Keeping a sensor on Flatline, Sixshot turned back to Sinnertwin.
"No, I'm not," the six-changer snarled, low and brutal, as if his bestial side demanded energon from the weaker, smaller mechanoid.
Sinnertwin's remaining optic nearly blew out as it widened, and Sixshot suppressed his EM-field again. "No- Hungrr-"
"Is dead."
This wasn't like the last time he'd put Hungrr in his place to re-establish the 'pecking order'. This was different. This... This was a test of wills and dominance with far, far more riding on it than bestial instinct. He'd win even outside beast-alt, yet he had to make Sinnertwin realise that.
Anything less wouldn't be tolerable even outside the instinct driving him.
It helped he'd already mapped weaknesses long ago. Strapped to an operating table in what passed for a 'working' medical bay, Sinnertwin was vulnerable in ways even the most battle-hardened Decepticon would thoroughly debase themselves to escape. Gigatron on his back for repairs came to mind; even then, it'd taken Orion everything he had to keep the Lord Protector calm- with painblockers and medicals in full sight in play. Whatever else Shockblast was, his reports were accurate: Megatron flat on his back on his back was nigh unheard of.
Sixshot didn't blame him. To be on one's back was weakness. Was easy access to sparkplates, spark, and core cabling that, if severed, could cripple a mecha for orns as redundancies and backups struggled to compensate while self-repair worked overtime. Even the main spinal strut was easily accessed if one knew what they were doing. A single press in the right location could cripple joints, compress tanks and fuel pumps, and that was only the unimaginative, crude torture.
If he were creative and patient enough, he could dig into the backups and redundant systems, doing as he willed while keeping the victim alive. Child's play to mecha such as his Sire and Sixknight, yet he was still learning.
But learning would not happen with this mecha. If he wanted to play, he had a pair of slaves for that.
Friend. Ally. Respected. He owed it to Sinnertwin to at least attempt to bring him back from the voided edge of the Junkyard. If he failed, Sixshot doubted he'd be able to yank him back again. The first time had been a miracle. The second, Primus-blessed.
He did not want to see another friend to the Junkyard in as many megacycles.
Selfish? Yes, but he had the right to be. He'd lost far, far too many friends in his long life, and there was few mecha he would push aside his desires for. The last who'd tried to force him, well, he'd heard they still found bits of him scattered around the base.
And his attention -and Sinnertwin's- had drifted.
Slowly he rested his weight against the other's chest, just enough to get the Terrorcon's attention again, EM-field pulled in tight.
"Cutthroat-?" Sinnertwin croaked, the desperate plea echoed by the EM-field's flickering, reaching fluctuations. They found nothing, because Sixshot would give nothing, even as pity shot his spark.
Cutthroat had been a beautiful, focused, lethal air-dancer of a flier with feathers of purple and brassy gold-green body to match. Deadly and cunning, yet caring in her own way. He remembered the severed heads she'd brought him, of how she'd killed tiny terrors for Sinnertwin, then demanded he eat them. Of the aerial dances she weaved only for Sinnertwin. Of the ones she'd done for them all. A song to what was lost, to what they all hoped for but knew was impossible. Their species was dying by degrees and his Clan hadn't even a lead on the Imperial Guard, let alone a True-Prime.
It was as if Primus had deserted them. Punishing them for some slight.
Yet, that was ruthlessly suppressed. There would be time to mourn later. Regret and mercy held no place here. "I am Sixshot of the Senix, former bodyguard of Gigatron, Decepticon Shinobi Consultant City Commander, and a Phase-Sixer."
And owner of Zarak's twins; yet that detail wasn't something Flatline needed to know. Not when the name and titles were little more than a growl, something deep and rumbled, laden with a heavy, heavy meaning that had Sinnertwin jerking under his hands, engines ticking over in a whine he felt more than heard. Sixshot gave them no notice, yet his sensors indicated Flatline was once again attempting to become one with the wall. Tch. The Terrorcon's Support had been better. They'd at least had titanium bearings and he'd seen to it they'd been added to the wider pool of Support his Unit and under-Unit's drew from. "Mine."
"No." Sinnertwin shook his head as much as was allowed; it wasn't much, barely an inch either side. "N-no. Belong to Hungrr. Hungrr the strongest. Leader."
Both Sixshot and Flatline winced at the mangled glyphs. This time, the pressure on Sinnertwin's chassis left a shallow dent close to a seam-line. "I'm the strongest now."
Sinnertwin nodded quickly, but the eagerness in the EM-field gave it away. Sixshot almost laughed. It was the same look the bestial'd worn on their first meeting, back when he'd hoped to walk away from the encounter only partly slagged. "Yes."
It was equally pathetic and endearing. Yet, that did not stop Sixshot from forcing two fingers under the seam's plating, vaguely noting how Sinnertwin stilled -good; intact survival coding. The wolf in him purred, even as he pressed the dent back out. "Do you believe what I'm saying or will it require an uplink?" He absently ran his fingers over the once again smooth armour panel. If he uplinked now, the battle would transfer to the mindscape.
"I... understand. You- leader.."
Leader. It wasn't underscored with meaning the last time Sinnertwin used the word and Sixshot pulled himself up a fraction more, optics dim as he considered leaving the Terrorcon tied like he was. It might not have seemed like much, yet without the underscored meaning of pack, it was useless. Yet, it was also a start. He could work with it, and the idea of plugging in was even more tempting.
A simple program and he could nudge Sinnertwin towards the pack given it had been written to build on the basic meaning of a pack. To slowly nudge his friend towards the desired outcome. It wasn't meant to make something from nothing.
But...
To use it now, or nudge towards a hopefully more desired outcome, even knowing everything could fracture still. Claws tapped against the seam as Sixshot turned everything over a few more times before exventing slightly. He could do this now, yet there was a high chance Sinnertwin was merely playing along. Saying what he thought would get him out of his very vulnerable position and if that was true, the program had more chance of backfiring than success.
Sixshot levelled his gaze at his friend. He could make it an uplink with all the risks and then some. Yet, he felt he owed it to Sinnertwin to do it this way first. To allow the mecha to at least do the basic code-building himself.
Kliks passed and the dragonformer squirmed. Sixshot exvented loudly. This way was kinder than the alternatives. He was pushing 'pack' to the surface.
Metal squealed as he raked his claws up the chassis, over the throat, and up under the chin, where they hooked as he forced the head up, stretching the throat to the limit as he came in close enough to smell energon and fluids as it pumped though taunt cabling. He breached the distance with a snarl at the whine of denial, battlemask retracting and teeth nipping cabling, glossa flicking over nicked metal. He could do anything; had severed cabling like this before, felt hot, sticky energon as it flowed from lines. So close to the surface he could smell the intoxicating scent. A prelude of what was to befall the prey. "Perhaps I'll leave you like that for a while... Defenceless. Helpless. At the mercy of others..."
The glance up was more an afterthought, head raised just enough to pin Flatline with a look. The flinch told all he needed to know: Warning received. Sixshot then turn his attention back to the Terrorcon. One last lick of fuel lines and the six-changer reigned himself in to an acceptable level. Sinnertwin was not prey; he was a challenger, one who sort to usurp him. The goal was to force out a true yield that would result in pack coding.
"Stop!"
"Why should I?" Sixshot snapped, unmoved by the subharmonics in the whine. He'd seen the Terrorcons fight and force submission from each other many times before. He'd heard the whines, seen the games they played with each other enough times he could write a novel on them. "You will stay on your back til I'm satisfied."
There was a horrific squeal of metal as the sentry attempted to struggle, to pull his helm away from the claws, to get free, optics flashing between yellow and red, then cycling pale reds before flashing straight to whirl of sickly yellows. "NO! NO YIELD!"
"You will, or you'll stay here until you starve." Quick as a flash, the grip changed, from forcing the helm back to gripping the throat with enough force to induce gagging as fans sped up, struggling to drag in cool air.
That's when the low, pitiful, whimper-cry started. Both Sixshot and Flatline had moved to release him before they realised what Sinnertwin was doing. Optics narrowed, Sixshot tightened the restraints to the point Sinnertwin was unable to move then grabbed the nearest welder. Firing it up until the flame was white, he traced a burning line down Sinnertwin's abdomen, ignoring the shrieks, and Flatline's aborted shout as the 'medic' backed away. "You aren't going to fool me."
The shrieks grew in volume when he held the welder in place for several seconds before removing it. Switching it off, he swapped it out for the nitrogen cooler. It would create a buckling effect and brittle metal, but it wasn't anything that couldn't be dealt with via trip to the CR chambers. Nor was it life-threatening, though it would affect the rate of transformation, but that was expected with buckled plating.
"If I have to fix that-" Flatline started, only to fall silent- and edge back into his 'seat'- when Sixshot levelled another look his way. Mentally deciding he'd take the surgeon into his Support, he set the cooler aside, careful not to drop it.
He'd sooner tear his spark out than deal with an irate surgeon.
"Do you yield?" Yet even as he asked that, he could still see flickers of yellow in the mecha's optics, still feel the undercurrents of insanity in the 'field. Of loss and pain and loneliness. The last took the knife already in his spark and twisted it until it would be all too easy to give in, to allow Sinnertwin to feel another's 'field.
He refused, instead choosing to rest a hand over the sparkplates. Sinnertwin flinched, flinching again when claws drummed against the metal. "Well?"
It seemed an age before Sinnertwin whined again, EM-field broadcasting 'I am weaker than you'. "I give I give I give. Yield to strongest. Leader... bo-boss mech?"
Despite the mental hiss of denial at what he was doing to a friend, he still picked up the welder, turning the instrument over as he thought about it. Then. He flicked it in, the flame blue-red and easily within Sinnertwin's vision. It seemed genuine; from the order of the glyphs, to how they were underscored, to the cant and pale-red hue of optics and the way the mecha craned his head back.
In many ways, Warbuild coding was a blessing with demanding another yield. There was no trick here, yet Sixshot took his time, running claws over exposed cabling, dipping around to the side and back of the neck, teasingly pressing a claw towards the main spinal strut. It rested there for several kliks before he pulled it back. He dragged it up the helm until he was rimming the closed-off medical hatch.
"Open."
As soon as the port was open, Sixshot plugged in. It wasn't smooth like a medical connection would have been, yet he did not trust Flatline with this. The mechaniod was just as likely to try something as he was to obey. If Sinnertwin protested the forcible punch through what firewalls remained, he didn't hear it. At any rate, the firewalls were laughable. Fragility in a cobbled together mess at it's finest. Oh, they'd do the job, yet they could have been better.
Something he'd work on, later. He had a job to do, and with care, he dropped the program into the mess that was Sinnertwin's coding, trusting it'd smooth the jagged edges somewhat while implanting what it needed to nudge and affirm Sinnertwin's thoughts of him as 'pack leader'. It was not a Loyality Program, of that he'd made sure. He wanted his friend to seem as the pack leader, yet he loathed the blind loyalty Loyalty Programs brought. Never mind the lack of true choice Slave Coding demanded. Sinnertwin would see him as the pack leader, yes, yet he could - would have the choice of turning away if he ever wanted. While it would nudge him towards what Sixshot wanted, Sinnertwin would be free to pick and choose, to question, to ignore. He would be himself.
Yet, even as he withdrew, he left a multitude of small programs that would also help. From programs that would numb the pain, to ones that would reinforce the primary and hedge his bets he'd be the pack leader.
As long as the primary held, these could fail.
At worst, he'd end up with a half-feral friend who'd listen to him most of the time. At best, his friend would be- as normal and as sane as possible.
The bleeping of an incoming comm message dragged him from memories. "What."
He could hear the swallow before Olin spoke, words near monotone. "Your Sire and the Clan Head are here, Lord Sixshot."
That would explain the swallow. The list of mecha who could force the six-changer into anything was very, very short. It was ill-advised to keep any of them waiting. Even knowing that, his optics slid to the Terrorcon still engrossed in the art of 'eating' the limb and would be for a while. Small mercies. "Have them meet me in the first antechamber."
Sixshot didn't bother to wait on the slave's reply; Olin would do as told, and Sixshot would reach the destination before his guests, never mind how unwanted meddling elders were in his life, thank you very much.
Like much of the rest of the base, the antechamber was well lit. Unlike the rest of the base, it was filled with trinkets and tokens of glory, bespeaking a room fit to receive honoured guests or high ranking Decepticons (or Below forbid, Megatron himself). His elders were very much honoured guests and staunch allies of the Lord Protector, and through him, the Decepticons. Receiving them in anything less was such an insult even the most out of the way, unglorified outpost had a room such as this.
Sixshot didn't have to wait long. A pale pastel monoformer led them in, pale optics never once meeting the red of Sixshot's. "Your most honoured guests, Master." Though the accent marked her as outsider, lesser, Llyra spoke with a natural fluency, unlike her twin.
He sent her to wait outside with a flick of the hand, then bowed respectfully to his three guests, their 'fields at ease compared to his own. He waited three kliks before he rose and spoke in his native tongue. "Honoured Sire, Lord brother. I welcome you both and your companion."
While both his Sire and brother were of a height with him, the companion barely came to his waist, smaller than Llyra. Likely a Cadet; it wasn't unheard of for his Sire to take on a Unit occasionally.
"It is good to see you, my Pride."
Sixshot straightened under the title, not missing the curious glance from the Cadet.
"Brother," Knight nodded with a smirk. "Congratulations on your imminent Bonding."
Sixshot's CPU screeched to a halt. He openly stared, optics flicking between the three. No no, a petravorn of No's. Hadn't he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with bonds or the like after the one he 'lost' to a volcano, or the one he'd punted into a star, or the times before then. Though, the one the one accidentally offlined on a sparring match had been mourned. Dashfire'd been intelligent and driven to make the best of an awkward situation. The rest had been vapid things of lesser Noble Clans who hadn't even been trained in the art of conversation. "Wh-" He cleared his vocaliser. "When?"
"Now." His Sire flashed a toothy grin as Knight pinned him with a Look. Sixshot refused to squirm. He was not a fragging youngling, no matter how close Knight was to having a good two-sixths of a teravorn on him. "We do expect one of you to be carrying within a sixth-vorn, of course."
He opened his mouth, clicked it shut, held up a finger, then thought better of everything and slowly nodded with a brittle smile. Sixknight's bestial was a dragon, like their Sire's and second cousin's. To say nothing of how both were Veiði, nevermind Knight was the first Outlier in generations, making him not the Pride of the Clan but the Star. Rolling over and showing his belly was safer than going against them and ensured some semblance of pit-damned dignity, even if he was trying to swallow his words. "By your will. Who?"
"My Carrier is Warmonger and my Sire is R-" the red-and-white started, polite glyphforms as precise as her accent. She was not a native speaker and some part of Sixshot wondered how many words she knew.
"Very well," Sixshot said flatly. There was little doubt this was purely political, and 'losing' one of Warmonger's direct get would be ill-advised, even without the Bond they'd soon share.
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
"My Sire is Ra-"
"Is Warmonger's Conjunx." Technically betrothed, yet with how long they'd been courting, any Clan worth its struts counted it as official. Plus, the timing was right; her 'field wasn't pinging much older than sixteen megavorn. A blessing; he wasn't sure he could have dealt with anything younger. "Your name?"
"Minerva," the red-and-white said with a short, respectful bow, 'field pulled in tight a sixth of a klick to late. Though, even with the glimpse of her dignity, Sixshot couldn't deny they'd trained the little thing. "I shall do my utmost to bring honour to my new Clan, my Lord."
Sixshot and Minerva end up making the best of it, and while I don't consider them in love, I do consider them platonic lifemates who sometimes have sex. They had a baby -Greatshot- who then goes off and plays Autobot. Due to the Ally status the Clan holds with the Decepticons, Greatshot is officially protected from the DJD.
Minerva (raised by Warmonger) is the only direct sparkling to survive to the present. There are 'grandsparks' out there on both sides, but Minnie is the last surviving kid.