Trinkets 7B/?
Leapers, was it?
D-16 spared the slightest of glances for the mech that had been all but gutted by one of the leapers. That one had been a decent comrade in arms. Oh, it was obvious that he had not been bred to the arena--the armor was clearly civilian grade and high-quality besides--but the mech that called himself Soundwave was possessed of an uncanny instinct that bordered on the preternatural.
Had bordered. He was experienced enough to know a killing blow when it was inflicted, and the strike that had caught Soundwave? That was a killing blow; one that led to a slow, painful end.
He himself had only just dodged out of the unexpected pounce and charge of the Leapers; Soundwave had not been as quick, and would pay for it with his life. Even if the mech survived long enough to reach the medics, it was unlikely the repair fees would actually be fronted. A low-tier fighter-and one bearing the weight of a penal fine no less-would hardly be worth the expenditure. The pit bosses would more than likely let the mech hasten on to his end, scavenge what they could from the frame, and use the saved credits to purchase a real gladiator.
He, at least, would not fall so easily. He was a sparked Kaonite, through and through. Kaonites either mined or fought, and the weak were either scrapped early on into their existence or fled the city-state. It was the sort of environment that bred survivors, but him? He’d thrived. Oh yes, he had his beginnings in the energon mines of Kaon, but he had escaped that drudgery. The pit bosses that ran Kaon always needed a good fighter, and he’d preferred to carve a purpose for himself in violence and spilt energon rather than spend the rest of his function deep in the mines or factories blasting away at unprocessed energon crystals to sustain some arbitrary bot declared to be his better. They’d readily contracted him, and he had outperformed all expectations. He was undefeated, legendary within the pits and rapidly gaining a following outside of them. He was the best Kaon had to offer.
After the kind of showing he’d had in this Coliseum, the pit bosses might even funnel the saved credits into his own repairs, protecting their investment in him. He was a true warrior, more at home in these arenas than anywhere else on Cybertron. He was the strongest, the most ruthless, and the most dangerous. They could send Leapers, Cloakers, old-fashioned Titans, it didn’t matter! Everything was fodder!
Buoyed by the self-affirmation, D-16 flourished his energy flail and began to circle the Leaper on the floor of the pit while still keeping a wary optic on the one lurking at the far edges. It began to move in closer, but a powered blast from his fusion cannon kept the drone at bay. One would be easily handled, but even he knew that two at once would be inviting more trouble than it was worth.
There was one other, half-crunched into the Coliseum floor a short distance away. Soundwave had been all but disemboweled by the blasted thing, but he’d stayed standing long enough to shut down its engine. Mostly intact, that particular Leaper had powered down with a droning whine, and even though it seemed to be offline, he wasn’t going to take any chances.
Leapers deserved that extra bit of caution.
He’d first heard about them before from other pit fighters. They’d been favored war-drones of the old Prime’s army, little more than heavily armored death-dealers that usually leapt onto the ground near an opponent generating an incapacitating shockwave. Once caught in that trap, a mech was left vulnerable to the Leaper’s horrifying charge attack, powered by the massive speed engines strapped to its back. Those attacks were almost always killing blows if they landed, puncturing spark chambers and rending vitals with the vicious claws on their hands. It was considered suicide to face them head on-more cautious fighters preferred to attack from behind, smashing the exposed engines and sparking off a fatal chain-reaction within its internals.
Soundwave had attempted as much, but failed.
There was a time for caution, yes, but there was also a time for decisive action and a glorious takedown. The mob around him wanted spilled energon and carnage; he would give it to them.
He waited for the tell-tale whine of powering engines, and where another mech would have dodged he instead refused to move from the out of the way of the sudden charge. The forward momentum of the massive war drone was met and returned by a heavy foot smashing into the front of its chassis, and D-16 smashed his flail into the deep purple plating. The metal sizzled and warped around the weapon, exposing precious wiring and gears.
The drone raised an arm as if to beat him away, and D-16 struck, plunging his hand deep inside the complex systems and yanking loose wires and connectors. His hand was smeared with grease and oil when he pulled it back out, and he shook some of the excess fluid loose before smashing his fist into the drone’s faceplates with an echoing crunch. The war drone sparked and jerked erratically, but stayed on its feet, swinging at him wildly.
He lunged to the side, gray armor shining orange from the reflected light of the Leaper's power core as he rolled behind it, firing another blast into the exposed weak-point. It seized up, arcs of blue electricity and white-hot plasma sparking from its internals before it blew apart in the chain reaction.
D-16 let out a triumphant roar as he caught the severed head in his massive grip, crushing it between his fingers before he threw it into the face plates of the other Leaper as it charged forward, causing the war drone to stumble backwards before it recovered its footing.
Even here, these soft Iaconians and their weak Prime cheered him on, appalled at the carnage he had wrought in their Coliseum, but in awe of the same. He could hear some of the clearer accolades above the noisy din.
Relentless, they called him.
The Slag-maker.
He slammed his energy flail back into the torso plating of the Leaper, knocking it over. The whine of stressed gears and servos rose above the din as he planted his foot deeper into the dent left behind and began to doggedly wrench one of the powerful legs out of socket.
These were mere toys, no match for his prowess! D-16 succeeded in his dismemberment of the drone, holding it high above his head in triumph as crude energon and hydraulic fluid splattered over his legs and the arena floor.
Caught up in his deliberate pandering, the crowd all but clamored out of their seats and over the sides of the arena, wishing to be closer to the action. Fine, then. Let them have it! D-16 flung the severed leg deep into the crowds, the wave of spectators surging back and away from the projectile with startled outcries.
Hah! D-16 wrenched the other leg loose, flinging that one into the crowd as well.
He was no tame mechanism, no pet fighter to trot out for others enjoyment. He was unfettered, something to be feared by even those merely watching him. No one, nothing was safe from his reach, and that thrill of narrow danger made the crowds love him, made them remember him!
Already a few of the steadier mechs and femmes in the crowd had recovered from the panic and were now pushing and shoving at each other to get at the legs he'd thrown into their midst. One of them was recovered by a rather feral looking Praxian, the black and silver mech-an Enforcer-easily swooping up the severed leg for himself. A slight scuffle had broken up closer to the arena walls, and a dark purple, black and yellow mech darted away with the second leg, his red visor gleaming in triumph like a turborat with a new prize for its hoard.
Look at them! They were no better than he-worse even! -these higher ranked bots scavenging bits and pieces of a drone for souvenirs! And they claimed to be so far removed from the common mechs and femmes they sneered at every cycle.
Beneath his foot, the mutilated Leaper twitched as it spurted out vital fluids over the arena floor and D-16 ground his massive weight further into the buckled plating. “Who defeats me?! Who defeats me!?”
The unruly crowd continued to shout and cheer, whipped into a greater frenzy by his bravado.
“No one defeats me!” D-16 smashed his energy flail into the writhing Leaper. “I defy all odds!” *smash* “I defy all mechanisms!” *smash* “I
defy fate itself!” *smash* The punctuated assault had reduced the once formidable war drone into little more than a mass of broken gears and crushed metal, but still it clung to its function, attempting to strike at the looming gladiator with its mangled limbs. Even against the inevitable it struggled; D-16 felt an odd sort of kinship with the drone in that moment. He struck at it again, erasing the weaker emotion that threatened to rise up in him.
Within the stands, a minor noble glanced over at his companion. “This one fancies himself mightier than the Primes themselves!”
“He fights well enough that he might well be. It’s like Megatronus returned.”
As these things are wont to occur, another bot overheard the conversation and turned to spread the comment to the next mech, and so forth. Comparisons to the infamous Prime spread throughout the crowd and evolved. No one would ever know who first began the cheer, but it originated there in Iacon, within the walls of the ancient Coliseum. One voice, then another, and another, until the formless roar morphed into a chant as a menacing war drone skittered out of the arena gates and the mech called D-16 hefted his fusion cannon with a sneer.
“MEGATRONUS!”
“MEGATRONUS!”
“MEGATRONUS!”
************* ***************************** ********************** **************
"Tracks, where!?"
"Just ahead. They'll be taking him into the lower pits."
Jazz pushed his way through the crowd, uncaring of who or what got in his way. They parted easily for him-almost all of the bots on this level of the building were hardly ranked enough to challenge him in the first place, and even the scant few that were didn’t bother, quickly backing down once they realized just who the mech was.
A few curious looks were shared at the odd scenario-what would Protihex's Alpha Maestro be doing down here? -and a few of the more enterprising mechs and femmes called out for autographs, only to be summarily ignored or pushed back by either Tracks or Blaster.
The bots populating the area thinned out as they continued onward until they reached the lower levels of the Coliseum. These were little more than maintenance tunnels and a few control rooms here or there, empty for the most part except for the scrapped mechs here and there. A few mechs toiled among them-underlings of the pit bosses who owned the contract of those unfortunate gladiators, a medic or two treating those that might still survive to see another fight.
"Mirage? Did he make it this far?"
An empty patch of air next to Jazz that had been radiating more and more distaste the deeper they went rippled briefly as the mech in question flipped through a more advanced range of sensors to no avail. "Not that I can tell."
"Slaggit." Jazz grabbed at one of the medics that passed nearby, desperate for answers. "You! Have you seen a blue and white Protihexan down here? He's a communication Host named Soundwave?"
"Uhhh...I...."
"Well, mech!?"
The medic-obviously one that was fresh out of training (if he'd even had any formal schooling) stalled glancing nervously this way and that. "The bosses don't like anyone trifling with their mechs. I'm not even sure you're supposed to be down here."
Tracks scoffed as he gently removed the medic from Jazz’s grip. "Does it look like we care!? Look mech, this is yours." Tracks pulled out one of his spare credit chips. "200 credits. All you need to do is tell us where a mech named Soundwave is down here. He was just dragged out of the Arena about thirty or forty breems ago, was scrapped up pretty bad?"
The medic seemed to ponder the offer for a moment, then quickly snatched the chip. The amount was more than he’d see in a stellar cycle, especially given the exorbitant percentages the pit-bosses liked to claim out of their service fees. "He's down by the smelting pile. Just follow the energon spillage." The medic turned to go, only to be seized by Jazz once more. "You're coming with us, mech. We might need you."
The younger medic squawked in surprise as he was dragged back down the hall. "I really-I really shouldn't! My boss-"
Jazz hissed in frustration. "A thousand credits to mute it and do what we need you to!"
The medic fell silent almost immediately. Money talked, after all, and this was definitely the sweetest tune he’d ever heard.
They continued on, the young medic leading them deeper into the service tunnels of the Coliseum. The roar of the crowds above was load enough to penetrate the walls and ceiling as a dull sort of white noise, and Jazz fumed inwardly at the utter callousness that had led to this sorry situation.
Not one particularly fond of silence, Blaster glanced over at the medic. Definitely young-younger than him, for sure-and about the right age to start service as an intern. Why the mech was here instead of mentoring in a medical facility, though? Blaster’s look turned appraising.
“Soooo….”
The red mech, who had been shooting surreptitious glances at Track’s flip-out wings, turned towards him, and Blaster felt the urge to twitch under that curious gaze. “Knock Out.”
“Ah. Right. Knock Out.” Blaster subtlety moved closer to Tracks. Seriously…this mech was way too interested in his chassis and he was getting strong a strong creeper vibe off of the medic. This is a mech, Blaster thought to himself, who would be far too happy pulling apart a mech’s internals just to see how they worked.
“Were you contracted out to assist with the Games?”
Knock Out frowned. “Contract? Nah. That’s for those fancy high-born medics. I was actually sparked into an administrative caste, but what’s an administrator going to do in Kaon?”
“…handle the city’s administrative work?” Tracks said slowly, as if speaking to a youngling.
Knock out laughed bitterly. “You’ve never been to Kaon, have you? Kaon belongs to the pit bosses, and the bureaucrats there are puppets. You only need a few puppets; keeps things efficient. Now medics? Always going to need plenty of those, and us administrative types have got the processing power, if not the actual training. But education chips are easy to come by when you know the right bots, and a few orns practical experience will definitely get you up to scruff.”
Blaster and Tracks exchanged horrified glances. “Mech, that’s illegal.” Seriously illegal, in fact. Tracks, thanks to his control over his guild’s gossip network-and therefore Protihex’s gossip network-had feelers all over Cybertron, and had long grown accustomed to hearing that some bot or another had been disciplined for unsanctioned operations. The Powers-That-Be did not like it when a bot stepped that far out of line. It threatened Cybertron’s stability if left unchecked.
Knock Out shrugged. “What are they going to do? Arrest me and send me to the Pits? They can’t delete the training now that I’ve assimilated it all. My Boss will just knock me about a bit for the inconvenience and put me back on medic duty.”
“Surely someone would know what’s going on…” Tracks murmured, completely scandalized. How was it possible that a state would allow such corruption? And not even try to disguise it? He’d heard rumors that it was a widely unregulated and a bastion of criminal activity, but he had dismissed them for the most part. What city-state would allow itself to function in such a fashion-and furthermore-how could any kind of city-state operate in defiance of Sentinel Prime’s social model?”
“Well, yeah, everyone knows what Kaon’s like, but there’s not much you can do to bots that are already at rock-bottom. ‘s long as they don’t get too far out of line and they keep the energon deadlines? Well, the Council lets the Bosses do what they want.
“So why not use Soundwave for a medic? Surely your Boss must have known he couldn’t fight.” Jazz clamped down on his rising irritation; what was done was done, and there was no use getting angry with those who had nothing to do with Soundwave’s incarceration. He just needed to get some sort of assistance to Soundwave before the mech up and died on them.
Knock Out pointed them to the right, and they went deeper into the tunnels. “The thought crossed his mind, but your mech had a sentencing tag installed on him. Can’t do a thing while that tag’s active-it’ll report directly back to the Enforcers, and they aren’t as understanding as the Council. We’d all be tagged up and put in the ring.”
“And you don’t think openly discussing illegal behavior is dangerous?”
Knock Out grinned. “They’d have to prove it first.” Knock Out didn’t notice-or more likely didn’t care-about the outraged looks that statement garnered.
Mirage opened up a private line between them, still invisible to all but the most advanced sensors; much as he was concerned for Soundwave, he could not risk being spotted down in the lower levels. Unlike Jazz, who was afforded an extra degree of…eccentricity, he was held to a stricter code of conduct, and this would most certainly draw all sorts of attention he didn’t need.
A grim expression overtook Jazz’s face before he settled back into careful neutrality.
I certainly didn’t notice any professional medical interns down here, and I doubt Soundwave has time for us to find one. For Pit’s sake, I’ll be glad if we can just keep the mech functional right now, real medic or not.>
Knock Out, meanwhile, continued to talk. Talking was good; better than that awkward silence at least. And it wasn’t too much trouble; they could be shocked all they wanted as long as he got those credits. “Anyway, The Boss had just gotten around to getting that thing shut off when the Prime decides to open the Coliseum back up for this celebration thing, and we needed another fighter to make quota. Your mech Soundboard...”
“Soundwave”
“Right. Soundwave. Anyway, he was pretty smart and took a deal to get himself hooked up with a combat chip-kept him alive those first few cycles he was there. Well, it also made it real easy to classify him as a fighter. The boss intended to do the coding switch once this was all over with, but your mech went and got himself all fragged up right and proper. Figured he was done for, so we tossed him back here and figured we’d recycle his parts or something.”
A very ugly thread of malice wound its way through Jazz’s spark. “That mech is a valued student of mine and a dear friend. He’s not being recycled.”
“Hey! I intend to do everything I can, but I’m not a real medic, you know? And I’m not a miracle worker. He took a pounding from those Leapers, the way I understand it. I’ll do what I can, but it might already be too late. Anyway, he’s back here.” Knock Out pointed towards a dark area of the sub-level they were on. Even from a distance, Jazz could clearly see a large mound with a few distinct body parts sticking out of it-not all of them attached to a body.
As Jazz neared the mound, he spotted movement here and there, as if something were pulsating underneath the mound, causing the whole thing to move. A deep vibration-something rumbling-and part of the mound fell away, revealing an all too familiar leg. A group of cassetticons seized onto the appendage and dragged at it, slowly tugging free a broken and battered form that Jazz instantly recognized, no matter how damaged it currently was.
“Soundwave…SOUNDWAVE!” Jazz all but leapt towards the struggling group of cassetticons, Blaster close on his heels.
On to Part 3