AN: This is it. The chapter I´ve been itching to post ever since I posted this story. Also look up luz - Queen of heart on youtube for the sing and dance act if you want to take a peek into my idea when I wrote it.
Forgers.
The supposed descendants of Solus herself have quite a history recorded back to when the Prime was fatally wounded, nothing previous to that having survived either in written means or oral stories. Some liked to picture them as helpers created to assist in bringing into existence the many inventions thought up by Solus while others regarded Forgers as merely a passing fancy, beings that were forged as one would a piece of equipment and then released into the ´wild´.
There were some scholars, however, that theorized the faction began with just one, the sparkling of Solus and Megatronus, a being endowed with the powers of creation and destruction, savior of many and destroyer of those in their way. Mech or femme was something no one was able to pin on them, however, but those who defended this theory supported their claims by stating that the Forger CNA would override any other, meaning a sparkling with one for a parent would always end up being a Forger.
Returning the subject of their origins, once Solus Prime´s body returned to the Core of Cybertron it left a passage behind, the Well of All Sparks. Feeling the need to pay their respects to who had brought them to life the Forgers began building their society around the fount of their planet´s life source, observing every time a spark emerged with the same joy as if it was the first. The Forge of Solus had been taken away from them, laid to rest far away along with a memorial tomb, and no matter how much they had begged and groveled before the other Primes none took heed of their request. They were left with only the symbol of their Creator´s death, the one she had used while living torn from their grasp with no second thoughts to their desire to keep Solus´ passion for creation alive, and so they vowed to never part from the last remaining one.
Cybertronian society flourished under their gaze, regarding them not as a nuisance but as experienced elders, beings who housed actual knowledge from a Prime and put it to use by merging in with the ones birthed from the Well and spreading their influence. The older Forgers became teachers while the younger ones learned alongside everyone else, taking their place in all manners of jobs and positions. From miners to guards they were everywhere, mixing in almost perfectly with those around them save for the telltale ´dreadlocks´ like those sported by Solus herself, all were created as femmes and one other particular thing. None possessed a T-Cog or could have one implanted in their frames.
The power of transformation was gifted to Cybertronians by Amalgamous, the gentle prankster and ever-changing Prime. As such, being created before all others, Forgers lacked any support necessary to an alt-mode of any type, be it ground or aerial none would ever enjoy the freedom described by their peers, but, at the end of it all, they would not trade the joy they found in creation for anything else.
Many Forgers would go on to impulse sciences and medicine, their innate knowledge of metalworking vital in developing machines to help in their survival and well-being. Like Solus, they rejoiced in helping others by using the creation skills long-imprinted in their processors but, unfortunately, with the good came the bad. Weapons were also created and, thankfully, most were wither destroyed or hidden away. The joy for creation was never ill-intentioned but the Forgers could not repress the need to build something new, be it a toy or a bomb, during the creation process it was all in the same. Imagination becoming reality.
As the civilization moved along so did society and, unfortunately, that time the changes were not for the best interest of everyone.
Functionism became the way to appraise everyone´s value, based on their alt-mode and its scarcity one could end up as low, middle or high caste. The powerful began instating castes and upon emerging from the Well of All Sparks a Cybertronian would be assigned to one out of the three ´options´. The low caste was the most numerous, considered to be expendable as most were uneducated miners and industrial workers, usually not even given a proper designation, ending up being known as, for example, D-16. To belong in the middle caste one would have to be apt for building and civil engineering or work for the Hall of Records (the latter being closer to high caste than most) and the main difference separating them from the lower caste was freedom since the others below them were often no more than slaves to a master or even the Council. At last there was the high caste where scientists and governmental agents mingled in isolation for their lesser brethren, a life of luxury and abundance at their grasp while the other castes struggled could only look in despair.
But, where would Forgers fit in since they possessed no alt-mode to speak of? Well, the Council proposed to categorize them between the middle and high castes, their lack of transformation being understandable and their intelligence rivaling that of the best scientists in Cybertron. Those alive at the time looked at each other and then at what their beloved planet had become: corrupted, greedy and power-hungry beings now controlled nearly all aspects of daily life with no leeway for a no (in that case nothing that an empurata or shadowplay couldn´t fix). In their time of internal conflict the Forgers did what they´d always done and looked to Solus for an answers. Solus, who was always quick to anger at the sight of any injustice.
Suffice to say, in the end, their refusal to participate in the biased caste system cost the Forgers greatly. First, they lost their ancestral home, the Well of All Sparks. Shunned away with threats of violence they complied without resistance, opting to avoid causing a war that would most likely be fought by the lower castes, the ones who were not at fault for having been created with the wrong alt-mode and forced into a life of servitude. With nowhere that would take them in the rigid caste-driven cities the Forgers ventured to just out of the shores of the Rust Sea, proclaiming that while they may have lost the Well no one else would be as blessed as them by any of the Original Primes.
As construction of their new district went ahead word spread about the exiled faction and their adamant refusal to obey the Council by rejecting all caste ideology. Just outside of the rust sea, whispered some miners as they rested their depleted frames, there was a paradise created by Solus herself, where no master could find you and the most beautiful femmes would take you in and give you a life with a proper designation and dignity. Soon enough the appearance of a random Cybertronian runaway became common during the construction of the Forger district and even after its completion more and more joined in, knowing their former masters would not want to pick a fight with someone better armed than them. Most of the refugees were femmes, daring to take a chance at suffering the wrath of the system than to bend to the abuse and disrespect they´d expect if allowing others to walk over them as permitted by their caste.
If runaway slaves were bad enough for the Council´s image they did not like what came soon after. In their pursuit for eternal glory, emphasis on the eternal, some scientists began reaching the same conclusion: if a Forger wished they could replace their inner parts over and over with no consequence to them, the opposite of any normal Cybertronian. It was bad enough for the faction to poses abilities from one of the Thirteen but if they were indeed immortal there was nothing stopping the from playing the waiting game, until the Council became either debilitated or divided amongst itself, and overthrowing the system put in place. Something had to be done, the quicker the better, and stifle the hypothetical rebellion before it even took place.
It wasn´t long before the Forgers looked around at what they had created, a society with no obstructions where with hard work one could become what they wished. Medic, security officer, energon gatherer (miner still carried negative undertones and as such was not used), whatever else a Cybertronian wanted to be they could with without facing arbitrary restrictions. It was at that point a gift was given to the ones that had sought refused within the district: the Forgers adopted a new designation to give their old one to all that came to them. Had it not been said? Forgers were not originally Forgers as they went by Makers in the first place, from Solus the Maker herself to them and from them to all that sought freedom.
Everything was alright… for a while. Then came the Forger Genocide.
Nothing could have prepared the Makers for what was to happen. When they came out of recharge the majority of Forgers would be offlined, their energon spilled and sparks extinguished by the employment of brainwashed asylum seekers who´d proceed to commit suicide shortly after completing their mission. On all of Cybertron many swore on that occasion a femme could be heard screaming from afar, chilling their sparks with the overflowing amount of grief her sobs carried.
From that point on hard times settled in, even with the handful of Forgers left standing not much could done like they used to. Their main source of income had been the manufacture of armor and tools for the general populace and they could no longer meet the demand, meaning it would not be long before starvation settled in. Even with severely diminished numbers if something were not done fast that could spell out the end for every single one of the Makers. The better apt to lead came together to figure out a way to face their emerging crisis but not much could be done. Who would hire a caste-less Cybertronian? They all knew what being caste-less meant, selling their frames… to the highest bidder. It was at that moment an announcement was made and, if all Makers were in agreement, their district would go from one focused on industrial supplies and focus on entertainment. A very particular type that could bring in shanix without question and give them an invaluable place in society.
Factories became bars, production lines turned into stages, energon dispensers were upgraded to refine the product into high-grade and the femmes that had ran away from a possible life like what they were about to face went back with no regrets. If it was to be gawked at and appraised like an object it would be on their terms, they had a whole society to support and would be dammed if the dream the Forgers had held died along with them. High-grade was passed about as if it were a lifeline, keeping their faked smiles in place and weapons away from the more important ´guests´ whenever they decide to pay a visit to see the once proud Maker faction one step away from begging for survival. How the workers wished to turn those unbearable smirks into expressions of horror and moans into screams of untold torment but all they could do was swallow down their feelings with the help of high-grade. Lots of high-grade.
As time went by things began to settle down and the Makers began settling in their role within society. The one thing Forgers had escaped from had caught up to them: a place within the caste system with no way out. No one would hire a Maker outside their district, nor would they give them training or even education in any field, they would be forever backed into a corner with no way of escaping. Forgers had all but disappeared except for one and, while she would be forever haunted by the recollections of seeing her friends murdered, she chose to keep the only business opened in the district where one could commission for weapons and armor, glad at least gladiators paid enough to keep her doors open.
Good thing high-grade erased memories and made reality more tolerable. Also a lot more fun as well…
"And now, put your servos together for a rarer gem than any found on Cybertron and beyond. She will tear your spark apart and build it right back up. I. Give. You. DOOMSDAY!"
The feme strutted onto the stage with open arms, welcoming the cheers of her audience, drunk on both the attention and the cubes of high-grade she´d previously consumed. She couldn´t help but laugh, her voice muffled by the loud music and all the different working-class mechs begging to be her one and only (temporary) passion- for a fee, of course. The school wasn´t going to remodel itself.
"Yes!" "Bring it, sweetspark!" "Show us what you got!" "How much for a ride?"
As she danced and sang to the beat of the music, the stage belonging only to her, all optics focused on her, everything was about her at that moment. They all desired her and wanted her to desire them, their inhibitions gone the instant they stepped into the bar to forget about their lives on the outside and let their bittersweet existences disappear for the time being. Out there in the Maker district all your desires could be brought into reality provided you had enough shanix to make that happen, usually only the higher caste could afford it but every once in a while some lucky middle class mech splurged more than he should, not that anyone complained.
Her frame was devoid of all armor, the only things providing any sort of coverage were a fabric double side split ´skirt´ that flowed with her very move along with the bangles on her arms and beautiful long necklaces that dangled from her neck. She looked more like an expensive ornamental piece than entertainer but they all did in their particular line of work, to entice a costumer even if it was merely to talk they had to be beautiful, both in their constantly retouched paintjob and clothing.
When the song came to an end the audience clapped and cheered one final time. For her. Doomsday took a bow and ran her servos from her upper legs to her neck for an extra kick and blew a kiss to the lust-struck crowd before stepping offstage to head for the backstage. She didn´t have time to linger, there was a commission waiting to be finished on her worktable and the only reason she´d left it incomplete was because the boredom was getting to her processor. Also a lack of decent high-grade and good company, all her friends were working at the moment.
"And that, my fellow mechs, was Doomsday, the one to make you cheer for her in more ways than one!" Voicejack, the longtime bar´s DJ and announcer, exclaimed with a laugh. "Unfortunately she is not on the house´s list for the time being but despair not, for where one lacks ten take her place! Up next we have the trine to dive your spark in three, they beauty only matched by their lovely voices. Please welcome Stagefright, Caterwaul and Curtaincall!"
Only three in ten Makers were mechs, most of who worked either in high-grade production or in more normal jobs within the district, and Voicejack was probably the loudest of them all. He could always be found sitting behind his equipment next to the stage, a permanent grin showing off his sharp dentas, a rather intimidating figure when considering his thin frame and wings. Most curious of all was his relationship with Stagefright, the top earner in all the district. He watched constantly as she displayed herself for all of Cybertron to see and took exclusively the high caste to her berth, making use of her highly sought-after seeker frame and pure lineage, but did not put much though into it, knowing that just as she held his spark he held hers. That was the truth for most Makers that were mechs, entertainment was where the overwhelming majority of shanix came from and everyone knew not to pick a fight with any femme from that district. They were beautiful yet deadly when the need to defend themselves surged.
"You were amazing out there, like always."
"Hey, do you think you could install me taser?"
"How´s about a friendly game of Praxus Fold ´Em? There´s still a while before we go up on stage."
Doomsday smiled at the welcoming faceplates of her many friends. She´d only arrived on top of her timed performance and could only change into her ´work adornments´ with no time for chit-chat. "I know. Yes I can, schedule up a date with me later. Sorry, can´t do it, I´ve got work waiting back at the shop for me."
"Doomsday! Over here!" A familiar voice called the attention of the Forger.
The spider-femme was lounging in one of the many large plush chairs that decorated the room, hers being made from some sort of organic glue and grey fur, a gift from her highest-paying client, no doubt. She beckoned the Forger over with her digits in a sluggish manner, clearly needing a good power-down after her ´work session´, and folded her legs under her frame to make available a sitting space.
Walking up to her friend Doomsday fidgeted with her necklaces, eager to get the weight off her neck. "You heard me, I can´t take long. So, what do you want? Disjoint one of Shockwave´s shoulders again, have you?"
"The Senator is no longer here and no. This time he had the discernment of not fidgeting too much in my webs, like he should have from the beginning. Honestly, if a mech wants to be tied up he should know the more material used the less he can move." Airachnid examined her claws with feigned disinterest and extended her legs once more, seeing that her offer wasn´t going to be taken. "But that´s not why called you over, I wanted to know if you´ve seen Flare around."
"I happen to know she´s working late at the clinic, had to leave Silver and Mayhem with a temporary caregiver but I can´t remember who. I had one too many shots of whatever it was Slashbound came up with this time and he was not joking about the kick it gives you." Ah yes, her other hobby was ingesting whatever inebriating concoctions the bartender came up with, sometimes good other times like her tank was flaming like the Pits of Unicron.
"Yeah, well, ever since Flare had Mayhem it´s like we don´t exist most of the time. She only ever comes here to work and it´s only talking work, she won´t even go on stage anymore with except when some can´t perform."
It had been fun while it lasted. The three of them had performed together in quite a few shows after the spider-femme had suddenly shown up in a panic and asked (begged) to become a Maker, insisting she´d do anything to earn her keep. It had taken a while for her to find her better-suited theme but, in the end, all that pent-up anger had to count for something, because whips and chains were now her things and there were a lot of powerful mechs who´d pay to relinquish control for a brief instances. Airachnid had become a natural dom after that, she could tell with just a glance if a mech that walked through the front door had that glimmer in his optics that begged for relief from his daily life and took full advantage of her skills.
Sadly all things must come to an end and so did their stage partnership, but their friendship suffered as well. After Solarflare had Silverbot everything had remain pretty much the same but when Victory was assassinated by a bot at the Council´s orders she´d lost the will to do much else that work at the clinic. Now with Silverbot and Mayhem it was as if her life was between the two sparklings and her medic work, barely stopping at the bar if it wasn´t asked of her to help with the workload.
"After what she went through I think the joy of going on stage is long gone. Imagine, losing the bot who claimed to love you the first time was bad enough but the second time…" Doomsday knew what it was like to lose people she cared about. She´d never had any inclinations to fall in love in all her life but a family did sound nice every now and then.
Airachnid felt her fangs showing in depreciation at the thought. "So? I found out the mech I was going to bond with turned out to be not so accepting of everyone as he claimed after I got my ´extreme makeover´ and got over it by fragging more mechs than he could ever count."
"Please, if you could fix problems like that I wouldn´t drown myself in high-grade at every chance. And you´re not over him, if that mech walked in you'd rip his spark out."
After a moment of silence and wondering, the spider-femme burst out in a laugh, more manic than amused, and sunk dower in her plush chair with her legs up in the air. "As if. He´d offline from a spark-attack faster than I could get to him." She paused to think before continuing, wiping a stray energon tear from her faceplates. "I´d like to see that. Preferably when I´m on stage wearing nothing but chains."
The Forger let out a sigh and stretched her joints. She wasn´t intoxicated enough to deal with sad stuff and still had to go change into her regular armor before leaving. The jewelry adorning her frame was very much real and expensive. Mechs loved to see their gifts being put to use and displayed for all to see, so why not use it to classy up the acts?
"As much as I´d like to stick around, work calls. This is my hobby, forging is my work." Doomsday turned her back to her friend and walked away to hang up her costume. "Later."
"Eugh. Everyone leaves. Typical."
Doomsday sauntered though the streets with a sprig in her step, humming the song she´d sang with a smile, swaying her hips along to an invisible beat. There weren´t many out in the streets, everyone preferring to remain inside or already having went home but she didn´t mind, it gave a sense of calmness to wander among the buildings, each and every one meticulously repaired to attract customers to the district.
The happiest memories she kept were of that bar, where she´d made wonderful friends and performed on to her spark´s content. She´d taught some workers how to incapacitate rowdier costumers without much effort and they taught her to sing and dance, to see the effort put in every performance. From the wardrobe to the choreography, going over the composition of the music and time invested in learning to move in synchrony, it was needed a high level of trust among them all and that made them a family not related in any way but at the same time closer than many.
If the streets weren´t silent she might not have head it but a high-pitched soft chirp cut though her audio receptors. Doomsday stopped in her tracks and made a face while looking at the alley from where the noise had come from. Were they having scraplet problems? No, they´d have swarmed her already if that was the case but what had produced that noise?
Taking out her whip, for safety reasons, Doomsday crept closer to the alleyway from where the chirping was coming from. Moving carefully though the shadows the Forger spotted a brightly colored purple blanket on the ground hiding something small underneath it. Whatever the thing was it moved with sharp yet clumsy gestures. Maybe someone had abandoned their organic pet and though the Maker district would be a good location to dispose of it, after all what better place to ditch an illegal pet when much more illegal things could be going down at the same time?
Shaking her helm with a sigh and storing her weapon, Doomsday walked up to the creature that seemed to be able to be just barely larger than her outstretched servos combined with slow steps. The femme knelt down and carefully peeled back the purple layer, curious about her mystery find, wanting to get a good look at what she was dealing with and-
SAINTED SOLUS ABOVE AND BELLOW! It was definitely abandoned but it was FAR from a pet. It wasn´t even an ´it´ at all.
The seekerlet with specks of orange and yellow stared up at her with bright optics and chirped once again, reaching upward with the tiniest digits she´d ever seen. The poor youngling couldn´t have been brought into the world that long ago, with a bare protoform and no armor to speak of it meant that upon its first glance of whoever they belong to it had also been the last.
"How in all of Cybertron did you end up here?" Doomsday wondered and gently picked up the small being, minding her claws, all inebriation from the high-grade she´d consumed gone from her processor. The Forger held the sparkling close to her chassis and felt a pull at her spark that brought tears to her optics and almost threw her off balance.
It hadn't been enough for the seekerlet to be abandoned but whoever had done it had also refused to bond with it. The pull she was feeling was an instinctive reaction upon creation, reaching out for your Creator and Sire´s sparks to form familial bonds. Wherever you where you should be able to feel each other, even across the universe. Bots called Makers sparkles abominations for embracing the nature most convenient for their survival and rejecting any attempts at fitting into the caste system but they'd never do something so atrocious. Seekers loved sparklings, adored them more than their wings, so why was that particular seekerlet all alone?
If there was someone who could answer her in all the district she knew just the femme for the job.
A knock on her door interrupted the medbot at work.
"Flare, you in here?"
Great. It wasn´t bad enough she was working with nearly obsolete equipment at the understaffed and only clinic in the entire district she was going to be subjected to the interruptions of a certain Forger. At least her voice didn´t have a slurred pattern to it, meaning she hadn't consumed that much high-grade or most of the substance had already left her system, but it was not the time for catching up.
"I´m busy. Go home, we´ll talk later." Whatever the Forger wanted could wait. She was tired and moments away from wrapping up her work and going home to her sweetsparks.
"I´m coming in, I´ve got something you´ll want to take a look at."
The door opened and Doomsday stepped in with something wrapped in a purple blanket in her arms. The fabric looked fancy, as in being worth enough shanix to pay for a good amount of meals, and was it moving? If she had brought her an organic discarded pet the Forger had another thing coming, the clinic´s resources were only for bots, not animals.
"No, you are…" The comforter was peeled back to show the wiggling protoform of a sparkling, barely old enough to be separated from its Carrier and Sire, by the lack of armor, and the words died in Solarflare´s voicebox. "Please, tell me I'm hallucinating from work-related exhaustion. It´s happened before but this is just too much."
"Yeah… nope. I need you to perform a scan or whatever, I found them on my way home without anyone in sight."
The astounded medbot got up in a flash and went to the medical berth in the corner and picked up her scanner, motioning for her friend to do follow her. "Come on, we need to know if they´re alright. Set them over here."
There wasn´t much Solarflare hadn´t seen in her working experience. Welts and dents were the most common, be it either work-related or, in Victory´s case, from the Pits of Kaon. Sometimes there were outbreaks of lesser viruses but nothing that taken care of quickly wouldn´t go away, the femmes knew how to protect themselves and each other from most anything at that point. There had been some cases of pranks gone wrong among the younger bots but, once again, taken care of quickly didn´t cause much trouble- for her. There had always been a good talking to from the older ones to their reckless sparklings. She prayed Solus hers wouldn´t act up that much.
Doomsday set the seekerlet onto the medical berth, keeping their lower half wrapped up in the comfort of their blanket, their only connection to whoever had brought them into the world. The seekerlet began fussing over not being in held in the Forger´s arms any longer, reaching up to her with clenching servos and demanding chirps.
Solarflare picked up her scanner and went on with her work, double-checking all the vital signs. Who knew how long the little one had been left all alone in the streets? "Well, they are a he and he looks to be fine from my initial diagnosis. No starvation either, before he ended up here someone made sure to fill him up."
The Forger snorted and extended a claw for the sparking to take, letting him marvel at her much larger size with bright optics. "How much do you want to bet that someone did something stupid and this little mech here is the result? You know how Vosians are picky about their flight purity or whatever, he may be the product between one and a two-wheeler."
"Could be." Solarflare removed a pen-like stick from the scanner with a small needle on one of the ends. "Hold his servo up, carefully, I´m going to take a CNA sample. He´ll definitely cry and you´re going to have to calm him down while I run the test."
Minding her claws Doomsday bent over and did as told, gently lifting up his tiny harm and holding his servo open as carefully as possible, afraid she´d use too much force and damage his frame. She could he fix an adult Cybertronian without flinching but an innocent young one did not deserve to suffer in any way. As soon as the needle pierced through the protoform of the sparkling he immediately frowned and crying followed suit. The femme proceeded to pick him up and hold him close to her spark, attempting to soothe him like she´d seen Solarflare do with Silverbot and Mayhem. She whispered sweet nothings for him to stop crying, either managing to calm down the seekerlet or exhaustion had caught up to him because his optics slowly closed as he went into recharge.
Solarflare smiled as the results started to appear on the screen and nodded to her friend. "Hmmm, everything looks fine in here. I´d say he´s as healthy as- wait, hold on." That was weird, the scanned CNA showed what looked like deterioration at some points. "Now, this is odd, the scanner must be off or something."
"What?" Her spark jumped in its casing. Was the sparkling deathly ill… or worse?!
"According to this parts of the CNA have been corrupted. Like a programming error, except this one cuts off at I´d say about the end of sparklinghood, right before the T-Cog is fully formed."
"So, he´s going to offline before he even…"
The medbot did not answer right away, racking up her processor for memories from her days as a student. "I… I don't know. That could happen, or he could be stuck as a sparkling for the rest of his life. I can´t say for sure, this has only ever been theorized."
Doomsday looked down at the recharging seekerlet in her arms. "So, that´s why he was here. They took a look at what we´re looking at and didn´t want something less than perfection going about in Vos. They cared about him enough to leave him somewhere they knew he´d be picked up but not enough to keep him."
"In any case, I´m sure we can find someone to take good care of him."
"Yes. Me."
That was not what Solarflare had expected to hear. "What? But what about your commissions? Your hobby at the bar?" The Forger was a people person when it came to adult Cybertronians, she hadn´t had much interaction with younger ones beyond Silverbot and Mayhem.
"I can slow down for a while, I´ve got enough shanix saved up for a crisis and my guess is this counts as one."
"You don´t have to do that. There´s seekers around, we could place him with one of them."
"What if he lives, after all? Do you think he´d like to be around bots able to take to the skies while he´s forever confined to the ground because of his misfortune? Groundpunder, mudslogger, dustkicker, dirtkisser, I´m sure you´re well-acquainted with those terms, everyone knows what they when mean thrown at a seeker."
Those who could not fly among the winged Cybertronians were usually ostracized and cast aside, what good was a seeker with nothing more than a dead weight on their back?
"But no Maker would ever use it against another. This is serious business, not one of your radical experiments."
"Still… I know what it´s like. No alt-mode, no way to match up to anyone else except with your wits. Please, I know I can raise him to be proud of who he is, even with a pair of forever useless wings."
When deprived of something you knew you could never have life sometimes became a little dimmer. Watching bots take off to the skies or race around for fun always made Doomsday feel a little… down. She was a Forger, gifted by Solus herself with abilities to create above and beyond any Cybertronian´s imagination and yet, being the last one, got some unsavory feelings to rise in her spark. It couldn´t end like that, with a Forger addicted to high-grade and with such a long list of mistakes it could reach the Core of their planet.
"If he does indeed survive. Don´t forget no one can predict the outcome, I can´t even say if his odds are fifty-fifty."
"If he doesn´t, I´ll have given him my everything."
Even if he wasn´t really her own she´d raise him like he was. Being a Carrier had never appealed much to her but now she wouldn´t be so lonely anymore. She held in her arms another one like her and knew he´d be exceptional in whichever way he chose to live his life.
There was a pause, then a sigh of resignation. Stubborn as they came, there was no way she could change the femme´s mind. Solarflare went over to her console, sat down in her slightly uncomfortable chair, and pulled up a blank record, linking it to her friend´s. "So, what´s his designation? I have to put him in the medical database."
"A radical experiment, huh?" With a smile Doomsday ran the pad of her thumb gently against the faceplace of the seekerlet in her arms. "Welcome to the best days of your life… Radical."
"I hope you enjoyed the story, because it´s over."
"But-"
"She said it was over, time to move on."
AN: Yes, the cut is abrupt at the end but I actually like it. Look at the title of the chapter and I think you´ll understand why.