Inferno Rehogs

They went back. He only realized he was left by his mecha cockpit when he was outside. Fuck it. He dove into the cockpit, uncorked a vodka bottle, took a sip,it was warm and didn’t hit the spot he wanted. So he rummaged through all his stuff: an energy bar. He devoured it. God, he was hungry. It reminded him of Wing. He stood to the side, observing the aliens. They were talking amongst themselves while giving him side eyes. He ate another bar. None of their words actually sounded like words. Deadlock wasn’t going to learn their language, mainly because he couldn’t speak their car, alien ,robo language. An idea popped into his head.

Red had connected to his mecha, and when he woke, Red knew English—well, a few words. He clapped to get the robots’ attention. They turned to him. He pointed at Red, then at his forearm, trying to imitate the motion of pulling out a cable. Red stared, confused. After repeating the motion a couple of times and pretending to connect the cable, Red reacted. A panel on his forearm popped open and retracted on its own. Red took the cable out and handed it to Deadlock. Deadlock took the huge cable, measuring its size. How the hell did Red connect to the mecha when the port was the size of Deadlock’s hand? He placed it next to the console’s port and stared.

Red peeked, looking intensely at the console, then pointed to the port closest to his cable. Deadlock pressed the end of the cable to the port, clearly not fitting. “I don’t know what you were connected to before. This is too big, buddy,” he said. The cable started to shift micro-pieces rearranged themselves into a thinner cable port, transforming until it was a standard USB port. “WTF? You guys can transform into anything?” Deadlock muttered. Red looked really smug and connected the cable.

Deadlock quickly got the English language pack and dictionary. Before he could send the file to Red, it disappeared, and the screen started moving, showing him different videos, specific moments. One of the many battles Deadlock had battle at was now playing. He saw the moment he stabbed a Quint with his sword, a red cross appearing. Then the image zoomed to the side of the Quint’s head, where a red circle appeared. He raised his head to look at Red. Red pushed his chin toward the image, indicating where Deadlock should have hit. Different Quints, in different places. Deadlock wondered: Who are these guys? They know where to hit and kill quits. They disconnected everything.

He climbed out of the pilot seat. “Do you understand me now?” Red’s face scrunched up. “Affirmative?” Deadlock realized that while Red had the entire English dictionary, it didn’t mean he knew what individual words meant or how they translated into his own language. Deadlock gritted his teeth. He was going to need a lot of patience for this, patience he didn’t have. God, the headache was worsening. Where were the cigarettes when he needed them? He took a deep breath, trying to center himself.

“I am Deadlock,” he said, pointing to himself. “Deadlock.” Then he pointed to Red and Grey. Grey understood immediately and said, “Wreeejakr.” Deadlock blinked. Grey repeated himself: “Wreeejakr.”

“Wheeljack,” Deadlock attempted, completely butchering the pronunciation and calling the poor guy a car tire. Grey just nodded enthusiastically. Red said, “Ratcheet.”

“I’m going to call you Ratchet. You look like you’d enjoy having one of those. Wait—I’m pretty sure I have one in the toolkit.” He went back inside the cockpit, searched for his toolkit, brought it outside, and opened it. He grabbed the ratchet wrench and held it up to Ratchet. “Ratchet,” he said, pointing to the tool and then to Red. Wheeljack made a sputtering car-like noise, with the sides of his head flashing blue repeatedly. Ratchet, on the other hand, looked in disbelief and took the tool from Deadlock’s hand. “Ratchet,” he said, pointing to the tool in perfect English—if a bit metallic—and then pointed at himself, smiling. “Ratcheet.” He placed the tool on his chest, where a glass panel opened a tiny bit, and he slid the tool inside.

“Deadlock,” Ratchet said, with all the sass he could muster. “Are you laughing at me because I can’t make car noises?” Ratchet just grinned. Maybe he wouldn’t be that bad here.

Wheeljack turned to the limbs of his mecha and outstretched a hand for Deadlock to climb on. He did. Several metal plates had been carefully removed from his mecha. Wheeljack pointed to the burnt pieces and cracked metal. Wheeljack made a cracking noise with his mouth. Did he have one?. And shook his head. “Broken?” Deadlock asked. Wheeljack’s thing flashed blue, and he nodded. “Broken, broken,” he repeated. He looked intently at Deadlock. Yeah, it did look very damaged. “Can you fix it?” Deadlock asked.

Wheeljack looked confused. “Uhh, fix?” he said, making motions as if tightening something with a wrench, then gave a thumbs up. “Afirmative. Fix.” Wheeljack’s eyes lit up, so did the thing on the side of his head. He turned to Ratchet and handed him Deadlock, as if he were nothing. Ratchet caught him and cradled him to his chest. His hands were warm. Deadlock hadn't realize when he had first climbed. Ratchet looked tired. He looked up and shook his head. Ratchet took Deadlock to the place where he woke up.

“No, no, I need stuff from my mecha,” Deadlock said. Ratchet looked expectant. He repeated “No” trying to accompany the word to the head movement, then pointed to his mecha. “Mecha,” he said. Ratchet nodded and left him there. Deadlock got back into the cockpit. He was going to be spending a lot of time here, by the looks of it. He started gathering ration and emergency gear—he was going to need it.

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This chapter took a bit longer. Chapters about communication are harder than I thought to write. I really want to write about Ratchet and Wheeljack fixing the mech and other shenanigans. Next chapter maeby. 

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“No way,” Wheeljack gasps.

“You can check it for yourself once he’s stable. I’m worried because there doesn’t seem to be a brain module or spark casing connection,” Ratchet replies. The unconscious mecha was placed in the outpost med bay. Ratchet got the scanner while Wheeljack did his best to clean the mecha; the more he cleans, the more unusual it looks. “Ratchet, he doesn’t look very normal to me,” Wheeljack says, a frown on his face, his finials blinking in worry.

Then the mech convulses limbs failing all at once. Cervo’s flexing in search of something. The mech reaches for his own chassis and tries to pry it open. Ratchet is quick to catch the other  cervos and he tries to kick him. “Wheeljack, get the stasis cuff!” The berth magnetizes, but it doesn’t hold with as much power as Ratchet hoped. What is he made of? Wheeljack secures the stasis cuff on the mech, but not before the mech kicks Ratchet on the thigh, leaving a pede shaped dent.

Ratchet grunts but doesn’t bother with his own damage. Instead, he looks at the mech’s chassis, carefully examining the metal plates. His digits drag slowly through the mechanism. There’s something lodged inside—a rock. Ratchet sighs; an easy fix. He applies some pressure, and the small rock drops to the floor with a ding. Immediately, the chassis starts a transformation sequence. Wheeljack backs into the corner of the room. Cybertronian sparks should only be seen by loved ones; as a medic, Ratchet has no qualm in staring at the very core of their species.

The spark casing is bathed in a red light. It immediately sends Ratchet into overdrive, diving to make repairs. Before he can reach the inside of the other spark casing, a black tendril-like thing comes out of the casing. Ratchet recoils in horror. From his corner, Wheeljack lets out a garbled noise of panic. The thing inside the mech comes out fully—tiny, black and white, making horrific organic noises. It moves until it’s on a plain part of the armor; it stays there, sprawled.

Ratchet walks closer, peeking into the spark chamber. Expecting to see the pitch-blackness of a dead spark, he’s surprised to find it still red. Inside, there are cables, biolighting blinking rapidly, and what looks to be a tiny chair, as small as the thing that crept out. He stares at the creature—it has four limbs and a small nub. The thing is rapidly compressing and expanding, and Ratchet realizes that its body composition is distinctly Cybertronian—a helm and four struts. Its body is compressing and decompressing in the same way organic beings ventilate.

“What do you think it is, Ratchet?” Wheeljack startles Ratchet. The smaller mech is by his side, already reaching inside the spark chamber. Ratchet bats at his cervos. “Don’t touch that. We don’t know where it came from, and whatever came out of it is organic.”

“Uh, it looks like a tiny organic was piloting this mecha,” Wheeljack says, not nearly as disturbed as he should be at the prospect of something using their kind as a suit. “Perhaps the Quints are developing new technology to go against their biggest enemies.” Wheeljack looks far too amused. When he turns his gaze back to the creature, it has risen to its full height and is staring directly into Ratchet’s optics.

Ratchet stiffens his optics, focusing intently on the creature. It has two optics, an intake, an olfactory sensor, and tufts of white fur coming from the top of its helm—pretty standard issue for an organic. Tiny intakes opens and closes, making noise. It makes no sense to Ratchet, their language isn’t compatible. The creature repeats itself, face plates curling in what Ratchet guesses is annoyance. “Oh, it speaks. Hello, Tiny!” Wheeljack really shouldn’t be that excited about the whole situation. It’s kind of funny how it startles at Wheeljack’s wave.

Tiny walks to the spark chamber and begins rifling through the stuff there, slipping something Ratchet can’t see exactly. A compilation of noises comes from the mech, looking increasingly annoyed until it says, “Attack! This planet will be ours.” It’s Quintesson—Quintesson language. It’s similar to Neocybex but more organic, needing vocal cords to properly  modulate the noises instead of a voice vox. Wheeljack answers quickly, “Hello,” in Quintesson. The tiny creature startles again.

He goes back to the console in a couple of clicks. “Where am,Killed aliens?” The phrase is rough and very illegible, but Ratchet gets the gist. He wants to know where he is and what happened to the Quints. “You are on planet Soklar. The Quints are dead,” Ratchet responds. The thing looks confused—dare he say, “dazed.” “Earth. Fight Earth?”

“No Earth,” Ratchet shakes his head. The creature bores down into his seat. There’s a click, and the mecha groans to life, visor lighting up, frame convulsing as the creature pulls stuff around. Ratchet’s medic cervos feel the shift immediately—something changes in the electromagnetic pulse, along with a snap from inside. The mecha goes limp; the creature slumps over, completely lax. “Well, someone is in need of repairs. Can I start dissecting?” Wheeljack flashes him his fins in amusement, digits already exploring the white frame. “I want all the information you can get. I’ll connect to it once I’m done inspecting the organic,” Wheeljack nods.

He is careful when he picks up the organic, making sure to support all of its limbs. There’s the tiniest resistance when the organic pulls free he jolts. Cranking the sensitivity of his cervos to the max, he notices something in the organic, something on his insides thumb, it’s moving rapidly in sync with its respirations. There is also body heat, so Ratchet pulls the organic into a rag and gets it close to one of the med bay’s working machines that expels hot air. “What did you find?” Ratchet asks, coming over to Wheeljack.

“Well, whoever made this is an engineer’s genius. There is no material of Cybertronian origin here, and nothing organic either. A few parts have some Quintesson resemblance, like here,” he points to the reinforced knee joint in dark metal. Ratchet nods in relief; he was in no way ready to explore the possibility that there were body snatchers in the galaxy. Autobots, or rather Cybertronians, are in no way capable of handling more enemies themselves, and Quints are more than enough. “I’m going to connect and see if I can get a language pack and an idea of whether he’s on our side or not. Clean and test all the metals and compounds—I want a composition report, by the time I’m done.” Wheeljack beams with giddy excitement as he heads to his lab for all his equipment.

As for Ratchet, he connects to the mecha’s network. There is no resistance, no firewall or defense mechanism. This can’t be right. He accesses the red dots in the network. The first one is about the environmental conditions: mildly cold, high humidity, above-average oxygen levels, but not concerning. Odd, but it looks like the only thing the organic will need is heat and sustenance, pretty basic stuff. Then, the horror begins.

Hundreds upon hundreds of videos showing mechas similar to the organic one fighting Quints in what look like cities full of tiny organics. The Quints are vicious, ten times the size of the organics. Their devastation of the cities and surrounding biodiversity is total. The organics are pulled out of their suits, their optics wide and unfused, bodies mangled. Dead. Just to shove back another one inside dirty cockpits, to die defending, again and again. The videos are accompanied by statistics about where they should have struck, or what Ratchet’s medic mind told him were drugs pumped into them. It 's sickening. 

Cross-referencing data, he manages to get what he hopes are the basics of the organic’s language. He keeps searching for other info, reaching the only encrypted logs. Accessing them, it´s sparkling play. This species is not very consistent with their technological prowess;  they could build mechas but not encrypt their info, either that or this particular organic didn’t know how to do so or simply didn’t bother, wondering what could be on those files, their army info perhaps. Instead, Ratchet finds videos of another organic, slowly speaking to the camera. He has white fur, dark optics, and bears similarities to the organic Ratchet is tending. They share moments, sitting on the floor,  training with swords. The other organic entering his own mecha, then that mecha being impaled by a Quintesson. Oh, the organic’s mentor or creator figure died, poor thing. It happened to the best of them in war. As a last effort, Ratchet checks the last memories of the mecha, watching how the quinteson  mother ship bears down on a city, how it is all  noise and gunfire. This mecha getting into the mothership alone, in reckles, Ratchet would call it, suicide.

“Ratchet the organic is awake” 

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By the time Drift is 12, half of the other subjects have died, escaped, or gone insane. Drift is the best by far, and he will keep being the best he's not going back ever again. His determination and stubbornness, combined with extraordinary genetic compatibility, are the only things keeping him sane and focused. During this time, they start to properly train him in military armament, mecha weapons, and tactics. Their job is to kill aliens as quickly and efficiently as possible.

At age fifteen, Deadlock is his new pilot name. He is the youngest and deadliest mecha pilot in the program. The heavy training and drugs to make him more compatible have turned Deadlock into an adrenaline addict. He begins stealing cigarettes around the base and smoking them in hidden places. The scientists don't want their pilots to wither away from anything other than their hand or fighting alien threats.

By the time Deadlock is 16, he's the best at killing Quints and handling firearms both inside and outside the suit. The stress, training, and drugs have turned his hair more white than black. He's always trembling and jittery. He needs to be moving, drugged, fighting, or killing but NEVER still, or he'll go mad. This makes the scientists realize that the more drugs he's on, the faster he becomes on the field. His reaction time lessens, and he turns into the perfect murder machine.

(Perhaps a horrifying or wonderful addition is that the higher-ups sometimes send Deadlock to assassinate senators or people who refuse to donate to the mecha program, just to add more angst and nightmares to his story. I’m not sure if it fits or how to incorporate it smoothly, but I wanted to mention it.)

When Tarantulas discovers Deadlock's drugged quirks, he takes full advantage of it by experimenting with all sorts of drugs on him. These are not pleasant substances to have pumped in his system, and half the time, Deadlock wrenches or goes crazy with paranoia. Sometimes, Tarantulas needs a clean slate to test his experiments, so he makes Deadlock go through a detox process ridding his system of any leftover drugs. The withdrawal makes Deadlock berserk and self-destructive, so they often lock him in a cell alone, with no food, only water and tea to speed up the detox process.

At 19, a new pilot arrives Wing. Wing is 30 years old and initially applied to the rescue bot program, but his high compatibility and reflexes were too good to pass up, so he was forced into the mecha program. There, he meets Deadlock and sees how everyone treats him like a weapon, nothing more than a machine to kil,l another asset. Wing disagrees with this treatment and begins to treat Deadlock like a human, like a kid his age.

Initially, things are rough. Deadlock doesn't allow anyone to get close, and he's been conditioned to believe his only use is killing aliens. When Wing treats him like a person, Deadlock doesn't know how to react, and it feels very strange. He tends to stay away from Wing because of this.

Everything changes when Deadlock comes out of a drug session with Tarantulas and is very out of it. The other scientists start criticizing him for neglecting his mecha maintenance and for the reports from the last mission. Wing, witnessing how they are mistreating Deadlock especially after such a rough moment, decides to step in and admonish everyone. He takes Deadlock to his room, offering him chocolate energy bars, and water. Deadlock gradually calms down and asks for more food. He falls asleep on Wing's bed out of exhaustion. From that moment, Deadlock begins to trust Wing because he's been the only one to treat him kindly.

Deadlock behaves like a skittish cat showing his trust by joining Wing during training sessions and sitting at the same table when they eat but on the other corner. Interestingly, whenever Wing acknowledges Deadlock's presence, Deadlock runs away. This pattern continues for about a month, with Wing consistently showing kindness sharing chocolate energy bars, and patience. After a particularly terrible drug session with Tarantulas, Deadlock seeks out Wing for comfort. It’s at this point that Wing decides he will adopt the kid and ensure no one mistreats him anymore.

To help curb Deadlock's violent tendencies, Wing teaches him the way of the sword. The increased training and discipline, male Deadlock slowly begins to calm down; he stops smoking and stealing medicines/drugs from the med bay. Wing also introduces him to meditation, which helps him find inner peace. Deadlock starts to embrace his Drift persona.

Seven months after Wing's arrival, they have their first battle together, one of the hardest earth has ever faced. During the fight, Wing dies protecting Deadlock from the piercing tentacles of a C4. This is devastating for Deadlock, and no one offers their condolences or treats Wings sacrifice with respect or dignity the bury him, they remodel his mecha and send another pilot to fill the role. They even want him to go out the very next day to kill more Quints. This hits Deadlock hard, fueling a hatred for all of humanity and aliens. He spends all his time killing, training, or overdosing on drugs to sleep. As memory Deadlock demands Wings swords be given to him, they do just to keep him happy, later on drift has 2 swords fitted to his mecha that sheath on the mecha hips, and Wing`s sword he carries it on his back as a reminder to what he fights for. 

His self-destructive path becomes so dangerous that the engineers and scientists put him under some sort of lockdown, so he doesn't kill himself. They need him alive and functioning to continue fighting the Quints. Three years after Wing's death, Deadlock is in a battle with a Quint mothership. The Quint mother ship is approaching, and Quints are emerging from every corner. Driven by bloodlust, Deadlock infiltrates the mothership with the intention of blowing it up. Prowl, the commanding officer and tactician of the mission, warns Deadlock that going in is a death sentence. Deadlock doesn't care; he charges headfirst.

He carves an opening on the side of the ship and fights his way inside, slicing and shooting his way through the enemy. The Quints are unprepared for an inside attack he keeps slicing everything in his path,  until he encounters a much more evolved looking  Quint with actual features, unlike the usual octopus looking ones. The creature screeches ear piercing upon seeing Deadlock and reaches for a console. Before it can do anything, Deadlock shoots the console. A bright light erupts from it, but Deadlock doesn't care. He lunges forward and slices off the Quint in half. His next move is to sink the ship, blindly destroying the main controls.

The light intensifies until it blinds Deadlock and the outside battle. Prowl watches from outside as the ship's front glows brighter and brighter, reaching a blinding point. He considers shutting down his optic sensors and continuing to give directions when the Quint´s stop and they start moving towards the ship. Thirty seconds later, the ship explodes. As the blinding light fades, half the Quints are on the ground, dead or twitching, moments away from dying. The ship crashes, crushing a valley and part of the city.

When they investigate the wreckage, they find a place that looks like the commanding room with what looks to be a perfect sphere on matter gone like it just vanished from existence. Prowl and the tactical team believe that Deadlock's actions saved everyone, but at the cost of his life. They hold a funeral, honoring Deadlock as a hero. The wreck becomes a valuable source of materials and research.

**EPILOGUE**

Who was prime to force him into a vacation in some isolated backwater tiny organic planet in the middle of nowhere, with the only task. Making sure wheeljack doesn't blow himself up . Ratchet grumbles and curses, he has nothing to do until Wheeljack inevitably causes chaos. Bored, he walks around the planet until he hears a crash and metal collapsing. Ratchet transforms and races toward the site.

In the crater, the material surrounding the area looks organic, very Quintesson like . Ratchet grimaces, realizing they might not be as safe as Prime thought. He slides down into the crater, transforming his servo into a scalpel. He sees parts of a destroyed Quintesson mothership, with a dead director. Ratchet doesn’t bother examining her, instead, he looks to the right and spots a black and white mech with yellow accents, helm down in the dirt.

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This is all of it for part 1.

I originally wanted to write about Deadlock and Ratchet meeting, but I got carried away. I really wanted to explore Drift’s upbringing and life in the mecha program to better understand his behavior and how Ratchet’s presence affects him. Also, in this universe, I think it would be Deadlock who gets yeeted into space. To add to the story Deadlock is very violent, always growling and has bitten more than one guy. I don't think this aspect got shown but anyway stay tuned for the next chapter. The meeting. 

THANKS FOR READING

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