#prize

• Even not knowing what they’re saying, you’re on edge. Can almost feel the tension as your giant growls, voice dipping into a rumbling snarl that makes the other mech tense, servos shifting on his weapon. And you feel your mech’s servos brushing against your spine when the other guy snarls and yours responds softly. Hate having no idea what they’re saying. Maybe he’s bartering to trade you. Maybe they’re discussing eating you. Or if you bounce if you’re dropped. Huddling in your mech’s hand, you have to hope he’s really your protector, that he won’t let anything happen to you. Because if you’re honest with yourself? You’re helpless, powerless. Completely dependent on him.

• Satisfied that the guard will pass along his request for fear of his life if he doesn’t, he strides back to the table the twins are still at. The smaller mechs staring. “It can’t eat that much with how little it is,” Frenzy says, leaning to look at you as you shiver and press yourself tighter against him, your field sinking into him. Had pretended to not be sure, but feeling your fear and anxiety spilling into him, there’s no denying you’re sentient. Had you just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Been captured and thrown in a cage?

• Tensing at the sound of peds, you hear him rumble a warning and you go up onto your knees to look. Staring as another mech drops a container on the table, gesturing dismissively to make your mech snarl and you hide in his hand again. Pretty sure whatever was just said, pissed him off as he gestures in sharp, cutting movements at the new mech, growling and hissing. Oh, he’s definitely mad.

• Clearing his vents in frustration, he stares at the box of rations that some of the wealthier Cybertronians feed their organics. Pet food. When he’d asked if you could eat these things, the mech had laughed in his face and said there was only one way to find out. Anger simmering through him, it’s a familiar feeling as he looks down at you and you peek up at him, eerily Cybertronian features twisting and expression uncertain. “I hope you know what you can and can’t eat, little one,” he says and you cautiously sit up, looking around curiously. Bolder now that the other mech is gone and he wonders why you trust him so easily. That naïve innocence making his spark ache, because you’ll never survive long like that. Too soft and you lean to look at the box, chirping at him as one of your hands dances in the air in gestures he doesn’t understand. ‘You going to feed it that stuff, boss?’ Rumble asks and it’s not like he has a choice. It’s try or watch you slowly starve to death.

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