A/N: Thank you for all the kind feedback. I appreciate the patience, these last months have been hectic with my bachelor's program and state of health. Transformers is pretty much the only thing keeping me together.
Chapters 6-8 are completely re-written versions of the old one and it's probable I'll continue with the rest of the story. (The plot is very similar though; if you squint, you can see traces of the original.)
I poured everything I have into remaking these chapters and I'm excited to keep going at it. I hope you all enjoy the content I've added.
Chapter 8
Awakening the next morning was a bit rough for Darkstrike. She hadn't gotten much sleep since she'd stayed up the past two nights finishing annotating the datapad.
Her mind was overflowing with unnecessary information on aerodynamics.
She could have taken her time, but Darkstrike was an impatient femme. Quickly completing her task would show her determination to collaborate with Soundwave. The prospect of working with him excited Darkstrike greatly. She wanted to return as soon as she could.
Just like that, several joors of her cycle had been spent learning about flight; and she managed to do it all in two sittings.
Primus, I sound desperate.
Darkstrike found herself thinking about him a lot after the other cycle. Being inside his room had been intimidating at first. After coexisting with him for a couple of joors, the tension within her had eased.
At the end of it all, against all odds, he had accepted her request to assist him. A part of her felt like their dynamic had shifted. They would be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.
She had never felt such a strong attraction for a mech before, especially when it came to lust. It was strange considering she didn't even know what his face looked like. Perhaps the mystery only added to his allure.
While her previous caste had suitable options, the mechs she'd met there were very average— or corrupt; they didn't appeal to her as Soundwave did. His gruff Gladiator appearance, ideology, and sharp mind are what captivated her. None radiated with a presence like Soundwave. Darkstrike absentmindedly wondered what he thought of her.
It seemed like every time they encountered each other, more lines were crossed.
In the beginning, Soundwave remained indifferent to her advances whereas now, he actively retaliated against her. Their mere touches were turning into full contact. The proximity of their frames lessened more every time. It would only be a matter of time until things became… explicit.
Darkstrike blushed. She couldn't help the jittery feeling in her spark.
Her optics glanced up at the ceiling.
Thinking about it harder, she couldn't help but frown. Seeing the type of mech Soundwave was, the possibility of an escapade was very low.
She remembered how he had fully backed away from her the other night.
He had a lot of self-restraint, seldom touching her first unless she initiated contact. Under any other circumstance, he seemed uncaring towards her. Darkstrike didn't mind this, but it meant that there were many steps ahead of them before something like interface occurred.
Even if they did have contact, Soundwave didn't really treat her any differently than before. He grew more tolerant of her, but that was it. The femme wasn't treated like an equal, but nor was she completely treated like scrap. It let her know that simply being a femme didn't mean he'd make the effort to woo her. She was again reminded that Soundwave wasn't easily swayed.
If Darkstrike wanted to impress him, she'd have to strive for it.
The femme didn't know where she stood in his optics, but she guessed somewhere in the middle. It was a start, but certainly far from gaining his full respect.
Even if Darkstrike didn't fully know what she was getting herself into, she was fully diving in. She'd have to exercise caution when around him, especially now that she knew that not even her thoughts were safe.
She had made her commitment and there was no going back...
This should be interesting.
Darkstrike entered the rec room earlier than usual so that she could chat with Magnesium.
Her optics darted across the room.
There were several mechs in the room. The atmosphere seemed tense. From what she could tell, they were all complaining.
She turned to the counter. Much to her surprise, the energon-tender wasn't there. Darkstrike walked over to investigate.
The femme peered over the counter. There was no sign of anyone; even his datapads were gone. From what she heard, free energon wouldn't be served for the remaining orn, but Magnesium usually still loitered in the area.
She frowned. Although he wasn't the best company, he was all she had to talk to besides Soundwave.
"Brightplate!"
Speaking of bad company, it was RocketShield.
Darkstrike ignored him, hoping the voice would go away. She wasn't in the mood to deal with him. Drinking with the mech had been the most time she ever wanted to spend with him.
"So, there the femme is," he said.
Darkstrike turned around and narrowed her optics. She remained quiet.
"I was reminiscing about the good times we had the other night," he casually said.
"I don't seem to recall anything..." Darkstrike played dumb.
"C'mon Brightie, don't be like that!" He approached her, servos held up.
Darkstrike noticed his usual group wasn't accompanying him. That meant he'd be a little less of an afthole. Not that it was any better than his usual self.
"I'm not in the mood for your antics today, RocketShield."
"No need to be so defensive, I merely come to talk."
"Talk?" Darkstrike questioned. She raised an optic ridge.
"Yeah. I've come with a proposition."
Darkstrike eyed him skeptically. She didn't know what he was up to, but she didn't like the smirk on his face.
"I"m not interested." She began to walk away.
RocketShield moved in front of her.
"Don't be such a priss, Darkstrike," he said.
She turned to him, optics wide. It was probably the first time he'd used her real name. It felt... strange. She didn't like how it sounded through his vocal processors.
"Ah, I have your attention now, good," the mech grinned. His optics gave her a slow once-over. "Y'know, I really like you, Darkstrike."
She frowned.
"That's why I want you to have the honor of joining me for another round of high-grade tonight," RocketShield leered.
Her mouth dropped. She regarded him with a bewildered expression. "...What?"
"Don't act so coy, I saw the way you were looking at me the other night."
Darkstrike choked on his statement. She glared indignantly at him, her vexation returning tenfold. "Maybe if you weren't such a loudmouth, a piece of slag."
"You can stop pretending you hate me; we both know it's just an act," he continued.
The flier fumed, rolling her optics in irritation, "I'm sure your little group can keep you plenty company tonight." Darkstrike abruptly walked forward, shoving him aside. "Out of my way."
RocketShield didn't expect her push and stumbled back. His smirk immediately dropped. Before she could walk far, he grabbed her arm.
"Let go." Her voice was firm.
The femme reacted quickly, yanking her appendage out of his grip.
Darkstrike took notice of his bandaged servo. Her optics perked up. The memory of stomping on RocketShield's frisky servo the other night flashed through her mind. It looked like she'd been rougher than anticipated.
The femme began to laugh, slowly becoming louder. This seemed to make him angry.
"What?" he spat.
"Looks like you're injured," she chuckled, "Maybe that'll teach you to keep your servos to yourself next time."
He studied his servo, then her. Based on his befuddled expression, he didn't seem to fully recall the other cycle's events. It looked like he was barely putting the puzzle pieces together.
"You did this!" he exclaimed.
Darkstrike only responded with a grin. This only further angered him. She could almost see the fire in his optics.
RocketShield took a few steps towards her. The femme held her ground.
"You're going to pay for that," RocketShield threatened.
"You don't scare me, middle-ranker," she mocked him.
"Ironic coming from you, Pretender."
Her vexation grew the longer she talked to him.
Before she could respond, RocketShield continued.
"You're nothing more than an experiment waiting to go wrong. Just ask anyone, we're all waiting for the cycle you finally fail." He was close enough where she could see his irises.
She could've scoffed. He wasn't nearly as threatening as Soundwave was.
Still, Darkstrike didn't like what he was insinuating. Even if he was trying to get a rise out of her, she still couldn't calm the aggravation from bubbling within her spark. After training hard and fighting through every droplet of energon, she certainly didn't get her due credit.
"How's your friend Shanktile doing? I haven't seen him since our second rematch," she replied snarkily.
He growled. "You may have been able to beat that weakling, but you don't stand a chance against me." RocketShield poked her chassis hard. The force pushed her back.
Darkstrike angrily swiped away his servo. "I hear you're not even top 30 in this arena."
"Rankings are nothing but a lie. Until they beat me, they're worth less than the ground I walk on, including you," he spat.
Although the insult stung her pride, she ignored it for now.
"You're delusional." She raised an unimpressed optic ridge.
"Am I? I haven't lost a fight in orns, which is more than I can say for you."
She scowled. The nerve!
"You're mediocre at best. There are plenty of better fighters, just look around you," Darkstrike said.
For a nano klik, RocketShield glanced around. Darkstrike tried to follow his optics, but before she could see what he was looking for, the mech quickly turned back to her.
"Alright then, he said, "Name someone."
Darkstrike's angrily optics surveyed the room, hoping to find a high-ranker in sight. She'd prove him wrong if it was the last thing she did.
Luck didn't seem to be on her side, though.
Unfortunately, most Gladiators in the room were only middle and low-rankers. Since energon wasn't being served, it was likely that top Gladiators hadn't bothered to come.
She glanced at RocketShield. He was grinning arrogantly at her. Slag, he might actually be right this time.
Her ire only increased. Before Darkstrike could insult him, she caught something out of the corner of her optic. Her red orbs drifted slightly to the right. She recognized the colors of the familiar mech.
"Soundwave?" the words left her mouth before she could think. He was situated perfectly, right behind RocketShield.
His visor turned in her direction; he had heard her.
Darkstrike cursed in her processor.
RocketShield's smug expression automatically dissipated into a bemused one. She, unfortunately, let her gaze linger for a bit too long. RocketShield managed to follow her stare to its source.
"Soundwave?" he questioned.
Megatronus had requested to rendezvous again after last night. He wanted to take advantage of the fact that other high-rankers wouldn't be entering the rec room. Fewer mechs would be eavesdropping on their discussions. This was essential considering the owners had plenty of spies within their ranks.
Despite the precautions they took, Soundwave wasn't enthusiastic to be there. He had accepted out of courtesy, but he made it very clear that he wasn't interested in what Megatronus was offering him.
Both mechs had agreed that Cybertron's "Golden Age" was coming to an end. Now was the most essential time to remain vigilant. They grew weary of fighting to survive as Gladiator slaves.
Cybertronian rights were a controversial subject on their planet. Soundwave knew a lot about the subject based on personal experience. Megatronus planned to do something about it.
The mech had a dream of a more efficient Cybertron, a planet where all bots coexisted equally. He often vocalized his thoughts to the audience after every victorious fight. The number of followers under him grew with every cycle. Megatronus knew how to use colloquial to his advantage.
Outwardly, the silver mech attempted to appear like a brute, hot-headed and arrogant. Though, Soundwave's observational skills led him to believe otherwise. The farce was only so Megatronus could act freely behind the scenes. Since he made more revenue than any other Gladiator in Kaon, the owners believed his martyrism was nothing more than a means of earning more income.
Only a mech possessing cunning could have attained a position like Megatronus'.
Though the prospect interested him, Soundwave didn't believe Megatronus could fully execute his plan of a caste-ridden Cybertron. Especially not without the necessary resources. Soundwave was only willing to listen because he begrudgingly respected the other mech's power.
He didn't approve of many things about Megatronus. Soundwave would entertain him for now. He was still skeptical of the mech, but he recognized ambition when he saw it.
After their meeting yesterday, Soundwave saw Megatronus less as an adversary and more of a distant acquaintance.
It wouldn't be wise to make enemies with the highest ranker; not when more possibilities arise from having close ties with him. From what he could tell, Megatronus thought the same thing.
Soundwave knew the mech had larger plans in store. Whether they'd come into fruition was still a mystery.
Megatronus was asking for the greatest change of the eon. His expectations were high and he showed no doubt that his dream would become a reality.
Nonetheless, he was willing to continue these consultations with Megatronus. He wouldn't fully involve himself yet. Perhaps once their mindsets were fully aligned, he'd accept a role in the mech's revolution. For now, he'd keep tabs on the other high ranker's cause.
Soundwave sat quietly at the table. He was situated far enough from other bots to avoid being seen. Megatronus was running late which meant he'd have to stay in the rec room longer. Soundwave was growing weary of waiting; the room was full of low and middle rankers. It wasn't an atmosphere he preferred to dwell in.
The mech watched the door, waiting to see when the other Gladiator would make his entrance. As the door swished open, he was greeted by a much smaller Cybertronian. The femme made her way towards the counter.
Soundwave had seen Darkstrike talking with the energon tender yesterday.
He watched her discreetly.
Coming from behind Darkstrike was RocketShield.
"Brightplate!"
It didn't take long for them to start bickering.
Soundwave always reacted indifferently to Darkstrike's torment. He was one to mind his own business.
Through these cycles, RocketShield and Darkstrike's confrontation seemed more like an over-glorified game of insults. The femme grew less tolerant of his harassment; it meant RocketShield's source of entertainment was beginning to diminish.
Soundwave watched as the other mech attempted to get a rise out of Darkstrike. As usual, they were having a petty argument. He could see the impatience on her face. Her body language conveyed she was attempting to leave.
Soundwave couldn't hear them too well, but their words weren't as important as the outcome of their bickering.
The femme's face suddenly lit up. Her optics glared in RocketShield's direction.
"I would never want to be associated with your sorry aft. My answer is no." Darkstrike abruptly walked forward, shoving him aside. "Out of my way!"
He watched as Darkstrike angrily pushed past RocketShield.
Her response sounded like a rejection.
Soundwave had already known that the other mech was pathetically infatuated with the femme's novelty.
Though, judging by her reaction, the feeling was unrequited. It almost gave him satisfaction, if only to know that Darkstrike had standards.
As the femme shoved past him, RocketShield made a move to grab her. The situation was escalating fast.
"Let go!"
She paused, looking at his servo. In a matter of a nano kliks, her attitude changed. The femme was suddenly laughing. From what he could tell, she was staring at RocketShield's bandaged servo.
"What?"
"Looks like you're injured. Maybe that'll teach you to keep your servos to yourself next time."
RocketShield paused for a klik. Soundwave couldn't see him too well from where he sat.
"You did this!" he yelled abruptly.
All he could see was the femme's satisfied grin.
Soundwave deduced there had been a confrontation where Darkstrike had injured RocketShield.
Judging by the way the mech sized her up, he was outraged. Darkstrike wasn't backing down either. Soundwave didn't need to listen in on their conversation to know they were spatting insults at each other again.
He observed the femme, patiently waiting to see if action arose from the situation. Soundwave had a good view of her from where he sat.
Again, he had to note that she was an expressive Cybertronian. Displeasure was written all over her face. Her optics lit up in response to her emotions. He was able to read her body language with ease.
As much as Soundwave attempted to purge her from his thoughts, it was unavoidable. Especially considering he had allowed her will to impose his, giving her the opportunity to collaborate on his project. He would be seeing her a lot more frequently.
Although Darkstrike possessed adequate skills to assist him, he didn't need extra help— especially when he was more than capable of completing the drone himself.
At the time, her motives had also been called into question. The femme's persistence had made him wary of her. Soundwave wouldn't underestimate her, especially if she intended to steal his valuable technology. Given her ability to quickly read and comprehend information, Darkstrike was capable of anything.
When he had investigated for himself, he was more than surprised to see that her intentions were genuine.
Even more shocking, she held true respect for him, not just respect derived from fear. Behind her pride lied a young, impressionable femme.
Dsrkstrike was clearly raised in a high-caste environment. She was unhardened, unlike bots like him and Megatronus and even Airachnid. Though Darkstrike demonstrated her worth as a Gladiator, she was still very naive.
Thinking about it disgusted him. He rejected the notion entirely. It made him despise her existence.
Yet…
When she had spoken her true thoughts, blush spreading over her cheeks, her optics unable to look at him, it had ignited a flame within him.
The femme had exposed her vulnerability to him, left herself open. The urge to break or take her tanalized him.
"Darkstrike feels fear."
"Y-yes," Her vermillion orbs looked directly at him. "But it drives me further."
She had proceeded to lean into him, a look of desire in her optics.
Soundwave had wanted more.
He had abandoned all reason to yield to his desires. If the femme hadn't been stubborn enough to demand being his assistant, the night likely would've proceeded differently.
He did not like the thought.
His self-control was breaking for a simple femme fighter. Self-indulgence was dangerous, especially if it meant abandoning rationality. Soundwave of all bots recognized the fact.
He'd make sure it wouldn't happen again.
"Soundwave…" he heard his name faintly.
He averted his attention to the scene. Darkstrike had finally sensed him. She stared in surprise.
"Soundwave?" RocketShield turned to face him.
A few eavesdropping Gladiators glanced at him. He merely leaned back and raised his helm impatiently. This was enough to drive their gazes away.
RocketShield took a step back. The middle-ranker angrily turned to glare at her. Darkstrike responded with her own fierce expression.
Megatronus' plan of being discrete had been compromised. Now that many other Gladiators had noticed his presence, Megatronus and he wouldn't have any privacy. It was time for him to leave.
Soundwave made a move to stand up.
RocketShield noticed him. He shoved Darkstrike to the side. Her expression appeared indignant.
The mech turned to face him. "Don't listen to this nuisance, Soundwave!" he explained.
The femme gave RocketShield an obscene servo gesture behind his back. Aside from a few glances, she tried to avoid looking at Soundwave.
"She has a few loose screws, but that's to be expected. I'll take care of her for you," RocketShield spoke.
When he finally turned around, Darkstrike was already gone.
Darkstrike stood outside Soundwave's door.
She ran her glossa over her white lips. Her optic-ridges furrowed in nervousness.
She hoped Soundwave disregarded her argument with RocketShield earlier. Darkstrike hadn't intended to involve him, his name just happened to slip out.
The femme wondered if he had noticed her beforehand. She hoped not; that meant he would have witnessed her aimlessly quarrel with RocketShield.
Luckily, Soundwave had managed to distract him long enough for her to make her way out the door. While his back was turned, she had successfully stolen a small weapon of his. It had been her only solution to taking their bickering away from the rec room.
Hopefully, a few joors was enough time to pretend like it never happened.
The femme extended her servo and gave two hard knocks. The sound echoed through the corridors. The desolate hallway intimidated Darkstrike. Primus knew how many high-rankers resided there. She hoped no one would see her, Megatronus being the first on that list.
One high-ranking Gladiator was more than enough for Darkstrike to handle. Soundwave was probably the only one who'd tolerate her antics.
She let her thoughts ease down as she waited.
The door didn't immediately open. The flier gave another knock. After waiting for another klik, Darkstrike grew nervous. Training was over and most fights had ended. It was logical to assume Soundwave was in his room.
Darkstrike was too stubborn to leave. After all the effort it had taken to get Soundwave to agree to let her be his assistant, she wouldn't give up that easily.
The femme looked down at the numbers next to his door. The glowing colors caught her attention; it was identical to the keypad on the other side of the door.
She wondered…
Darkstrike brought a finger to the number keys. She hesitated for a nano klik.
It wasn't smart for her to barge in unannounced.
I'll deal with the consequences later.
Making her decision, Darkstrike typed in the number code Soundwave had given her the cycle before. The heavy door slid open. The femme glanced around the hallways before stepping in.
She walked slowly, her pede-steps making slight creeks. Immediately she noticed Soundwave. He was standing by his workspace.
The door closed behind Darkstrike, making her jump in surprise.
"I apologize if I'm intruding..." she spoke.
She was greeted by his usual suffocating silence. Her red optics glanced away as she awkwardly tensed up. The femme couldn't decipher his reaction.
After another klik, he spoke.
"Returned as promised," he stated.
She sighed in relief. Darkstrike felt some confidence build up. She strolled over to him, the datapad in her servo.
"I hope you don't mind that I let myself," she glanced down at his work, "Especially since you seemed to be busy."
"It is permitted for now."
She placed the datapad in front of him and turned it on.
"I've finished analyzing all the information. This textpad is quite lengthy," she clicked on the icon to pull up her annotations, "There's no need for me to go into detail when my work speaks for itself. I promise you I was very thorough."
Soundwave brought the tablet closer to himself. He reviewed her work quickly, scrolling through the pages at a frightening speed. He was either good at skimming or a fast reader. Darkstrike hoped it was the latter.
"Research is sufficient," he pointed at an empty seat, "Sit."
Darkstrike sat down on the chair beside his workspace.
"This technology is valuable. Warning: Any attempt to steal or profit will result in femme's permanent offlining. Any attempt to relay information will result in permanent memory erasure," Soundwave threatened, "Understood?"
Although his disclaimer unnerved her, Darkstrike confidently nodded, "Yes. Understood."
He revealed a new datapad from his subspace. It appeared like the one from the other cycle. Soundwave quickly typed in a code to unlock it.
"Project 7423 is more than a drone. If designed correctly, it will share similar capabilities to a minicon. Plans for this semi-sentient being involve full attachment to frame, ability to transform, and silent communication." He displayed the page to her.
Darkstrike's optics widened at the research. It was more extensive than she had initially thought. There were endless pages of data and tons of cited sources at the bottom of each page. The femme could only wonder how he had attained so much textual information. Her processor began to fill with several questions.
"Though research has been completed, there are many gaps. Foraging through large quantities of information has created disorganization. Apart from making your own additions to the project, femme is expected to sort through all details."
The femme nodded. "Organizing your work takes priority. I'll create a solid foundation before I add to your research."
"Affirmative."
"Do you have a preference on how to categorize the information?" she asked.
"Do not complicate data. Delete any unnecessary research. Arrange the rest in a comprehensible manner," Soundwave replied.
"Alright…" Darkstrike pursed her lips. She wasn't sure what exactly classified as "unnecessary." It seemed like he was intentionally giving her ambiguous instructions. If he was trying to set her up for failure, it was only more reason for her to try her hardest.
"I will begin my work. I am at your service if you require anything else," she said.
Soundwave turned back to resume his work.
The femme's bright red optics fixated on the datapad. Darkstrike couldn't hide her fascination. All of his knowledge was at her fingertips. It was almost like she had an opportunity to go inside his mind.
The prospect of being able to learn about new technology excited her greatly. It had been a long time since she had worked on an advanced project, maybe even since her days as a secretary.
The flier glanced at Soundwave. He caught her gaze.
Darkstrike cleared her throat and looked away. Her grin lowered into a more professional, neutral expression.
The femme turned to page one.
For joors, her claws rigorously typed on the tablet. Her sole purpose for being allowed in his chambers was this drone; there was no time to slack off.
Given her previous career, Darkstrike was used to going through mountains of data-work.
She wasn't fazed spending all her time on such a tedious task. She found comfort in reading new information and the notes he had to add to it. There was a clear difference when Soundwave wrote; his sentences were brief, just as concise as he was. The femme liked reading it in his voice.
Her finger slid to the next page of the datapad. A random list of equations popped up.
The femme's optics narrowed as she attempted to scourage her processor for any valuable information to help her decipher them. Unfortunately, mathematics and engineering had never been her strongest suit.
Keeping her optics on the pad, Darkstrike approached Soundwave. It was best if he gave her specific instructions on how to organize that portion.
As she came closer, the femme noticed he was glancing at the datapad on aerodynamics. The annotation page she had worked on was open. On further inspection, Darkstrike saw that he was attaching wings onto the drone.
She couldn't help but feel joy at seeing him use her work. Careful not to disrupt his concentration, the flier watched silently as he worked. His long, thin fingers operated quickly, only occasionally stopping to read the datapad.
As he attached a final wire, the drone activated to life.
Darkstrike's optics widened in excitement.
It made a few noises before attempting to propel up. It wobbled in an uncoordinated manner. Soundwave allowed it to flail in the air for a bit.
The moment didn't last long, however. Within seconds it began to lose stability. Sparks began to form, causing it to make a crash landing. Soundwave was able to catch it before it hit the ground.
As he brought it closer, the drone powered off.
The mech showed no signs of disappointment. He typed on the open page as he inspected its wings.
"Does it have a T-cog yet?" she asked.
Soundwave continued typing for a few more moments. "No."
He finally turned to her, "What is your progress?"
"I've reached the bulk of your equations. I'm not sure how to categorize them or where to put them."
Darkstrike handed him the datapad. The mech grasped it, wasting no time inspecting her work. He scrolled through pages for a klik or so. She didn't think much of it until he seemed to stop on a particular page.
Soundwave brought it closer to his visor. He seemed to be reading it slower.
Darkstrike grew slightly nervous.
Without looking away, he shifted to grab something from his workspace.
He suddenly regarded her. She couldn't help but keep her guard up.
"I am giving femme a second task," the mech handed her a small list.
She saw there were drone parts written on it. "Do you want me to get these things for you?"
"There are two shops outside the ring. Travel to North location. Acquire what is possible," Soundwave extended his servo, "Use this."
He handed her energon coins.
"Okay…" His instructions felt very sudden. "I'll be back soon," she said hesitantly.
The mech didn't respond, too preoccupied reading the datapad she had been working on. As Darkstrike walked to the exit, she couldn't help but wonder why he was so transfixed.
"Is everything alright with my work?" she asked.
He glanced at her. "Soundwave will continue reviewing adequacy. Suggestion: focus on current task."
The femme puffed but otherwise did as she was told.
Darkstrike walked through the halls, hoping her sense of direction wouldn't fail her.
Soundwave said the shop resided north of the arena. There weren't signs to point her in the right direction which meant Darkstrike would have to navigate herself.
He really expects me to know my way around here.
She didn't know why he had abruptly given her this errand, but she'd do as she was told.
As the flier exited the arena building, she found herself looking up at the polluted sky of Kaon. The smog was so thick that she was unable to see the stars. There was a four odor in the air.
She had reached the outskirts of the arena.
A tall electric fence surrounded the building, giving her only a small preview of what lied on the outside. From what Darkstrike heard, flying over the barrier wasn't recommended.
Shaking her helm, the femme proceeded to her destination.
After walking further, a small building came into view. It was separate from the main arena structure. Above it stood a large sign displaying the word "shop."
The entrance door looked bent and rusty. The overall appearance of the location seemed run down with boarded-up windows and makeshift repairs.
Darkstrike sighed. She shouldn't have expected otherwise.
Taking a step forward, the door swished open. Immediately, she noticed there was a line. Some nosey Gladiators turned in her direction.
Darkstrike held her guard up. The femme entered, walking behind the last mech in line.
She crossed her arms and waited patiently, ignoring the stares she received. After a few kliks, the attention shifted away from her.
"Battlesmash!" the mech working behind the front counter yelled, "Lock the doors. No more customers for the cycle."
"Alright, Boss."
Darkstrike felt lucky that she had managed to make it in time.
Seeing as there were a few bots ahead of her, she took the time to observe her environment. Though the room was empty, Darkstrike could see a large door behind the counter. Lots of bots were coming in and out. She assumed all the stock was back there.
After a few more moments of waiting in line, Darkstrike felt a servo touch her wings. The flier angrily turned around.
A large mech stood above her. He chuckled at her indignant expression.
"I like your wings," he leered at her, "Where you from?"
Before she had time to respond, a thin mech came into view. "Are you a seeker?" he questioned. Both bots began to circle her.
"Nah, she looks too dirty. Look at all those scratches. Her wings ain't even pointed in the right direction."
"I wouldn't be talking about physical appearance if I were you, you Pillock!" Her optic ridges furrowed in anger.
"Oof, she doesn't sound very happy, does she Battlesmash?"
"Yeah, I wish I knew what that meant," he chuckled.
Darkstrike threw them a fierce glare, making a show of reaching for a dagger from her subspace.
Before she could relish in their surprised expressions, a voice called out.
"Drixco! Battlesmash! Leave the femme alone and get this mech the parts he needs."
"Yes, Boss!"
"Yeah, Boss!"
They both mumbled to each other before escorting the mech to the room next door. The area soon emptied.
"Come on, Darling, I'd like to finish this up today," the mech said, "I've got places to be and businesses to run."
Darkstrike warily approached the mech. He seemed harmless enough; nothing suggested he was a Gladiator. The bot had unique purple optics and a shiny, yellow finish.
He wore a charismatic smile. The mech regarded her with interest. He gave her a once-over, thoroughly scanning her appearance.
"Hm, you seem familiar."
"I don't think we've ever met," she scrutinized him back.
"No no, it's something else," he murmured, "Ah! That's right; you're that Gladiator femme everyone talks about."
Darkstrike raised her optic ridges. She didn't like the idea of being the center of conversation among bots. She could only imagine what they've said about her.
"Yeah, that's me," Darkstrike replied tiredly.
"I've got to say, I was expecting more," he continued to stare at her. The mech frowned.
She was beginning to feel annoyed. Darkstrike stepped forward and slammed the list of materials on his counter. "Do you want my business or not?"
"Now we're speaking the same language." He began skimming through the materials. His optics widened subtly, "Interesting…"
"Are any of these pieces available?" she asked, ignoring his reaction.
"Yes," he continued to stare at the list, "All of them are in stock. Follow me back here." The mech motioned for her to enter the room behind the counter.
Darkstrike warily narrowed her optics. She wasn't comfortable entering an enclosed area with unknown bots. Slowly, her servo inched for the dagger in her subspace.
The businessmech seemed to have a sharp optic.
"Hang on there sweetspark," he said, "As a general rule, I don't allow weapons in the merchandise room."
"How do I know I can trust you?" she asked.
"I have as much reason to mistrust you, as you me."
When he phrased it like that, it reminded her that she wasn't completely harmless. The femme looked down at her claws; when it came down to it, Darkstrike didn't need any weapons to defend herself.
"Leave the dagger there and any other weapon on you." He added, "I wouldn't try anything; this door has an alarm set to go off with the presence of any weapon or explosive."
She set the dagger down.
The mech unlocked the door behind him. When it slid open, he motioned for her to follow.
On entering the room, her optics widened.
It appeared much larger on the inside. There were many aisles. Piles of metal were stacked on each other, spare parts were tossed into a corner. There were lots of fancy display cases. Darkstrike could best describe it as organized chaos.
"Let's see here," the mech murmured to himself. He analyzed the list once more before proceeding into one of the aisles.
Darkstrike followed him, her vermillion orbs fascinated by the variety of technology he offered. She was surprised to discover this place existed in the Pit. The plain-looking building had never caught her attention until now.
Once they stopped, the businessmech began collecting the needed items. He placed them in his subspace.
As he continued, the femme continued to gander around. Her optics stopped at a particular display case. Looking at it closer made her mouth drop open. Darkstrike had to take a few steps closer to verify her suspicions.
Her optics hadn't failed her; behind the protective screen lied transformation-cogs, voice modules, sensors, and other miscellaneous body parts. Some of them were spotless and others were covered in dried-up energon.
The femme's spark began to emanate with fear at the fact that she was seeing a fraction of the black market.
"I believe that's it for you, femme."
Darkstrike jumped at the voice. She turned to him quickly.
"What's got your circuits in a bunch?" he questioned. His purple optics glanced behind her. Immediately, smirked.
"I see you've discovered our more valuable products."
"I wasn't aware you had black market merchandise on you." She furrowed her optic ridges.
"When there's a demand, I supply." The mech laughed at the disturbed look on Darkstrike's face.
"I get a lot of spare parts from deceased bots, courtesy of your Gladiator brethren." He paused to give her a slow once-over, "Though, I'm not impartial to receiving whole bodies."
Her back straightened up. She went into a defensive pose.
"I'm kidding! With the state you're in, I doubt even miners would buy you," he rolled his optics, "You Gladiators have no sense of humor these cycles."
She wasn't sure what stung her pride more, the threat to put her on the black market or his claim that she'd be worthless merchandise.
Looking back at the display case, she decided to change the subject.
"How much for the small one?" Darkstrike pointed at a miniature T-cog.
The mech came closer. "Hm, I'd say that's about... 300 credits."
The femme deflated. She didn't have nearly enough to buy it. Though, she suspected it was expensive for a reason; it was hard to attain a well-preserved t-cog, especially if most of them were taken from corpses.
"By the looks of it, you know how valuable it is," he spoke, "It's our last one available. Good quality, great durability, and it can be transplanted universally. Just say the word and it's yours."
Darkstrike bit her lip. Soundwave had only asked her to acquire what was possible. She was sure he'd be content with what she'd obtained already.
"Did I mention this is the only minicon transformation-cog available in this Pit? Not even the other shop has it." He was tantalizing her to buy it.
Darkstrike grit her denta. He knows I want it.
Making her mind up, the flier took a moment to think about how she could get around the cost. An idea suddenly emerged from her processor.
"I'll take it," she confirmed.
"Excellent!" He was swift in unlocking the display case and retrieving the cog. After checking the list once more, he guided her back to the front. As they exited, the femme made sure to take a mental note of all the products he offered there.
Once she was in front of the counter, the mech began typing in numbers onto a datapad.
"Your total today's going to be… 430 credits."
"Okay," Darkstrike began, "I... I don't exactly have the full amount."
"You can't be serious?" he questioned angrily.
"Yet!" the flier sprang up, "I don't have the full amount yet! I have a big fight coming up. I can pay half now and the rest when I win my match."
"Yeah," he rolled his optics, "Like I haven't heard that one before."
"I'm not lying," Darkstrike replied defensively.
The mech picked up his datapad. "From what it looks like here, you have no history buying from my shop. You have no credibility, no credit, and no cash. And given your Gladiator reputation, you don't have many things backing you up, Sweetspark."
"Not exactly," she interjected, "The owners have me restricted. I'm classified as a Gladiator slave. I'm not allowed to leave the arena building. Considering all my matches are common knowledge, I'm not a bot who can easily hide."
Darkstrike continued, "You, on the other servo, have lots of cameras set up around the whole perimeter—maybe even further than that. Your two henchmechs have been watching me for a few kliks now, too. You have me trapped in all angles."
The mech regarded her warily while rubbing his chin, "What are you suggesting?"
"How about a bargain?" she proposed.
There was a moment of silence. The mech appeared to be contemplating.
"...I'm listening," he responded after a few nano-kliks.
Darkstrike internally sighed in relief.
"Let me give you half now, and I'll return in one orns time with the rest. If I don't come back by any chance, it probably means I've been killed in my match. For your security, in case that happens I'll sign off the rights to my corpse to you and your business right now," the flier replied.
She was only bluffing of course; she had never been ordered to participate in a deathmatch. The femme hoped that there wasn't the off-chance that he knew.
Judging by the way his optics were popping out of their sockets, he seemed to be taking the bait. He quickly composed himself.
"That can be arranged." The shop owner regarded her with interest. "And you're sure about this? Once I finalize a deal, I don't do any more negotiations."
"Of course." Darkstrike attempted to sound self-assured.
Absolutely not.
He opened his subspace and began rummaging through it. Before she had a chance to process, he slammed down three datapads in front of her.
Darkstrike narrowed her optics in bemusement. She looked at him questioningly.
"Just in case anyone else tries to claim your body. Legal reasons, you know how it is," he vaguely explained, "Your total today will be 215 credits."
She hesitantly pulled all the credits from her subspace. Soundwave had given her 100 and she had 40 credits of her own.
He looked unimpressed when she handed him the small amount.
"What if I include the dagger," Darkstrike suggested.
The mech perked up. He reached for the blade she had set aside earlier. Purple optics carefully examined it. Keeping it vertical, he passed a detector device over it. A small beep sounded off. After reading the results, his expression appeared surprised.
"Not bad, aside from the R.S. engraved initials on the blade," he nodded, "Say, where did you get your servos on something like this?"
"Let's just say a friend gave it to me."
"Well, aren't you lucky." He held out a stylus in front of her. "Now, if you can sign here, here, and here." There were three x's for her to sign, one on each textpad.
Darkstrike hesitantly picked up the stylus. She clenched her denta together.
I am really selling the rights to my corpse for a t-cog? Is it really necessary for me to overextend this much?
Half of her wondered if Soundwave would be grateful. Probably not.
It reminded her of the cycles she had spent as a secretary. Darkstrike had always gone above and beyond, even when it hadn't been asked of her. Her desire to prove herself had vexed her superiors many times. She had a tendency of getting herself into easily preventable problems.
It was ironic the way her past constantly cycled back to her.
"Having second thoughts?" The mech's amused voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
Her red optics focused on the datapads in front of her.
"No," she made optic-contact with him, "I'm sure about this." Darkstrike appeared impassive as she quickly scribbled in a few initials.
"Hm, fancy signature," the mech murmured. He collected the contracts and put them in his subspace. Keeping a servo in there, he revealed all the items she had purchased. Darkstrike perked up.
"I'll be expecting payment—or a corpse— in one orn. Don't disappoint me, Sweetspark."
Excitedly taking all the drone equipment, the femme nodded, "I'll be back."
"Pleasure doing business with you," he extended a servo out, "The name's Swindle."
There was something about his smile she couldn't trust.
"I'm Darkstrike," she replied, grasping his servo roughly.
Soundwave found himself somewhat interested in the femme's background.
The way she processed and organized information surpassed the skillset of a novice. He could only assume she had attended a reasonable institute or at least worked under an esteemed company. Though, from the way she carried herself, it seems that it hadn't been for long.
Soundwave had traveled enough to know a secretary's general attitude. Unwavering, poised, reserved— all attributes Darkstrike lacked. It was almost glaringly apparent why she no longer held that job.
He once again questioned how such an inexperienced femme had managed to survive for this long.
Soundwave heard the sound of his door open.
Darkstrike quickly entered, frequently glancing behind her. It was likely she was taking precautions to make sure no one had followed her.
Despite her naivety, the femme made an effort to learn from her previous mistakes.
He noticed her satisfied smile as she approached him. Reaching the table, she carefully revealed all of the parts he had assigned. The femme had brought back more than expected.
Soundwave reached for the first piece. Examining it closer, he noticed the quality of the metal. Immediately, he knew where she had attained the merchandise.
"Darkstrike: traveled to South location."
Before she could take the next item out, she paused. Her face expressed a few emotions; surprise, irritation, then worry.
"Will this affect the project?" Darkstrike asked hesitantly.
He looked down at the materials. A quick scan revealed that they were all in fair condition. Soundwave flipped some of them over. The numbers underneath showed the size matched his prototype.
"No," he replied. She appeared relieved.
He was skeptical of her reaction.
"What was cost?" he questioned.
Panic overcame her optics. "Were you expecting change?"
"Did you attain this from Swindle?"
Her mouth gaped open. She took a step back. "Yes. How-how did you know that?"
Soundwave didn't respond.
Even if she had visited the Southern location, the difference in prices shouldn't have been drastic. It was common knowledge that the shop-owner Swindle upcharged whenever he saw fit.
He was a mech Soundwave preferred not to see again. Swindle's business extended far beyond Kaon; the same could also be said about his greed. Given the femme's lack of awareness, he could only assume she had been taken advantage of.
"Is there a reason you don't prefer his shop?" Darkstrike asked.
Naive femme.
"Swindle is con artist and arms dealer. Merchandise is less reliable and priced higher. Many customers are subjected to debt," he stated.
Darkstrike shuffled, "A warning would've been helpful..."
Soundwave took a step closer. "Femme has resided in arena for many orbital-cyles. It is Darkstrike's responsibility to learn all information about own environment."
She looked away. He could feel frustration radiating from her.
"I...I suppose you're right," Darkstrike sighed, "In that case, I'm not sure how you'll react to this."
She retrieved one more piece from her subspace.
Soundwave couldn't help but stare intently. The femme held out a T-cog small enough to fit in her servo. Its condition appeared adequate.
He reached out to grab it but stopped himself. The mech took a step back.
"Is there something wrong with it?" Darkstrike asked.
"Why purchase Transformation Cog?" he interrogated.
Good quality Cybertronian body parts were not easily found in small shops. Soundwave normally visited Central Kaon's black market for those types of pieces. Such valuable items like a T-cog came with a price; Soundwave wanted to know how much it had been and if the femme was seeking repayment. With a mech like Swindle attending her, he wondered how she had been able to afford it.
"Well, since my only option is to be honest with you," Darkstrike's stared intently at him. Soundwave knew what she was implying, but he displayed no reaction.
"I bought it because my excitement got the better of me. You said the drone didn't have a T-cog and Swindle coincidentally had a one. I was under the impression that T-cogs this size were hard to come by. Did I make a wrong assumption?" she asked.
Soundwave didn't answer her question.
Her assessment was correct. There weren't many minibots on Kaon which meant the black market particularly lacked in that category.
"What was overall cost?" he questioned.
Darkstrike's optics glanced away momentarily. His question seemed to make her nervous. She rubbed the back of her helm with her servo.
"You don't have to worry about the cost," her optics flickered with mock confidence, "Consider it my first major contribution as your assistant. I want to help in any way I can."
Her tone had changed. It was clear to him that she was intentionally withholding the price from him.
Though, a scan of her processor revealed that her initial explanation was genuine.
Soundwave didn't want to pry any more information out of her.
Her accumulated debts would ultimately have to be her own issue. If she didn't want him to intervene, he wouldn't.
Deciding to move past the subject, he picked up the Transformation cog.
"Let us proceed."
Two Orns Later
Darkstrike stared at the door in front of her.
It had been cycles since her last fight. Though she'd been successful, the femme had yet to receive her reward. An orn had passed since the match. Payment was usually delivered within two cycles.
The thought made Darkstrike grow nervous. She could only imagine how impatient Swindle was getting. It made her realize the risks of gambling with an unreliable income.
She had successfully avoided his shop since, but it would be a matter of time until he sent one of his goons to look for her.
The matter pressed her enough to seek answers from a bot she didn't like visiting often.
Darkstrike gave the door a couple of knocks. It didn't take long for it to automatically slide open.
When she stepped inside, her optics couldn't help but dwell on the two large intectibot guards. Their protruding fangs twitched as they smiled mockingly.
Darkstrike quickly diverted her gaze to the mech behind the desk. Cubes and datapads were scattered throughout his workspace. Her olfactory sensors registered the smell of spilled high-grade. Despite the disorganization around him, the mech grinned proudly.
"If it isn't my favorite slave."
Her spark lurched with disdain. It ground her gears to hear such a derogatory term directed at her.
It shouldn't surprise her; the owners of the arena always addressed her like that.
Darkstrike almost felt like counting her stars when she saw that only one of them was present. The two other owners were likely occupied running the smaller rings in Slaughter City.
"Mister Lanyard," Darkstrike greeted with a bow. She was no fool; losing her temper in front of a powerful mech could very well mean her demise. The way the insecticons were watching her was proof enough.
"What do you want?" His tone was harsh despite his warm welcome.
She attempted to gather her thoughts. Darkstrike had to look impressionable— like she meant business. If the femme was lucky, Lanyard would humor her.
Though, judging by the dark circles under his optics, she didn't think that was likely.
"I'd like to request my payment for the fight that took place an orn ago, sir," she said.
"And you feel like you're entitled to this payment?" he asked bluntly.
Judging by his response, he was either aware he hadn't given her any funds or he didn't care. She gulped, a heavy feeling of regret gnawing at her spark. The femme almost considered excusing herself and coming back another time.
No! I won't let myself cower away from him.
Mustering a deep breath, Darkstrike spoke, "Of course not. If it's my performance you're unsatisfied with, I will increase my efforts my next fight."
"That won't be necessary, I saw your last fight."
"Oh," She backtracked.
"Your sales have started to decline. The audience barely filled up half of the arena. Wagers placed that cycle showed a decrease in 25 percent," Lanyard appeared more serious, "I expected more from you, femme."
She thought half an arena was considered fair compared to the crowd the average Gladiator brought in.
"You're right Mister Lanyard," Darkstrike appeased, "I'd also like to point out that in general, the arena hasn't received many visitors as of late."
Lanyard ignored her, his optics running through the page.
The femme noticed how intently he analyzed the ticket sales. Lanyard had a fixation with numbers; perhaps she could use that to her advantage. If he wasn't going to pay her, she could at least set herself up for larger fights.
"It appears I'm no longer seen as a novelty," she began.
"Hm…" He frowned as he continued reading the chart.
"If the public's grown used to me, it could mean I have to broaden my options."
Lanyard suddenly stopped scrolling. For a nano-klik, Darkstrike thought she finally had his attention.
"Funny you should mention that." He pulled up a new page. At first, she perked up.
"How do you feel about a side job at Kaon's Finest Brothel?"
A holographic image of two raunchy-looking femmes popped up on the screen in front of her.
Darkstrike couldn't hide her indignant expression. Her spark beat profusely in response to such a suggestion. She felt sick thinking about it. It alarming to think that Lanyard was already considering that type of gig for her.
"You'll have plenty of high-grade at your disposal. There are lots of customers a cycle which means you have a possibility of making 50 percent commission,"
The femme attempted to settle down.
"I still believe I can earn more profit through ticket sales," she said, "I can draw in a bigger crowd."
"How do you intend to do that if you're already struggling to stay relevant?" Lanyard remarked.
Darkstrike needed to be bold. She needed to make an extreme suggestion, one that could distract him from pushing this "side job" onto her.
Fixing her optics onto him, the flier declared her proposition, "I want to participate in death matches."
His demeanor shifted. Lanyard's pupils shrunk, his optic ridges rising. He sat up straight.
"No!"
Darkstrike felt taken aback. Attempting to ignore his rejection, she continued. "There is a bigger possibility of–"
"I said no!" his fist slammed against his desk. A few of his datapads flew off.
She scrutinized him and clutched her fists tightly.
"Deathmatches are only for real Gladiators. You're way too valuable to me alive than in the scrap heap."
"So omitting me from these matches means you have more of a chance to profit off my suffering," she deduced.
"Yeah, got a problem with it, Slave?" Lanyard challenged. The insectibots began to trudge forward, their heavy armor rustling loudly.
If that didn't intimidate her enough, the deadly look in the owner's optics finished the job.
"Of course not, Mister Lanyard," the femme grit through her denta. She took a step back and bowed her helm.
"That's what I like to hear," he smirked.
Deciding to resign, Darkstrike released a quiet sigh.
Whether in a high or low caste, it seemed she would always have to deal with a system that rendered her powerless.
She made a move for the exit.
"I haven't dismissed you, yet."
Darkstrike froze. Her optic-ridges furrowed with apprehension.
"I want to know why do you need money this urgent," he demanded.
The femme was surprised he hadn't sent her out like she expected.
Though potentially futile, she attempted to explain herself. "I struck a deal with a vendor in the arena named Swindle. I'm in debt with him. I told him I'd reimburse him after my fight."
"Swindle?" Lanyard asked.
"Uh, yes sir."
"That's what this is about?" He shook his helm.
The owner seemed to think to himself. His anger pacified momentarily. The sudden change in demeanor surprised her. It helped ease some of the tension she felt.
"All this fuss over a simple debt..." he murmured.
Darkstrike wondered what he speculated about her and why he had seemed angry initially.
"How much is it, anyway?"
"Pardon?"
He rolled his optics, "Your debt! How much is your debt!"
"Oh! Uh, 215 credits…"
"215 credits?" Lanyard repeated.
He snickered.
"You really…" He shook his helm, "You really thought you could pay him back with one fight?" The mech began laughing.
She couldn't help but frown.
"I don't know who's more stupid," he continued, "You—or Swindle for actually believing you earned that much."
Lanyard laughed harder.
Darkstrike grimaced, once again feeling reminded of how overly ambitious she had been. She patiently waited for him to stop. The flier did her best to detach herself from the scene.
After an eternity, Lanyard seemed to calm down. He nonchalantly served himself a cube of highgrade energon.
"I'll tell ya what," the owner spoke.
Darkstrike braced herself for the worst.
"I like you, so I'll make you a deal."
"Okay…" she sweatdropped.
"Pay attention, femme, because I'm only going to say this once." Lanyard snapped his fingers at her, gesturing for her to come closer.
A video emerged from his datapad.
Hundreds of corpses were displayed on the screen, all varying from beast-like creatures to common mechs.
Darkstrike couldn't help but cringe at the sight.
"They don't build fighters like they used to... Look at 'em." The next clip was a mech getting his head ripped off its wires, "Good-for-nothing mechs. Only useful for spare parts." His tone was grim.
"My brother Linux has taken it upon himself to transfer two warriors from the arena in Slaughter City. Does the name "Terror Twins" ring a bell?"
Lanyard demonstrated a hologram of two mechs. They appeared identical to each other, save for their color scheme and a few details. The image showed a massive crowd cheering for them.
Darkstrike analyzed the picture.
"The idea was to pair these twins up against three or four common Kaonian fighters. Though, I have a gnawing suspicion that Linux wants to use them as free advertisement for his arena in Slaughter City." His tone rung with contempt.
"So instead, I want their debut fight to be against you."
"Me?!" she exclaimed, "H-Have you changed your mind about death matches."
Her internal energon pressure spiked up,
"Let me finish!" the owner responded impatiently
She closed her mouth.
"As I was saying, I'm giving you one chance," he held a finger up, "One chance to represent the Pits of Kaon and demolish those slaggers from Slaughter City! No killing, just a good show to ensure that the clientele returns to my arena."
She eyed him warily. "If I do it, will I receive enough payment to repay my debt?"
"If you win, I will personally make arrangements to clear your debt with Swindle."
Though she didn't show it, her spark was pounding against her chassis. Darkstrike had already felt like she was putting herself in a risky situation in suggesting a deathmatch. This felt much worse considering the expectations for her.
"What if I lose?"
His smirk was ill-intentioned. "If you disappoint me on the cycle of the fight, I'm sending you to work half-time at Kaon's Finest Brothel."
Her spark sank.
The owner laughed at the repulsed expression that overcame her features. "You can't gain anything unless you're prepared to risk it all!"
Deep anxiety emanated from her spark. He was purposely placing her in a difficult situation— taking advantage of her circumstance so he could profit.
"Do we have a deal or not?" the mech asked impatiently.
She was powerless. Powerless against Swindle and the owner.
There was only one option she could take.
"I accept."
He was eager to shake her servo. Lanyard automatically let it go when he felt how steaming hot it was. She saw the mark it left on his servo. He seemed to brush it off.
"You are a pleasant surprise, Dark - Strike," he said her name strangely, "You're dismissed now."
Darkstrike made her way to the door, refusing to look back. The femme couldn't bear looking at his slimy face for a klik longer. As soon as the door shut behind her, the flier shamelessly bolted away.
Once out in a safe area, Darkstrike leaned against the wall.
She felt weak.
Her helm was spinning. The flier clutched her chassis. She could feel the rhythmic pounding of her spark.
"What did I get myself into?" she asked out loud. Darkstrike rubbed her tired optics with her knuckles.
Her moment of peace didn't last long. She could hear pedesteps approaching her direction. Darkstrike disregarded them, hoping the mechs would just ignore her.
Before she had the chance to react, the three bots had already begun to close in on her. Darkstrike expected RocketShield and his group, but she was greeted with much worse.
Her scarlet optics connected with purple ones.
"That is a great question, Darkstrike, why don't you join me for some energon and we can talk about it," Swindle grinned.
The femme entered his chambers as expected. Soundwave paid her no mind as she took the datapad from his workspace.
It was only after a few kliks when he realized the femme hadn't greeted him like she usually did. Even if very few words were exchanged between them, she always made the effort to establish pleasantries.
He could sense something was different. There was absolute silence, an uncommon occurrence with Darkstrike.
Apart from her chattering, Soundwave had grown accustomed to her methodical typing. The sound of her keying in data rarely ceased from the moment she entered the room. Her work ethic was one of the sole reasons he permitted her presence every cycle.
Silence meant she wasn't doing her job. Soundwave would not tolerate idling. He set down his tools before turning his helm in her direction.
Darkstrike's unruly appearance immediately caught his attention.
The femme was covered in scratches and dents. Fresh energon leaked from her lip. The damage on her body seemed minimal, likely caused by a minor brawl. His initial assumption would've been RocketShield, but Darkstrike radiated with more than just anger.
She stared at the wall, optics wide and pupils shrunken down. The femme was so distracted that she hadn't even bothered to turn on the datapad she was usually so enthralled with.
The trepidation that emanated from her was immense.
Soundwave noticed something clipped onto her wings. Analyzing it further, he was quickly able to identify it as a tracking device.
The mech suddenly stood up. The noise made her flinch. Darkstrike's previously dazed optics stared at him in surprise.
"Apologies! I was, uh, a bit distracted. It won't happen again," she stuttered. Darkstrike grew more nervous when he decided to approach her.
"Femme is an inadequte liar," he stated, "Confess truth or leave. I will not allow excuses." One of his tendrils snaked its way to her wing. He clamped it and tugged it forward, exposing the tracker hooked onto it. The imbalance caused her to fall forward.
She released a surprised gasp, "I-I can explain!"
"Explain," he demanded.
Darkstrike remained on her knees, her gaze averted away from him. She clenched her servos into fists. He contemplated wandering into her processor to find the source of her unusual behavior.
The femme suddenly looked up at him with an unfiltered expression.
"I'm deep in my own slag, Soundwave."
She emanated with an array of emotions. Thoughts poured out of her processor at lightning speed. He hadn't expected her to completely drop her guard. His mind immediately felt bombarded with echos of the femme's voice.
Soundwave quickly sealed his processor. Unfortunately, he was still able to catch some of the femme's more coherent thoughts.
Swindle.
Debt.
Lanyard.
Deal.
Please help!
He took a step back.
"Darkstrike is in debt with Swindle," he deduced.
She released a forced laugh. "That's the least of my concerns now." The femme looked down for a nano-klik.
"I dug myself in a deep hole." Her tone was serious.
He didn't reply.
"I didn't tell you about the T-cogs price, thinking I could find a way to pay back Swindle on my own. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I was way in over my helm."
She elaborated further, "I owe him 200 credits. I was desperate enough to ask for payment directly through Lanyard…" Darkstrike stood up, keeping her optics on the floor. "I'm sure you know how well that went."
Soundwave listened closely.
"After laughing in my face, he pitied me enough to offer me a deal. He explained that his brother Linux wants to transfer two fighters called "Terror Twins" to Kaon. Lanyard's scared his customers are going to be swayed enough to go visit Slaughter City's arena."
He processed her words. For the past couple of orns, Soundwave had been watching the arena's audience fluctuate. The owners realized their highest profit came from death matches. Hosting too many of those fights had resulted in a massive decline in high-ranking Gladiators.
It meant high-rankers were forced to resort to middle-rankers as opponents. The number of fighters in Kaon's largest Pit was decreasing. The owners were losing more than they gained.
"He offered to pay back my entire debt to Swindle if I impressed his audience by winning the match," Darkstrike said.
Lanyard was becoming desperate.
"Regardless if fight results in victory, Lanyard will gain profit. Audience will have reason to revisit if both Terror Twins and Darkstrike continue to remain in Kaon's arena."
"So, I'm slagged either way, huh?" she murmured. Before he could ponder on her words, she looked at him.
"If I lose this fight, Lanyard's sending me to work half-time at Kaon's Finest Brothel."
It explained the femme's panic. Though, it still didn't clarify why she had a tracking device clipped onto her wing.
He tilted his helm and pointed at it.
Darkstrike took notice immediately. "Oh, yes… that."
"Swindle and his mechs happened to catch me leaving Lanyard's office. I was supposed to pay him back an orn ago. It was only a matter of time until he caught me. Despite my deal with the owner, he decided I needed a reminder of 'who I was dealing with.' He told his goons to install this tracker on me and, well... I didn't exactly comply peacefully…" She gestured to her rugged appearance.
"Conclusion: Swindle is always aware of femme's current location," he stated.
"Unfortunately, yes."
Soundwave stared at her for a long moment. He shook his helm before turning his workspace. Darkstrike was quick to recoil.
"Relinquish my datapad," Soundwave commanded.
"What?"
"Relinquish datapad and exit chambers."
"Wait, you want me to leave?" she asked in disbelief.
"Do not return until situation is resolved." The mech began walking away.
The femme cut off his path, "My circumstance doesn't have to affect our work."
"Darkstrike's impudence caused this. Soundwave: will not be responsible for femme's actions," he said.
"I'm not asking you to take responsibility for me," Darkstrike interjected, "That's why I accepted the owner's job, so I wouldn't have to ask for your help."
"It is too late. Femme has already become a liability." He continued walking.
"That's not fair-"
"Impartiality does not exist."
"That doesn't always have to be true," Darkstrike rebuffed. Soundwave stopped at her statement. He looked at her.
The femme looked frenzied. Her red orbs glowed a deep vermillion. The conviction embedded in her optics wasn't enough to conceal the desperation she emitted.
"I've shown to you that I can be an asset. Look at the progress we've accomplished," she continued, "Even if I'm in a situation right now, I've proven my reliability."
What she said was true. Darkstrike had dedicated a lot of time to Project: Laserbeak. She had gone through over half of his notes already and he had moved on to the next stage of his plans.
For the most part, she knew her place and never questioned his final decision. Her background skills were adequate and she picked up on concepts quickly. Calling her an "asset" would be an overstatement, but she did benefit him greatly.
Soundwave hadn't realized how accustomed he was becoming to her.
The thought bothered him.
"How will femme respond to current situation?" he questioned.
For a nano-klik, Darkstrike appeared nervous.
"I'm not so sure myself but…" she looked back at him, her posture appearing confident. "There are only three potential outcomes, and I'm not accepting failure or death." Her voice seemed to shake slightly at the last word.
"I'm asking for you to have faith in me. I will win and resolve my circumstance," the femme declared.
Soundwave looked away. He was suddenly reminded of the femme's first match. That was probably the first time he had placed his faith in her. Even now, he still wasn't sure what had prompted him to believe she had a chance at winning that cycle.
The event seemed like a long time ago. He had foolishly thought it would've been the last time the femme invaded his thoughts. The mech never would have anticipated being in their current predicament.
As he looked in her optics, Soundwave made his decision.
He pointed a finger.
"Leave datapad."
The femme's face dropped. Her optics appeared imploring, but her body language showed resignation. Darkstrike looked away, gripping the datapad in her servos.
Instantly, her disappointment turned into anger. He sensed contempt in her gaze. Her denta were bared slightly. Soundwave prepared for any possible reaction.
The femme begrudgingly handed him the device, her claws gripping it up until the very last moment. Darkstrike opened her mouth to speak but soon backtracked. Taking a deep breath, she turned around to walk towards the door.
He was satisfied to see her continue to follow his orders, even though her anger. It only fortified what he was about to do next.
Before she typed in the exit code, he spoke.
"Femme's fighting skills are underdeveloped. Darkstrike is not capable of defeating two experienced mechs," Soundwave said, "Conclusion: To prepare for fight, I will coach femme. Training will commence tomorrow."
She turned to him, her mouth gaped open in shock. The femme began stuttering.
"In return, Darkstrike must continue to follow all commands without question. As my pupil, disobedience will not be tolerated."
She pursed her lips. He was able to see recognition in her optics.
"Were you testing me?" the femme asked.
She realized sooner than he thought.
"Affirmative."
Darkstrike visibly deflated. She looked away, "I see…" A light blush covered her pale complexion. "What about Project: Laserbeak?"
"Soundwave: will resume construction of minicon until femme's situation is resolved. Continue to annotate datapad outside of meeting times. Report back daily."
"Understood," she nodded.
Their arrangement was set, for better or worse. It was too late to turn back.
"Come" he beckoned. The mech walked over to his workspace. He pulled the chair out and motioned Darkstrike to sit.
When she hesitated, Soundwave's tendril clutched her shoulder plate and roughly seated her. He picked up one of the tools from his workspace.
Darkstrike wide optics followed his movements. The mech walked behind her, grabbing her wing and tilting it up. She flinched, her posture becoming stiff.
Before she could ask, Soundwave spoke, "Swindle's tracking device: Unacceptable."