helm and I feel warm hatred rush through my spark. It wasn't a secret that Knockout had taken a liking to the shy, withdrawn miner but it didn't curb the hatred. From where I'm sitting, I can see Ratchet's servos clench under the table and I know he is feeling much the same as I am.
"He asked me to come as well," the hulking mech reveals.
"What?" we all gasp in horror and shock. Knockout had never shown any interest in someone like Gabriel; he liked the shy, submissive Drones and anyone could look at Gabriel and tell he was anything but that!
He doesn't look phased, instead, he reaches out across the table to touch Sermin's servo in a rare show of affection. "I will take care of you," he speaks confidently and I feel Sermin relax under my servo.
I may have eased Sermin's worry but Ratchet was still ramrod straight with tension. Without a word, he stood and walked away despite the others calling after him. "I'll talk to him," I say before downing my energon and following. For someone so bulky, he was fast on his pedes and I had to literally run to catch up with him before he disappeared into his room. "Ratchet!"
I jump when he turns on me but the anger in his optics wasn't for me. "I'm tired of this!" he explodes once the door closed behind me. "Sermin wasn't enough for that slag-head so he has to go to Gabriel? I'm going to dismantle him in his recharge!"
Slipping forward, I place my servos on his shoulders gently. "Ratchet, calm down and think for a second," I soothe, running on servo up to cup his cheek. His faceplate was so hot it almost burned. "Would you rather Sermin go by himself or have Gabriel there with him?"
Ratchet's servos reached up to grab my wrists, surely meaning to rip them from his body but he sighs. The angry energy leaves his form with that vent of air before he slouches in my grasp. "I'd rather they have the choice to say no," he whispers, burying his faceplate in my shoulder. It was a rare show of weakness that made me flush hotly with flattery; he was usually such a strong mech that it was humbling to see this side of him. I didn't look at him less though; everyone needed to breakdown and be sad.
"Me too," I guide the mech to the berth so he can sit down. "But, right now, they don't have that choice. It makes me feel better to know that Gabriel will be able to help Sermin, though."
He pulls away and gives a dry smile. "I need you to listen to something," he changes the subject none too subtly. I allow it, for the moment. It was a depressing subject for all of us. He takes his jack from his chest and connects it to the port on the back of my neck. "This will explain how the war started."
I look at him in shock but look at the wall once his recorded voice filters through my processor. "Megatron was once a gladiator in the Pit back on Cybertron. The Pit was a lower-class area where manual laborers worked and then there was the upper-class area that held all of the politicians, medics, lawyers and such. Megatron got tired of being looked down on and abused by the upper-class so he brought together an army of lower-class citizens who became the Decepticons…he started this war because his people were looked on as less than citizens...now, he's doing it to you."
I listened intently but as soon as it was done something…changed. My processor seemed to open up and a wave of knowledge nearly shorted my circuits. Blueprints for upgrades and ways to make the ship better rushed through me until I thought I was going to go into stasis lock. What was all of this…this…information! "Ratchet…what's going on?" I whisper, pressing my servos to the sides of my helm as if it would ease the flow of information.
It was like something inside of me was unlocked and with all of the information came a flow of emotions. They were strong, freely flowing through me. For the first time since I was able to recall…I had a name for the emotion that I felt towards Ratchet. Where had all of these raw emotions come from? Why hadn't I been able to feel this before? Why was all of this locked away until now?
"It'll stop in a moment," he soothes, taking the jack from the back of my neck. "This information has been locked in a section of your processor since your creation."
My coding had been tampered with even before my spark had been ignited in my form. All of the possibilities ran through my processor then all of the moral implications; all of the reasons why it was wrong suddenly flushed my thoughts. The Code of Ethics, a book that, somehow, I felt like I had memorized, started rushing through my thoughts. "This is wrong," I mumble more to myself than to anyone else. "It's hacking into a living being's thought processes and functions and making them into something they aren't. They turn into a-a-"
"Drone."
To be continued...
A/N: First off, sorry this took longer than normal! xD I have two part time jobs coming up so they might take a bit longer than normal! Second, I haven't re-read this one yet and I'll probably do that later but I just wanted to get it up as soon as possible so please excuse any of the typos!
One thing: Shades of Grey, I would be honored if you wrote some stories using my characters! I only ask that you send me a link here or on Deviantart with my username ~bells-of-gold so that I can read them when you're done! :D I cannot wait to read them!
Thank you so much for everyone who commented! I love hearing your thoughts and I want you to know a lot of them I take into consideration! Sometimes, if I read something, an idea or thought, that I like, I might put it into the story! ;D I try to give that person credit and if I don't then just message me and as me if that was you! I forget a lot!
I hope you enjoyed! :D