In the Soul of the Sun

AN: THANK YOU TO MY AWESOME PATRONS ALEXLUKE, GIRAFFECHAN, and RAP BEAR! Your continued feedback and support is what keeps me focused! I'm eager to find out where you wish to go!

AN2: Since last time was funny, let's go a little dramatic this time. Story started out with totally different direction but it kinda wrote itself. Weird. Things like this happen from time to time. Hope everyone likes it.

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"I'm ugly"

"No, you're not."

"Okay, my plating is perfect," Sunstreaker admitted with a smug look that melted into shame. "But inside…. I'm ugly."

"A spark is not ugly," the voice chastised. "It is beautiful."

"Maybe the physical spark is beautiful, I've certainly painted enough open spark chambers to be critical of the most pure and multihued aspects of our lives. But inside… in me…. There is ugliness."

"How can you say that?"

"Do you know what I've done?"

"To survive?"

"And…. fun." Sunstreaker felt his tanks churn. He was being evasive, but he didn't want anyone else to know how damaged he was.

"We all must do what we can to survive," the voice answered.

"Now you sound like Smokescreen," Sunstreaker snorted, but his voice lacked its usual edge.

"Why won't you talk to him? He could help."

"Because if he sees how ugly I am, he'll be sickened. Then he'll tell the crew. Then I'd have to terminate them all to keep it from becoming common knowledge."

"You wouldn't do that."

"I've done it before."

"You have?" the voice was skeptical, as if humoring its counterpart.

"Wiped out an entire settlement," Sunstreaker admitted, his gaze distant as every kill appeared fresh in his processor.

"Why?"

No answer.

"Why?" the voice repeated.

"Had no choice," Sunstreaker grunted eventually.

"We all have a choice."

"Common misconception, but it's a lie. Sometimes one has to follow their instincts. And then," Sunstreaker ex-vented heavily, "bad things happen."

"What happened?" came the soft request.

"The slaver who bought us slaved us out, to warm berths, fight in exhibition matches, and on the occasion, as hired mercenaries," Sunstreaker said. "If a mech was owed a debt and wanted to send a message, he purchased gladiators for the cycle and ordered them to purge dwellings or even small settlements. When the task was complete, you were allowed to take whatever spoils you wanted, and when we returned to the Pit, we lavished the expensive tokens to our master in gratitude for allowing the momentary lapse of freedom."

Sunstreaker paused, unsure of his words, his courage faltering. He never wanted to have this type of conversation. With anyone. He didn't even share such feelings with Sideswipe, though his brother had been by his side through the pain and suffering of their shared past.

Sideswipe knew what it felt like. What had been done. And somehow, miraculously, he could forget it. It never haunted him the way it haunted his twin.

How was Sideswipe able to distance himself from it?

"You did what was ordered of you lest you be beaten or terminated. I doubt anyone would have chosen different. Why do you think yourself so hideous for the crimes beyond your control?" the voice asked, sounding hurt by Sunstreaker's self depreciating attitude.

"I've terminated," Sunstreaker admitted.

"For the masters in the Pits. Never for self interests." the voice prompted.

"I had never terminated anyone before being sold," Sunstreaker said, flashing a hard stare to his counterpart, determined they understood his sincerity. "We were raised in a youngling center, and when our crèche femme noticed my drawings, she submitted them to art institutes. When I was accepted, she handled my schedule and started to sell my pieces."

"Did you terminate her?" Simple question, loaded heavier than a fully automated battleship.

"I wanted to," Sunstreaker admitted. "At first everything was perfect, the distance I had to maintain from Sideswipe caused both of us to suffer, but it was necessary to study and apprentice."

"The distance made you angry? Or was it the separation from your twin?"

"The distance was tolerable, as was the pain. At least I thought it was," Sunstreaker admitted, bowing his head in shame. "I had received a high honor, the Praxus exhibition for the coming vorn, and I was so excited to share the news, I took an early transport back to the crèche."

Sunstreaker's voice trailed off, his optics focused on his hands as they clenched in his lap.

"What did you find?" the voice was gentle, allowing the question to be answered or ignored. It was up to Sunstreaker. Thankfully, the golden mech decided to answer.

"I found the crèche master, along with the two mechs she was entertaining," Sunstreaker said, his memory files opening and burning through his meta. "With Sideswipe."

"Sideswipe was with them?" Surprise and uncertainty colored the tone.

"I learned the institute I had been attending was not cheap, and there was no such thing as scholarships on Cybertron," Sunstreaker said, his brother's face forever etched into his processor. "To supplement my tuition, the crèche femme entertained those who wished…. specific… tastes."

"Sideswipe." It was a statement, not a question.

"All the time I felt his pain, and thought it was from the distance," Sunstreaker mumbled. "I never knew the crèche femme was allowing others to abuse him." Sunstreaker meet his company's gaze, his expression of wretched misery. "He never spoke about what happened to him. But I know he feels betrayed."

"It was not your fault," came the saddened reply.

"Sideswipe always says it was to help me get my career on track," Sunstreaker parroting his brother's excuse. "I had developed quite the clientele, so providing for us was never a problem."

"He viewed it as a sacrifice?"

"No, I did," Sunstreaker said. "One he never should have been forced to pay."

"Do you think allowing such a thing to happen while you were young and inexperienced in the world is what makes you ugly?"

"No. It was when we were captured and forced to the Pits that everything went downhill, as the human's say."

"You don't have to talk about it," the voice sounded hurt, just from hearing about the tragedy of Sunstreaker's past.

"And now you don't sound like Smokescreen," Sunstreaker allowed himself a hollow, bitter laugh. "He keeps saying I need to talk about this, and how his door is always open." He allowed himself a smirk. "Course Sideswipe's took his door off the hinges a few times so he's learned to keep his vocalizer shut."

"Sometimes it's good to talk, other times, one should keep their vocalizer off, depending on comfortable company."

Sunstreaker thought about this for a moment. He had already opened up more than what he ever did to anyone else, and that included Ratchet when he had to explain certain aspects to his frame.

And he was loathe to admit it, and would rather terminate than let Smokescreen know he had been right all along, but it did feel good to speak about the things that haunted him.

It felt as if weights were lifting off his chest.

"I enjoyed it." He said simply.

"Enjoyed what?"

"Terminating." Sunstreaker could feel the other's gaze on him like a physical burden. "I enjoyed it. Loved it, if I'm honest."

"Loved it?" Now that garnered hitched systems.

"Never before have I felt so…. free," Sunstreaker said, trying to voice what he had felt all those eons ago. "I was a slave and beaten and berthed and made to do horrible things. But when I was ordered to take a life, and I don't remember making the decision to obey, but when I felt that first spark extinguish…. I loved it."

The voice was silent, unable to find anything to say to ease the situation. This was Sunstreaker's tale, and it needed to be spoken, preferably with little interruption.

"When the possibility of death matches arose, I was the first to sign up," Sunstreaker continued, speaking more to his lap than to his companion. "Sideswipe thought I had a termination wish, but I tried to tell him that it felt good to terminate a mech. It felt… right. Like that's what was missing all the time in our youth. We had been trained for the wrong path. Sideswipe tried to deny it, but when I terminated my first mech, he had felt it, too. We both knew what satisfaction was wrung from another's life. When he realized he felt the same, we took the arena together, and terminated anything in our path to perfection."

"What is perfection?" the voice whispered, almost fearful of the answer.

"For a long time it was winning death matches, bolstering our master's credits, and satisfying ourselves with as many pleasure bots as possible," Sunstreaker said, a bitter laugh sounding like vaporized acid. "But soon, we realized it was a hollow existence, just like before we were enslaved."

Silence. Not even ventilating systems were running. Breath had to be held in moments like these.

"But to keep up appearances, we continued to fight and terminate," Sunstreaker said, closing his optics and tilting his head to rest against the smooth bulkhead behind him. "And when the Pits fell, we escaped. Unsure what to do, we used our…skills…. To get what we needed to survive."

"You terminated mechs outside of the arena?" the voice was harsh, accusatory.

"I told you, I'm ugly," Sunstreaker said, not bothering to hide anymore. He had hid so long. Hid from reality, the truth, his past. It felt good to bring the darkness to light and destroy the demons hid within. "Then the war broke out and as we struggled to figure out where we belong, a mech came along and changed everything. We signed up, we fought, and finally, there was someone to tell us when to stop. And that felt even better than terminating a mech."

"You signed up for… what? A conscious?"

"We didn't have that in our programming," Sunstreaker said, wanting to laugh at how easy it was to speak about his past. Why had he kept it bottled up so long? "At first we didn't know how to accept this new situation."

A soft puff of air was the only sound made by his counterpart.

"But as time went on, we realized we were never meant to be business mechs and artists, or gladiators in a Pit-spawned arena," Sunstreaker said, his optics opening, as if for the first time. The revelation felt good to voice. "We are meant to fight and to have someone with integrity to direct our actions. Our own judgment is flawed, our emotions weak, but someone else, someone who truly knows and understands, can guide us."

"You think such a person can erase what you've done?"

"Nothing can erase that," Sunstreaker said, a heavy sigh leaving his frame in relaxed surrender. "But now I can look at myself and know there is hope."

"Hope for what?"

"That one day, the ugly will be gone, and I'll be just as beautiful on the inside, as I am on the outside."

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Was Sunny alone and talking to himself? Or Primus? Another bot? Or was it all a dream?