13. Decepticon
Ramrod soon showed me just how badly my close-quarters skills needed improvement. He taught in classic Decepticon style: learn or lose body parts. The more we worked together, the more I realized that without my luck and determination, he could have taken me apart piece by piece in the arena.
He was an excellent fighter. Though friendly with me, he didn't hesitate to join in a brawl; his humor was black, his behavior brutal; his hatred of Autobots was apparent.
As my self-repair systems beat out the dents that Ramrod had just put in my plating, I asked him something that had been nagging at me for a few orns.
"Why did you pick a fight with me?"
He flopped down on the floor beside me. "I was Sparked a slave," he said. "I never knew freedom. I had to escape on my own and run from the Autobots the whole way down. And then I had to earn my place here. So when I heard who you were, I was angry. I thought that since you hadn't suffered like I had, you hadn't earned your right to be here. I was angry that you could call yourself a Decepticon."
His fingers rubbed back and forth over the scars on his wrists. I hadn't seen this side of him before. "You're much stronger than I am," I said.
"Nah. You can make a name for yourself the same way I did."
He detached a hinged strut from his arm. He gave it a quick spin and it locked straight. "A few decacycles in, I terminated a mech with this. Right through the Spark."
My intakes stuttered. Even Ramrod had killed, the same Ramrod who laughed and helped me up whenever he knocked my pedes out from under me.
"Slagger thought I was getting too far ahead of myself, said he'd teach me a lesson." His laugh was darker this time. "I'm a slow learner."
Because I spent so much of my time in the training grounds, 'cons were always challenging me to anything from a casual spar to a battle for our Sparks. Thanks to Ramrod, I managed to keep both my pride and my life. I never deactivated any of the mechs who challenged me. Killing fellow Decepticons seemed senseless; we needed every mech we could get. I'd never terminated a mech and I wasn't looking forward to it. I hoped it would be easier in the heat of battle.
The more victories I won in the arena, the more mechs greeted me by designation in the halls, treated me with greater respect. I held myself with pride, glad that I was making a name for myself.
One problem quickly became apparent. Both Ramrod and I agreed that I had to have weapons.
Starscream dragged me off to his laboratory—it seemed he hadn't completely cast off his background. He gathered supplies and a pair of arm rifles like those his trine wore.
"These should do it," he said. "Nothing fancy, but more efficient than the standard-issue guns."
He put me into temporary stasis for the procedure. I dreamed of Optimus and homesickness flooded my Spark. I wanted so badly to see him again, but it was unlikely I'd be seeing him for a long time. Worse, when I did, it could be on the other end of a blaster.
I woke up with slightly heavier arms and some brand-new programming. Starscream had successfully mounted the rifles beneath my shoulders.
"Everything integrating properly?" Starscream asked. I nodded. "Good. I've isolated them from your systems so you won't randomly shoot things until you learn how to use those. Which you're coming with me to do right now."
With concentration, I learned to fire my new weapons. Starscream sentenced me to practice with one of the trine each orn to improve my aim. Finally he put his hands on his hips and regarded me.
"Hm. You almost look like a real Decepticon now." He cast a critical optic over the flimsy painted symbols on my wings. "Just one more thing."
I tried to conceal my anxiety as I knelt on the cold floor in front of my creator. Skywarp was jittery and excited as he stood by the door. Thundercracker stood directly behind me, his energy field soothing against mine. Shockwave was also in attendance; he held the charged and crackling brand with which I was soon to become intimately familiar.
"Ordinarily, this is when you would swear the Oath of Allegiance," Starscream said. "But in your case, that's not necessary."
This got Shockwave's attention. "Lord Starscream," he began disapprovingly, "all Decepticons must take the oath."
"Not this one," the Seeker said, holding out an expectant hand.
"The loyalty of this recruit is already in question, and if he..."
"I can vouch for his loyalty," Starscream interrupted tersely. "Let me be the judge of that."
"But—"
"Do not question me," hissed Starscream, taking a threatening step closer. His optics dimmed, a sure sign that they were communicating silently. Shockwave's head jerked towards me, a long and calculating stare. He surrendered the glowing brand. Starscream glared at him for a moment longer, then turned to me. I steeled myself, taking comfort from Thundercracker's silent presence at my back.
Starscream laid the crackling mark to my wing. For a klik I felt nothing; then it hit me like the wind over Simfur. My damage sensors went berserk, alerts flashing across my vision and pinging in my processor. My entire frame tensed in pain. I bit down hard on my glossa, a scream building in my vocalizer.
It was only a few kliks, but it felt longer before Starscream pulled back. I cycled air furiously, wings already trembling.
"All right?"
I nodded. "One more?"
Starscream laughed in sadistic delight. "Three," he said. "One on the front and back of each wing."
Without giving me time to panic, he pressed the brand to my other wing. I didn't realize that my motor systems had tried to jerk me away until I felt Thundercracker keeping me still. I thought of Optimus, bringing up memories of bright days in Iacon, when strong hands lifted me effortlessly onto impossibly high shoulders, getting me that much closer to the sky. I remembered his deep laugh as I stretched my tiny hands up towards the endless blue. I'd never been afraid of falling; I knew Optimus would catch me.
Three. I reviewed the moves Ramrod had taught me. Ramrod probably hadn't cried out when he'd been branded. He'd been through too much to crumple under this.
Four. The cool darkness of the night sky surrounded me; a warm frame clung closer to mine; handlebars twitched nervously at how high we were. Apis wouldn't make a sound... stronger than I deserved, and yet... and yet she'd held me as though she couldn't bear to be parted from me. I wouldn't disappoint her.
Finally, Starscream backed off. I felt Thundercracker's hands steadying me. I onlined my optics, waiting for the static to clear.
"Show me your hands," Thundercracker said. It was difficult to unclench my fingers. My claws had dug into my plating and energon welled up from the marks. I hadn't even felt it. My wings shook as Thundercracker's hands soothed along the top edge.
The blue Seeker drew away and I looked up to see Starscream.
"Stand up, soldier," he commanded. I rose to my landing struts. My wings tingled and stung, but it was worth it: I was a true Decepticon now.
Activity increased over the following orbits. More mechs frequented the training grounds, drilling with their officers. Starscream practically lived in the command center, coming back to his quarters only for energon and recharge.
Starscream put me on the duty roster. Because I was a rookie, I was assigned the most boring task imaginable: monitor duty.
During these five megacycles of terminal boredom, I became acquainted with Soundwave and his cassettes. I'd heard Soundwave was a telepath, which both unnerved and intrigued me. His little minions formed his own personal spy network. The eldest were Frenzy and Rumble, twin terrors. Reports varied on which designation went with which paintjob. I suspected that they kept switching to add to the confusion. They were about half the size of an average mech, but made up for it in trouble.
The others had forms based on alien creatures. Ravage stalked through the corridors on four legs, seeking conversations to carry back to Soundwave. There were fliers, too, Buzzsaw and Laserbeak.
I was surprised that Soundwave and his cassettes hadn't been separated after Axis, and I mentioned this to the twins.
"We were," the blue one told me.
"But they couldn't hold us," the other piped up.
"So we all escaped."
"All except Ratbat."
"Good riddance."
"You're telling me."
"No room for traitors here."
"What happened to Ratbat?" I asked. The designation was familiar. Both twins scowled.
"Gone."
I couldn't get information out of the two, and I was too nervous to ask Soundwave. It would be many vorns before I heard Ratbat's designation again.
Before monitor duty drove me insane with boredom, someone (again, probably Starscream) cleared me for more interesting assignments. The Stealth Unit commander, Hardtop, showed up as I trained with Ramrod.
"Everyone said I'd find you here," he said. "Getting twitchy underground?"
It was grinding on my nerves. There were places in the Kaon base high enough to fly in, but they were nothing compared to the open sky.
"I've got room for you topside. You can serve on a Stealth Unit. With your colors, you won't even need to get repainted."
It was better than monitor duty.
I grew to know Upper Kaon as well as the underground complex. I learned to move soundlessly and use shadows for cover, to blend into my surroundings and to become one with the dead city. The unit was a close-knit group full of superstitions and traditions. The rituals became second-nature to me. It was all to bring us closer to the dead city, building the mythology that made the Autobots afraid to venture near the concealed entrances to our base.
I got along well with most mechs in my unit, but there were those who still regarded me with scorn and suspicion. I threw it right back at them. Most of them were groundpounders unworthy of my attention.
When the other "Ghosts" found out that I had never killed, half of them saw it as a grand joke.
"Saving yourself for someone special?" Spotlight ribbed. He was one of the ones I'd met before being placed in his unit.
I snorted and gave him a shove. "Shut up."
"Or does the thought make you sick?" Fogscythe sneered from behind me. He was among those who'd rejected me. "The thought of ripping out someone's Spark with your bare claws offends your delicate sensibilities? Or is it just that you don't want to terminate a buddy of yours?"
I was about to respond with some suggestions for where he could shove his words before facing me in the arena, but at that moment, Hardtop appeared.
"We're on," he said. "Autobot patrol near the third sector entrance. Move out, Ghosts."
The Autobots were completely unprepared. My task was to keep any from getting away; as the fastest in the unit, I'd have the best chance of catching them. I averted my optics from the slaughter under the pretense of checking for more.
Just when I thought it was over, Fogscythe called out to me. He shoved a blue-and-white Autobot down in front of me, yanking the mech's head back cruelly as he tried to protect himself. Someone had already taken care of his weapons.
"I brought you a present," Fogscythe said. "Since you were stuck on the perimeter, I thought I'd leave you some fun, out of the goodness of my Spark."
I balked, looking down at the helpless Autobot. Fogscythe saw my hesitation.
"You're playing with the big mechs now," he sneered, claws digging viciously into his captive's helm. "Time to grow up."
This wasn't what I'd wanted. This wasn't how I'd hoped it would be, quick and easy, a wound cauterized by the heat of battle. Instead I faced a defeated opponent, defenseless and afraid.
"Are you a Decepticon or aren't you?"
The question stung. Of course I was a Decepticon. I'd chosen my side. I glared at Fogscythe and he smirked, guessing my answer.
"Prove it."
I hesitated a moment longer. Hope glimmered in the Autobot's optics, and in the end, that spurred me on. Kinder to do it quickly.
I aimed one of my arm rifles and fired. It was over quickly; there was no time for him to feel any pain as his Spark flared and died. His body fell forward to fade to gray at my pedes.
I met Fogscythe's optics, taking no satisfaction in what I'd done. Rather than say anything, he turned and stalked off in the opposite direction.
Though Spotlight clapped me on the shoulder and Hardtop nodded approvingly, I couldn't help but feel as though I'd lost the confrontation.
I went straight to my quarters and lay in the dark, unable to recharge. The circuitry behind my optics was hot. I shuttered them, but I still saw the Autobot's face.
I didn't notice the other Seeker until a gentle hand stroked my wing. Without looking I knew it was Thundercracker. We said nothing.
Finally I databurst the memory to him. He didn't stop his soft, comforting motions, and he didn't speak, but his sympathy was apparent. I tucked my head into my elbow, hiding my face, and let him lull me into recharge.