How bout Silas experimenting on his teen kid to make them a techno organic? They run away and bump into the autobots. The bots look at them and their like this is our child now. Fight us their ours now. :)
(So sorry person who originally asked this. I accidentally deleted it when trying to clean the inbox)
You got it! This will be a multipart series. Currently, only two parts are planned: this one and one where Silas gets his dues, but more can be added if requested.
~~ Mod Ohma ~~
tw: abuse, neglect, mentions of torture, experimentation and death
The first thing she saw once she was out of the warehouse was green. There was so much, it made her head spin, and as she stumbled back, she could hear the guards yelling, signaling that the empty cell and dead guards. Pushing forward, she could hear the branches and fallen logs under her break as she vaulted over them, doing her best not to look, not to feel because if she did either, she’d certainly break down.
Finally, after what felt like both forever and a few seconds, she tripped and caught herself with her arms, forcing her to look at the white metal, at the dark grey blade she had tried so hard to pry off only to get shocks after shocks the second she had managed to get it away.
Her breath hitched and she could feel her eyes stinging. When she closed her eyes, her mechanical arms gave out, allowing her to collapse on the ground, sobbing in the new and confusion freedom she had found in the forest.
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She woke up to the ground shaking. Normally, she would’ve just gotten under the small bunk her father had given her, but as she rolled over, she had a stick whack her in her face, causing her to open her eyes and realize that the dream had not, in fact, been a dream.
She felt the vibrations stop and thought that it meant she was ok, that she could move, like all the other times, so she slowly stood up, grimacing at the state of her hospital gown. it was backward for the sake of her running away, but it was also too short, having been made for a kid rather than a tall teenager. Or, well, a robotically enhanced teenager.
She wasn’t sure if the sound she made was a choked laugh or a choked sob, but once it was out of her mouth, there was a tremor, and then another one. Looking around, she felt herself freeze up at the sight of the giant red and blue robot, who seemed just as shocked (well, perhaps a little bit more) as she was.
“Hello,” she rasped, feeling the headpiece attacked to her skull buzzing lightly as it forced information into her head. “I need your help, Optimus Prime. An enemy of MECH is a friend of mine.”
“What did MECH want from you?” He rumbled, and she knew that this was the make or break moment.
“My name is Phoebe Leah Bishop, daughter of Leland Bishop, and he was the one who did this to me. He wanted a techno-organic, a supersoldier for his stupid war, and he decided that since I never agreed with him, he’d make me agree with him. I have no love for him, and all I can ask if that if you decline my help, then please, allow me to live in peace.”
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She could feel their mistrust the second Prime made it known that she was sitting in his hands. Ratchet, the one MECH pegged as old and decrepit due to rarely being on the field, plucked her out of his grasp and took her over to the medical area, and she could feel the information rewriting itself.
“Scans indicate that your limbs have been replaced... and that this crown has been screwed onto your head,” he said, voice disgusted and aghast as she just shrugged.
“It’s not screwed in,” she corrected, unsure what to really say. “It’s sending information into my head whether I want it to or not, and I don’t think screws can do that.”
“Fraggers,” she heard Arcee mumble. “Can’t we rethink the no harming humans rule? Just this once?”
“No, Arcee,” Prime answered, sounding just as angry as the femme. “Miss Bishop-”
“Phoebe,” she interrupted. “Bishop reminds me of him.”
“Phoebe, what can you tell us of MECH’s plans?”
She found herself tilting her head, unknowingly tapping against the bed with her left hand. “I was the only prototype to survive the fifth surgery,” she said. “They started with our arms and made sure they were functional before turning to our legs. Two didn’t survive that surgery. After that, they wanted to make sure we would be able to use those blue crystals as a type of fuel source if we didn’t have food on us, so they went in and completely changed our digestive system. Twenty died on the table, another seven having complications afterward. We had to have our strength enhanced, so they inserted a chip at the base of our neck to control our muscles beyond the limits our brains set. Three died on the table, four died off when their muscles ripped them in half. Five survived to the fifth surgery, which was to implant an information node. Mine’s all fancy because I was supposed to be Daddy’s Little Leader.”
The yellow one, Bumblebee, let out a series of beeps that had her furrowing her brows and tilting her head. “I agree,” the green one, Bulkhead, growled. “We should be out here making sure this doesn’t happen again, Optimus.” There was a silence as Prime looked at her with an... odd expression before motioning for everyone to follow him out of the medbay area. Ratchet was the last one to leave, and even then, he looked back.
“Are... am I allowed to stay?” She hated how insecure she sounded, how insecure she felt, but being here, it felt nice.
“You’re more than allowed to stay, youngling,” he promised her before walking out as well, leaving her to curl up on the bed and ignore the pain slowly building up in her hips.
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How I imagine what Phoebe looks like:
