#soundaid

“Terrorcon.”

First Aid flexed his claws and crouched, circling ‘round the predacon spymaster. Soundwave hissed, fangs bared and glinting beneath the dark glass of his visor. His feathers bristled in a threat display, mirroring First Aid’s own spiky, flared plating.

“Yes,” First Aid replied, voice taut and rasping, “That I am.”

Soundwave vocalized another hiss. First Aid’s optics caught the subtle coil of his frame before he pounced, a lethal, inky blur. But he was ready for him, ready for Soundwave’s unnatural grace and speed. First Aid darted to the side, avoiding the talons that sliced through empty space. Even as he dodged, Soundwave was already correcting, pivoting to slash at him again. And again. And again. Relentless, swift, and incredibly accurate.

It stirred something in his coding, the same visceral instinct he felt when he fed. That he should avoid Soundwave instead of trading blows offended him on some base level. He wasn’t frightened prey. He wasn’t weak or vulnerable. He was a predator in his own right, something to be feared. With a flick of his claws, he could split open a mech’s plating before they even registered the wound. Armor parted as easily as mesh, and his subroutines encouraged him, whispered of how good their energon would smell and taste spilling so fresh from their severed lines.

In the end, it was this that scared him. These thoughts, these drives that were simultaneously his and not his. Because how could he be a monster when he was sparked a healer? How could he willingly harm, when he was sworn to do all in his power to help? Terrorcon, Sparkeater. Names for what he was, but not who he was.

Soundwave lashed out again, and this time, his talons struck. First Aid shuddered as they gouged into his shoulder, just missing the arterial lines in his throat. It was more painful than anything he’d ever experienced, but the furrows Soundwave carved were doubtless more shallow than Soundwave had expected. Indeed, the predacon leapt back to re-assess him, talons glimmering blue with his energon. First Aid reached for his wound, staunching the flow as fangs pressed heavy against his faceplate, deforming his mouth.

“Does it surprise you?” he asked. Soundwave was back to circling, no doubt calculating how much force was necessary to fully breach his plating. “I’m a lot more durable than I look.”

“I will eliminate all threats to Pythios, no matter how difficult they are to offline,” Soundwave replied. His voice was as cold as a Messatinian winter. First Aid squeezed his injured shoulder, spark panging. He had but a few kliks before Soundwave would be upon him again. If there was ever a time to appeal to reason, it was now.

“I haven’t even raised a hand to you in self defense. I’m not here to threaten anyone, Soundwave,” he said.

Soundwave growled, feathers flaring, but he did not pounce. He was listening; his restraint had paid off.

“Why would Delphi send a Terrorcon as tribute, if not with ill intentions?”

First Aid smiled bitterly behind his faceplate.

“You think I’m any more welcome back home? To paraphrase my eldest brother’s words, ‘someone like you will fit in with the predacons.’”

Soundwave snarled at his words, and First Aid couldn’t help but laugh. Not with any mirth, but because he’d predicted this. He’d warned them. He’d had the right of it, and now here he was; forestalling his own execution.

“Pharma isn’t exactly the most diplomatic mech, you see. Which spells trouble for Delphi, seeing as he’s firstborn. But I wasn’t sent as an insult or a threat. I think… somehow, they genuinely thought it was a good idea.”

The implication was, of course, prejudiced. But no one expected much of Messatine. Backwater Messatine… notable for its nucleon export, and not much else.

First Aid lowered his head, suddenly feeling tired. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t particularly want to be home either, but at least there, a few people cared for him. The twins cared for him. He hadn’t had to live with the perpetual fear that someone would discover his secret. These past decacycles had been nothing but stress, compounded under the looming deadline of his own hunger and dwindling supply of subspaced active energon.

His optics flickered black. First Aid jerked his head back up in time for Soundwave to crash into him, knocking him to the floor. The press of razor claws against his belly plating kicked his subroutines into action. Faceplate sliding back, First Aid snarled, cheeks splitting into fanged mandibles. Soundwave recoiled, and First Aid took the opportunity to kick him off. This time, it was he who pursued, processor awhirr with calculations. Predacon anatomy was different, but certain vulnerabilities held true between their races. And he could claw, rip, maim at least ten different ways, sink fang and claw into frame and pull out delicate biomech, spread his energon across the floor and drink deep from his very innermost-

First Aid screamed and forced the subroutines inactive again, staggering to a halt.

“Stop! Stop attacking me! Violence is a trigger!” he shouted, vocalizer raw. His words glitched into a racking sob. Raising his hands to his face, he carefully smoothed the mandibles back into place, until his cheeks were whole again and his lips only slightly distorted by the extra teeth. A small semblance of normalcy, when everything else about him was sharp and lethal and monstrous.

Soundwave picked himself back up, a low growl purring from his vocalizer. First Aid waited for him to move again, but he did not. His stance was still guarded, but not tensed to attack. He would not, however, show Soundwave any weakness as he had before. He was not the only one operating on powerful instinct.

“You are dangerous,” Soundwave stated. And his voice was still cool, but no longer glacial. First Aid nodded. There was no denying that.

Soundwave hissed softly.

“I knew you harbored a secret. But your behavior, while suspect, was never malign. I could not parse your motivations, just your building anxiety as you pursued your experiments. I never expected… this.”

“I just wanted to live,” First Aid replied. His tail flicked slowly behind him, coiling and uncoiling. “I’ve been working on synthesizing active energon. I’ve been working on it since before I came to Pythios, but here, successful synthesis took on new urgency. I thought… when I was inevitably discovered, I could use it to prove my good intentions.”

“Little wonder I’ve never seen you eat with the others.”

“It makes me sick. I cannot process regular energon. I must consume active.”

“Have you preyed on anyone here? Consort or predacon?”

“Primus, no,” First Aid whispered, “You have eyes everywhere, spymaster, I’m not so foolish. And besides, I don’t prey on anyone. I brought my own stock of it with me. Which, by the way, was ethically sourced from willing donors.”

“Predaking preserve, your subspace capacity is a national security risk!” Soundwave snapped.

His irritation and unexpected focus caught First Aid off guard. First Aid’s mouth opened, then closed.

“I… sorry?” he fumbled, uncertain how to respond, “I can’t really help it, sparked medics naturally have a lot of subspace…”

“Yes, well, it’s high time I searched it.”

“Excuse me? That’s-”

… an invasion of privacy.

He let the rest of his sentence die as he stared across at Soundwave, suddenly daring to hope. That perhaps it wasn’t the promise of a spymaster to a dead mech, for the ice had fully left his voice now, replaced by a more personal ire.

“You won’t kill me?” he asked, vocalizer quavering.

Soundwave sighed, feathers finally smoothing down.

“That remains to be seen, First Aid. If I can confirm that your intent is truly benign, I will not have you offlined. Until then, you must be confined.”

First Aid stiffened, crouching again.

“I’ll not go to my death,” he warned.

Soundwave tilted his head.

“Careful. Such behavior reads as a confession of guilt.”

First Aid watched him, spark thrumming in his throat, but after several kliks, he straightened again. Hanging his head, he nodded.

It terrified him, placing his trust in Soundwave. When the predacon produced a pair of stasis cuffs, it took all his will not to bolt. He shuttered his optics as Soundwave snapped them around his wrists, dread making his fuel tank curdle.There was no escape now. No fleeing. No survival. He tested the cuffs, but they were designed with predacon strength in mind. His processor spiraled into silent panic.

Soundwave vocalized a chirring click.

“Aid, be calm. You will come to no harm if you intend no harm.”

“I don’t know that for sure! I don’t know that you’ll judge me fairly! After all, I’m a Terrorcon!”

“Yes,” Soundwave replied evenly, “That you are.”

Familiar words, turned on their head. First Aid opened his optics.

“Give me your word, Soundwave.”

“You have it.”

First Aid looked away. His spark still whirled too fast in his chassis, but his subroutines were quieting, no longer pricking so insistently at his neural net. Cycling air through his vents, he tried to silence the fears that whispered through his processor, strangling lucid thought. And gradually, gradually, his flared plating began to collapse. Spiky, segmented armor became smooth again. Clawed fingers blunted. His fangs and tail retracted, until he was himself again. Small and compact and utterly unassuming.

He offered Soundwave a wan smile when he finished. The predacon’s feathers had fluffed out again.

“It is quite a transformation. Your appearance belies much,” Soundwave remarked.

“It’s pretty deceptive, yeah.”

“I would not have guessed had I not researched your line’s … well, I suppose it can’t be called mythology. History, then.”

“Third sparked medic, seventh son.”

“Portentous numbers to a prince of Delphi.”

“To think you actually believed the stories,” First Aid murmured, shaking his head.

“I am no stranger to aberrant sparks,” Soundwave replied.

First Aid frowned, looking to him for an explanation, but Soundwave offered none. Instead, he bared his teeth in one of his sharp, unsettling grins.

“Come. I have much data to review, and Predaking must yet be apprised of the situation.”

Soundwave nudged him forward with his snout.