#snaptrap

• Especially now, when they were becoming more advanced by the tide. Your world beneath the waves had grown so separate that even sea creatures had forgotten what humans were. Thought them myths—just as humans had dismissed you. But you? You still believed. In old tales, passed down by your grandmother in hushes and bubbles, when the deep went still enough to listen.

• Yes, they’re still here. Fewer now. They vanished into the sky with their great metal beasts, barely lifting a fin to mend the ocean. But it didn’t matter. The sea healed itself—slowly, violently, beautifully. Maybe they’d gone to ruin some other world. You didn’t care.

• You shouldn’t have come here. You knew that. And yet—despite every warning, despite every primal tug in your chest—you swam. Your iridescent tail glided through the dark, born in shades you cherished. Bioluminescent markings shimmered faintly—just enough to confuse predators, not enough to see. Because things down here? They didn’t like bright, flitting things.

Your hair drifted like seaweed, lips parted, eyes wide. Watching. Listening.

That’s when you saw it.

Not a shark.

Not a leviathan.

• A metal colossus, half-buried in silt, its jagged armor cracked and glowing faintly with something not of this world. You'd never seen a creature like it—if it could be called that. Its frame screamed ‘man-made,’ and that alone should’ve sent you sprinting back into the light. But the water shimmered around it—tainted with an unnatural glow. Strange energy leaked from it in violet ribbons, wrapping around your arm when you drifted close.

They curled around you. Inviting. Whispering.

You should have fled.

But you still didn’t.

• You moved closer, heart pounding. The face resembled a man’s—serene, almost sleeping. But you knew better. Whatever this was, it wasn’t resting. It was wounded. You hovered near it, hands brushing along the cold, metal chest. Confusion coiled in your gut, tangled with fear. Was it a statue? A dead god? A punishment cast to the depths?

Algae clung to its face. You slid closer, tail curling as you flicked it away with a swift, graceful move.

• Mother would’ve scolded you. “A lady doesn’t use her tail like that,” she’d say. But mothers didn’t wrestle krakens at thirteen tideturns either, did they? “It builds experience,” she claimed. Maybe. At least it gave you stories to share around hydrothermal vents with curious ears.

Then—

The water shifted.

Pressure surged outward. A presence pulsed from the thing before you. And then, two red eyes snapped open. They weren’t just glowing.

They were hungry.

Predatory, cold, and feral in the way sharks circle bleeding prey. It exhaled—slow and deliberate. Bubbles spiraled from its chest.

…How long had it been?

Snaptrap stirred. He didn't know the cycle. Didn't care. All he knew was pain. Rust in his joints. Seawater in his circuits. When the gate ripped him from his Seacons, he didn’t think he’d survive. Maybe he didn’t want to. He had leaked energon into the ocean for cycles. He should be drained. Gone. But something pulled him back.

Now his repair systems roared to life, clawing at broken metal and restarting his limbs. His cracked pauldron ached as it stitched itself back together. And then—movement.

Small. Slender.

Organic.

He scanned. A flash of skin. Fluid motion.

Hair like seaweed. A tail that shimmered with every twitch. It wasn’t a hallucination. Not this time. You.

Bare above the waist. Body built to glide, to flee. A flare of instinct blazed through you the moment his optics flared crimson. You turned, bolted—like a spear through the trench. But—

Not fast enough.

Snaptrap struck. One clawed servo lashed out, wrapping around your tail. Silken scales shifted under his grip. You twisted in a blur of grace and rage, nails digging into his armor. You didn’t scream. No. You fought. Like a beast. You clawed him, scratched silver lines into his plating—each one delicate, almost ornamental. His spark hiccuped. A tremor rolled through his frame.

He stared. Stunned. Then, a low rumble vibrated from his chest as he murmured, “…Organic. Not like the others.”

You were panicking. Your breaths came too fast. Your heart pulsed against your ribs like a biolight strobe. He saw it—every beat flashing beneath your skin.

He pulled you closer. Didn’t even realize he was doing it. Optics drinking in every inch. Your curves. The way your tail shifted with every wriggle. You’d brushed algae from his face. That softness still lingered. And now? It scratched at something buried in his code—something ancient, something hungry.

A chime snapped through the static.

His comms.

Overbite: “We’re coming to get you, commander.”

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