A/N: Yay another chapter! This is kind of a filler chapter, kinda. Not much action, but it's a semi-vital chapter nontheless. I had a blast writing the Micromasters. It's so easy to imagine them as a bunch of frat boys. lol. As always; please read and review. Critisism welcome, but please keep it constructive. Or I shall have to sit on you.
Phase eight: Ball and Chain
Chapter Sixteen
"Are you sure this is the only way to do this? Aren't there like...special master sequences you can use to get it off or something?" She asked warily, feeling a heavy dread begin to pull on her; the elation from earlier having been evaporated, leaving her with nothing but apprehension and doubt.
"I'm pretty sure," Fixit assured her. The Mech fixed her with a gentle look, "If you're that uncomfortable with it we can just leave it on. We don't have to do this, we could maybe—"
"No!" She snapped, cutting his alternative off and surprising him with the force of her refusal. Brea closed her eyes, memories of the last time she had gone through a similar process running like propaganda through her mind, but her desire for it to be removed outweighed the fear. If only by a little. "I want it off. Even if you have to hold me down to do it…I was just...y'know. Venting."
Beside her, Fixit grabbed a small sheet of the foil cloth and handed it to her. "Alright then. Tuck this under the collar. It'll keep the flame from burning you if my hands slips or something. Might get a little toasty."
"O-okay…" She stared dumbly at it and felt a rise of indignation. I wish they'd used this stuff the first time, she thought acidly. Maybe I wouldn't have these scars then and this wouldn't be so hard! She obediently tucked the small square of cloth under the metal where Fixit would be dividing the collar. Behind her, Bluestreak (elbow now fully repaired) sat and watched.
"Are you sure you want to do this Brea?" Bluestreak asked, seeing how nervous she seemed and having his own apprehensions about the procedure. "I'm sure there's some other way to—"
"It's okay, Blue," She said. "I just…need a moment…"
"It just seems like you could—"
"No," she asserted, "This needs to be done…I...need this to be done…"
The Micromaster studied her, seeming to have second thoughts himself. "Are you alright?" Fixit asked her gently.
"Yeah, it's just…" Brea closed her eyes and forced the rampant images to go away. "I've gone through this kind of thing before and…it…something went wrong…I got burnt. Bad. So don't freak when you see them and think you did it…'cause, y'know…you didn't. Just…be careful."
Fixit placed a hand on her head, making her look up at him, and smiled down at her. "Don't worry about it. I'm a programmed medic, not some glitch-head who thinks he's qualified to do delicate welding just because he's downloaded a few applications." He beamed. "I'm a professional."
Brea tried to smile, but it came off very weak. She wanted to believe him, for all the world she did, but there always seemed to be that little voice that made her question everything. Even herself.
"Just…don't panic." He offered inanely with a shrug.
Brea had to smile at that, wondering if he was actually quoting the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy or if it was just a coincidence. Probably the latter. Either way, she was grateful for the comment. It made her smile.
"Think happy thoughts," She added, though she wasn't surprised the reference went unnoticed.
"Sure if that helps," Fixit shrugged and she felt a little disappointed, but she let it go. "Alright, Brea. I need you to lay back for me, okay."
"O-ok," Brea sat down on the ground and pushed her arms back to support her. Her mind felt scattered.
Fixit studied her and then looked up at Bluestreak. "Blue would you hold her up for me?"
"Sure." Brea felt Bluestreak's hands come up from behind her and she leaned back into his open palm. She looked up and saw him smiling down at her. "Thanks Bluestreak."
"No problem" He replied.
She turned to look forward and watched as Fixit gathered his weapon of choice; it looked like a thick wand more then a welding torch, but she'd never seen the tip of a wand burst into flames before. He twisted the base until the orange and red fire died down to a bright blue.
Oh god…
He looked at her. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," She said, surprising herself at how certain she sounded.
The Micromaster nodded. "Alright," He approached her. "Hold very still."
She closed her eyes …
Without rhyme or reason, she ran. Her path lay sprawled out before her in a haze of mist. She had no reason to assume so, but she knew if she reached the end of the path, she would find what she was seeking. Just a little farther…a little more.
"You're species is alive because of me," A voice called out, echoing dimly.
A chill ran down her spine and she pushed harder and faster towards the end.
No, she thought. It's not…it's not real…
"We could have easily killed you all off and harvested the planet as we wish, but the humans race lives on here, because I decided so."
Go away! You're not real!
Harder, faster. She pumped her legs, urging them forward. Up ahead, she saw the light, the end of the path. Bare feet slapped against the ground. Her foot reached forward to take another step—
"Do not mistake my generosity for genocide."
—and the ground beneath her snapped, giving way, and she fell into darkness as her screams echoed into forever.
"Brea?"
She opened her eyes to see Fixit staring down at her. She looked around confusedly before memory returned, wondering why her heart was beating so fast. Looking into Fixit's right hand, she saw that he held a circle of gold metal that had been split down its width, edges bubbled out from the heat of the welding torch.
She blinked away the residual wariness encroaching upon her body. Well that was fast…
Hastily, she reached up to touch her neck, delighted when instead of feeling the constricting metal collar, she felt her own skin. She broke out in a bright smile.
"It's off," She stated the obvious and didn't care. "It's off!"
Fixit smiled at her enthusiasm. "Yep. And will be forever."
He tossed it aside and Brea watched with glee as it bounced away. She pushed off from Bluestreak's hand and stood up, feeling like she should dance or something, but managed to keep her composure. Fixit's smile faded as his optics trailed down to her scars. Brea's delighted disposition popped like a preverbal bubble and she brought her hand up to cover the scars in an almost innate reaction. She couldn't help but feel a swell of shame.
So strange, it seemed, what feeble hopes people cling to and when they're disbanded, how easily shattered they feel. It was bizarre to have even thought of it, but Brea had silently hoped that, somehow, they scars the collar was masking were, perhaps, not really there or that they had somehow magically healed. Fixit's visage shattered the meager wish and she knew that those scars would be there forever...she would never escape them.
So wrapped up in her thoughts, Brea hadn't even noticed when Fixit came up to her. She flinched when she felt his hand gently touch her own that was pressed to her neck in a paltry attempt to cover the markings. Looking up into Fixit's face, she saw him smile and felt a flicker of confusion.
"Let me see," he said quietly. "Lower your hand."
She did so, feeling the pit of her stomach squirm in discomfort as he studied the marks. She felt him trace one thick metal finger over the smooth scar tissue, causing her skin to tingle.
"Well, they don't look too bad. Do they hurt at all?" Fixit asked, his gaze flickering back to her.
"No." She answered simply.
"Someone must have really screwed up to do that much damage," He commented and frowned and muttered darkly to himself, "Stupid fraggers..."
Brea heard laughter and was surprised to discover it was her.
She awoke from a nap she didn't recall falling into (which seemed to happen a lot, she noticed) to the sound of faint voices that brought her muzzily congealing thoughts to the present and she looked around. A voice, cheery and obnoxiously loud, rang out.
"Hey look who decided to join us! Come over for a spell, kid!"
"Stakeout don't you dare!" Fixit barked. "Do you have any idea what unprocessed Energon could do to a-"
"Ah calm down Fix, I wasn't re-e-eally gonna give her any. I may be reckless but I'm not stupid—ah, don't you say anything Red Hot!"
"I wasn't." Replied a mild, composed, and amused voice.
"But you were thinking it."
"That's not a crime. Last I checked anyway."
Brea sat up and blinked away the fogginess, her vision clearing to reveal four Micromasters congregating around Fixit's work bench. Two of them, she recognized as Fixit and Stakeout, but the other two she didn't know. One was black with blue arms, a black face mask covering his mouth, while the other was red and white with a blue helm.
How patriotic, she thought muggily.
"Am I free yet?" She asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"One track mind, huh?" Fixit laughed. "Close. You still have half a joor left."
"Crap." She ran one hand through her tangled hair, regretting her unintentional nap. Her head hurt, she was sleepy, and groggy. She felt drunk and hung over at the same time. Flopping back down onto her bed, she sighed. "Is it possible to really die of boredom?"
"Ah, you wimp," Stakeout jeered. "I've had worse then a few joors stuck in here. Ever been sent to the brig? You could really die of boredom down there, I tell you."
"My question is still valid," Brea raised her hand, pointing upwards with her index finger in gesture, before allowing the appendage to fall limply back onto of her side. She struggled to sit back up, crossing her legs and trying to untangle the mess of fluff on her head into something a little more presentable. She glanced at the assembled Mechs, noticing they were all drinking from cubes of glowing pink liquid. She looked over the assembly in confusion.
"So…" She asked at length. "What's the occasion?"
Fixit grinned. "We had some a major break-through while you were out," The Mech said. "Red Alert found a mistake on one of the documents that contradicted some of the other side's claims. The investigation's back on. And this time they have a warrant to search everything. Processing facilities, factories. Anything. Even Mechs with humans as pets can be investigated with probably cause."
Brea suddenly felt very awake. "Really?"
"Yep!" Stakeout cheered, raising his cube in the air before pulling down to his lips and draining it.
"And we got some press coverage," the black and grey Mech added. "The Iacon News Bureau aired a report on the Arena fighters and the betting rings. Apparently one of their journalists infiltrated their group and broke the whole thing wide open and a got a bunch of Mechs arrested. How many humans did they say they seized, Seawatch?"
"About 20 I think," The other unknown Mech replied. "All adult males."
"They got a nice shot of the group too. Poor little guys, looked liked slag. Definitely need some medical attention too."
"…Where are they now?" Brea asked, feeling her stomach drop.
"They're being held at the Police compound on the other side of the city pending on an investigation," Fixit said. "Optimus Prime and Prowl are on their way there to request the group to be transferred here."
"We'll have to start making more of those sheds, then," Stakeout said. "How much material do you think we'd need Red Hot?"
The last unnamed Mech shrugged. "I think we have enough material left to fabricate maybe five more dwellings. We might have to pair them up or something. I think we're still tight on the funds."
"That news report was the first coverage of any human presence on Cybertron," The Mech named Seawatch added, looking over at Brea, "Most of the human-slave trading is underground, real secretive. A lot of folks don't even know about it or if they do, they don't know much about it."
"But it's technically not illegal is it?" Brea asked, recalling the conversation between Xeon and Viral that seemed to have taken place so long ago.
The group drooped as if caught in a lie.
"By our current laws?" Fixit said, a hint of shame coming through, "No, but it should be. We do have old directives forbidding desecration of underdeveloped worlds and undiscovered and/or new species. The problem is whether or not they're considered relevant. They're really old, from before the wars and were created in regards to other silicon based organisms, not carbon-based like you humans. Right now those Mechs are being held on charges of illegal betting and for organizing unauthorized fighting matches. They can't be charged with enslavement until the Law recognizes humans as sentient beings. Which won't be too hard. We might be able to pin them with abuse though."
"Of course their buddy Xeon's probably posted bail already," Stakeout grumbled.
Brea was silent at the Mech's words. Her mind swirled with mingled emotions; overwhelming happiness at the news of such a break through and then the stomach dropping feeling of anger and resentment over hearing that Xeon was aiding in his cronies' case.
"Maybe that news report can generate some sympathy and we can actually start doing some real good. We need more volunteers though."
"Speaking of which; hey Fixit?" Red Hot grinned. "Guess what Prowl told me?"
"What's that?"
"He and Prime ran into some old friends earlier. You're favorite scientist is coming to lend us his oh-so-helpful self for the good of our cause."
There was a stiff pause during which Brea looked between the faces of the assembled Mechs, hoping to find some form of clarification.
"…which one?" Fixit asked finally, sounding as if he feared to know the truth, "The one that blows up or the Universe's largest collection of useless knowledge?"
Brea blinked at the Mech, slightly alarmed. …Blows up?
Red Hot beamed smugly. "Both actually."
Fixit looked ill. "You said Scientist, as in singular!"
"Well, if you wanna be technical," Seawatch offered with a shrug, "Wheeljack's actually an engineer."
Fixit groaned and banged his head against the table. His brothers all laughed.
"Don't worry," Stakeout comforted his brother, patting his shoulder. "Ratchet's already getting ready to reinforce the place, I'm sure."
"We don't have the money for that!" Fixit whined, voice slightly muffled from the table.
"Actually, Wheeljack's paying for it, I think," Red Hot laughed.
"Oh well that's OK then." Fixit said sarcastically and sighed, looking over at Brea and pointed at her. "Run while you can Brea. They're coming and no one is safe!"
The gathering all chuckled and Brea felt she was missing the joke.
"What?" Brea asked, conflicted over whether or not to laugh along with the others or be alarmed.
"Wheeljack and Perceptor are coming." He told her sternly, but still made her wonder f he was actually being serious. "Run while you can. Because if either of them catches you you'll never get away."
"…o-o-okay…" She looked to the other Micromaster to find them all fighting to hold back giggles. "Translation, please, maybe?"
"Well, Perceptor's one of Iacon's top scientists and a specialist in Organics. And he's a bit…uh…what's the right word?"
"Inquisitive?" offered Red Hot.
"Enthusiastic?" Seawatch replied.
"Fanatical is a better word." Fixit amended.
"How about logical?" Stakeout said.
"Annoying you mean…" Fixit grumbled.
"Loquacious?" Seawatch added.
"Oooh, good one 'Watch!"
"Thanks."
"Did I mention annoying?"
Brea stared on dubiously. "I think I get it guys…"
"And Wheeljack's kind of the polar opposite; the eccentric type. He's…well," Stakeout sniggered, "Wheeljack has a tendency to cause random and spontaneous explosions."
Brea's eyes widened in alarm. "What?" She asked, "Really?"
All four Micromasters stared her in the eyes, pure seriousness on their faces, and nodded. "Yes."