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At the Apex

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At the Apex



Chapter One:  Scavenger


            It is a world of constant change, where things are not what they seem.   It is the world of the Transformers…a world of heroic Autobots and evil Decepticons.   It is a sparkling, shining, silver world called Cybertron.

            At least, that’s what some history texts would say.   The truth is always dark and somewhat despressing in comparison.   The world was called “Cybertron”, yes, and at one time it was indeed shining and had something of a silvery sheen.   There were two factions that were indeed called “Autobots” and “Decepticons”, but whether they were heroic or evil, neither side every saw this in relation to themselves.   They had been locked into war for millions upon millions of years—the original reasons for the conflict, none living today could actually recall.  Once the war began, historians had to pick up arms and, once that happened, history was no longer written.   Stories were passed down as newmechs and newfemmes came into existence through the Primal Chamber, as directed by the Master Computer, Vector Sigma………..but the actual truth of the war and everything that had to do with it was lost to the dust of the battlefields and tides of time.

            As the Autobots and Decepticons waged constant battle against one another, there were also those who avoided the conflicts—those who chose no sides.   Who, often, scavenged the battlefields after the fighting was done…….and looked for anything they could possibly use to aid in their own particular survival in these dark times.   Over time, and seeking the comfort and presence of their own kind, some of those who were scavengers of the battlefields would eventually choose sides—often winding up as the bodies left behind in yet more battles.

            There was one mech in particular, who had been around for at least a millennia (but likely more—he chose never to reveal the date of his creation to anyone at all), who watched and waited as other scavengers took their first pick of the remnants of the battlefields.   Then he went out, cloaked in a rippling cape and cowl of black—to blend in with the lack of light that was all around—and crept through the bodies.   He never let it bother him to let other scavengers have the field before him, he usually wanted things that they did not.

            Energon?   Innermost Energon?   Sparks……….to sell off the faded old crystal that used to be the source of a Transformer’s life?   A fuel pump that didn’t have much damage and could be recycled?   A T-Cog that could be reformatted?

            No, this particular scavenger had no desire for those premium items.   If other scavengers left behind these items and they had more damage than the others cared for, sometimes he collected such things—they could be of use for research or even for spare parts.  Other scavengers would call what he collected something more macabre.

            He collected bodies.   Old frames of those fallen on the fields.   He had his reasons and he used everything he could in the frames he took—after he conducted all the research and operations he desired on the dead frames.   But this scavenger just didn’t take any old frame left behind on the battlefield……….he took special ones.   And he knew they were special, even when their Sparks were snuffed out.

            He simply knew.

            The scavenger kicked an upheaval of rubble out of his path, which had a couple of battered and dented limbs along with it.   His violet boot with grey front and heel claws, ground flat and manicured to an almost trapezoidal form, acquired smears of Energon-infused lifeblood, and the toe-piece of his pede got caught on something.   As he lifted it and bent his head to look, he saw a fear-frozen faceplate looking back up at him.

            “Disgusting, but expected,” the mech murmured, shaking his pede and the head dislodged from the grey toe-piece and rolled off into who knew where.   Then he straightened up, getting a very strange feeling in his circuits.   He didn’t like to do this on a battlefield—even a settled one like this—because EM fields still rippled in their death throes for days after the battle was done and the frames that had the fields were deceased.   The odd scavenger unlocked his EM field to see if he could get a better sense of the “strange feeling”.

            This city had once been called “Torux” here on Cybertron, now it was simply slag and dead bodies.   The once beautifully-lighted pathway that the scavenger was now walking on, littered with corpses and lifeblood all around him, had once been called “Flare Avenue”—it had pulsing lights inlaid deep within a clear walking surface.   The mech could remember seeing the lights once, colorful and innocent………..a time when the war had been more isolated in places like Iacon and Kaon and the war was nothing more than news reports for the inhabitants of the brilliant city to laugh over and believe it would “never happen here”.

            The scavenger kicked a few more lifeless frames out of his path, as he followed the “strange feeling” by using his EM field.   What he could sense was another EM field, but this wasn’t the dying ripples of a corpse—this was a living frame he could feel!   He increased his pace, following the feeling of the living EM field like a hunter seeking prey.

            A living frame amongst all the corpses left behind on the battlefield!?

            And then the scavenger saw just how a treasure like that could have been missed when he came upon something that could only be described as a “corpse mountain”.   The living Transformer was somewhere in that massive pile of dead frames.

            Bracing one caped arm against the pile of corpses, the mech plunged a violet-colored arm and servo into the pile of unmoving frames and started rummaging into the pile with his right servo.   All he could feel were cold, dead frames………..but his EM field wasn’t lying, there was someone still alive in this pile!   All the scavenger had to do was keep feeling around until he felt the familiar warmth of fuel cycling through a living frame.



            The scavenging mech felt his servo close around another warm servo and pulled hard to see if he could get the living frame to shove through the pile of corpses.   He grunted and eventually got the other’s arm through the pile of non-living frames and saw it was red, with tarnished silver piping along the outer side of the forearm.   The servo was grey and trembling as it clenched tightly around his own.

            You certainly didn’t find a treasure like this every day!   The scavenger had never had a live frame to experiment on!    This was certainly a worthwhile hunt today!

            The mech chuckled, got a better hand upon the red-colored arm and then set about to pulling the living frame out of the pile of corpses.


*      *      *      *      *


            It had been a chore to get the red-orange-and-yellow colored mech back to his secret base, deep beneath the long-since-devastated city of Brexel.   The mech had barely been conscious, but at least he had been much smaller than the scavenger.   But by the time they made it to the scavenger’s secret base deep beneath Brexel, the two were dirty and disgusting and the scavenger heated his pool to the maximum a living mech or femme could take without melting.

            He threw the young mech with the colors of flames right into the heated bath and threw a cleansing agent into the frothing waters, then he walked over to his own personal washrack and cleaned himself up quite thoroughly while the other frame soaked in the pool.   After he felt that he had been cleaned up to his own personal tastes, the scavenger returned to the pool and looked in to see the young flame-colored mech was mostly submerged in the frothing waters and had his servos lightly on the edge of the pool, as well as just the top of his head, from optics up, peering over the edge of the pool.

            “I suppose you clean up pretty, for a frame as brightly-colored as yours,” the mech chuckled, gazing down into the pool and at the shy young mech.   “Do you have a designation?  Or do the Autobots and Decepticons no longer allow the soldiers in their ranks to have them?”  He asked in a cool tone.

            The young mech was staring at the scavenger’s strange left arm.   It looked to be cut off partially up the forearm and sealed with a retractable panel.

            “I would think you would be used to seeing the disfigured in war, young one,” the scavenger laughed, gazing down imperiously at the flame-colored mech hiding as much of his frame as he could in the pool.   “Designation, brat, before I turn the temperature up in that pool and melt you down into slag.”

            “Hot Rod.   I’m Hot Rod,” the flame-colored mech whispered, looking up into the scavenger’s faceplate and was transfixed by seeing nothing but a single optic orb in the center of a hexagonal shaped faceplate that flashed as he spoke.

            “Appropriate, I suppose,” the violet-and-grey mech sighed.   “Finish cleaning up your frame with that sponge and dry off with towels over there.   I will come retrieve you shortly—I have much to examine about you.   You may wish that you had perished on the battlefield instead,” he chuckled, his soft voice dark and seductive.

            “Your designation?”  Hot Rod asked softly, his blue glass-covered optics still staring up into the scavenger’s strangely configured faceplate.

            “Mmmm?   Should pets really ask their masters questions?”  The violet-and-grey colored mech chortled, deviously.   “You are mine now, you would do well to remember that, young Hot Rod.   And should I be forced to soon brand you with my designation, then you would read it as you are the property of Shockwave.”

            Hot Rod thought it a very strange way of introduction.   He felt a little disturbed to be talked to as if he were nothing but a turbofox or bladerat, but this mech did save his life—so Hot Rod owed something to this strange, strange older mech.    As soon as Shockwave left the room, Hot Rod turned around in the pool and reached for the scrubbing sponge.   He cleaned every millimeter of his frame off and went to pull himself out of the pool, when his arms gave out and he fell back into it with a large splash.

            Shockwave stood unmoving in the doorway and glared at Hot Rod.

            “Sorry, Shockwave………….my arms…………my arms gave out,” the flame-colored mech said, apologetically, wading back over to the edge of the pool and trying again—only to fall back into the bath with another inglorious splash.   “Umm……my servo-motor controls won’t obey me………..” he whispered, about to try again when the violet-and-grey mech stalked over and reached down his good servo to grab Hot Rod by the center of the spoiler fins on his back and hauled him up out of the pool, dropping him next to it dispassionately.

            Shockwave did not miss the mewling sound the flame-colored mech made when his spoiler was grabbed.   He snatched up two towels and dropped them both on top of the young mech’s head.

            “Dry off.   And do not address me by my designation,” Shockwave snapped, his single optic orb pulsing rhythmically as he spoke.   “If you must address me, it will be with ‘master’—do you understand?”  He said, firmly and evenly.

            Hot Rod stared up at Shockwave in disbelief.   Then he remembered, he might have died on the battlefield—buried beneath all those corpses.   He owed his very continuing existence to this strange violet-and-grey mech.   He ducked his head and grabbed the towels off of it and began to dry himself off.

            “I said, ‘do you understand?’—you will answer me now,” Shockwave growled sharply.

            “I—I understand, master………” the flame-colored mech responded shyly.

            Shockwave gave a nod of acceptance and then gazed down at the young mech drying himself off.   He raised his good servo to his odd faceplating and rubbed thoughtfully around the bottom ridge of it.   This mech was young and rather durable—he might well be a “special one”.   If this young, flame-colored mech could be trained for certain………………………it might be well worth Shockwave’s investment to train him.   Plus, if this Hot Rod really were a “special one”, being able to examine a living specimen of a “special one” was too lucky of a chance to pass up.

            There were many ways to entice and control the young ones.

            Very many.

            It might even prove to be somewhat…………delightful.

            The violet-and-grey mech reached down with his good servo and brushed a few digits along the flame-colored mech’s jawline.   Hot Rod’s gaze went back up to his faceplate and then the scavenger watched as the blue-glass coverings dimmed when the young mech shuttered his optics with happiness and pleasure.

            Yes, and this was definitely a way to control one so very young such as this.   The young ones who so easily blended the pleasures of the frame with emotions they labelled as “love” could easily be persuaded into anything for their young idea of “love” and the pleasures of the frame that they associated with it.

            Shockwave’s gentle digits stroked up along the side of Hot Rod’s pale grey faceplate, until the palm of his servo slid up and caressed the flame-colored mech’s helm.   The young mech gave something like a soft purring sound, deep in his vocalizer.   That was when the EM field around the younger one began rippling with want and need.

            If Shockwave could have smiled, a devious grin would have lit up his faceplate.   The young ones certainly were so very easily swayed and persuaded to do anything!


*      *      *      *      *


            Though it really was quite odd, once the violet-and-grey scavenger had the young mech up on his examination table………….the flame-colored mech was still sealed.   And he was also absolutely embarrassed at having to open his array to a stranger, no matter how much he seemed to submit to kind gestures and stroking.   Shockwave found it rather fascinating—he’d asked what Hot Rod’s age was and what his faction was, the answers to which were thirty revolutions and Autobot.

            The young mech had more years than Shockwave actually expected, but not as many as to make him jaded and downcast about the war.   “Autobot” didn’t surprise him as the listed faction—the brand on his chest pretty much said it, marred and scarred as it was right now—because only the young and idealistic joined the Autobots.

            It was the desire and want and need dripping from the flame-colored mech’s EM field that had him puzzled, as well as the still-sealed interface array.   He shouldn’t still be sealed, as needy as the little mech seemed to be………..surely there couldn’t be an Autobot who could resist fragging such a pretty frame as this flame-colored mech seemed to have.   He seemed a bit too old to not have already enjoyed the pleasures of the frame with another mech or femme by now!

            “Unnnh……so hot…………” the flame-colored mech moaned, his face buried in the cool metal of the examination table.

            “Is it, now?”  Shockwave chuckled, brushing the digits of his right servo over the heat-softened seals.   The metal sealing Hot Rod’s interface array was soft enough that the scavenger felt he could easily peel the seals away on the young mech.   “I am rather curious as to why you have not fragged anyone yet.   You seem to be quite eager for enjoying interfacing.   They are not so prudish amongst the Autobots, are they?”

            “Want……..unnnh…….want…………” Hot Rod mumbled, grinding his forehead against the table beneath him.   “So much……….want………… much more………….” he whispered, his aft swaying and hips rocking gently.   “The stars………….” he added, his voice so very low that Shockwave barely heard those last words.

            He was quite puzzled as to what that might mean.   Hot Rod wanted the stars?   Or was it something meaning he was ambitious enough to want something more than could be had in his normal life?   Shockwave turned to his instrument table and uncovered the adaptor port in his left forearm.   With a soft snap and hiss, he attached a forensic claw to his left forearm.   He knew he had to open up the youth’s array, because to persuade him to do everything that could possibly be planned for the future—he needed to bind the youth to him and make him beg to be ordered.

            Sexual domination could do that.   Young mechs and femmes became obsessed and possessed by carnal desires—and could usually be persuaded to do anything for an individual when a sexually satisfying favor were the reward at the end.

            However, Shockwave had no desire to rut with such a lowly, young mech.

            That didn’t mean he didn’t have……………………….with which to satisfy such primitive carnal desires.   And those tools could be used to twist and corrupt and make the perfect puppet with which to achieve exactly what a “mere scavenger” wanted.

            “Well, then.   We can alleviate that heat, but first a bit of pain to make it all that much more sweeter, little Hot Rod,” Shockwave said, his voice a slight purr of enticement.

            “Unnnh………yes…….please…………want………….” the little mech whimpered, raising his aft a little off the table and rocking it teasingly.

            Hot Rod’s EM field rippled heavily with need and want.   It was clear to Shockwave that pure lust was ruling the young, flame-colored mech and nothing resembling any kind of common sense was there anymore.   Even the fear and shame that the young mech felt earlier had become nothing but longing and lust for pleasure.   That was something that clearly worked in Shockwave’s favor, for if Hot Rod still had his shame and fear, it would be much harder to bend and break the young mech with sexual domination.

            The scavenger reached down with his clawed forensic tool and brushed it lightly over the softened metal sealing the young mech’s array.   The mewling that erupted from the flame-colored mech’s vocalizer was sweet and hungry.   Well, it would only be a few moments of pain…………..

            Shockwave pushed the sharp tips of the forensic claw into the soft metal, clenched and yanked it away hard and swift.   Hot Rod screamed in utter agony and then went instantly unconscious.

            “Ah, seal-breaking.   Always a lottery on the reaction you get,” Shockwave chuckled softly, walking over to a cabinet and opening it.   He glanced all around the vast array of sex toys and pondered which ones he should use to give Hot Rod his first tastes of penetration and ecstasy.   He reached up with his good right servo and picked a thin, long spike-toy—with deep, V-shaped ridging along the sides and a thick, rounded head.   This would be a good choice—he couldn’t start the young mech out with a very thick spike-toy, not yet.   It needed to be long enough to penetrate deep into the valve and activate the ceiling node, awakening the young mech’s sexual programs and protocols completely with the first overload of pleasure.   The scavenger switched to grip it in the clawed forensic tool in his left arm and then flicked a couple digits from his right servo against it.   A visible, pale charge rippled up its length.   “Excellent.   Now for the lubrication stimulant………..” he murmured, walking over to another cabinet filled with various potions and chemicals.

            Shockwave took his gathered tools and went back over to the examination table.   Setting everything down onto a stand beside him, he looked at the young, flame-colored mech’s faceplate.   Tears had leaked from the microseams around the blue glass-coverings of his optics and stained his facial ridges and the metal slab beneath his head.

            “Given time, you shalll be able to handle so much more pain than this,” Shockwave chuckled softly.   “Frankly, I cannot wait to open your chestplate and see what is inside of you.   Your reactions are so typical of a youth and yet………..there is something different about you that I have never encountered in any of our species ever before.   You may be the one that will allow me to reach the apex of what we should become…………” he trailed off, turning back to his nearby stand of tools and opened the canister that had a frame-safe lubrication stimulant.   Then Shockwave picked up the spike-toy and tapped it against the edge of the stand a few times to get charge flowing through it, before dipping it and covering the false appendage liberally with the lubrication stimulant.   The chemical would act as something almost like an aphrodisiac and entice the young mech’s valve to lubricate consistently, while the charge in the spike-toy would activate the initializer rings inside the rim of Hot Rod’s valve and, eventually, amp the charge to maximum when it hit the ceiling node deep within the valve itself.

            Then the violet-and-grey colored mech reached over with his clawed forensic tool and tapped lightly on the side of Hot Rod’s red helm.   There was a soft, mumbling response.   Shockwave grunted and tapped the side of the helm a little bit harder.   The blue glass-coverings over the optics began to glow brighter as the orbs inside cycled open.

            “Good.  I am glad you’re awake now, because honestly—how will you enjoy any sort of interfacing pleasure if you are unconscious?”  Shockwave said with a teasing tone in his soft voice.

            Hot Rod’s mouth opened, but only static came out.   He coughed as his vocalizer rebooted.   “You—you’re gonna frag me?”   He asked, curiously.

            “Oh, certainly not!”   The grey-and-violet mech laughed, darkly.   “But I have plenty of ways to make you overload that do not entail me mounting you like a rutting turbofox in heat.”

            “Oh…………I—I see…………” Hot Rod whispered, the tone of his voice sounding disappointed.

            “There is no such thing as love, young Hot Rod—you would do well to remember that,” Shockwave said, his tone even and emotionless.   “In our world—our ever-changing world—there is only one constant.   The one willing to throw away allies, enemies and allegiances will stand at the apex and direct harmony and stability for a new era.   If you throw away your own petty emotions and attachments, you will see the world with clear optics.”

            Hot Rod made a strange little sound in his vocalizer—they weren’t words, but they weren’t anything else that could be clearly understood either.   And several seconds after that, when the lubricated spike-toy was shoved hard straight into him, the next sounds Hot Rod made weren’t words either………..but those sounds were much more easily understood as they echoed in the laboratory room around the two mechs inside it.