Out Of The Frying Pan

For those who aren't familiar with how it works, let me explain. The factories in Kaon are always running, every minute of every stellar cycle, and they always need new hands to do the work that can't be done cheaper by automation. To save money, they hire most of their workforce as Gammas, right off the foundry's hands, and give them a choice: work sunrise to sunset for a few drops of energon every day, or take your chances on the streets.

Believe it or not, most of 'em stay in the factories. The streets in Kaon are just that bad.

But Spin and I were cocky, and we always did have more balls than brains, as the Earth saying goes. We weren't in the factory a week before we split. We wanted to stage a big breakout, thought it would be more dramatic, but the other kids thought we were crazy and nobody wanted to follow us, so we had to sneak out instead.

'Course, no time at all after we slipped out, we started to think we'd made a big mistake after all...

- - - - -

The streets of Kaon teemed with the lost young, straggled out from the foundries and the factories and from neglectful mentors. Some were homeless; others had made this their home. Occasional security patrols would sweep through to round up unclaimed Gammas, but the smart ones avoided them. Freedom meant starvation -- but giving it up might mean any number of worse things.

Resources were scarce, and acquired by stealing or fighting. The youngsters usually traveled in groups (gangs, as the more civilized and fortunate denizens of Cybertron referred to them with a shudder) rather than risk tenuous survival alone, though such groups broke up violently whenever the resources gathered failed to satisfy all members. When two groups met, there was even more violence. Often the streets were littered with bodies of Cybertronians who had seen less than a century of life. They sometimes lay for weeks before anyone came to pick them up, by which time they had been stripped of all recyclable parts and reduced to a featureless skeleton.

In the midst of this metallic jungle, this vicious cycle of deactivation and uncertain existence, two mechs moved alone and apart. They joined the gangs, but never for long. They kept close together and slept in a different place each night. They stole cunningly and fought, when cornered, with the ferocity of four or five mechs. This pair, as you might have guessed, were Sideswipe and Spin-Out. A few months with neither caretakers nor home had left them barely recognizable: once-glossy plating gone dull and scuffed, bright optics dim with perpetual hunger, Sideswipe's cocky grin replaced by a hardened, feral expression. His brother's was worse; grown mechs avoided meeting Spin-Out's optics.

The pair had nothing, save each other and their pride. Despite this, they fought harder than ever to keep what they had. Having once taken each other for granted as a natural part of existence, they were now determined not to lose one another.

In a dingy alleyway behind an ancient warehouse, in the last of the day's grimy sunlight, the twins stood their ground. The gang they faced numbered five mechs currently, and there were probably more on the way. Still, the five were reluctant to approach. There had been a running fight to get to this point, and now, with the dead-end alley at their back and a gauntlet of foes in front of them, the pair looked grim and defiant, ready to take down as many mechs with them as they could. Energon leaked from under Sideswipe's helm and dripped off a wound on Spin-Out's leg. Three of their opponents were injured as well.

"You've got nowhere to run," said the current leader of the little gang for perhaps the fourth or fifth time. The bravado in his voice had wavered since they last tried to rush the pair.

"You see us running?" Spin-Out's optics flicked from one member of the opposition to another, cold and hard. "You're more scared than we are. All of you."

"What'd we do to you, anyway?" his brother asked.

The leader shifted uncertainly. "Told you, this isn't your turf. Everything here is ours. You're not welcome."

"So let us leave," suggested the red twin reasonably.

A head shake. "You might come back. Maybe with friends. Who knows? Sorry, but you should have read the signs."

"So should you," boomed a deep voice from behind the gang. Both sides jumped and looked around. An enormous mech stood in the entrance to the alleyway, streetlamps casting a shadow for yards beyond his bulk. "Sign says 'No trespassing'. That goes for your pack, too, much as you might think you own the place."

In a sudden situation reversal, the gang found themselves trapped, with the fuel-thirsty twins on one side and the imposing tower of a mech on the other. Give him credit, the leader tried to hold on to his authority. "Are you kidding? Nobody owns this dump! Don't tell me you make the rules around he--"

"Just so happens I do." The mech held out an arm, and panels slid back revealing the shining barrel of a built-in weapon, polished and well-maintained compared to the mech's exterior roughness. "This dump is my home, and I don't tolerate the presence of you scavengers." He took a step to the side, resting his back against the wall of the warehouse, gun pointed casually at the ground. "You have a clean exit and ten seconds to take it. Move fast."

They took the hint. The five packed against each other in haste to clear out, yelling back a few threats once they were safely out of blasting range. The mech shook his head, retracted his weapon... and then noticed the twins had not moved.

"No quarrel with either of you," he informed them, "but I'd suggest you leave before those scraplets come nosing back. They do, you know. I have to chase 'em out almost every night."

The pair just stared at him, too weary to bother fleeing or posturing. "We don't have anywhere to go," Sideswipe pointed out, shrugging. His brother leaned back heavily against a wall, trying to look like his leg wasn't about to give out on him.

The huge mech watched them for a long moment in silence. Then he slowly shook his head, as if arguing with himself. Finally he said, "You look pretty strong, though. Can't figure how you're in such a state. Surely you could find some work somewhere."

"We've taken a few jobs, here and there." Sideswipe perked up slightly. "You don't have work for us, do you?"

The mech shook his head regretfully. "Haven't had any work for myself in a while, let alone anybody else. But I might know a place..." He trailed off. "Why don't you both come in for some energon?" he asked abruptly. "I do have a little of that to spare, and you look like you could use it."

To say the offer floored them was an understatement. In the months they'd been out, no one had helped them without demanding something in return. It went strongly against everything they'd been taught to respect. Suspicion flickered in their minds, but so did something else -- a longing they had perhaps always felt but had never acknowledged. A need for kindness. It was starved, atrophied, almost vestigial, but it stirred nonetheless, when it felt a hand reaching out. The twins looked at each other in uncertain temptation.

The big mech waited, then shrugged. He turned and lumbered slowly off back to wherever he called home. A few beats later, slowly and tentatively, like a pair of alley cats following the scent of food, the twins crept after him.

- - - - -

A/N: Three guesses what's going to happen. No, seriously. Winner gets a cookie.

Just to warn you, this fic is not likely to be updated every night. I wish that were so, but I know myself better than that. Just be patient if I seem to go absent once in a while. I have the whole story planned out in my head, it won't be left hanging if I have anything to say about it.

Thank you reviewers, and I'm glad you like the odd style this fic settled on. It pretty much wrote itself this way in my brain. Let me know if any of the writing comes out seeming awkward, okay?