Work Text:
--INCOMING EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION--
-Utane Station 36 - DECOMMISSIONED-
--Reporting low-frequency line: Hold--
_Stanix of Brilliax Central, cycle 46,806, transmitting…_
_This is Stanix of Brilliax Central, reporting from Utane Station 36. I’ve been reporting for 46,806 cycles now -standard Cybertronian cycles- and have yet to receive pickup. I request that anyone seeing this, follow the coordinates below and reach me as soon as possible._
--TRANSMISSION END--
The leader of the DJD shifts, staying silent as Kaon brings down the transmission and brings up The List, pulling up S and scrolling through their listed names, his face contorted in concentration while the others stay silent. “He’s not registered on the list, sir, should we engage?” The communication officer asks, optics unblinking as their leader stands to clasp his hands behind his back.
”Stanix of Brilliax…” Their leader hums, nodding his head to Tesarus as the large mech brings up the caller's profile. He’s a Decepticon, reconfigured war-built flight frame, low command ranking, and has no known accounts of fraternization or abandonment to the cause.
A brilliant idea reaches the leader as his field perks up with interest, his t-cog HAS been straining on him for a few cycles, and the Pet hasn’t had a new chew toy in a while… it’d only be fair that they take what they’re owed for helping the poor sod.
“Make course Utane, seventeen sectors away, inform him that we’ll be there in three cycles” A curt nod and Kaon has the transmission back on screen, dialing up the transmission code and calling back.
---
--
-
It feels like he’s been on this planet for AGES. Having run out of resources way too long ago, surviving off only sheer luck and the dead body parts of Autobots and Decepticons he’s found across his travels through the wasteland that might as well be his new home. Shortly after having figured out that he was ROYALLY screwed with no way of getting off this forsaken planet, he’d found a transmitter, hooking it up to the best of his abilities and sending out more emergency transmissions than he’d like to admit, among most of those being him sobbing and screaming for someone to finally come save him from insanity.
Sitting alone for cycles not even his chronometer can count out too, his processor has begun feeding him false hopes and possibilities he wishes would come true. The haphazard camp he’d made his escape shuttle with is slowly beginning to fall apart around him.
The decay of himself and his campsite was sad, but no one was there to judge him.
Rubbing a dirty cloth across his wiring, Stanix hisses in pain, the circuitry of his mauled arm crackling with upset electricity. It’s been a while since he’s been able to find proper parts for himself, using anything he could to fix the smaller pieces of himself. However, finding an arm and extra optic that hadn’t been blown apart or shattered completely was far more difficult than one would begin to believe. Half blind and crippled, he’s one sad excuse for a Decepticon.
Sure his t-cog is still in plenty of working order, but it’s difficult to turn into alt-mode with only one arm, not to mention his mangled wing. On a few occasions, Stanix had wished for the turborats to eat him during his recharge cycle, to finally put him out of his lonely misery.
He was okay with dying alone.
That was before he made his last transmission before the questioning voice that greeted him and the noise he made that he never thought could come from a cybertronian -something between a cough, a choke, and purging out your insides after a night of partying- as he eagerly answered the transmitter.
“Hello?! Can you hear me? This is Stanix! I’m here!” The war-build states in desperation, his vents heaving with anxiety and excitement. The thought of someone to talk to, the THRILL of possibly finally getting off this planet. One could say he was exasperated.
”Stanix of Brilliax Central, we will be arriving at your destination in three cycles, we require that you’re prepared and cleaned up for our arrival” A wave of relief washes over him and fuels him with determination like no other he’s ever felt before.
”I will! I will! Thank you, thank you!” He longs for further conversation, but he knows his communicator won’t allow him to do so, so he sticks with the simple:
”Wait! Please, before you go, what’s your designation?” The loneliness was definitely getting to him, normally, he would have never asked, barely even cared, but this mech was different. This was the first mech he’d talked to in ages and the pull of insanity was too strong to not have the name of the one that sought to save him. Several clicks go by without an answer and he panics, the new silence collapsing around him was terrifying, drowning him in worry that he’d said something wrong, that they’re thinking about taking back their arrival.
With a crackle from the transmission, the same voice breaks through.
”You will be able to ask questions once safely on our ship, we’re grateful for your cooperation-” The transmission cuts short, something fizzles and Stanix drops the transmitter in a hurry, watching as the poor thing finally bursts into flames, ashing the ground on his shipwreck and popping in small bursts of depressing electricity. The flight frame stares at it, his good working optic twitching with new-found frustration, a scream shortly erupting from his intake moments later.
Someone was coming for him, he had to remember that, someone was coming for him, he was going to be back on a ship! Whichever faction the ship was he barely cared for anymore.
Aside from the anger he feels for his transmitter finally giving up on him, Stanix exvents a hardy sigh of relief, he was finally going to get off this dusty landscape of insanity.
Standing, Stanix raised his arm to the sky in prayer, he’s never been more thankful for Primus than he was this very moment, he may not believe in the all-maker, but he’s sure as pit grateful the other isn’t screwing him over any longer.
---
--
-
Spending three cycles in wait had been torture. The pleasure of knowing he’d reach freedom in only a short time made it pass by each slow decasecond. Tidying up everything he could and slinging the bag over his shoulder, he assumes that they’ll meet him across the desert, or just wherever they’re able to track his spark signature.
Ready and scrambling to the highest point he knows, Stanix looks back to his mangled escape pod and frowns. Oh, the memories the two of them had made, but alas he knew it was time to let go and leave.
On the dusk of the third day, he saw the ship high above him, its sleek exterior like no ship he’d ever seen before, it looked almost brand new! Or well-kept if he had to guess. Waving up at the glorious shuttle with all the relief he could muster, Stanix jogs as it lands, running and nearly tripping over the sand as he watches the shuttle doors open. He runs faster.
“Hey! Hey! Over here!” He shouts, and from what he can see, three mechs step off the platform. One rather large compared to other cons he’s seen, a crimson X leaving his face a complete mystery, and the large grinder just under his chassis caused Stanix to rethink running up to them so quickly. He can almost hear its soft whirring as he nears.
The other two are smaller, one he recognizes as a tank build, his purple plating glittering across the barren sand and leaving a trail of heavy steps in his wake. Looking up towards the tank's face, he’s surprised to see it covered by the symbol they all hold dear, the same symbol nearly scuffed off over his own chassis. The last is the smallest, he could have mistaken him as a minibot if not for his lanky stature. He wears a thin face mask, his crimson optics squinting in creepy curiosity.
Stanix looks away from him in fear of the other mentally probing his mind for seconds he doesn’t exactly have. He cringes and tries to rid that thought from his processor as he approaches, standing fine and tall before the purple con and saluting in respect, fluttering his broken wings in excitement.
“No need for formalities, soldier” The tank chuckles, his voice rumbling with something unlike Stanix has ever heard before, his voice giving way to almost something sinister. Stanix lets a nervous chuckle leave his intake as he mulls over whether he should trust these guys or not.
”Course, course, you already know who I am, who might you be? Best to get to know my future captain before boarding his vessel after all” Stanix assumes, though perhaps unwise of him, he’s assuming the large purple tank is in charge, by the way, the other two stand behind him, unmoving, and staring intending at each twitch of his anxious frame.
The mech before him lets out another chuckle and Stanix smiles, he sure hopes he’s making the best first impression that he can, he’d hate for them to leave him here for coming off as rude or ungrateful, even if his spark is telling him that MAYBE these guys aren’t the wisest choice for him right now.
”You shall be PROPERLY introduced to my crew VERY soon, for now, let’s get you to the medbay, shall we?” Stanix nods and steps forward, boarding the ship with careful steps and looking around in complete shock.
The shuttle bay was PERFECT, everything was neatly organized and sorted with the utmost practice and care. From the corner of his good optic, Stanix notices the escape pods, all ready and primed for an emergency and honestly the nicest ones he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing in his lifetime. If his sensors hadn’t been ramped up due to his half blindness, Stanix definitely would have run into the rather LARGE Megatron statue stamped in the middle of the room, his derma dropping in awe and amazement at the almost holy look of their leader, he chuckles.
”Holy scrap, I swear I’ve never seen a ship this clean or organized before, how big is your crew?!” Rounding the statue a few times, he has to dodge the strange skinny member before nearly tripping over him, mumbling his sorries, and turning back to catch the purple tank observing him.
”Only six of us care for this mighty vessel, though the seventh is unable, he helps out where and when he can” Stanix looks down as the smaller mech seems to be looking him over, inspecting him with that same morbid curiosity from the first time they’d caught eachothers optics. The flight frame frowns at the small mech and shifts his plating nervously, taking a knowing step back, only for the other to step with him.
”You’ll have to excuse him, he enjoys it when company is over, we don’t get very many… LIVELY guests” The tank muses, Stanix gives him a forced smile in turn and rounds back to look up at the statue, the powerful gaze of his lord felt almost overwhelming now that he stared at it long enough.
Something wasn’t starting to feel right about this anymore when the blast doors began to shut, the large tankformer had waved for Stanix to follow, the smaller mech trotting over and standing close to his leader's side, leaving Stanix with the large grinder towering behind him. He looked back every few moments to find the other staring down at him with raw intensity. Stanix shudders, his plating snapping taught against his frame and stiffly shuffling onward.
The further they walked, the more eerily the ship had become. Stanix wasn’t feeling all that thrilled to have willingly gotten aboard their ship anymore, but he pushed forward.
Ignoring his doubts and trying to fill the silence, he hangs back from the small creepy mech and tankformer to grab the attention of the grinder, clearing his intake and grabbing the skyscraper mech's swift downward helm tilt.
”So… since it’s only about seven of you, what do you mechs usually do for the cause?” He inquires, the silence from the grinder gives his curiosity a run for its shanix, his features falling from their curious gleam to a disappointed frown.
”Silence… fair, you seem like the type that usually prefers to be alone. I’m a loner myself you know, spent WAY too long on Utane being lonely, haha... Personally think I’ve MASTERED the art of loner” Stanix tries with more enthusiasm, though the most he gets is a quiet grunt and the large gleaming X turning fully to face down at him. Cowering under the large mechs blazing X, Stanix averts his single opticed gaze. He cringed as he forced himself to shuffle away from the other hopefully unnoticeably.
”I was a common officer before Utane… I loved working for the cause… I hope I’m able to make up my time being out of battle now…” He mumbles, mostly to himself, though he’d really like to break the strange tension around all four of them currently.
With the tankformer and morbid gremlin in their own makeshift world in front, Stanix had maybe felt a LITTLE out of the conversation, and all he wanted was to be able to break the voices telling him to get off this ship as soon as possible, he’s already had paranoia bother him enough, he doesn’t want it here.
“You will make up for your time out of the field perfectly here..” The whispered gruff voice of the grinder catches the flight frame completely off guard, looking back up at the other with a shocked but relieved grin.
”You mean that? I’d love to be able to feel like I’m part of a team again” Stanix blurts out, wincing at the chipper tone in his voice as he straightens himself to look more professional.
The grinder doesn’t speak further, only giving him his full attention, or at least, what Stanix can only assume to be his full attention.
”I miss being useful” That came out wrong, Stanix realizes all too late, his processor turning harshly at the sudden admittance to his feelings of uselessness. Optic wide with fear at what the grinder's reaction might be, perhaps he’ll laugh, call him weak for randomly expressing his feelings to someone he barely knows.
All he gets is something he didn’t expect, the grinder places a servo on his shoulder and Stanix looks up at him in confusion, the X masking his features almost looks to be flashing at him in small helpful bursts of what he can only assume to be encouragement. He knows that’s most likely just his processor playing tricks on him, it has to be.
“You will be useful here.. You will be useful to me” Little weird, but Stanix gives him a grateful smile all the same, reaching up his own servo to pat away the larger forearm nearly wrapped around him, faceplates dusted with embarrassment.
”Thanks, I really needed to hear that..” It may have been a bit of a strange compliment or form of helpful therapy, but Stanix feels he should be grateful he got anything at all from the large grinder.
Stiffly turning forward, Stanix yelps when he nearly walks into a large tank tread. The tankformer gives him an acknowledging look before sidestepping and gesturing for him to step forward. Following the guiding servo of who he assumes will most likely be his captain for a while, Stanix is surprised to see a lab before him, less cleaned up than the rest of the place, but intriguing all the same.
Shelves filled with various glowing viles decorate the room in an unsettling glow, a single operation table sits in the middle of it all. He chokes out a few nervous laughs and turns back to look at the purple tankformer, glancing down to find his creepy buddy no longer standing beside him.
”Don’t mind the mess, our little friend wasn’t expecting a guest so soon and I hadn’t prepared him to clean. You may enter, nothing in here bites” Somehow he can’t bring himself to believe that, but he gives his captain a wary smile and walks in, the tank and grinder following in behind him before the doors slam close and lock. Stanix whirled around, giving the two a wide horrified optic.
”So… this is a pleasant form of a medbay, haha…” He’s terrified out of his processor, he’s starting to believe what his paranoia was trying to tell him, that maybe these guys are a little wack and he should have gotten out while he still had the chance. The purple tank tilts his helm and knits his servos together behind his back, pacing forward and towering over the flight frame with a controlled glower.
He hadn’t realized how small he’d made himself look until now.
”Stanix, are you aware of a group called the Decepticon Justice Division?” His confusion answers his question for him as he steps back onto an operating table as the tank corners him.
”No? Well isn’t this just a pleasure? First meeting with Megatron's greatest soldiers, we should reward you for your naivety, but alas, my t-cog has been ACHEING for a new one to take its place and you’re just the perfect match” He hadn’t even realized the grinder was behind him before he was being forced down by his shoulders onto the operation table, his wrist falling into place under tight restraints and the tankformer leaning over his terrified struggling with a psychotic glint in his optics.
“What are you doing?! Who are you!? What the slag is the DJD?!” Trying to get out was useless, the grinder was much larger and stronger than himself and it was becoming more pointless to struggle as he was strapped into place on the table.
”You’ll know who we are VERY soon, loyal Stanix, very, VERY soon..” The deep grinding sound of a scissorsaw is the only warning he gets before a masked face staring down at him, bringing the blade towards his face and hissing out what he can only assume was mocking. Stanix screams, his struggle becoming more frantic as the little maniac rounded the operation table, running a skinny digit from his collar down to just above the place where his t-cog was.
“Shhh… It’d be a shame for you to wake the rest of our crew..” He can hear the frown in the tanker's voice as something deep and painful wraps itself around his spark, a gasp passing his lips as he chokes out a pitiful cry of agony. His frame twitched numbly as the blades brought down onto his plating, cutting through his waistline and squirting energon across his twitching legs and abdomen.
The wail that leaves him causes his vocalizer to shoot itself out, and that same pain comes back to his spark as he’s being sawed in half. It feels like something has invaded him, the deepest part of his very soul being manipulated to help him calm down through an agony he’s never been forced to endure in all his time with Decepticons. He can feel lubricant waterfalling from his optics as his vocals bop and fritz with no noise, he can feel his lines draining from the amount of energon he’s losing, his insides feeling as though they're falling out from his ports.
Stanix’s optic goes bright when he feels his t-cog being ripped from his frame, the chuckling from the small mech pulling it free driving his processor insane, the judging optics of the large tankformer fueling his need to escape. His frame shudders as it begins to give up, energon spitting from his mouth as the final line connecting his t-cog to his frame is severed, a wash of hopelessness washes over him and he can’t do anything but twitch and garble out nonsense…
--FULL SYSTEM SHUTDOWN: PREPARING--
-WARNING: INNER COMPONENT FALUIRE IMINATE-
-WARNING: INTERRUPTED FUEL LINES RUPTURED-
-WARNING: TERMINATED TRANSFORMATION COG-
_SYNCING…_
--ALL SYSTEMS OFFLINE--