PART II: SILVERSHOT; OR, THE TERMS OF WAR

chapter I

          

            The Golden Age was coming to a rapid close. We knew Megatron was a risky fellow, but we didn’t think he’d be such a large threat so fast. It was about twenty after the Rise of the Decepticons on Cybertron that we started to refit the femmes with weapons, armor, special night-vision optics—the works. They had won their right to fight in this war. It had gone on too long—and it would continue to go on too long.

            Her name was Silvershot, but I called her Silvy, and she only let me call her that. She had an alt-mode of a kind of motorbike we had on Cybertron—much like an Earth Kawasaki off-roading bike. She was all chromed out and silver, and she was the fastest thing you’d ever seen. I could watch her race forever, weather it be alt mode or in her robotic state, because she was so slender and beautiful.

            Her eyes were so blue, they were turquoise, and they always seemed to be laughing, or else crackling with defiance. She tried to follow the rules as best she knew how, but if there were a call for help, she would be there in a snap. She would either be repairing armor, or maybe healing a cut, or just giving an encouraging word to those down with the blues. Oh yes, she was headstrong, but caring, too. And feisty. We were lovers, you humans could say.

            We were first separated when Silvy was sent to Polaris Twelve. I was deployed shortly after her in a separate troop working towards the same goal. I wasn’t sure if I’d see her for a while. Actually, being such novices, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see her again. My troop was cornered into a canyon with a bunch of bots who were prisoners there—not transforming bots, but similar to us by the fact that they had Spark technology. We had tried to save as many as we could, but we were too overwhelmed and most of us were hurt somehow, so we called for backup. Oh, Silvy never let me live that down. That is, until she was caught.

            They separated the male bots from the femmes and put us into concentration camps. They were really death camps: terrible places that should never have happened. It was like living in the Pit; if you weren’t strong enough to do the unnecessarily heavy labor for the Decepticons, you were killed for being too weak. They only wanted the strongest of the strong. They were testing our strength and willpower there. Many good men died there. Many good femmes did, too, I’m sure.

            Then they’d do unspeakable things to us. Experiments, you see. They would take the metal from another bot’s body and use it to make armor. Then they got power-crazed. Wondered if they could make clones. At first, they tried making people without spark, using the dead Autobot’s body to make a new, faster, stronger, meaner Decepticon body. This new race of beings would walk around like the living dead. I suppose it wasn’t so bad; they weren’t really aware of being alive, and they didn’t live very long anyway.

            That’s when the Decepticons started to experiment on those who were deemed fit. Those who had survived. Us.

            Did they work on me? They tried. They pretty much fragged my system; I went blind for a while. They stole my body and gave me numerous new ones, trying to see how much pressure I could stand. I wasn’t sure what they were doing to my real body. But then I got it back, and they had taken parts from it…that’s how I lost my right eye. In my deepest nightmares, I thought I was stuck forever in the Pit. In my wildest dreams, I escaped. In the worst of the lot, I knew that what they were doing to us male bots was nothing like the torture they must be doing to the femmes—femmes were an unexplored idea; how much could a femmebot Autobot take? Is it a lot? If not, make it a lot—make them like the Decepticons. Make them war machines.

 

Reviews

[Elaine]

I have read some transformers fanfiction type stuff before, and liked this.