𝖁𝖎𝖗𝖚𝖘

You were sent to the Nemesis, a decepticon warship. Yes, specifically you — because you were the one who stayed behind with the autobots on their ship, readily available, while the other human allies were away at training or at home. Nemesis' decepticon scanners, designed to detect electromagnetic emissions, couldn't pick up frequencies as low as those of a human. Your mission was to infiltrate the ship and disable the communications jammer, as the Nemesis had been hovering over the city, cutting off the autobots' communications and their transport systems.

— Where am I even supposed to go? — You stopped and looked around, realizing you were lost in these vast, long, black-purple corridors, which seemed to stretch on endlessly for such a small creature as yourself. Fine, you had successfully infiltrated the ship — but where were you supposed to go now? They had told you, of course, but you hadn't remembered. Stress had devoured your memories, leaving only fragments behind. What were the autobots thinking, sending you? You were just an ordinary person, not a soldier. — Think, y/n, think.. — You rubbed your temples, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to pull yourself together. After all, the mission was critical; a whole city and its defenders were at stake. You sighed and began walking in some vague direction, trying to recall the route, when you suddenly heard heavy, mechanical footsteps. Your heart pounded in your chest with anxiety and the fear of being caught. You quickly slipped behind a wall, pressing your back against it. Cold metal seeped into your body as you tried to hold your breath, but it still came out in ragged gasps. You listened intently to the footsteps, trying to gauge their direction, but then everything fell abruptly silent. It was so quiet you could hear your own heart hammering. Letting out a ragged exhale, you stepped out from behind the wall and immediately collided face-first with a solid, sturdy, black-purple metal servo. You fell backward from the impact, landing hard on the ship's cold floor. Pain shot through your entire body from your shoulder blades. You opened your eyes, looking up at the decepticon towering over you. He wore a purple mask shaped like the decepticon insignia. You had heard a lot about him.

Suddenly, a purple, metallic hand snatched you up, and the ground vanished from beneath your feet as your body tensed with fear. — An autobot's human... — Tarn spoke in a low voice, straightening up and holding you firmly in his grasp. You looked down and then lost consciousness.

You awoke to the beeping of systems and a bright light shining from above. You opened your eyes, immediately squeezing them shut again as the flash of light assaulted them. Trying to sit up, you discovered you were strapped to a medical platform and couldn't move. You began to struggle against your restraints. Shockwave and Tarn turned their heads, their attention drawn to you. Tarn looked at you, his optics narrowing. — Autobots think they can use their household pets against us. Turn this creature into something that will destroy them from the inside. — Tarn's voice was cold and low, the vibration of it running through your body. Tarn turned and walked unhurriedly out of the laboratory. Decepticon scientist turned back to a screen. You glanced up at it, but couldn't understand anything — it was all in another language, cybertronian. — Biological factors are stabilizing. Subject must be put into a stasis state for the procedure to begin. — His cold voice sent shivers down your body. Where Tarn's voice was filled with contempt, this was simply cold calculation.

***

It was quiet in the laboratory. Only the faint, periodic beeping of scanners and systems broke the silence.

Your eyes opened, but all around you was only a viscous, cold liquid reeking of chemicals. You were not drowning, however; you were suspended by cables like a marionette, preventing you from sinking, while a long tube forced deep into your throat supplied you with oxygen. Through the thick, murky glass of the tank, you could see the decepticon scientist. — Subject is stable. cyberization commencing. It is logical to proceed to phase two. — His even, metallic voice reached you as he turned his single, red optic toward you, seemingly to check the subject's readiness, before turning back to his terminal. Just then, Tarn walked into the laboratory and leaned against a console, crossing his manipulators over his chest and looking at the tank that held you. A pitiful sight. Your vulnerable body floated there, tubes covering your pale, blue-tinged form, your skin looking waxy. — Why did you submerge her in there? — Tarn asked, shifting his gaze to Shockwave. — The fluid makes the tissues denser, stops hemorrhaging, and places the subject in a coma. Its chemical composition makes her flesh pliable for merging with cyber-components. — Shockwave spoke with the same calculated tone, looking at the tank as if evaluating his work. — So, what do you intend to do with her? — A hint of curiosity was audible in the DJD leader's voice. — Her espionage functions will remain, but they will be directed not at us, but at the enemy. Tarn felt a sense of satisfaction. He loathed spies; to him, it was tantamount to the betrayal of decepticons and a defilement.

— I will need a titanium alloy so that her body does not experience cellular rejection of the implants. — Shockwave moved to a table, preparing his instruments. — Send someone to search for the necessary materials. — Tarn blinked; he was not used to being given orders.

Scientist drained the fluid from the tank using a cybernetic pump, then carefully removed your body, gently taking you into his arms, mindful of the fragility of the human organism, and moved toward the operating table, laying you down upon it. Some time later, Tarn returned, inspecting the progress of Shockwave's work. — What have you done? — Tarn seemed genuinely interested in the operation, examining your body with undisguised curiosity.

— A neural interface. I have implanted needles of a tantalum alloy into the nerve clusters along her spine. Her brain will now perceive these as parts of her own body. Phase three: placement back in the tank for regeneration and reinforcement. — Shockwave replied without looking up from his instruments, continuing their meticulous preparation.

Froid hated the feeling of fear hidden deep within his spark — the feeling that was constantly with him whenever he was near Sunder. But the fear was overshadowed by another feeling, stronger, denser, prouder. Froid believed he had taken control of Sunder, believed he was the only one who could do it, the only one who could tame the monster — and it only stroked his ego, allowing Froid to forget the fear, forget his self-preservation instincts around a killer like this one.

— You've brought me new portions, haven't you, Froid? — Sunder sat in the cell, watching Froid with his piercing blue optics. His voice was calm and maddened all at once. — I can sense... that aroma. Your fear, mixed with your absurd research curiosity. It's so... sweet. — Sunder's voice was smooth as oil. He let out a low, guttural sound, like the rumble of an engine.

— No. — Froid answered coldly, walking up to the cell and crossing his manipulators over his chest. Though it irritated him how Sunder could read him, Froid loved control, and someone else's control shattered that predictability, making Froid nervous.

— No? — Sunder repeated, raising an optical ridge and looking at Froid. — I can still feel the tension in your circuits, no matter how much you deceive yourself. — He moved closer to the bars, staring at Froid. — Do you really think this distance will save you?

— You think I'm looking for salvation? — Froid looked at Sunder with something like arrogance. — If I were looking for it, I wouldn't be standing at your cell. And you are the complete opposite of salvation. — Froid's voice did not waver, betraying not a single emotion. After all, the psychologist had learned to do that, but it didn't help much.

— The opposite of salvation... — Sunder repeated, slightly quieter, gazing somewhere at the wall beside Froid, then shifted his gaze back to him. — So what are you hoping to find in this rotten, nightmare-stuffed mind? — Sunder tilted his head slightly to the side, watching Froid with curiosity.

Froid took a small step back, looking at Sunder with disgust.

— My thoughts are my own. — An attempt to set a boundary, though boundaries didn't exist around this mnemosurgeon.

— Your thoughts? Oh, Froid... — Sunder's voice dropped. — Do you really think they belong only to you? — He slowly ran a finger along a metal bar, as if it were a string.

— Shut up, Sunder. — Froid snorted, his irritation growing.

— You want to understand what it's like to be me, don't you? — Sunder looked at Froid.

— No, I don't need the kind of mess you have in your processor. — Froid loved order and clarity. A stronger irritation began to wash over Froid, and he turned around and left, closing the door behind him and leaving Sunder.

Some time passed, and Froid returned. Sunder was sitting in the corner of the cell on the floor, lazily scraping his claws against the floor, when he heard the familiar rhythm of footsteps.

— You again? — Sunder slowly turned his head in Froid's direction, but the psychologist said nothing. He walked up to the cell, touched the lock with his slender fingers, and opened it. Froid took a step back, as if allowing the mnemosurgeon to step out, if he wished.

Sunder's optics widened with surprise.

— What are you doing? — His voice sounded astonished. He slowly stood up, pushing the cell door, which slid aside with a creak. — You do understand that...

— Froid left me... a gift. — Sunder let out a low, drawn-out hum, vaguely resembling a cat's purr, which sent a vibration through your body, and raised his thumb, running it along your back in a stroking motion. Roughly. Firmly. But without breaking anything.

You winced slightly, feeling the pressure of his finger on your back. It was disgusting to be treated like a pet, but at least he wasn't trying to drive a needle into your spine.

— Why did he even choose me? — You asked, desperate enough to be questioning this monster.

— Why? A good question... — Sunder's voice was viscous and smooth. — Perhaps the doctor wanted to test whether I could extract memories from a human.

— And why would he need humans? — You interrupted Sunder, burning with curiosity. The Autobot didn't even take offense; on the contrary, he seemed to enjoy the questions. He looked at you attentively.

— You reek of fear. — Sunder said it with disdain, using primitive terms as he leaned in and touched his metal lips to your neck, feeling how the muscles in your throat tensed beneath them. Despite being metal, he was warm and smooth. You didn't know for sure — could he really feel it, or had he read your body language, or was he playing again? A shiver ran down your spine from the sensation.

— What do you need me for? — You asked. You were curious about his motives — of course, you knew he was unlikely to tell you directly, but you could at least latch onto some word, some clue. Why hadn't he crushed you yet? Or would he, just later?

— Need you for? — Sunder repeated, lowering his voice, going still. His lips froze against your neck. — Froid left you to me. — Sunder pulled back slightly to look you in the eyes. — Though, he didn't live to see this moment. — A wide, Cheshire grin spread across his face, one that made your skin crawl.

— Froid? Who is that? — You wanted to distract yourself from the fear.

— Why did you kidnap me? — But curiosity got the better of you, and you slowly lowered your hand.

Overlord shifted his gaze to you, lazily turning his helm in your direction.

— Kidnap? — His voice was smooth and low. — Darling, I didn't kidnap you. I found you and picked you up — you were just lying around.

— Lying around?! — Your voice cracked. — I was just walking home when you scooped me up and carried me off! That's funny, right? — Indignation washed over you, and this sadist seemed only to be enjoying your reaction.

Tarn narrowed his red optics, watching you through his mask as if recording every reaction. Deathsaurus was watching you too. They were all watching. Analyzing. You felt their gazes on you.

— Where even am I? — Your voice sounded less steady now. You glanced around the room you were in.

— Peaceful Tyranny. — Tarn answered in that same even, calm voice.

— Oh wow, that clears it right up. — You let out a short laugh, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of your lips, and rolled your eyes. — Peaceful Tyranny? What kind of nonsense is that. What do they even want from you?

— Patience. — Deathsaurus paused, hesitating. — ...What should we call you? — Deathsaurus looked at you.

— Oh, great. Now the robot is asking for my name. Wonderful. Why? Have you decided to keep me as a pet?

— Definitely. — Overlord answered with a smirk, lazily crossing his manipulators over his chest and looking at you.

— Awesome... Well, I've got nothing to lose... y/n.

— Cute. — The phasesixer chuckled, not taking his optics off you.

A couple of seconds passed, and your patience began to demand an answer.

— So are you going to introduce yourselves or not?

***

And what am I supposed to do with this? — Froid stood with his manipulators crossed over his chest plate, eyeing you with half-lidded yellow optics, trying to figure out why you were needed. The opportunity to see a human had fallen into his hands, and he wasn't about to sit idly by — after all, the psychologist always sought to extract benefit.

— The human race... — Froid spoke with a certain weariness born of incomprehension and disdain. — And why do the Autobots keep you on the Ark? You're useless and have absolutely no useful functions. — The psychologist made a sound resembling a human sigh, if you could even call it that. He uncrossed his manipulators and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

— Perhaps you should be given to Sunder to test how he would react to a human... Yes, exactly. — Froid's voice became more animated. He snapped his fingers with a metallic clang, as if an interesting idea had just come to his mind. — Provided, of course, that the human doesn't turn out to be too fragile for the strain Sunder's abilities are capable of inflicting. — Froid fell into thought. He knew the mnemosurgeon possessed such power that the strain would be too great even for cybertronians, let alone a human — but curiosity itched in Froid's spark to test his thought.

Froid sat down in the chair, making the furniture creak, crossed one servo over the other, and brought the tips of his fingers together, looking at you.

— We don't have much time, considering it hasn't been that long since you arrived here, which means the Autobots will already be looking for you. — Froid mused with a hum. He didn't want to go looking for Sunder again. His work irritated him, but more than that, he hated the feeling of fear that was always with him whenever he was near the mnemosurgeon — but he would never admit it, not even to himself. To himself, first and foremost. Froid held the cage key in his hand, tapping it rhythmically against the table. A habit, when he was thinking.

Froid quickly grabbed the fabric from the table and threw it over your cage, covering you, then rose from the chair with a clang. Just then, his communication system beeped.

— Froid here.

Froid held the key in his hand and, without much thought, dropped it onto the shelf without even closing it.

— Sunder... He what? Coming.

—𝑶𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒖𝒑.— Sunder demanded, his patience running thin, though he knew those words wouldn't change anything. He gave the hand holding you a little shake, as if that might help, but his fingers kept their grip on you, keeping you from falling.

— I'm hungry. — Sunder squeezed your fragile body and began to shake you. You instinctively hooked your fingers over the outer edge of his palm to keep from falling. He was hungry for memories. He was tired of going around in circles. His patience was nearly at its end.

You were terrified that his hand would suddenly clench and your muscles, your bones, would burst and shatter if he tightened his grip even just a little more.

You dug your fingers harder into the segments of his hand.

He noticed it immediately. He froze, lowering a curious gaze to your fingers. He knew that tension. Fear. He could see it. He could see how the skin stretched tight over your knuckles had turned white from the strain. So cybertronians weren't all that different from humans after all.

— So you are afraid. — He pronounced triumphantly, confirming his own guess. His grip loosened slightly — it relaxed him, the fact that there was something in you after all.

— No, I'm not afraid of you. — A lie. He could see that too.

He suddenly leaned in closer and tilted his head, pressing his nose to the skin of your neck. You felt the metal of his nose rest against your skin, barely touching it.

Sunder rose with the same heavy clang, straightening his servos, and walked unhurriedly to the nearest table — something shiny and metallic had caught his optic. He spotted a key in an open locker from the edge of his vision and reached out, grasping it with his fingers, and brought it closer to his face, examining it.

Froid, most likely, hadn't had time to hide it before his not-so-fortunate fate caught up with him, cutting short a plan that had never even begun. Sunder even chuckled to himself: the psychologist had been so overloaded that he'd forgotten about such a tiny detail, despite being meticulous in everything — and such a blunder had been fatal to his reputation.

— I believe this is it? — Sunder asked. He knew it was the one. He simply enjoyed watching the way your expression changed when he asked questions. Though, he didn't yet know what to call it. Human anatomy was... different from cybertronian, after all. More alive? More flexible?

The mnemosurgeon walked back over and lowered himself to the floor again, grabbing the cage and tipping it onto his lap, digging the fingers of one hand into it to hold it steady as he tried to insert the key. You fell, slamming against the bars of the cage from the sudden shift in position. A sharp pain from the cold, hard material shot through your entire body from your ribs, making them ache — but you immediately forgot about the pain, remembering a much bigger problem.

Your body broke out in a cold sweat beneath your clothes from fear. What would happen if he got to you?

You didn't even have time to think — a clang of metal against metal rang out as the teeth of the key slid into the grooves of the lock, and the cage door swung open with a long, nasty creak. You didn't even have time to recover before a metallic, rust-colored hand tightly wrapped around you, pulling you out and bringing you up to his face.

— Little creature. — Sunder inhaled your scent. He had finally gotten you out. It was a reward for his systems. He had enjoyed the process itself, too. — You smell... different. — Sunder sensed a certain smell, but he couldn't name it.

Sunder sniffed. There was no scent of ozone, emotions, or memories on you, as he was used to sensing.

— Don't you feel anything at all? — Sunder made an assumption: if there was no smell, then the creature felt nothing. After all, one way or another, an organism gives off emotions through scents. — But I feel something in your body beating against my palm.

It was a heartbeat. Though, he didn't know that — he simply felt a faint pulsation in your body against his palm.

— Heart. — You answered. You were irritated by his ignorance of human anatomy. He was a surgeon, after all — how could he not know simple words?

***

You heard old, classical, low-frequency music that vibrated through your entire body. It didn't sound like anything from Earth — it evoked a feeling of unease and curiosity.

Walking through the vast, dark, empty corridors, so impossibly quiet, you could hear your own breathing, your own footsteps. Your heart seemed to freeze in your chest, and the music was slightly louder now, yet it still felt just as far away.

Spotting a door left ajar, you stepped inside. A cold draft bit unpleasantly at your skin. In the dark room stood an old, dusty instrument resembling a piano, and behind it, sitting on a chair, was him. The black-and-purple executioner. The leader of the DJD. Moonlight from the porthole cast rays across his mask — shaped like the decepticon insignia — creating a menacing glow that sent shivers down your spine.

You froze in place, no longer hearing the music, no longer hearing your own heartbeat.

— What's the matter? You don't like it? — His low voice sounded cold, hypnotic, deceptively polite with an undertone of threat that both soothed and unsettled. You had the feeling there was hidden mockery behind it.

You were about to answer, but then you heard the creak of joints from a dark corner. Out stepped an all-too-familiar sixphaser. Overlord.

— Tarn, don't scare her like that. She's already afraid of your music. You could at least turn it down. — This decepticon's voice was positively drenched in brazen, undiluted mockery.

You clenched your hands into fists, your nails digging into your skin. You wanted to reply. But you were interrupted again.

— I don't know why you brought a human to Peaceful Tyranny. — Deathsaurus spoke in a cold, analytical tone, leaning back against the wall with his manipulators crossed over his chest compartment, gazing somewhere off to the side. Not even at you.

Aren't you afraid? — Sunder asked with a note of curiosity in his voice, studying you like an interesting, rare insect.

— Afraid of what? — You asked with distrust, staring at him, a hint of irritation creeping in because this bot had violated your personal space poking you with a needle — your temple was still throbbing from the touch. You were afraid he would tear you apart with that needle, but you hid it, deciding not to show him your reaction. He didn't inspire any trust.

— Me. — Sunder said, puzzled. The needle retracted back into the phalanx of his finger with a quiet creak, disappearing. — They're all afraid. But you? Are you human? You're strange, humans. Very. — Sunder hummed with mild disappointment and bewilderment. He had been hoping for memories. He was (almost) dependent on them. — By the way, how did you end up here, m?

Sunder was curious — why would Froid need a human? Or had the psychologist completely lost his mind?

— A white cybertronian found me and put me in a cage. He said something about an experiment with his patient... — You fell silent, realizing you were speaking too openly and too much. You hadn't even noticed you'd started talking, driven by the pressure of his presence and your own curiosity. You wanted to protest, but he immediately cut you off.

— So he had it all planned out? — Sunder threw a glance at you. — Do you happen to know where he put the key?

C.2

𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭

Why not. — Sunder muttered to himself, turning to face the cage and lowering himself heavily to the floor with a metallic clang of his joints, staring at you through the bars.

— I wonder what human memories taste like? — Sunder asked himself, gazing somewhere upward as if trying to imagine their flavor, then shifted his gaze back to you.

— Look at me, little human. — Sunder leaned in so close that the blue light of his optics seemed to blind you. You instinctively narrowed your eyes against the bright flash of light. You could make out his face: the antenna on his forehead, the cracks on his cheeks beneath his optics, the needles on the top of his head. Sunder grunted in dissatisfaction, shaking his head as he realized that nothing had happened and that you didn't seem to have felt a thing.

— Mhm? What are you staring at? — He was baffled as to why you hadn't snapped in half and were simply looking at him as if nothing had happened. Absolutely nothing had happened. — Break already, human. — Sunder huffed with irritation and confusion when, it seemed, the remote intrusion into your thoughts had failed.

Why couldn't he turn you into a meat sphere like he did with the transformers? He wanted to play. He tried to penetrate your thoughts again, straining. Useless. You just sat there calmly, breathing, unshaken.

— Is it because of the cage? — Sunder sighed in disappointment, then extended a needle from his finger and poked it into your temple, deciding to try a different method of intrusion. — Ow! That hurts! — You cried out in surprise, feeling the sharp pressure of the needle's tip in your temple. The autobot fell completely silent at such an unexpected, loud reaction.

***

Chapter 1. Feed.

Froid was cunning. But not more cunning than Sunder. If someone was brutally murdered last night — it was him.

Sunder walked through the corridors of the Ark, his heavy footsteps echoing off the metal walls. He made his way to Froid's office and pushed the heavy door open with his palm, spotting a strange object covered with fabric.

— Well, well... Froid, what are you hiding here? — Sunder purred, casting a lazy glance over the object. Sauntering closer, the Autobot lowered himself to the cell's level, reached out, hooked his fingers into the material, and pulled the fabric off the cage with a slow, unhurried motion, revealing inside... a human?

Sunder's optics widened with curiosity and surprise.

— Froid, are you serious? Locked up a friend of the autobots? Well, you've outdone yourself... — Sunder let out a low chuckle of dark amusement, looking at you. — A little human... So fragile... how do I get you out.

Your heart pounded frantically against your ribs from the surge of fear. You had already given up hope of rescue, but when you heard footsteps, you thought someone was coming to save you. You were wrong. Now your fate was far worse.

Sunder!