One Week Later:
Aurora sat across from Deagon Burgiss, the Prison Ward of a prison that held very few and very dangerous prisoners. Some of them were ex-decepticon, ones who promised intel to keep themselves from being smelted. Others were classified and she wondered if the rumors she'd heard the past week were true, that this facility held alien prisoners.
"Name and identification number." Deagon's texan accent drawled through his speech as he turned toward the old style computer she remembered her parents talking about using. He looked at her with exhausted eyes and she cleared her throat.
"Aurora Clark. Identification 50176432-9." One week ago as soldiers carried her home out into a moving van and her with it, she had been given the ID. The only instructions she was given about it was to memorize it or she wouldn't be allowed on the facility. She'd rigorously poured herself over the ID until she was dreaming it. It was funny how she could know every detail about her patients without truly having to look at her notes, but numbers made her brain falter.
"You'll keep this badge on ya' every day when you enter and you'll return it to my office every day when ya' leave. It's not allowed outside this military base in any way, shape, or form. That clear?" Deagon stood and handed her a badge connected to a simple black lace lanyard. Her picture was small and she hated the way she smiled, nervous with a look of she didn't know why she had agreed to this. Her name, Dr. Aurora Clark sat below, with the ID just under that.
She slipped it over her head and outstretched her hand. Deagon took it, his grip firm but tired. "I am looking forward to getting to know everyone else here."
"Don't get too attached," he grumbled. "No psych has stayed long enough to make friends. 'Sides, your role. . . Isn't really the most popular here."
"How so?"
"Your entire goal is to rehabilitate a warlord who destroyed our planet for the sake of winnin' a war that destroyed his. Not many people who work here want to see him redeemed. It would make him too. . ." he mumbled, trying to find the right word.
"Human?"
He nodded. "Exactly. Just don't go around expecting to be pals with anyone here. But if you're one of those people who needs comradery, just evade the topic of your position here or tell them you're just some new lackey down in the blackout zone."
"I-uh, okay." She took her hand back and settled it limply at her side. "Well, I'm more of an introvert so you won't need to worry about any fights breaking out with me at the epicenter. I'm here to do my job and return back to my real home when I'm done."
"When exactly d'you expect to return home?"
Her lips pursed to one side. "I don't know. When is your expected timeline of conversion for him?"
"Him? You aren't saying his name yet?"
"I. . ." She hadn't expected anyone to call her out on that. "To be honest, I'm still finding it surreal that I am here, Warden. I guess doing so would put quite a bit of reality into my situation."
"I would think standin' in the same base as where he resides would do that." he shrugged. "But t'each their own. Follow me." The Warden led her down a large hallway, one big enough to let through Cybertronians. This place had clearly been created for such prisoners. "To answer your question, Dr. Clark, our expectation of your departure ranges. We've had psychs stay for months, others for a few days. None were ever long term. I don't mean to be rude, but you don't strike me as any different."
"May I ask why?" they turned down a hallway and suddenly the atmosphere shifted into something darker. The lights were dimmed ever so much, their footsteps echoed a little louder, and she noticed that the hallway was not lined with doors like the others they walked down.
"Ya have one thing on your badge of honor. So did all the other shrinks. Some even have more than one big achievement. If even they ran for the hills after some time, what makes you any different?"
They stopped before a massive door that had been bolted and welded from the outside. Right before her was a smaller door, made for humans and functional. "Warden, I want you to understand something about my place in all of this. I am terrified," she stared him down. "Rightfully so. But I am not walking in with the predisposition that he is a lost cause. No broken soldier of war is - no matter how heinous their crimes. But I assume that most of the other psychologists thought the same. There is nothing different about me here. Nothing that stands me out from the rest. All I can do is try and give a little bit of hope when I do. Now. . ." she patted her pants down. "Be it there a moment that he gets free and I am in danger of my life, what should I do?"
"You'll pray that he pities you with mercy." Deagon swept his badge across the keypad and it beeped green. The door clicked open and he shoved it with force to swing all the way so they could enter. She waited for him to fully enter first before following behind. "Up and at'em, Megs! Your new psych is here to greet you."
The rumble that erupted from the massive being rolled through her chest. She wanted to stabilize herself on the nearest thing. Instead she clung to the files in her hand harder until she felt the paper digging into her skin.
"Come on you scrap heap, get up!" Deagon slammed his fist into a button that resided near his right. The mech let out a grunt of pain and shifted. He lay on a huge slab, far up from where she stood. Then he moved and was sitting up. Both his hands and forearms were clasped within giant restraints that covered them welded into the floor with chains that were the size of her body. Deagon turned toward her and she glanced his way, her heart pounding helplessly in her chest. "This here delivers quite the shock to him. Press it and it'll keep him in check." He slammed his fist against it again.
Her attention turned back to the mech, watching his face grimace in pain. "I hardly think it's a good idea to incite him, Warden. So far, he hasn't done anything wrong. I'd prefer to start off our session with him in a good mood."
The Warden laughed. "This abomination has no good mood. Here," he pointed toward a stairwell that led up to a small platform with a chair and desk for her to sit at. "That's where you'll do your miracle voodoo work on him."
She bit her tongue to keep her eyes from rolling into the back of her head. "Thank you." her voice was squeamish and she gulped down the fear.
"There will always be security right outside in case you need anything. He tries to go for you," he unhooked the case that the button sat inside from the wall and handed it to her. "You press this. If it doesn't work, you scream until my soldiers come in and subdue him. Got that?"
Her thumb brushed over the edge of the box and she could feel the giant mech's eyes watching her intently. "Got it." she walked across where Deagon stood and rested the button back into its place on the wall. "I won't be needing that."
"Oh yes ya' will," he chuckled. "Every one of his shrinks has needed it, mostly on the first day. This ain't no traumatized war veteran you're working with, Dr. Clark. This here. . . This is what the devil looks like."
"Noted. Thank you." Her heels clicked on the metal floor toward the stairwell. Of course the steps were perforated. She'd have to remember to wear something more befitting than heels that could slip through the holes. She treaded the stairs carefully, making sure that the stick of her heel didn't sink into one of the holes and get her stuck. How embarrassing on her first day to do something like that.
A growl emanated from the mech and she tried not to look at him. She couldn't show any fear - that would be her first mistake if she did. He needed to see her not just as a person who was not afraid, but as someone who was willing to be there for him.
"Sure you don't want this?" The Wardan called from below her as she reached the top where she was met with a solid metal base.
"Yes," she called down, keeping her tone a sickly sweet. Though she could have spat down on him for being a jerk. Waking him with pain would make her job harder, she didn't need his nasty comments to keep the turmoil rolling. "Thank you." She settled her file down onto the table, keeping her eyes on everything but the mech. She wasn't sure how ready she was to connect gazes with him. To see into a soul that had lived far longer than her planet had.
Staring down at his photo, she listened as the Warden left, locking them into the silence that sat thick between them. Finally, her eyes rose and she was met with optics as red as the blood that flowed through her veins. "Hello, Megatron, my name is Aurora Clark, I'm going to be your new psychologist."