Brightplate- a general mildly offensive term for a Towerling or upper-caste mechanism, or aimed at transformers who at least appear to be of upper class - too polished, too clean, not enough armor, etc. -Canon Transformers term
Edit: One Orbital Cycle= One Month
Chapter 4
Darkstrike sat on her rusty berth, analyzing the datapad in her servos. The poor lighting reflecting off her new armor reminded her of her recent upgrade. Her body still ached from the process.
Her red optics narrowed as she easily decoded the encryption to reach the information. Her claws diligently typed on the datapad until a bright blue message popped up on the screen. Darkstrike skimmed over the first page until she realized what it was.
She went to the next page and then to the next. All of the pages were battle moves and attack strategies. Her optics quickly skimmed through each page. There were fighting styles she had never seen before.
Darkstrike reached a descriptive page demonstrating how to kill a mech. She dropped the datapad in shock. Her servos were quick to catch it halfway before it hit the floor. The femme's optics widened as she set it down on the berth.
She couldn't believe Soundwave had given her such useful information, no questions asked. Then again, it wasn't like Soundwave had allowed her to question him in the first place. It was highly unlikely something this valuable was given to new fighters.
Her imagination ignited. Why would the terrifying mech leave her such a device? There was nothing he could gain. Soundwave had only spoken to her once—now twice. However…
Looking back, Darkstrike remembered the way the mech had initiated unnecessary contact. Soundwave could've given her the upgrade and been done with it. The way intently observed her seemed like he was inquisitive. It didn't seem logical that he would take the time to give her the datapad unless he was somewhat interested in her.
His behavior was becoming very unclear to her. Would he act cold and ignore her, or would he show signs of acquaintanceship? She wasn't sure what she wanted, either.
His intimidating aura chilled her to the core. Darktrike never knew such a laconic mech existed. He barely spoke; she could only imagine what went through his processor. Judging by how calculating his actions were, he seemed to have full control over himself.
Soundwave was certainly different than the common archetype of a Gladiator.
As rough as he was, he could easily be gentle. The femme thought about his touch, even if it was just a finger. It absolutely frightened her, but it was an invigorating risk that Darkstrike had never experienced. Leaving the room, she felt an immense sense of confidence. The femme wanted more. Though, she knew that more contact with Soundwave was asking for a miracle. Darkstike didn't know whether she liked the fact or not.
Darkstrike was old enough to know how these things worked. There was no denying how pleasing his appearance was. She was simply drawn to him... so to speak. It was physical attraction. Soundwave was a mech with a great body. Perhaps she was just being shallow because he was a high-ranking Gladiator. It was obvious he didn't give his time to just anybody.
If anyone heard her, they would probably regard her as insane, and she wouldn't blame them. She hadn't been there very long and she was already forming an attraction to a mech. How pathetic can I get?
The femme looked down at the datapad again. Perhaps her processor needed to be distracted.
Darkstrike began to revise and study the first page. There were moves she'd never seen before. Her previous caste wasn't known for fighting. It all was so new to her. The moves on the datapad were complex and needed excellent precision. Luckily, she had a lot of time to learn. Darkstrike felt less hopeless knowing her combat skills could improve tenfold if she put in the effort. She would hone her skills. It was time to put her determination to the test.
Gently setting it down, Darkstrike began to strip herself of the armor. There were fresh wounds on her protoform. It was nothing that couldn't be healed. She'd pay a visit to the medic tomorrow. More than anything she wanted to rest now.
She laid down on the berth, rubbing her sore protoform. Her optics slowly began to close. Her arms sprawled out on the berth. The weariness was finally settling in.
It was odd how she was able to survive without regret. The respect she had commanded in the arena had been incomparable. The femme didn't take pleasure in inflicting harm on another bot, but she wouldn't let herself be fazed by it.
The image of the mech's agonized expression flashed in her processor.
Survival was selfish, she knew that much.
Though, did that make her selfish as well?
Her optics closed and recharge overcame her before she could dwell on the question.
Red optics flickered open. Darkstrike looked at the ceiling above her. What time is it?
She frantically gathered herself, ignoring the aching that emitted from her wounds. Most of the pain had numbed but her limbs felt extremely heavy. It was probably wise to see the medic.
She stood up on her pedes. Darkstrike was relieved to live another cycle as a Gladiator rather than a courtesan.
The femme sighed deeply. She wondered how often she would have to worry about it.
She looked down at her scattered armor and began to sluggishly attach it back onto herself. Darkstrike extended her limbs to examine her frame. The armor felt thicker and a bit heavier. She had to give Soundwave credit, he did well in adjusting her armor... in a painful sort of way.
Darkstrike thumped her helm with her servo. She needed to stop thinking about that mech. He seemed to make it very clear that he could end her life easily and Darkstrike didn't doubt it. She was sure that not many mechs that could best Soundwave.
She was an ordinary femme. The one thing that made her special was that she was the only femme there. Darkstrike was ranking near the bottom, having the least chance of enduring Gladiatorial conditions. Soundwave probably saw her as a nuisance.
Maybe she was an ordinary femme, but there wasn't a doubt that Soundwave was no ordinary mech. Compared to the life he lived, Darkstrike was likely insignificant to him. Perhaps she was overanalyzing his actions.
If he was attempting to intimidate her, it was working.
The problem was that Darkstrike was easily set off. Her emotions dictated her actions. In their short time interacting, he probably picked up on this.
"You are fearful."
The less personally affiliated she was to him, the better.
There were still a couple of questions gnawing in her head. Why had he given her the datapad? Did he mean to give it to her? Why else would he have slid it towards her? Her processor scoffed. Don't feel special. You're not that important, it told her.
Darkstrike grunted in annoyance at catching herself thinking about him again.
She walked over to the door, her legs almost dragging. She didn't want to leave the safety of her room, but she was malnourished. The energon in her systems was much below half. Her systems would fail before the cycle was over. Darkstrike decided she'd take a quick trip over to the medic and then refuel.
The flier walked out of the infirmary inspecting her wounds. All the pain she had felt finally alleviated. She wasn't fully healed, but she felt much better compared to her previous state.
Darkstrike followed the corridors and soon enough, the mechs' boisterous voices reached her audios. The door swished open, revealing a room packed with fighters. Darkstrike kept her gaze towards the ground as she walked down the aisle. Her recent upgrade seemed to unintentionally get their attention. The unwanted attention made her anxious.
Whistles and roguish calls were thrown at her. She gave a deep intake. Darkstrike wouldn't react to them; they only sought entertainment from her.
"Ahh, look at that! I guess it's official. Our femme here's a Gladiator."
This earned various chuckles.
"I don't know... I kinda liked her other armor. It was a much nicer sight."
There was more sly laughter. Darkstrike rolled her optics. One of these cycles, she'd show them she had snarky comments of her own. Maybe in the far future, she'd get the opportunity to fight them in the ring. It would give her such pleasure to hear the crisp sound of a mouthplate, and an enlarged ego shatter. The audience watching would make it all the sweeter.
"Not that this isn't a good view, hmm."
Darkstrike couldn't wait until she received her first weapon.
She reached the counter. The familiar red mech revised his datapad. His bored expression seemed permanent until his optics flickered in her direction. A smirk crawled onto his faceplates.
"How can I assist you, dear?" He chuckled. He was acting nicer than last time. This didn't amuse Darkstrike at all.
"Energon," she deadpanned. The mech filled up her energon a little more than usual, she noticed.
"Congratulations on your first fight, darling," he grinned.
A lot of bots seemed to have caught wind of her match. Darkstrike raised her optic-ridge warily as she grabbed the cube. She swished it in her servo and gave the mech a wary expression.
He went back to reading his datapad.
As Darkstrike made her way through the tables, she noticed a lot of mechs clearing space and patting the seat next to them for her to sit. Their facial expressions suggested they were mocking her. She grimaced and walked over to the familiar wall.
Ignoring the mech's scrutinizing gazes, Darkstrike flopped down to the floor. The femme winced, realizing her body still needed time to heal. She sipped her energon cube and kept her optics fixated on it.
Frag those mechs. She wondered if they'd ever stop bothering her.
The familiar thought of Soundwave crept up into her processor again. Was he also watching? Darkstrike asked that question a lot. Slowly, she lifted her helm to glance at the crowd of mechs. Her optics flickered at all of them until she found a specific helm.
She saw him.
Soundwave.
He seemed to be taking his energon cube with him. Darkstrike found herself wondering if he would take off his visor to consume it. Her predictions seemed to be incorrect as he subspaced the cube.
Suddenly blocking her view was the recognizable armor of white and black. Her optics drifted up to see RocketShield smirking. She automatically groaned and averted all of her attention onto her energon cube. She drank more of it.
The mech above her didn't like her response. He gave her a shove. Darkstrike stumbled to her side with an 'oof.' She glared up at the mech above her and bit her glossa. He was resorting to violence so quickly. How primitive.
She gulped down a good portion of her energon before discarding it on the floor. She'd drink the rest when they'd leave. Too nervous and annoyed to look up, Darkstrike kept her helm lowered.
"Get up," he stated. She ignored him.
"I said get up," he snapped. She glared at the ground knowing that looking up at him would only make her ire rise. She couldn't understand how a mech could be so awful.
"Femme, are your audio-receptors malfunctioning?" RocketShield asked. No words were uttered from her vocals. Darkstrike had a feeling that RocketShield wouldn't be satisfied with this type of response either. There was no way she could win or remove herself from this situation without receiving some sort of pain or humiliation. Her thoughts were confirmed as she received another insult.
"Look at me, Brightplate." Her optics suddenly snapped up at him.
She froze.
Darkstrike looked up at him for a few nano-kliks. She kept silent. Finally, the femme rose, narrowing her optics up at him. She bit her glossa once more to prevent her extent knowledge of Cybertronian curses from filling RocketShield's audios.
"What do you want?" she snapped. She clenched her servos tightly into fists. Her denta gritted together. RocketShield frowned for a nano-klik. He was quick to smirk again, a smug look gracing his features. It seemed that things were in his favor again. It also looked like his group of mechs were encouraged by their leader's positive change in attitude.
"Oh, feisty are we?" he asked, taking a step forward.
Darkstrike was not amused.
"Maybe that'll be our little nickname," RocketShield mocked. He was getting bolder. He used his finger to shove Darkstrike's shoulder, making her stumble back. "And look at that! The name fits with your new shiny armor! Whata coincidence, wouldn't yah say..." RocketShield leaned in closer to her. "Brightplate." His scarlet optics burned into her.
Darkstrike fumed and leaned forward, a sign that she was challenging him. She stared into his optics intently. Soundwave warned her not to make such challenges.
She couldn't help it, though. If there was something she hated more, it was insults disguised as nicknames. Darkstrike was tired of being associated with the caste that had tried to assassinate her.
She could withstand being called femme, nuisance, or even any other lame insult they came up with, but "Brightplate" really crossed the line for her. Darkstrike wondered when they'd get over the fact that she wasn't from Kaon.
"Why don't I give you a nickname?" she asked, thinking of a few that would certainly fit him, "Or perhaps your own designation is insult enough."
The mechs stopped laughing. The look on RocketShield's faceplates was beginning to make her regret her words.
"Can't take a joke, RocketShield?" She nervously laughed. The look of indignation was certainly much better than the expression he usually wore.
Unfortunately, she only got to see it for a few kliks before a fist swung her way. Her first instinct was to get out of the way. She managed to dodge it but ungracefully crashed onto a nearby table.
She used the surface to stabilize herself. The mechs at the table watched her eagerly. They encouraged her to get up and fight RocketShield. One of them pushed her off the table so she could stand.
Darkstrike tried to compose herself. Is fighting all these mechs think about? Before the femme could process anything, she was approached again by the group of mechs. She stood up straight.
"What's the matter, can't take a punch?" RocketShield asked.
"Don't you have anything better to do?" she spat at him.
The mech stomped closer to her but stopped when he noticed a half-empty cube on the ground. He gave her an evil look. Darkstrike knew what was coming.
He smirked and reached out for her cube. He swished the blue liquid tauntingly, making Darkstrike's glare at him. If he was expecting her to plead, he was sorely mistaken.
"Is there something you want, Brightplate?" he slyly asked.
"You're a piece of slag," she spat at him. Some mechs laughed. With a wicked glint in his optics, he gulped down the remainder of her energon. She looked at him in complete and utter disbelief.
The bell successfully interrupted them.
Throwing the empty cube behind him, RocketShield shot her a look of contempt. He made one last remark. "Come on. Training hasn't even started and you're already falling behind," he spoke.
She sulked her shoulders and frowned deeply. Darkstrike watched as all the mechs left to go train. Some of them threw her pitied looks. The femme deflated and picked the discarded cube in her servos. The humiliation was familiar yet still unbearable.
It seemed her battle didn't end when she left the arena. There was a lot left for her to endure. Her minor wounds began to ache in reminder.
She wasn't alone, though. A shadow loomed over to her causing her to snap her helm up. Darkstrike kept her guard up. As soon as she saw who the mech was, there was a significant change in her spark.
The Gladiator that stood before her was enough to strike more fear into her in a nano-klik than RocketShield would be able to do in a lifetime.
Soundwave looked down at her coldly.
"Disappointing," he stated. He turned away and began walking towards the door. Darkstrike felt an immense amount of indignation well up in her. For some reason, hearing it from Soundwave made her feel even more mortified.
Right before he reached the exit, she stomped her pede on the ground. Soundwave turned around.
"It's one against five, what would you have expected me to do?" she asked. Soundwave lifted his arm and pointed a sharp finger at her.
"Fight. Submitting means failure. Failure means death," he responded.
Darkstrike turned away from him. He exited the room shortly after.
She had a love-hate relationship with the act of "submitting." In her caste, Darkstrike had to submit to the strict rules dictated by the officials of her city. All it took were 3 acts of disobedience before they decided she wasn't worth keeping. It was the reason Darkstrike knew how to hold her glossa.
Now the femme was being told to fight back. It felt dangerous to directly engage with another bot.
She supposed she still wasn't used to her new home yet.
Kaon was her city now. In a city full of ruffians, she couldn't afford to hesitate. There was no time to be submissive in the Gladiatorial Pits. Darkstrike didn't want it to come to it but from now on, she would have to swing at every single obstacle that came her way.
It was true, Soundwave had called her disappointing, but that would soon change.
For a mech that didn't talk much, he was full of criticisms. At least it was constructive.
Darkstrike knew she wasn't useless, even if other bots didn't see it that way. If someone was finally giving her useful advice, she would take it. The valuable datapad would allow her to succeed. No longer would she be "disappointing," as Soundwave so kindly put it. She would be something more.
She would be a Gladiator.
For the next couple of orbital cycles, Darkstrike had studied her datapad rigorously. Every single character and Cybertronian letter was processed by her keen optics. Her goal was to study all the datapad's knowledge, inside and out.
Practicing the moves was a lot more complicated than reading them. Even with her lithe frame, it was difficult bending her body to extreme angles. She constantly struggled to turn precisely, more often than not falling on the ground. Executing the moves properly required sturdy joints and lots of stretching. Darkstrike was far from perfection, but she was doing her best considering her lack of knowledge in strategy and battle.
The femme preserved.
Darkstrike wouldn't let RocketShield know she was improving. She wanted to wait for the right moment to wipe that arrogant slagger's grin off his face. Oh, and she hoped the moment would be glorious.
Darkstrike hoped everyone would see it, perhaps even Soundwave. She doubted it; since the cycle after her fight, she'd only catch glimpses of him in the hallway or rec room. Soundwave hardly spoke to her. The femme never received an explanation on why he had given her the datapad.
She decided that she wouldn't care about his indifference to her. The only time Darkstrike really wanted to have his attention was when she'd prove herself. If all went well, she could do it as soon as her next fight. An orn and a half was ample time to prepare.
Darkstrike gained experience the more battles she participated in. The damage she took from each fight hardened her armor and her mind. Contrary to what others thought, it was not easy healing from the damage of each fight. Never in her life had she sustained that many consecutive injuries. Pain shot up from her leg as a reminder.
It was a miracle that she had been able to get as far as she did.
As she slowly moved up the ranks, her opponents got tougher to fight. While the mechs varied in size, it could sometimes be equally as hard to take down smaller bots. Darkstrike wasn't going to lie, there were some pretty nasty gashes and wounds as a result of her inexperience.
There was that aching soreness that followed her after every fight, not to mention the wooziness she felt from energon-loss. Then there were the volts of pain that traveled through her circuits every time an opponent successfully struck her.
Ironically enough, Darkstrike felt herself currently experiencing all of those symptoms. In her defense, just a few kliks ago, she had been declared the winner of the Pit's latest fight.
The femme had overexerted herself to the point where winning was her only option. Heck, she had almost been desperate enough to use moves she hadn't yet perfected. For victory, it was worth it.
The femme had wanted to win badly because of her last fight.
Darkstrike had experienced losing for the first time. It was as humiliating as she thought it'd be. RocketShield took full advantage of it. When she didn't allow him to physically bully her, he settled on taunting her.
What really grind her gears was when he attempted to convince the owners that she was unfit for battle. Luckily, the money-hungry owners paid him no attention, convinced that she was still useful in the arenas. Losses were not uncommon among them.
Darkstrike had lost because her mech opponent possessed enough brute strength to tip the scale. At least, that's what she told herself.
The femme had felt confident beforehand. She had bought her first weapon a few cycles before. However, Darkstrike knew something had been missing. Relying on only her sword didn't help her as much as it should have. Unfortunately, the con to practicing her battle moves meant limited time for practicing with weaponry. Darkstrike had been at a disadvantage and subsequently lost. She had been mocked for it, but the mechs had stopped after they saw that they couldn't get the femme riled up.
Darkstrike threw the thoughts in the back of her processor as she limped out of the hallway. She had an annoying habit of getting lost in her processor.
The femme needed to go to the medic urgently. The gash on her abdomen and top inner thigh seemed to be leaking the most energon. It was a miracle that she had not offlined right there.
She would offline soon if she didn't receive any energon.
Darkstrike turned left. Forget the medic. I need energon.
The femme had redeemed herself.
That was all Soundwave could say after hearing about her last battle and how it went down. Megatronus, who had watched the fight, told him that she hadn't been as skilled with her sword as first predicted.
It made sense considering she only practiced servo combat moves. He was keen enough to catch the femme training with the datapad he had given her. She lacked grace and precision, but he saw progress.
It was interesting to watch her struggle. The way her frame awkwardly moved suggested she was probably not accustomed to exerting herself. Darkstrike was learning that success required immense labor.
Despite watching her attempts, it was the outcome of her fight that would determine whether it had all paid off or not.
The only aspect that irked him was the fact that Darkstrike still tolerated RocketShield's disrespect. The femme maintained some dignity in preventing him from assaulting her.
Even if he did think RocketShield was a waste of a mech, he wouldn't bother intervening. In the end, her personal life was her business. He was only interested in the femme's progression as a fighter.
Soundwave had created distance between the femme and him after their last encounter. It was unwise interacting with her frequently. He needed to maintain a level of control over himself, especially after slipping up last time.
Unbeknownst to the femme, he watched her progress from afar; he'd watch her train, occasionally attending some of her fights. He had been absent for her first loss but word spread quickly.
Darkstrike had been far from victory. He heard that the femme had been ushered to the medic after being unable to stand. Gladiators murmured amongst themselves about the energon that had splattered.
Soundwave received more details from Megatronus.
"Soundwave!" Megatronus called out. He turned his helm to the other Gladiator's direction. Soundwave thought about walking away. He decided against it. "Have you heard about the femme's last fight?"
He shook his helm.
"She is on the verge of becoming a true fighter," the silver Gladiator remarked.
"Reasons?" he asked.
"She suffered greatly in this fight. It must've been a humbling experience for her," Megatronus chuckled darkly, "Nonetheless, Darkstrike clutched her weapon up until the klik she offlined."
It didn't surprise him that she was willful.
Eventually, Megatronus deviated to talk about the owners' need to acquire unnecessary amounts of wealth. Soundwave didn't appreciate how vocal the other mech was. Slander against the owners wasn't tolerated. All threats were taken seriously. He should've know that.
He sensed Megatronus was analyzing him. Soundwave didn't like being observed. Megatronus was too keen; the second ranker realized that he'd have to remain alert in his presence.
Soundwave closed his thoughts as he walked further into the corridors. Darkstrike's fight had ended a few kliks ago. As he proceeded further, he noticed a trail of blue fluids. He had a suspicion of who it belonged to. He followed the trail, knowing that the femme couldn't have gone far.
Darkstrike urgently needed energon. Unfortunately for her, she had already gotten her fill earlier that cycle. She knew that the mech wouldn't give her anymore without charging her. Darkstrike had limped off to see if she had any left in her room.
She doubted it, but there was not much else to do. The medic took forever to address her wounds and Darkstrike was not going to lie around helplessly like last time. Especially not in front of the other mechs.
She tiredly walking forward, not watching where she stepped. The femme tripped and collapsed on the metal floor. She groaned, her vision becoming blurred. Darkstrike shook her helm and struggled to sit up.
Sitting in an empty hallway was still better than waiting for that cursed medic. Her insatiable thirst for energon was stronger than patience. She clutched her abdomen, letting her legs lay flat on the floor. She vented heavily. Darkstrike let her helm lean back and thump against the wall.
Red optics opened as she heard pedesteps approach her. Darkstrike hoped with all her spark that it was not RocketShield. She prayed to Primus that out of all the mechs, it wouldn't be him. Her servo clenched her wound as she waited with anticipation.
Coming into view was the unmistakable high-ranking Gladiator, Soundwave.
Darkstrike almost wished that it had been RocketShield. The femme didn't want Soundwave to see her in such a vulnerable state. She wasn't in the mood for his criticisms, especially after he had avoided her for orns.
She was leaking and completely at his mercy, not that she wasn't before; the only difference now was that she had no energy to defend herself. Darkstrike couldn't help but think of the possibility that he would take a glimpse at her, shake his helm in dismay and leave her to fend for herself. Part of her was expecting it.
He slowly walked over to her. Each step echoed in the empty hallway.
"Injured. Femme: in need of medic," Soundwave told her.
"I need energon, not that lousy medic," she spoke, her words sounding hoarse and shaky.
"In this state, femme is most at risk for assault. Decision to wander corridors: ignorant."
"I-I thought I could make it." She looked down.
"Know your limits." His words were harsh. She felt her spark burn with embarrassment. She felt incredibly small in his presence. Soundwave backed up and for a moment, she thought he would leave. Darkstrike almost hoped for it.
Much to her shock, the mech knelt beside her. He used her sharp fingers to assess her wounds. Even more surprising, Soundwave brought out a blue cube from his subspace.
He placed the cube up to the femme's lips. Darkstrike's optics widened. She hadn't been expecting this, much less from him. Questions began to fill her processor but before she could contemplate, Soundwave had pushed the cube up to her lips. Darkstrike eagerly drank.
Soundwave allowed her to drink his whole cube. When there was nothing, he tossed it aside. Darkstrike's vision focused. She looked up at Soundwave.
His helm tilted down as he analyzed her wounds. The mech pointed at her servo that clutched her abdomen. Darkstrike lifted her limb, exposing her injury.
She looked away as Soundwave studied her wound. The femme wasn't too happy that her opponent had taken a hit at her that deep, especially at her protoform.
Soundwave looked down on it and studied the gash. His servo tentatively touched the leaking energon. Darkstrike hissed but Soundwave didn't flinch. His helm turned up to see her pained expression.
"I will proceed," he stated. Darkstrike gritted her denta and nodded. She stifled a groan as he addressed her. Soundwave's thin fingers picked the debris from her wound.
He subspaced a tool out. Before Darkstrike could object, he activated it. A laser began working on her armor, sealing her wounds shut. She flinched and grunted at his none-too-soft touch. Darkstrike wasn't complaining though. Gentleness was not needed nor asked for.
Soundwave's laser wandered onto the wound on her thigh. He lightly grasped the bottom of it, adjusting her leg so that he had a better view. Just as he began to pull her thigh, Darkstrike immediately pressed them together in slight haste. She looked at him nervously. He suddenly retracted.
"Query: proceed?" he questioned.
She blushed at her initial reaction. "Y-yes. Sorry."
He continued to work. Darkstrike felt a different type of vulnerability as she felt exposed to him. It made her spark feel warm.
Soundwave's laser trailed to her inner thigh. He was suddenly gentle. Darkstrike refused to admit that she liked the way his sharp fingers brushed up against her armor.
The mech was quick to finish. She would be fine for now, but it was a quick fix meaning she'd have to see the medic eventually. Curiously enough, Soundwave's servo lingered on her thigh after he had subspaced his tool.
They both stared at each other. Neither said a word.
His delicate touch was subtle, but his demeanor was stoic. His personality radiated a certain way, but his actions said something different. Soundwave was contradictory. She had never met anyone like him. He was a mech with little to say which meant Darkstrike had to infer everything about him based on his actions.
Needless to say, she was having trouble figuring him out.
Now that her injuries had been addressed, Darkstrike let her guard down to relish in the moment. She was immensely grateful he had helped her.
The flier allowed his servo to rest on her thigh. Her spark beat quickly in her chassis. Darkstrike hadn't interacted with many mechs in her life like this. To her, this felt like a sensual moment. It felt forbidden, like no one was supposed to see them. The femme couldn't help but want to touch him back. As soon as her servo made contact with him, she realized her mistake.
It seemed to snap him out of his transfixion. He completely retracted away from her.
Darkstrike frowned, feeling a bit disappointed. She didn't understand the sudden change, but she wouldn't audibly interject.
Soundwave was quick to dig into her mind and read the thoughts that were on the surface of her processor.
For the second time, he had initiated physical contact with her. As minor as it was, he knew it was due to a breach of his self-control. He only came into contact with other Cybertronians when it came to violence or occasionally lust. Soundwave knew he was becoming physically attracted to the femme.
Her impulsive, frenzied nature attracted him. Soundwave had never encountered a femme Gladiator in the making. While not entirely displeasing, this was completely unwanted by him. The femme's existence as a fighter was intriguing, but Soundwave didn't see any other reason to invest his time in her.
He was uncertain whether he wanted to witness her success or downfall. Darkstrike was a bot that adapted to change, a skill not many Cybertronians possessed. If she ever came to realize her true strength, she'd rise to higher ranks.
However, there was still a chance she could break. Each fight was becoming increasingly difficult for her. He wondered how much longer it was until she succumbed under the pressure. The femme was leaving each fight more scathed than the last.
Even if she succeeded as a Gladiator, many bots succumbed to the mental toll of fighting endlessly. After vorns, it was common for mechs to question their existence. It was a big reason seemingly thriving mechs were slain in the arena. A will to live only extended so far.
Darkstrike had ambition, but it could lead her to either outcome.
Soundwave looked at the battered femme. The path to success would be a long one. He'd take pleasure watching her suffer along the way.
He stood up. "Go to Medic".
The femme frowned but did not object. She managed to stand on her own. Soundwave noticed she was pensive. Her optics reflected her emotions.
Darkstrike kept her distance from him. It was better that way; they shouldn't overstep each other's boundaries.
Before she left, she turned her helm in his direction. "Thank you."
"Gratitude unnecessary," Soundwave replied. The femme deflated a bit.
"In that case, I'll pay you back the energon," Darkstrike said. He gave no reply. It looked like she was making a move to leave. After a few steps forward, she hesitated. The femme appeared indecisive.
She looked at him. It seemed she had more to say.
"Proceed," Soundwave said.
"Why? Why bother helping me?" she questioned. Interestingly enough, Soundwave asked himself the same question.
"Is it not significant."
"My life matters to me. That's why I want to know what your intentions are," she stated.
It was good that she mistrusted him. It meant neither of them was getting too comfortable with each other.
When he didn't reply she uttered a "Please."
"No intentions," he curtly said. Darkstrike didn't seem satisfied with his response. He wasn't lying; he didn't have any true intentions for the femme. The mech interacted with her based on the circumstance, but there were always elements of unpredictability he didn't account for.
"You caught me at my weakest but it won't happen again," she began, "You're right. Gratitude is unnecessary, but survival is selfish. I do not take staying alive for granted."
With that, she began walking away. He decided it would be wise for him to leave too.