6. Gladiator Training Manual

(A/N: Particularly brutal chapter to follow. This is the reason the fic is M-rated, people.)

That was the end of our rest. Pretty soon we'd be looking forward to seeing that cell again. As dreary as it was, it was going to be our only sanctuary for a long time.

We weren't the only ones to belong to Clench. There were others -- Gammas like us, mostly from the streets, some from detention centers or even from mentors who'd given them up in exchange for payment. All kept in separate cells, except for Sunny and me. I guess they didn't want the kids planning a revolt... or more likely, killing each other in their sleep. Not an unfounded fear, trust me. These were not nice kids. They were used to looking out for themselves and didn't care a bit for Sunny and me (not that we cared about them either).

Now's the really hard part. I have to tell you what it was like for us in there. You can't understand Sunny and me otherwise. But I don't know how to put it without sounding melodramatic, or toning it down too much because I really don't want to remember it all that vividly. Not that I can really help it. Sometimes I wake up and don't know where I am for a minute, and it all comes back -- every detail, every sound and smell and texture -- and I have to sit up and look all around just to be sure it's not real.

Trust me, it isn't hard to turn a mech into a monster. Just follow all the tips and tricks I learned from Clench...

- - - - -

1: Turn him into your property. Remake him, remold him, and stamp him with a trademark so he knows who he belongs to. Take everything he had before, even his self.

"-- status: Online."

"About time." The first thing Spin-Out heard coming out of stasis was Clench's voice. That wasn't very reassuring, but much louder internal alarms were clamoring for his attention. Everything felt wrong. Everything felt different. His body felt heavier, off-balance, and something was preventing him from sitting up to look. He raised his head far enough to see the heavy cuffs that held down his wrists. It took him a moment to realize they were his wrists -- the armor panels on the arms were the wrong shade, too bulky, and worn dull with countless little scratches and dents, imperfections that made him feel dirty just to look at. These didn't belong on him. They weren't his. They were wrong.

A hand tapped the side of his helm and caused him to jerk his head around with a violent growl. "Beauty rest is over," Clench informed him gruffly. "Hacksaw's finished your upgrades. The other one's almost done."

Other one? Sideswipe... Oh, he remembered being dragged in here now, struggling when Hacksaw tried to get them into the restraints, being shocked until he lost consciousness. "Where's my brother?" he asked in near-panic.

Clench gestured, and Spin-Out turned his head to follow, craning his neck as far as it would go. He could just make out the table Sideswipe lay on, still unconscious. His Spark choked -- several armor panels had been removed and portions of his twin's wiring lay exposed. What armor he did have was as foreign as what Spin-Out now wore: a heavy, dull-red plating. It made Sideswipe look older and more battered than he was. Hacksaw was bending over him, attaching another panel to his arm, and the hiss of sparks and the smell of hot weld made Spin-Out sick to his Core. He turned away.

Some time later the sounds of his work stopped and Hacksaw announced, "Finished with this one, too. It may take a while for them to adjust to the new exo-plating. It's significantly heavier than what they're used to--"

"They'd better manage," Clench said shortly.

"No doubt. But see to it that they are given the enhanced energon mixture for the first few decacycles of training. It will help to give them a... jump start."

Spin-Out knew it was better not to speak, but the tension was driving him insane. "If you're done, can't you let us go already?"

Hacksaw had come into view now, standing over Spin-Out, and he smirked. "Patience. Just one thing left to do." He glanced at Clench. "Ready when you are."

Spin-Out's head whipped toward Clench, who was now holding something -- a short, thick rod with a pointed metal tip. He pressed something and within seconds the tip began to glow, first red, then white-hot. Spin-Out's optics brightened with fear. He tensed up, strapped down too tightly to struggle. "What are you--"

Hacksaw's disconcertingly strong claws grabbed his head and wrenched it to one side. Clench held the rod-tip against his cheek, and a scream began. It continued, rising and falling, broken by curses and pleas, as the searing-hot point slowly carved an intricate symbol into metal softened and blackened by the heat. Neither Clench nor Hacksaw seemed particularly bothered by the noise. When the sigil on his cheek was complete, Hacksaw turned Spin-Out's head and Clench calmly repeated the process on the other side. Then he added a third symbol -- this one different, though Spin-Out was in no shape to realize it at the time -- onto the back of one of the sensitive projections that framed his helm, the scream becoming louder as he did so. His slow, methodical pace never wavered.

Spin-Out didn't realize he'd begun screaming until he stopped. His brother was now awake, and frantically shouting from the other table, asking what was going on. He couldn't bring himself to answer.

"Guess it's his turn then," said Hacksaw with one of his eerie smiles. He patted Spin-Out on the head in a disgusting parody of affection, then the two of them moved on to Sideswipe.

Spin-Out braced himself. Sure enough, his brother started screaming a second later. It didn't last very long, though it probably seemed like an eternity to Sideswipe. When it was over, Spin-Out heard his twin's voice, weak and strained across their tightlink: "Why, Spin?"

"Why?" he asked directly of Clench. The trainer turned to him slowly.

"If you work for me, you'll wear my mark. The more painful it is receiving that mark, the better you'll remember who you belong to. I consider it another lesson. One that tends to stick." He looked them over, surveying his work with satisfaction. "You should both feel honored. I only place my mark on the best."

Honored? Spin-Out thought in shock. He was wearing someone else's armor. He had someone's mark of ownership on his face. But he was supposed to feel honored? He felt... violated.

He glared helplessly at Clench, and the bastard laughed at his expression.

"I think we're through. Hacksaw, be sure to get their collars on before you release them. I don't think they appreciate their new gift."

- - - - -

2: Make it clear from the start that his only choices are to obey you, or die.

"This is what you will be doing," explained Clench as they looked over the training room. Two other Gammas stood in the center, circling each other, each wielding a long staff. They struck and dodged and pivoted, clashing and then leaping back, only to be driven into the center again by heavily built mechs who jabbed them with electrified poles. It was a furious spectacle, not far from one-on-one confrontations among some of the gangs the twins were familiar with... except that here the two were clearly being forced to fight. Both wore expressions of desperation, and their movements suggested those of trapped animals more than anything. Sideswipe shuddered, and could feel his brother's rigid defiance beside him.

Clench continued, "First you will train under several instructors, like them--" he pointed out the larger mechs who were supervising the fight. "Most of them I've trained myself, so you are to obey them as you would me. They will instruct you in the use of weapons, hone your reflexes, and prepare you for the Arena. Once they, and I, have been satisfied by your progress, you will both get to test your mettle in combat."

"Why would we want to?" Sideswipe asked aloud. Both twins winced visibly as one of the combatants landed a blow that split the other's helm with a loud crack. The stricken Gamma fell, exposed wiring crackling ominously, and seemed unable to get back up. One of the trainers came over and prodded him with the shocking end of the pole, receiving only a weak moan in response.

Clench gave the twins a warning look, making their collars tingle uncomfortably in reminder. "Are you telling me you won't?"

Spin-Out spoke for them this time. "What happens if we refuse?"

The wounded mech had apparently been determined unfit for battle, and was being dragged from the room. Clench smirked. "Fair enough question. Growl!" he bellowed at the instructor who was doing the dragging. "Throw that wreck into the repair bay and bring back the other one. The quiet one."

Growl snickered as though it were a joke. "You got it, Boss."

He wasn't gone long, and when he returned he was dragging another mech, also a battered heap. As he was brought closer to them Sideswipe could see cracks in the armor, wires hanging out, fluids of every color. The face was a frozen silent scream, both optics torn out. The center of the chest was wide open--

-- and the Core was gone.

As the deactivated corpse was dragged in front of them, Sideswipe took an involuntary step back, but then felt Clench's hand on the back of his head. "Look," the head trainer commanded, shoving the brothers to their knees, almost rubbing their faces in the dead mech. "Take a good, long look. This mech wasn't killed in a fight. The son of a scraplet refused to fight. Look where it got him."

Sideswipe was too riveted even to close his optics; the blank endless stare of the corpse generated a sort of sick hypnosis. "Is that... what we look like... inside?"

His brother sounded somewhere between disgust and awe. "They just ripped out his Core... just like that..."

"What does it take to even DO that?"

"I don't know. But I bet he was glad when they did."

And in that moment, both brothers understood. This was the only way out. If they refused Clench, this would be the only result. But if they obeyed him...

Sideswipe remembered the damaged mech being dragged from the ring and thought of it being his brother. Then he imagined his brother winning the match, nearly destroying another mech -- and somehow that made him feel sicker.

But thinking of Spin-Out lying here, as dead as this mech before them, was completely unbearable. Sideswipe looked at his twin, who looked back at him, and they came to a conclusion.

This won't be us.

"So?" Clench pressed. "Do you mean to tell me you refuse?"

This time, the pair merely shook their heads.

- - - - -

3: Never tolerate weakness.

Hacksaw's "special mix" was definitely doing something. For the last three cycles Sideswipe had felt as though every wire, myomer(1), and energon conduit in his frame was burning. White-hot plasma fire seemed to course down his limbs if he so much as twitched his fingers -- not painful, but nonetheless excruciating. When he stood still, his body vibrated with palpable tremors and gave little spasming jerks and tics. His sensors were overactive, turning every soft clink of armor into a rattling cacophany, every dim light into a hypnotizing blaze, every rough surface into a riot of texture. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't think. He couldn't stop thinking. His processor raced so much it was almost an audible whirr. He couldn't even shut down for recharge until his body had burned off most of the morning's charge, and then the crash was killer -- aches and pains and phantom sensastions, tingling limbs and spinning gyros.

At the start of this cycle he had barely managed to consume his ration, and now it felt ready to come back up any minute. His systems did not like what he'd been giving them. They threatened rebellion. Only stubbornness had kept him from giving in thus far -- that, and the fact that his brother seemed to be keeping the stuff down pretty well.

During their third sparring session in a row, however, he finally lost the battle. Lugnut, their trainer/tormentor for the day, was teaching them staff-fighting by way of swinging at the twins and forcing them to block, or get hit. Sideswipe was sloppy, and Lugnut cracked him a good one alongside the helm. He fell on his hands and knees... and instead of getting back up, he heaved violently as all his unconverted energon was purged onto the floor. For a moment he completely forgot about Lugnut. Lugnut, however, chose not to forget about him. He gave the fallen twin a heavy kick that sent him sprawling into his own mess.

"Waste!" he bellowed. "Good fuel on the floor!" He jabbed Sideswipe with one end of the staff -- which happened to be electrified -- and set him howling.

Spin-Out swung his own staff as hard as he could and broke it across Lugnut's back, almost denting the heavy armor. Lugnut spun around and caught the vengeful twin with a sweeping blow to the midsection, sending him flying into the wall with a hard smack. Then he triggered Spin-Out's collar and the yellow twin's body locked up. Paralyzed but fully aware, he lay where he fell, watching as Lugnut rammed the end of the crackling staff down his screaming brother's throat.

Neither one of the twins ever threw up during training again.

- - - - -

4: Never tolerate disobedience.

After a day's "lessons" and sparring matches were concluded, all trainees (unless badly injured enough to require Hacksaw's services) would be hosed down -- to remove particles of dust and grit invariably picked up from the training-room floors, caked together with old and fresh oil, metal filings, melted plastic, and scrapes of paint. If the resulting grime got into their joints or worked its way into delicate wiring, it would inhibit their performance, and for this reason -- rather than comfort or aesthetics -- showers were mandatory.

Regardless of reason, these were the only part of training Spin-Out actually enjoyed.

He stood in front of the high-pressure blast, arms raised to allow complete access, turning to present every angle of his body for cleaning like a good little robot. It was arguably the only time Spin-Out could be considered well-behaved. An activity he would otherwise have seen as degrading was made fully bearable by the cascade of solvent -- a strong acid suspended in low-viscosity oil -- pouring over his frame and carrying away the filth that he was ever conscious of. He seemed almost in a trance, his head tipped back, optics shuttered against the spray, expression oddly tranquil, and the trainers knew he wouldn't be any trouble as long as the hose was turned on him.

But when it was time for him to leave the washrack so that the next mech could be cleaned... that was a different story.

The cleansing spray having done its work, a weak acid rinse cleared the remaining slippery oil from his armor. Then the hose went off and a trainer gestured for him to come out. Spin-Out lifted his lip in the beginning of a defiant snarl. The trainer rested a hand on the stun rod at his side, as a warning. Collars were removed in the showers, but the stun rods would have the same effect.

When Spin-Out made no move, the trainer came in to drag him out by force. At the same time, he motioned for the other Gamma to enter.

The next events happened fast. As the other took his place, Spin-Out broke away from the trainer with a territorial roar and launched himself at his rival like a yellow missile. The other Gamma -- as savage a product of Kaon's streets as the twins themselves -- retaliated in kind. The two fell to brawling until the trainer and a backup rushed in to separate them, batons throwing off sparks as they struck armor. The other Gamma was dragged out, but Spin-Out was shoved hard against the wall of the washroom. His trainer shackled him to the ceiling using manacles that were used to hold mechs that were too stubborn to behave themselves while they were hosed.

"You want another shower?" he gritted in Spin-Out's face. "That's what you'll get."

Before switching the hose on this time, he turned up the acid drip on full and cut off the oil altogether. A hot jet of undiluted solvent struck Spin-Out dead center in the chest, melting paint and blistering armor, eating into joints and the thin metal of his face. The other Gammas in line watched in horror and several jerked back as the yellow mech began to thrash and twist at his bonds, screaming too loudly for the roar of the spray to drown out.

The trainer guessed that this would make them ALL a little less reluctant to leave the washracks from now on.

- - - - -

5: Use pain to get your points across.

"I don't get it," Sideswipe sent to his brother. The pair looked at the small curved daggers in their hands doubtfully. Spin-Out pressed his against a panel on his arm as hard as he could, then looked in vain for a mark. Finally he looked up at Bludgeon in disbelief.

"What kind of weapon is this?" he demanded. "How is it supposed to get through a mech's armor? It won't even scratch this scrapyard junk we've been stuck with."

His brother giggled before he could help it. He'd been doing that a lot lately, at the most inappropriate times. Bludgeon looked at him and smiled.

"Not every part of a mech is armored. As an example--" He struck out too swiftly for optics to follow, slashing Sideswipe right across the face before he had time to wipe the smirk off of it. The red twin fell back with a startled cry of pain. The yellow one moved almost as fast himself, leaping in and burying his own blade in the trainer's arm. It lodged in the elbow joint and actually went pretty deep before Bludgeon whipped his arm out, knocking the weapon into the far corner of the room. Disarmed and utterly undeterred, Spin-Out lunged for the trainer's neck with his bare fingers. They wrapped around the cables and dug in--

Bludgeon smiled again. He still held the knife, dripping with Sideswipe's energon, in his right hand. With a single swift thrust it slipped under a plate of yellow armor and embedded itself into Spin-Out's shoulder. Wires cut, cables severed, the arm fell limp from his neck, rendered all but functionless. Spin-Out didn't scream. He fell back and gripped his shoulder and stared at the hilt protruding between his fingers in a kind of numb shock, but did not scream.

"There are always gaps in armor," Bludgeon continued as calmly as if nothing had happened. He flexed the fingers on his own damaged arm, and they responded sluggishly. "Find a weak point, and you can disable the largest mech with a mere pinprick. I trust you'll both remember that."

They certainly would.

- - - - -

6: Finally, make sure he has nowhere to retreat to. Leave nothing sacred, and no place safe.

After hours, dark and quiet. Training was finished for one cycle. All the inmates (save for one or two recharging in Hacksaw's care) had been returned to their individual prisons. They did not fret or plot; like caged beasts, they merely slept, conserving their strength for the rigors of the following day. Exhaustion and hopelessness breed passivity in the most savage Sparks.

On the floor of one dim little cell, a pair of mechs recharged as a single heap of red and yellow armor. The red twin was uppermost, his head resting on the yellow one's chest and fingers latched onto the seams of his shoulder plates. Spin-Out's arms were clasped around his brother's waist, and one leg was hooked over both of Sideswipe's, locking them together. Spin-Out had a deep gash on his upper arm, and Sideswipe bore an ugly dent in one of his back panels, but their expressions were uncharacteristically peaceful. This was their one remaining haven, their time alone together, the only time they felt somewhat safe.

So safe, they didn't stir when the door opened and shadows fell over them. Their stillness was shattered when a foot came down hard on Sideswipe's injured back, bringing him awake with a startled cry. Spin-Out was alert on the instant, scrambling to get out from under his brother as a pair of hulking shapes fell upon them.

The attack was so unexpected that their training failed to kick in. Spin-Out fought back blindly, flailing his fists at everything and nothing, and was quickly overpowered. Sideswipe pressed himself into the wall, flinching and kicking out at his attackers until they dragged him back by the ankles. He was torn away from his brother and flung against a wall with such force that it cracked the damaged panel on his back.

Spin-Out was being pinned beneath a much heavier, unseen mech, who was grinding his face into the floor with apparent glee. Sideswipe heard his brother's muffled yells and staggered to his feet -- just as a familiar bulky shape loomed in front of him. This time, he recognized the figure.

Not that that made things any better.

Clench grabbed him by the throat and pinned him up against the wall, almost lifting his feet clear of the floor. Sideswipe sputtered as he tried to make sense of this seemingly random assault.

"What-- What--" Finally his whirling thoughts resolved into a coherent sentence. "What did we do? Why?"

"You were caught unawares." Clench's voice was no less calm and unmoved than usual. "Never--" he slammed Sideswipe's head back against the wall-- "Ever, let your guard down. Danger will not go away while you're recharging. I could have killed you and your brother easily before either of you woke. If I find you in such a careless state again, I just might."

Letting that sink in, he dropped the twin to the floor with a clatter and gave him a kick for good measure before turning away. "Do I need to repeat myself?" he asked in Spin-Out's direction.

Bludgeon, who was straddling the yellow twin, smiled. "I think he got it." He'd dislocated one of Spin-Out's shoulders, and now he forced it back into its socket with a wrenching pop that made the yellow mech go rigid beneath him. "This one's a quick study."

"Effective teachers make for apt pupils," Clench countered. He left the room without another glance at either twin, and his henchman followed, leaving the young mechs to collect their senses and slowly drag themselves back to the embrace they had been ripped from.

They lay still for the remainder of the night, seeking what solace they could despite having had the last shred of peace stripped from their lives, but they did not recharge. It was a testament to the "effectiveness" of Clench's methods that both brothers slept as lightly as cats from that day on.

So it went for countless decacycles. Day in and day out, the lessons were drilled into us in vivid and lasting ways: Don't trust. Don't relax. Don't show weakness. Don't make eye contact. Don't hesitate. Don't ask. Don't talk. Don't feel. It was enough to make any mech insane. But that's exactly what it was supposed to do -- turn kids into killers, incapable of anything but fear and hate, so they would think nothing of tearing each other apart if they were given half a chance, just to dish out some pain of their own for a change. I don't think the Decepticon military could imagine a more efficient program for churning out ruthless fighting machines.

And you know the worst part? There was no war here. We weren't soldiers, we weren't part of an army, we weren't even being used to protect anybody. Not that it would've made any of this, you know, forgivable, but at least then some good purpose would've come out of it. No, the reason my brother and I suffered all that time had nothing to do with any greater good. We didn't know it just yet, but we had been tortured, all this time, for the purpose of...

Entertainment.

That's right. For a slagging SPORT.

Primus, and people wonder why my brother hates the universe so much.

- - - - -

AUTHOR'S NOTES

(1) Myomers: Artificial muscle fibers, little polymer strands that contract when an electrical current is run through them, simulating the movements of tendons and muscles. It's a far more advanced system of robotic movement than servomotors, so I've given it to Cybertronians.

Yes, I stole Lugnut from Animated. Bludgeon was originally a Pretender and a creepy occultist. Growl was a Micromaster. But I'm just using the names and some aspects of the personalities here. THIS IS NOT A CROSSOVER FIC.

No reviewer replies this chap, but if any of you have questions regarding the story, you can PM them to me. Or to the twins. They'll answer fanmail same as the Aerials, though as always, I can't guarantee cooperation (particularly from Sunstreaker).

Please give me your input on this! I slaved on this chapter for a week. It craves feedback!