HurT. MaKE hIM PAy. Ki - i - i - IL - Il - llll... er—
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When consciousness returned to C-14, he had his first realization—the unbearable ache in his frame. Every joint, every wire, every piston screamed at him. His arms were pulled upward, wrists encased in energon cuffs tied over a metal beam. His pedes barely touched the ground, straining the wires in his tired arms.
His second realization hit him harder. He was back in the same spot.
He was facing the entrance of Nova Point, seeing the sunlight peeking through the dark, cold tunnel of the stone wall that separated the slaves from freedom. Whispers reached his audials and a dark memory flashed before his eyes.
Laughter echoed in his audial receptors, whispers and false apologies rippled amongst the onlookers. He was left hanging there, humiliated and in pain...
Panic set in like a virus spreading through his system. His processor replayed the scene over and over—the whip, the blows, the pain, and the humiliation.
No. No, no, no, not again.
C-14 twisted against the cuffs, wriggling and squirming, as if it would help him escape his bonds and the inevitable.
No! Not again! I can't! I won't!
The inhibitor chip activated, sending a shock that scattered his thoughts, leaving him reeling. His frame spasmed as a strangled cry escaped from his vocalizer. His optics dimmed, static flooding his vision, but the panic didn't abate.
Through staticky vision, he saw him.
Streamline.
The taskmaster moved like a predator, circling C-14 with a cruel gleam in his optics. He was waiting. Ready to hurt him. The crowd below watched in silence. None of them would intervene. None of them could.
Streamline stopped in front of him, reaching out with one clawed servo. He grasped C-14's chin, forcing the miner to look up. The sharp edges of his claws dug into the delicate metal of his faceplate, leaving shallow indents that a small amount of energon started to well up in.
"Look at you," Streamline sneered lowly, his voice low and laced with mockery. "The mighty C-14. The rebel. The hero." He leaned closer, allowing C-14 to feel his malicious fields. "Tell me, how does it feel to be brought so low again?"
The gladiator wanted to snarl, to growl, to claw in defiance to the mech's faceplate. But his voice box failed him. All that escaped was a weak rasp, a sound so pitiful it only fueled the cruel overseer's twisted pleasure.
Fear. All-consuming, paralyzing fear. It gripped him, freezing his circuits and flooding his spark. He was trapped. Helpless. Alone.
Streamline chuckled. "You're pathetic," he spat, cutting through the haze of C-14's thoughts. "You think you're strong? That you're different? You're just another piece of scrap. Another cog in the machine. And I'm here to remind you of your place."
He let go of C-14's chin, letting the miner's helm drop. The miner optics were wide, unseeing, as he stared at the entrance of the mine, his processor swirling with panic, memories and despair, not even bothering to try to move, even though he wanted to.
The whip hit against his back strut again, the sound echoing through the silent mine. Excruciating agony spread through his frame...
The taskmaster turned to address the crowd. "This is what happens to those who defy the system! To those who think they can challenge their betters!"
The crowd remained silent.
Streamline's attention returned to C-14 and raised the electro whip, letting the arcs of electricity dance along its jagged length menacingly. "Time for your next lesson," he said eagerly.
"This is an example of what happens to those who neglect their function..."
C-14's instincts screamed at him to fight, to resist. Battle protocols onlined, primed and ready. But the fear held him still. The first lash came down, and the pain drowned out everything else.
A scream tore from the miner's vocalizer, echoing through the cavernous space in a sick and twisted melody to the cruel mech's audial receptors. It was a sound of pure agony, the kind of scream that no one could ignore—yet no one moved to help him.
If only they weren't afraid.
The pain was unbearable, a white-hot fire that consumed every part of him. The jagged edges of the electro whip dug into his plating, cracking and breaking the armor that protected his protoform, drawing energon while sending electricity arcing through his frame.
He screamed and screamed until his vocalizer strained under the force of it, static lacing his voice until, with a harsh crackle, it failed entirely. The silence that followed was worse than the noise—his intake opened in a soundless scream.
It hurts. It hurts so much.
Shards of metal fell to the ground in a pitiful rain as warm energon gushed from the open wounds, painting his dull grey plating in streaks of blue. His voice box started to work again, but it was quickly reset again and again, as he overwhelmed it with his screams.
Error messages started to pop up on his HUD, warning him of the damage and depleting energon.
Please, make it stop. Someone... anyone...
The strikes didn't stop.
The whip lashed across his chassis, his legs, his back—everywhere that it could hurt. Only his faceplate and helm remained untouched.
Alone.
Trapped.
Afraid.
Hurt.
The words cycled endlessly through his neural net, drowning out all rational thought. Static invaded his vision as he struggled to remain online while losing energon and being beaten to death. Most mechs would've been in stasis by now. Not him.
When it finally stopped, he nearly cried in relief. His frame hung limply, vents wheezing as they struggled to pull in enough air to cool his overheated systems. The only reason he didn't fall was because of the cuffs holding him up, biting into his plating uncomfortably. The discomfort was nothing compared to what just happened.
"See, miners?" the taskmaster called to the crowd, after he had finished. "This is what happens when you step out of line. This is the price of rebellion."
C-14 assessed the damage to his frame, pushing aside most of the error messages. His frame was ruined, plating cracked and broken, the circuits beneath exposed and sparking faintly. Anger reignited, claws twitching weakly, but he couldn't reach Streamline. Not that he could do anything in this state.
Streamline turned away from the onlookers and stepped close to him, dread coiling in his spark as the taskmaster reached for him. The cruel mech lifted his chin again, forcing their optics to meet. C-14 could do nothing but let his helm hang weakly in Streamline's grip.
"You're nothing," the taskmaster whispered venomously. The words were a dagger to C-14's spark. One sharp digit traced along his faceplate, deceptively gentle. The touch was almost tender, a mockery of kindness that made him shudder with disgust.
"Look at you," Streamline continued, optics gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "A broken little miner. A reminder to everyone of what happens when you try to rise above your station."
Then, without warning, the taskmaster's claws raked across his faceplate. The sudden, searing pain ripped through his faceplate, and he hissed in pain. Deep gashes marred his faceplate, energon leaking from the fresh wounds as he hung there, powerless.
Streamline released his chin, letting his helm fall forward again. The taskmaster's laugh reached his audio receptors, grating on his axons, making his spark coil in hatred. He wanted to kill the mech. He wanted to put the mech in chains, along with his underlings, and march them around the mines, humiliating them and hurting him.
He wanted them to suffer, just like he and his kind had. But even as these dark thoughts came to his neural net, he knew they were wrong.
"Take a good look, miners!" Streamline called out to the gathered crowd, spreading his arms wide as if addressing an audience at a grand performance. "This is what defiance gets you!"
Whispers and murmurs rippled through the crowd, adding to his humiliation, as Streamline turned back to C-14, leaning in close. "You'll stay up here, on display, until I decide otherwise," he hissed. "Let's see how long it takes for you to beg."
And with that, he walked away, leaving the miner dangling there.
The silence that followed was terrifying, leaving his neural net swimming with fragmented thoughts. Pain. Fear. Rage.
But he couldn't do anything but hang, feeling the energon on his back dry and grow itchy. Time passed quickly. Kliks turned into breems, and breems into joors, and eventually, an entire solar cycle passed—according to his internal chronometer.
His systems worked overtime to try to repair the damage. The wounds that had been inflicted on his frame had sealed thanks to his nanites, leaving jagged scars, but the cracked plating on his chassis, arms, legs, would require proper repair—something he wasn't sure he would receive.
The crowd had long since dispersed, thankfully, leaving him alone in the silence of Nova Point's entrance. He wanted to succumb to stasis, but he was terrified. Where he would he be if he went into stasis? Would he even wake up?
The sound of pedesteps dragged up out of his depressed thoughts. His processor struggled to register what was happening, and his fear spiked when he felt servos touch his battered frame. Instinctively, he tried to jerk away, but his frame refused to obey. All he could manage was a weak moan from his abused voice box as the servos released the cuffs.
Gravity took hold, and he fell, too weak to brace himself for the impact. Instead of hitting the ground though, he landed in a pair of strong arms. Through slightly blurry vision, he looked up at the mech holding him. Was that—
"DV-44? He rasped, static lacing his voice. He forced his vocalizer to rest to allow him to try to remove some of the static. "What...? Why? I tried to kill you."
The mech's faceplate, damaged and torn to reveal the internal mechanics beneath, was a sickening reminder of what C-14 had done to the miner. Clearly, he hadn't been able to get his faceplate repaired, only the internal mechanisms.
The gladiator had been the one to ruin it, to leave DV-44 with an exposed visage that would mark him as an outcast even among the miners. He probably got pushed around for his 'new features' after all his big talk about beating up C-14.
The mech's blue optics met his. "I may have deserved it," he muttered. Without another word, he began dragging his frame away from the entrance.
The miner tried to protest, pride and guilt warring within him, but his strength had long abandoned him. All he could do was watch as the world tilted and swayed with each of DV-44's steps. A familiar figure approached them—Chainlink.
"Got him?" Chainlink asked as he slung one of C-14's arms around his own shoulders to help support his weight.
"Yeah," DV-44 replied, following the elder miner's example. "Let's get him to Remedy. She'll be able to fix him."
Together, the two mechs carried him away from where had had been humiliated, beaten, degraded. Every jostle sent fresh waves of pain through his frame, but he bit back any sound, unwilling to show weakness.
Eventually, stasis pulled him down into the abyss, where the sweet respite of nothingness awaited him.
Senator Nightwing reclined on her beloved couch, optics drifting across the room. She had to admit, the construction workers did a good job knocking down some of her walls to open up her suite into a much larger space, despite the green one—Bulkhead—destroying her expensive chandelier.
The suite was bathed in a golden light, which she had the lights altered to project. Elegant decorations adorned the walls—streamers of deep purple, silvery mesh curtains, new chairs and tables were all scattered about the room. Service drones—that she hired for quite an amount—flitted about, serving high grade-filled chalices and trays of energon treats.
The femme crossed one leg over the other, trying to focus on her surroundings. But that didn't happen. Her neural net was on the miner.
C-14.
The name lingered, unwanted, in her neural net. She had told herself it was just a fleeting curiosity, an anomaly in her otherwise controlled—and mostly predictable—existence. And yet, here she was, a cycle later, still unable to shake the memory of his burning blue optics, his rough, but rather nice voice, and his very large frame.
The senator was jolted out of her thoughts when Typhoon sat down next to her, sprawling his form in a way that took far more space than necessary. His brown and white plating practically shone in the golden lighting. There wasn't even a scratch on his frame—much like hers.
"You've outdone yourself, Nightwing," Typhoon purred, raising his cup. "You always make sure everything is done... right."
She gave him a fake smile, not even bothering to hide her disdain. "How generous of you to bestow such high praise," she replied dryly.
The arrogant senator chuckled, either oblivious to her sarcasm or choosing to ignore it. "You're too modest. It's no wonder Starburst sings your praises."
Her optics flicked away from him, scanning the room. High-ranking senators and influential bots mingled, even one of Sentinel's councilors was here, conversing about empty pleasantries and political maneuvering. Pointless conversations, she thought, her thoughts quickly drifting back to the miner.
Him.
The miner from Kaon—judging by his accent. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about him. With just a few words, he shattered the carefully constructed walls she'd built to shield herself from the harsh realities of the caste system.
What was wrong with her? She had been so confident before, but now, after meeting him, she was questioning if she was even doing anything. C-14 was that nasty voice that brought reality crumbling back on her shoulders, reminding her of what was.
"Try working sixteen to eighteen breems a solar cycle in the mines, breathing in dust that clogs your vents, clawing through rock and debris while taskmasters bark at you to work faster."
"Nightwing?"
Typhoon's voice snapped her back to the present. She turned her helm toward him, schooling her expression into one of polite interest. "Yes?"
"You seemed... distracted," he said, his optics narrowing slightly. "Anything on your neural net?"
"Try losing friends—good bots—because the mines collapse and no one bothers to dig them out. Try being treated like your life doesn't matter because you were forged in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Nothing of importance," she replied smoothly.
He smirked, leaning in slightly. Too close for her taste. "Really? You seem rather... distracted. Perhaps there is something you would like to share?"
"No," she said sharply, shooting him a warning look.
The smirk faltered, and he leaned back, clearly knowing when to back off when it came to her. They had worked together for stellar cycles, getting to know each other as much as they could through masks and lies, and Typhoon knew when he crossed a line with her. And how dangerous she could be if angered.
She set her chalice down on the table beside her, rising gracefully to her pedes. "If you'll excuse me, Typhoon. I must attend to my other guests."
Without waiting for a response, she moved through the room, gliding effortlessly between groups of bots. She exchanged pleasantries, nodded at compliments, and laughed at jokes she didn't find amusing. All the while, her neural net remained elsewhere.
She found herself gravitating toward the window she had broken cycles ago, fixed thanks to the builders, that overlooked the Iacon city. The city sparkled like a sea of stars, its towering spires reaching for the heavens.
"What am I doing?" she muttered to herself, rubbing her faceplate.
The sound of pedes behind her made her turn. It was another senator, one she vaguely recognized. They smiled and offered a compliment on the party, but she barely heard them, her neural net still on the miner.
Why can't I stop thinking about him?
The senator moved on, and Nightwing ex-vented softly. She placed a servo over her cockpit window, feeling thrum of her spark. A part of her longed to return to return to that spot—that bench—and pretend he would be there, so she could see him again—to hear his voice, to understand him better. Another part of her chastised herself for such foolishness.
But the truth was undeniable.
He had made an impact.
Forcing herself to straighten, she looked at her expression reflected back at her through the window and returned it to neutral, hating her political mask. She once again moved through the crowd, exchanging meaningless conversations, that lacked any spark.
Finally, the sound of Typhoon clinking his chalice silenced the room. The gathered bots turned toward him, who was standing atop the stairs that lead into the kitchen, which had been installed for the party. The femme reluctantly followed the group of bots that gathered at the base of steps.
"Esteemed colleagues," Typhoon began. "Tonight is a celebration not just of our camaraderie but of progress. And I have an exciting announcement to make."
Nightwing stiffened—she didn't like surprises, especially from him.
"As you all know," Typhoon continued, "the mines have long been a cornerstone of our society. However, we've come to realize that with advances in technology, we can improve efficiency and productivity while reducing the need for manual labor."
A murmur rippled through the room, most of it approving. The femme didn't like where this announcement was going, having a feeling it was going to cause more harm than anything.
"It is with great pleasure that I announce the Senate's decision to begin automating the mines," Typhoon declared, lifting his cup as though he'd just delivered a gift to Cybertron itself. "The first mine to undergo this transformation will be Nova Point Mine. This project will begin within the cycle."
Nightwing's spark plummeted. Her optics darted to Starburst, who had pushed her way through the crowd, staring at Typhoon with stupid grin on her faceplate. She hated the light purple femme, and her obsession over the mech who had just announced the doom of miners.
Why wasn't I informed about this? she thought angrily but suppressed any outward signs of her emotions.
Typhoon's voice droned on, but the senator barely heard him, fury bubbling beneath the surface. She leaned slightly toward Starburst, hissing in her audial receptor, "Why wasn't I part of this decision?"
Starburst jumped slightly, startled by the sudden voice in her audios, but she quickly recovered. "You've been so busy lately. I didn't think it was necessary to involve you."
Nightwing forced herself to ex-vent slowly. "I'm a part of this group as much as you are," she hissed, dangerously. "You should have consulted me."
Starburst offered another distracted smile, acting as if her anger were an overreaction. "It's already done. Besides, this will be good for the Senate. Imagine how much more efficient—"
Typhoon's voice cut through their exchange. "And who better to deliver this exciting news to the miners than our own, beloved Senator Nightwing?" He gestured toward her with a grand flourish, like he was doing her a favor. As if!
The room erupted into applause, with several bots looking at her expectantly. Nightwing forced a smile, nodding gracefully, though her spark was a storm of rage.
She wanted to scream.
Of course, they'd leave the dirty work to me, she thought, furious.
Typhoon continued, oblivious to her simmering anger. "This marks a turning point for our society. Automation will usher in a new era of productivity and ensure Cybertron's prosperity for vorns to come."
The femme's servo clenched tightly around her cup of high grade. She barely heard the rest of his speech, her neural net racing. The miners would lose their "jobs." Their only purpose, their assigned function, would be stripped away from them.
What would they do? Where would they go? Without work, they'd be cast aside, forgotten, treated as scrap by a society that already deemed them expendable.
And she was supposed to be the one to tell them?
As the applause died down and the crowd returned to their mingling, Nightwing excused herself from Starburst's side, needing a klik to collect herself. She moved toward the window, staring out at the glittering skyline of Iacon.
They're condemning the miners to oblivion, and I'm expected to deliver the sentence.
Pedes behind her and she turned around to see Typhoon.
"Senator Nightwing," he drawled. "Quite the view, isn't it?"
She gave a polite smile. "It always is," she replied smoothly.
Typhoon handed her a glass of high grade. "Here. Thought you might need this after such a... momentous announcement."
The femme accepted the glass with a nod, struggling to mask the spark-deep disdain she felt for him. "Thank you," she said politely, raising the glass to toast his words. "The bill is... impressive. A bold step forward for Cybertron."
Nightwing ensured her tone was calm—an art she had perfected over countless stellar cycles. She couldn't afford to show her anger, not here, not now.
Typhoon grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "I knew you'd see the brilliance in it. Automating the mines will ensure unmatched efficiency and production. No more dependence on unreliable labor."
She took a slow sip of her high grade, ignoring the tingles. "It's certainly a logical step," she said coolly. "And Nova Point mine—" Whatever the frag that mine is, she thought, There's over a hundred mines on our entire planet. "—is the perfect place to begin such an initiative."
The senator leaned against the window. "Precisely. Of course, there will be resistance at first, but once the miners see how much better this is for Cybertron as a whole, they'll come around. You'll handle that, of course."
Because you're too cowardly to—
"Naturally."
He chuckled, ignoring the sharp edge in her voice. "That's the spirit, Nightwing. I knew you'd be the right bot for this."
She forced another smile. "I'll make sure they understand the necessity of this change."
Typhoon raised his glass in a mock toast. "That's what I like to hear. We need more Senators like you—dedicated to the greater good."
Nightwing mirrored his gesture. "Indeed."
Much to his distain, the conversation dragged on with Typhoon basking in his self-perceived brilliance, the next steps and other things she only gave half an audial receptor too. Every word he spoke only fueled her anger further.
Finally, the brown and white accented senator drained his glass and gave her pat on the shoulder like she was his subordinate. "I'll leave you to enjoy the rest of the evening. This is progress, Nightwing."
She inclined her helm, watching as he sauntered away. Only when he was out of sight did she turn back to the window, her grip on the glass tightening until it threatened to shatter.
Progress?
She ex-vented sharply, forcing herself to release the glass before it cracked. Her optics scanned the skyline, watching as the sun completely dipped underneath the metallic claws of the city—a light extinguished to be replaced with darkness.
Ironically, in trying to be their savior, I am their doom.
Poor C-14 is keeps getting the short end of the stick :(
Seems that C-14 isn't the only one with a certain bot on his mind. Now, Nightwing, the very bot that promised C-14 to help, is going to take away his "job." Man, he might hate her for it. Or maybe kill her, who knows ┐ ( ∵ ) ┌
Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what y'all think :)