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Pt. 53: "Reprogramming/Brainwashing"
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"Come here," Bonecrusher said casually, beckoning, and the Autobot obeyed in blank-opticked silence. He turned the emotionless face up to inspect. "This is gonna be our sixth? Frag me."
Scavenger pinched the red chevron between two fingers, wiggling it back and forth. "I've collected sturdier helms. I think we should replace this before it breaks."
Hook glanced up before returning to sorting his surgical tray. "It stays. I can replace much of his interior workings to bring him up to our standards, but he has to remain outwardly the same. The Autobots are marginally intelligent. They'll notice if he shows up with a completely different helm." He made an impatient gesture, pointing at the table. "Drone! Lay down," he ordered.
Prowl obeyed without question, walking over and sitting on the table before lying down to stare at the ceiling as if he didn't see it. He didn't seem to see any of them. Bombshell's mind control had him so far under he wouldn't even know what had happened tonight. To Hook's knowledge, Bombshell had him believing he went to an empty apartment, refueled, recharged, and got up with mechanical efficiency in the morning. The fact that he wasn't fighting the implanted suggestion of memories told Hook everything he needed to know about this Autobot. Prowl was content with the routine.
Ugh. Dull, machine-brained goody-goody with his chevron permanently welded to Optimus Prime's sanctimonious aft.
"This is going to suck," Long Haul summed up for all of them.
Mixmaster stepped up beside Hook to look down at the prone mech. "He is rather pretty," he said thoughtfully. One of his hands strayed to rest on an unnaturally still hood. "We can always repaint him later."
"He doesn't deserve our colors," Scavenger muttered, resentful.
"Mm." Mixmaster cocked his head. "I wonder if the obedience will last past our first combine." Engine purring, he tapped his fingers on Prowl's hood. "Open up, pretty."
Suddenly interested, Long Haul and Bonecrusher sat up. Hook blinked, then smiled. It wasn't a pleasant expression. Had Prowl been aware, he might have preferred the tray of surgical tools pushed aside in favor of something else that night.
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