A/N: Things are going to start picking up a bit. Let me know if there's anything I can clear up, I don't want anyone lost this early in the game! We still have a long way to go.
Part Four: The Arena
The cycle the twins woke up, Pinch knew that the lesson had stuck. Their isolation hadn't made them accustomed to being alone; it had made them afraid of it. He watched from the door as they woke up in their room, each on their own berths. The engineer wasn't quite sure what to expect from his sparklings at first. Awkwardness perhaps. Or maybe exuberance at being reunited.
Instead they just sat up and looked at the other, testing each other for a moment. Red still had a lost look on his face and Yellow a defensive one. When nothing happened for a while, they began to shift their weight from restlessness. It was hesitant for a moment, Red making the first real move. He stood from his berth, the other twin just watching him.
Moving swiftly, Red sat next to Yellow just as naturally as if he were sitting on his own. Just as though he belonged there all along. No large reactions. No hysterics or crying or large displays of affection and joy. Their bodies touched at the forearms and down their legs, and for them, it seemed to be enough.
Triggerpinch didn't need to see anymore after that.
Leaving the room, he walked down the hallway and returned to his workbench in the shop. The old engineer always did think better when his body was occupied with something else. It wasn't as though it were an especially complicated project anyway. Just a simple jetpack commission for some young punk who probably knew better. Oh well, he was getting paid, what did he care what was done with it?
The image of Yellow's sketchings flashed before his optics again. He had never expected such a show of creativity in either of his creations, especially so soon, and he wasn't sure what to do with it. He needed killers, not artists. He could try to stamp out that creativity, or…
Redirect it. Yes, that was the solution. He'd redirect that creativity, use it to his advantage. The silly wall drawings would have to go of course. There would be no more wasting of anyone's time with that nonsense, he'd make sure of it. No good could come of it. Instead that pent-up creativity would be put to good use.
The stout engineer gave the fledglings one megacycle to reacquaint themselves before returning with three cubes of energon. The pair were cautious of him now, just as he thought they might be. Their programming and common sense would not allow anything else. They knew he was responsible for their being separated just as they knew he was responsible for any pain or fear inflicted upon them. They eyed him as a predator, becoming as still as any hunted creatures. Nearly like when they were under the influence of his discipline discs.
Good, they were fast learners.
"Fighting amongst yourselves without being told to is not allowed," he informed them gruffly. "Every time you disobey me or waste my time, you will be put back in those closets for as long as I see fit." He saw Red give an involuntary shiver. "Your five days with the orientation discs are done, though from what I observed, I'd be surprised if you could tell me one solid fact from one of them."
"We need more time with them," Yellow said boldly. "Other sparklings get ten days."
"Other sparklings," snarled Pinch, "are coddled and made to be soft. Those orientation discs have already wasted enough of my time. Time that could be spent training."
"Training for what?" Red asked, coming out of his 'still' state. His head cocked to the side curiously.
Oh wonderful, the questioning nature of the yellow one was bleeding over to the other.
"I told you before; I was commissioned by the military to make a pair of warriors for them. We're in a war here and have no time for playing. From this cycle on, you are in training to become those warriors. My loyalties to you only stretch as far as the commission, so don't ask for any special treatment; you won't be given any. You are weapons and that is how you will be treated."
"But… what if we don't want to be weapons?" Yellow asked with only honesty in his smooth soft voice.
Pinch sighed, optics darkening. "I don't remember giving you a choice. Does a gun stop being a gun just because a mech won't shoot it? You are what you are." Nodding toward the three cubes placed upon Red's empty berth, he continued, "you have half a megacycle to prepare yourselves. Training begins today."
They did not question him again, not willing to test their creator's patience so soon after their isolation.
Triggerpinch turned to leave again, pausing at the doorway as a thought occurred to him. "Yellow," he barked out, not turning to see his golden child.
"Er… yes?" the sparkling asked quietly, sensing his parent's displeasure. But he wouldn't not answer. That would be too much like giving in to the bad-tempered mech.
"If I ever see something as foolish as those wall… doodles again, I will be very displeased. Was your punishment too boring for you? Do I have to find something new?" He did not have to look to see that his words had the desired effect.
"No!" the young one said quickly. "I just wanted to…"
"Just wanted to make less of a punishment of it," the engineer finished. "You were there for a reason. I'm telling you right now, do not shirk a punishment again or you'll find yourself in well over your head."
There was no reply.
"Do you understand?" his voice echoed off the metallic walls, making the sparklings' audios ring from it.
"I understand," Yellow replied obediently, not seeing what he had done that was so wrong. He'd felt the punishment with each terrible moment; he'd felt the loneliness and the tight walls and the dim flickering light. What could Pinch do that was worse than that hellish closet? In his young mind he couldn't even imagine something worse, but he didn't want to test that either.
"Good. Half a megacycle." The door shut behind Triggerpinch and the twins relaxed from a tenseness neither remembered getting.
Yellow went to fetch two of the three cubes from Red's berth, giving one to his brother. The third cube he hadn't even looked at, leaving it there behind.
"What did he mean?" Red asked, accepting his cube with a nod. "Doodles?"
"Nothing," Yellow grumbled into his cube as he drank. At the time it had made sense and it had felt right. Now, however, he felt as foolish as Pinch claimed it to be. What would Red say if he knew he'd tried to draw his likeness into the wall?
The rest of the time was spent in silence as each brother contemplated what might be next. Neither of them liked the sound of being weapons. Why did they have to be such? Did no other sparklings have a choice in what they did? What was this war that Triggerpinch referred to and why did they have to be involved? None of it made any sense and the twins were beginning to think that their creator would not offer them any real explanations like they had hoped.
When he came to get them, the old engineer offered them no explanation and they asked for none. With Yellow on the left and Red on the right, both a step behind, Triggerpinch led them out of their apartment for the first time.
The apartment was not located in the best section of town. No nobles dwelled there with their beautiful bright exteriors and their high unattainable ideals. Yet nor did it lay in the slums. Triggerpinch prided himself in the fact that he could go to his recharge berth each night with the full confidence of waking the following morning. Criminals were there, yes, but not in worrisome quantities. For all his failings, he was a slagging good engineer and had the credits to prove it.
A mech such as himself had nothing to fear with two large powerful-looking mechs flanking him as he walked down the street.
Red stared at the world around him as they walked down the street. Everything was so big! There were so many people, all of various ages and sizes and occupations. An orientation disc could tell him about this all it wanted. But nothing could beat the real thing. Not by a long shot.
A group of four bots caught his attention as he walked passed. All… different from him and his two companions. 'Femmes' the discs had described them, he now remembered. All of a much smaller build than he with curves and a softness to them he could never hope to achieve. And all of them very beautiful.
One of the femmes, green and pale pink, finally noticed the sparkling watching her and her friends. Looking at him, she could never know just how old he was. All she saw was a handsome youngish looking mech who seemed absolutely fascinated. The black femme at her side noticed as well and started chuckling quietly to herself.
"Don't be rude," she admonished her friend, not able to help the smile on her face as well. He still hadn't taken his optics off them, not seeming to know what to do with himself. You'd think he'd never seen a femme before.
"But he's staring right at us," a short green femme said quietly in amusement.
"Forget the red one," the fourth one said eyeing the brother instead. "Look at the other one. He's gorgeous."
A new round of laughter burst out from the femmes, drawing not only Red's attention but Pinch's and Yellow's as well.
Stopping, Triggerpinch gave a long suffering look to the group of femmes. "Escapade," he addressed the green and pink. "Can I help you with something?"
"Oh no, Trigger, everything's fine," she smiled, stepping forward. "We were just wondering... who are these friends of yours? I don't think I've seen them before."
Yellow gave a puzzled look to his brother before focusing once more on the femme. Like Red he knew what a femme was, but not exactly what one was. What did they do? Why were they so different? Were they all so pretty?
Escapade couldn't believe the nerve of the two handsome mechs. They were just blatantly staring at her still, not even bothering to be discreet. "Won't you introduce us, Trigger?" she asked further, smiling at the yellow one who was indeed quite the looker.
"They're not your type," was the amused reply. "Go back to your little friends and let us pass in peace."
"How would you know what our type is, Pinch?" the orange and black one stepped forward, the one who had eyed Yellow first. Smiling flirtatiously at the twins she said, "my name is Trance. What's yours?"
"Not interested," Triggerpinch insisted, walking through the gaggle of femmes. Turning around suddenly, he smirked. "Unless you like your mechs pre-inspected."
Red hadn't believed a bot could move as fast as those femmes did upon hearing his creator's words. Backing off from he and his brother as though burned, their flirting smiles and words ceased immediately and a look of horror was upon Trance's face. Whatever 'pre-inspected' meant, it must not be a good thing. He had enjoyed the attention as well, what was wrong with being friendly?
"Red, Yellow," his creator called, not quite as irritated as he had been now that he'd had a laugh at the mortified femmes. "Come."
Obeying, Red looked back at Trance and the others, smiling. "Bye, it was nice to meet you!"
Another groan of embarrassment met his audios before the group was left behind. His brother just shrugged at his questioning look; he didn't know what had just happened any more than he did. But he did smile in a bemused sort of way. It seemed he had enjoyed the attention just as much as he did. If nothing else, for a while the femmes had been glad to see them.
The building Pinch brought them to was much larger than their apartment. Resembling a great upside-down bowl, neither twin could imagine what could be inside it. Not many bots were around, just a few going in or out in a steady trickle. And none looked like the delicate femmes they'd left behind. These were mechs and femmes who could obviously hold their own in any fight.
"Where are we?" Yellow asked their creator, hoping his mood had improved enough to warrant giving an answer.
"Your second home," was the easy reply. "Red, Yellow, this is the Arena."
"What's the Arena?" Red questioned, emboldened by the response.
"You'll see soon enough. Follow me and don't say anything until I tell you to." Pinch led the way to one of the many entrances, giving his name to the mech at the gate.
"And who are you two?" the mech asked of the infants.
"They're with me," Pinch replied before either Red or Yellow could give their temporary names to the gatekeeper.
"I'm sorry, but you are not authorized to…"
"It's ok, I asked them to come," piped in a new voice. The two fledglings vaguely remembered seeing this mech when they first came on-line, though he hadn't done or said anything at the time. They were too focused on the new world around them, each other, and their creator. Taller than they were by about a head, he moved with more grace than Triggerpinch or they did. His body was lean and sleek, a flier's body, and it was red and blue. Yellow was reminded of something, seeing the bot move and act, but he wasn't sure what it was.
"Late, as usual," Pinch grumped, his mood already beginning to sour again.
"Not late, Pinchy," the mech cheeked back with a grin. "You're early."
"If you're early, you're…"
"…On time. If you're on time, you're late. If you're late, don't bother showing up. Yes, Pinch, I know." The mech seemed to just notice the twins at last, and his expression perked back up. "Well look who made it out of their berths today." Walking forward, he looked over each brother appraisingly.
"Um… who are you?" Red asked hesitantly. Anyone who could talk to his creator like that and get away with it must be a formidable person indeed.
"I, my little red friend, am your brother," the mech introduced himself. "Name's Flattop."
Brother? Like Yellow was? Why weren't they created at the same time? Did he live with Pinch too? Red's processor was filled with a dozen questions at once and he couldn't decide which to ask first. Now he recognized what was so familiar about the bot; his mannerisms were so like Pinch's. He moved more gracefully, and his smile was much more common, but their creator was definitely in there. Even some physical characteristics of Pinch were reflected in the flier like they were reflected in the twins.
"Well, shall we?" Flattop indicated toward the entrance to the building. The mech at the gate didn't try to stop them this time, leaving the twins to wonder why he could have his way and not Pinch. Maybe in some places their creator didn't have the kind of power that he had at home?
The Arena was built like a series of rings. There were three levels: the outer level for personal use, the second level for pairs or small groups, and the innermost level for a large battle royale setting. And except for the inner most level which was an enormous course in a room, the other two levels were composed of hundreds of rooms each with holograms and various obstacles for the combatant to overcome. It was a training facility for a select few, and it proved difficult to gain membership as it was created for current or would-be frontline soldiers. Hence why Flattop was needed to get his two younger brothers access to it.
Leading the group to the second level with the larger rooms, Flattop ran a card through a slot, granting him entrance. "I got this one for 4 days," he explained to Pinch and the twins. "Had to pull rank on about ten mechs to do it too. You owe me for this, Pinchy."
"Call me Pinchy again and I'll remove your vocal circuits with a vibro-saw," his creator answered in a bored tone, looking around at the room. "Is it suitable?"
"Don't trust me?" the younger mech smirked.
"Not in the slightest."
"It'll be fine. Came with all the bells and whistles you asked for. Show some faith." Flattop typed in a code on a wall panel. "Computer, run basic still course 5. Duo."
Before the twins' optics, the room shifted and changed beneath their feet. Obstacles formed and panels on the walls opened to reveal dangerous-looking auto-guns. Yellow stared at all this in dumb fascination. What in the world were they supposed to do in this place?
Flattop approached his two brothers, holding two weapons in his hands. "Working these are real simple, kiddos," he said. "You point and pull the trigger. Get it?"
The two nodded, not getting it. They'd probably figure it out as they went. Their databanks told them enough to get the general idea.
Yellow took his weapon carefully, looking at it closely. It felt so natural there, as though it belonged there. A hiss distracted him from getting anything more than a brief glance however. Red winced in pain and flinched back from Flattop after he tried to retrieve his own gun. Had Flattop hurt him? Yellow's grip on the rifle tightened without him knowing it.
"Primus, kid, what happened to your hands?" the flier breathed, staring down at Red's dented and mangled hands. The sparkling was barely able to hold the weapon at all, let alone correctly and his handsome young face was screwed up in pain.
"He slagged them up himself," snorted Triggerpinch, answering for him. "Fragging ingrate didn't figure out the first dozen times he couldn't punch through my walls."
"Why was he trying to punch through your walls?" Flattop asked, frowning.
The engineer just shrugged and the two fledglings didn't look as though they were about to offer any explanations either. Red would have to deal with his hands; there would be no coddling if he hurt himself. Triggerpinch made that quite clear from the beginning. He'd made it clear since the twins spoke their first words and took their first steps.
Moving back to an area where they could observe, Flattop and Pinch watched the sparklings go through the exercise time and time again. The objective was simple: take out the auto-guns before they took you out.
Of course, the weapons weren't real in either the wall guns or the twins'. Programmed to give out 'flashes,' both sets of weapons would give an electrical shock that would leave the mechanical object temporarily useless. Thus if an auto-gun was hit, it would be 'out of the game.' If a mech was hit, wherever was hit would become numb and limp, useless until their sensors righted themselves. It was as close to a real battle simulation as you could get, and still remain safe.
Triggerpinch planned to have them use real weapons before their first decade was up.
It took a few rounds before the twins were able to figure out what was expected of them. Their aim was better than that of most sparklings, but still had much to be improved upon. Their footwork sloppy, their reaction time laughable, Pinch saw the hiccups he was looking for. Their bodies were fully capable of everything he had built them for and for 6 days old, their instincts were rather good. What they lacked was the control and will. It was his job and the job of a select few others to give them both.
By all accounts, he shouldn't have expected much for their first time out, especially considering the age of the twins. Yet the engineer didn't worry about such things. They needed to be ready sooner rather than later. Already he was working on borrowed time. The war might not wait for the sparklings to grow up naturally, and the military might request them at any time.
Yellow hissed in surprise as his right leg gave out from under him and he nearly collapsed on it. The flashes didn't hurt per say, but it was so similar to the paralyzing disc attached to his chest that he couldn't help but feel a thrum run through his spark. To his left he saw his brother trying to fend off two auto-guns at once as he struggled to make it behind one of the obstacles. The red twin was clumsy, and stumbled constantly. Already his left arm had been flashed as well as a part of his chest. Neither twin seemed able to last more than a few cycles under the guns.
A cold, shocking sensation filled Yellow's body as he finally fell to the ground. He'd been spacing out again, watching his brother rather than his own manifold. Shot straight in the chest, he could no longer support himself. Once more, he was out of the game.
Distracted by Yellow's cry of dismay, Red swiveled around to see his brother collapse at last. He didn't see the nearest wall-mounted gun swivel onto him and fire, hitting his shooting arm and skimming his chest. Stumbling again on the uneven ground, he couldn't keep his feet under him anymore and came crashing to the ground, the fall made harder with no hands to break his fall. Not that it would have helped that much anyway, his hands already felt like sharp lines of fire were constantly running through them. Another fall on them might very well snap them right off.
"Computer, end program!" snapped Triggerpinch, having seen enough for one session. Useless idiots, the both of them! Why not just stand limbs splayed out in-front of a gun and save him the headache of watching them trip over themselves for the fragging billionth time? The auto-guns obediently shut down and the obstacles shifted back into their original positions, leaving nothing but two helpless sparklings laying in the middle of an empty room, their weapons nearby.
Flattop watched from the sidelines as his creator stalked toward his brothers. There was just no dealing with Pinch when the old mech was like this. This was their first session; surely he would be at least a little lenient on them.
"Congratulations," the blue and black mech spat out, any signs of a good mood vanished. "You both have just wasted my entire afternoon."
"But, Pinch…" Red's protest was cut off as the familiar tensing of his nerves came to him. The familiar fear came with it of being so helpless and vulnerable.
"Quiet." Triggerpinch looked back and forth between his two now paralyzed infants, the control for the discs in his hand. "Neither of you would have lasted a cycle in a real combat situation, I expected better. Apparently I was expecting too much out of you two. Now I'm going to start the program again and you're going to do it right or until I get sick of watching you run around like headless drones."
"They'll need some energon," Flattop chimed in helpfully. "They have a booth out near the entrance…"
"No," the engineer shook his head, not giving his eldest a second glance. "Battles don't give you lunch breaks. Besides, after this morning, I think they've had enough playing around with their meals."
Playing around? What was he talking about? Yellow struggled to figure out what the proud mech had meant by that even as he tried to fight his uncooperative body. If his creator was referring to the third cube of energon, then that was ridiculous! Why give them odd numbers of cubes? Were they supposed to claim it or not? What did it mean?
Pinch came and crouched in-between the two sparklings, addressing both at once. "You're both better than this," he hissed. "I created you to be better than this. Now get up and do it again."
Immediately the paralyzed twins found themselves able to move again, leaving only a sore feeling in their limbs. Rolling over to get up wearily, Yellow eyed his creator fearfully, but not without a touch of anger. "But I don't want to. I'm tired."
That was the wrong thing to say at the wrong time.
"I don't care what you want, little one," Pinch's optics narrowed, cursing the fledgling's boldness. "You will do as you're told, or I will just show you why…"
"No," Red shook his head, unable to see his brother become the source of their creator's anger again. "He's tired. I'm tired too. Can't we rest a little? Leave him alone."
Triggerpinch outwardly raged at them, promising them more time in the closets if they dared defy him again. He forced them round after round in that room, furious that they were still stumbling, still spacing out. Any backtalk or defiant glares were swiftly punished. Mistakes were not tolerated; he ran them until they could run no longer.
But he did not punish Red for defending Yellow. Nor did he punish any other act to protect their twin. Their first lesson had yet to cultivate. They were far from a team, let alone thinking and acting as one united and unstoppable force. But the seeds of the lesson had taken root, and he would not punish that.
End Part Four
A/N: For those who were left wondering, 'pre-inspected' basically equals jail-bait. Robbing the… er… berth? The femmes I added on a whim, but I'm rather fond of that scene if only for the sheer mental images involved. I wanted to include their inspection and naming in this chapter, but this chapter ran a bit too long for that. The closets will be making frequent appearances as will the Arena. I know Pinch is a mean slagger, but remember it's not for the sake of being mean. Everything he does has a purpose, if you don't believe me, just ask DesertCat since I ran all my convoluted ideas through her to see if they held any weight. Eventually it will make sense and their personalities will shape them into the mechs we are more used to. Much thanks to her, Shades, and Jo for listening to my rambling more than is probably healthy : )
A/N: On livejournal, there is a fan character challenge that I and a few others have decided to undertake. The challenge is that there are sets of themes that you pick and you must write 100 fics or draw 100 pics based around one fan character in any fandom. One fic, one theme. I've chosen Flattop for this challenge and I have one done and almost done with the second. Would anyone be interested if I posted them up onff . net? Each fic would be one chapter in length and would cover his entire life at various points. They will also have spoilers in there for this story, just so you know going in. Tell me what you think, please.