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Age of the Machine (Market Comodity 3)	By : Scienceteacher Category: Transformers > G1 > Round Robins Views: 6356 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Do not own Transformers/Hasbro, Am not making a dime off of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-A.o.M. part 1
- 2-A.o.M. 2
- 3-A.o.M 3
- 4-A.oM.4
- 5-AoM 5
- 6-AoM 6
- 7-AoM 7
- 8-AoM 8
- 9-AoM 8-1/2
- 10-AoM 9
- 11-AoM 10
- 12-AoM 11
- 13-AoM 12
- 14-Once upon a time
- 15-AoM 13
- 16-AoM 14
- 17-AoM 15
- 18-AoM 16
- 19-AoM 17
- 20-Family Ties
- 21-AoM 18
- 22-Family Ties Pt 2
- 23-AoM19
- 24-Family Ties Pt 3
- 25-AoM 20
- 26-Family Ties Pt 4
- 27-AoM 21
- 28-AOM 22
- 1
- 2
**Age of the Machine**

**Written by StSE, Universe G1/Beast/TFA**

Preface: The Autobots and Decepticons built human sized clones and sold them as 'pleasure droids'. Then Yellowstone blew - forcing the mechs to abandon Earth and their clones. Rumble and Beachcomber (G1) found themselves stranded, and now they've teamed up with Dinobot, Inferno (Beast Wars) and a growing Unit of human and clone survivors - and struggle on.

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This story is actually a continuation of my one shot - Pure Domination... I just felt bad for the Optimus Prime clone.... Couldn't leave him there!

**If you get a plot bunny concerning your own 'mech clone' in this apocalyptic world scenario - feel free to create your own 'mini plot' within this tale. Just create your own unique chapter title for your series and unique clone 'nicknames' within it. Then just cut and paste 'em here! Enjoy!
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Stirring, he felt the familiar burn in his interface networks. That burn that meant he could rest a while longer. The red mech, rolled onto his back armor, stretching his tight linkages as he lay on the cold hard floor of his cell. Not bothering to activate his optics, he reached down with his hands and adjusted the length of the electro whip which was looped around his cable. His digits felt the burn of the energy shocks coursing through it, but that pain no longer phased him anymore. In fact, it was as normal as the pain shooting through his very spark.

Finished with his readjustment of the loops of the electro whip, Optimus slid a hand behind him, and pressed the handle of the whip deeper within his aft port. He jerked slightly as its connection with his internal bonding connectors strengthened. But no cry of pain left his vocalizer. No wince, not even a cringe, flashed over his scarred face plate.

This was his life now. His entire world… When he was done with his ‘work’ – he was sent to his cell and handed his electro whip. As if in automatic pilot, he would work the handle into his sensitive aft port while he wrapped the length of it tightly around his cable. Then he would activate it and wait…. Sometimes for days… He would wait for his masters to come and fetch him for work. Only then would he be free of the constant pain shooting through his interface sensors..

In a strange way, Prime now looked forward to his ‘work’ of pleasuring his Decepticon masters. True, he might be raped, beaten and humiliated while he ‘worked’ – but it beat sitting in this small room, staring at the non-descript walls in despair as the pain continually assaulted his meta from the electro whip wrapped around and in his mech ‘genital’ regions…

The other Autobot slaves suffered in the same fashion he did. The pattern was all the same. But in a sense, he suffered more. For he was Optimus Prime – he had led them into failure…. Had given them to the Decepticons through his own incompetent…

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Optimus huddled in the corner, praying against hope that his presence would not be noticed too quickly. In the corner of his optic field of vision, he noted that all the Autobot slaves were behaving in a similar fashion. They had all learned to do this when they were ordered to the recreation deck. Of course they would all eventually be seen and used by whichever Decepticon wanted them, that wasn’t questioned. It was just that the slaves each hoped to avoid the pain for as long as possible.

Huddling in the corners like this, was the only time they were truly free of the pain that was their life purpose. They were in between the time stuck in their cells with the self-inflicted geni-torture, and not yet being put to ‘work’ – being used and abused by their Decepticon masters. So it was for these rare moments that the slaves now functioned for… Longed for….

His optics drifted back down to his peds as a sense of shame and guilt threatened to overwhelm him once again. It was all his fault that the Autobots were nothing more than slaves now. He was a failure as a leader. Granted, the memories he had of leading were not actually his own. But through the continual torture and degradation, the Prime clone now believed himself to be the actual Prime. He believed those memory echoes were his own.

And thus, it was entirely his fault that he and his brethren were slaves. His fault that the city that was his entire world, was now under Megatron’s control…. He chewed on his lower lip component. The thicker spot becoming raw again.. It was part of the long scar which now went across his right cheek. A branding that Megatron had put upon him when he was truly broken… He was now disfigured - without a battle mask with which to hide it, for Megatron had ripped it off of him long ago.

His natural shyness compounded his shame tenfold. He was not only exposed physically for all to see – he was also constantly forced in front of the crowd of Decepticons and their slaves. Beaten as he admitted his failures as both leader – and mech. Afterward, he would be forced to perform interface acts with every Decepticon in attendance.

If ever an Optimus clone could truly be broken – it was he. He had no hope anymore. No thoughts other than the fact that he deserved every twinge of pain and every act of humiliation that he was dealt. For he was Optimus Prime: A leader who had failed his men….

Starscream came up to him. As always, he kicked him hard in his groin as he berated him for his pathetic weakness. The Seeker’s handsome façade full of righteous rage as he activated his cable and forced Prime to beg for the privilege of pleasuring him with his mouth…. On his knee plates, Optimus felt another wave of guilt wash over him. He sensed that he had once done this mech a terrible wrong. So long ago that he could no longer pull up the entire file, just mere fragments… But somehow he wanted to please Starscream. And maybe by pleasing him he’d earn his forgiveness? All he wanted was to be forgiven. Forgiven for being Optimus Prime…

He felt the strange pulse of energy within him as he moved his head back-and-forth, Starscream moaning as his cable slid in-and-out of Optimus’s mouth. That strange ball of energy pulsed within him, which forever marked him as a slave… Optimus didn’t know why he and the other slaves had developed the energy balls - only that it made them different from their masters. A difference that made their masters angry… Made them want to reach in their chests and twist the balls… Causing a pain that was far worse than any other type of torture they were forced to endure.

Sometimes, Prime wished he didn’t have the energy ball. Maybe they’d forgive him then? Maybe they’d be nice to him then? He’d tried once to destroy it with his own hands. But the agony he’d self-inflicted had knocked him off line for many day cycles. When he’d finally come to – Megatron had had him tied down. Had ordered all of the Decepticons to use him after their shifts… To abuse him at their will…. He had suffered through his punishment for a full 30 day cycles. After which, Megatron had banned any slave from daring to touch their own energy ball. They were cursed he had said. Cursed to always carry the internal mark of the slave….

Starscream yelled as he climaxed and sank to the floor. But Prime did not allow the cable to slip from his lips. He’d learned that the Seeker wanted to still have his cable deep down his throat when he rebooted. To not have it like this – meant an even worse torture to come. So whether the Seeker was out for two astro minutes – or eight astro hours – Optimus would continue to suckle him. Regardless of which other Decepticon decided to use his ports during this period.

The only mech who superceded Starscream was Megatron. Optimus dreaded it when Megatron saw him with Starscream. He would be beaten if he refused his master. Beaten if he disobeyed Starscream… So either way, he’d be beaten. There was no way out for the battered Autobot during those situations.

As he knelt there, his mouth full of cable, Optimus felt some kind of vibrations coming through the floor. They were like pulses. Disappearing briefly before coming back stronger… They became more frequent as time marched on… Now blending with each other… Becoming stronger until he could actually pick up faint booms that corresponded with them….

Their masters began running around yelling at each other. Starscream was forced to reboot early by a sharp kick of Skywarp’s thruster. With a growl, he punched Prime in the face plate, screaming at him to get his filthy mouth off of his plug. Optimus scurried to a corner and huddled there. Fear plainly visible on his naked face plate.

The slaves huddled together in terror as their masters ran about. The booms got louder, now the skyscraper was literally shaking! Their masters ignored them. Leaving them alone as they went out to fight the onslaught….

Optimus felt a press against his right side. He didn’t dare look, though he knew it was probably Red Alert. No conversation or communication went between the slaves. It was forbidden by their masters. They weren’t even allowed to meet each other’s optics. They were property now. Mindless, controlled property….

The windows blew in, spraying shards of glass over the terrified slaves. They prayed their masters would be victorious. For their masters protected them from the horrible outsiders. Horrible outsiders that they were told – would use them for nothing but scrap. At least here, they were taken care of. No matter how pathetic they were as mechs, their masters took care of them!

Seekers and Choppers whizzed by the gaping holes that were once windows. Flaming gunfire and missiles were thick in the air. Optimus covered his naked faceplate in terror. He knew that his masters had to fight to keep the city in order. To keep the city free of the chaos of the wilds beyond its walls. But now the invaders were within its very core!

“I’ve located the signatures we spotted,” a calm voice filled the dark room.

The slaves whimpered as Mirage deactivated his cloaking. He stood calmly in the center of the space, facing the shattered remnants of the outside wall.

“How many?” a voice asked over the radio.

He turned his head, his brilliant blue optics scanning them. “Six,” he reported back.
A few moments passed, the explosions rocking the very foundation of the skyscraper now. The slaves whimpered, terrified that the building was going to collapse around them – terrified that the horrible wild mech was going to take them! But still the blue and white mech seemed calm, seemed in control. He didn’t even wince as the building across from the one they were in – began to burn.

“Get them lined up for pickup. We’ll have to do this fast,” the voice on the radio replied.

Mirage turned to face them. “Get up. Make a line starting right here.” He pointed to the spot next to the window. “When the flyers come by, jump and grab,” he instructed.

“But… But our masters…” Ironhide whimpered.

A strange emotion passed over the Autobot’s face plate. His optics flashed as if he was in conflict with himself for a brief moment. But then he narrowed his optics, a threatening expression crossing over his façade as he pulled out his weapon. “We are your masters now. Do as I order!” he snarled.

Not questioning the armed and dangerous mech, the slaves scampered into a line. Their optics full of tears… They were leaving the life that they knew. That they understood. Now new masters had apparently won them. Terror filled them, for they didn’t know what they now faced. What new horrors they would have to learn….

“Ok, Alpha squadron is swinging by for a pickup,” a different voice said over the radio.

“Ten-four, we are ready,” Mirage replied. He narrowed his optics at the cowering slaves, and raised his gun. “Fighter jets will be banking around this building. If you don’t jump and secure yourselves on their topsides… Well…” he cocked his gun. The threat was obvious – jump or die…

Whimpers could be heard. But the slaves didn’t have much time to think as the first fighter jet banked around, slowing briefly next to the hole in the wall. Optimus pushed Red Alert, forcing him to jump. With a terrified yelp, the mech landed on top of the jet and frantically grabbed for its intakes. He barely had time to secure a hold before the F-16 zoomed away.

A red tipped fighter of a strange design was next. Holding his breath, Prime jumped for all he was worth. His belly armor smacked down on top of the Seeker’s heavily armored canopy. With a screech of metal on metal, Optimus felt himself sliding backwards. Frantically, he grabbed for the intakes. Barely managing to curl his fingertips over the edges as the jet engaged his afterburners.

“Hold on tight. We’ve got company!” the Seeker ordered. His voice was identical to Starscream’s. Optimus hunkered down against his new master as the mech went into evasive maneuvers.

“He’s ours!” Starscream yelled as he pursued the modified Seeker.

“Not anymore you obsolete excuse for a fighter jet!” the Seeker beneath him snickered. Optimus yelped as he banked hard starboard, a missile whizzing past them.

“Master! Save me!” he screamed to the gorgeous Seeker who was pursuing them.

“Shut up clone, you’re ours now!” the invader snarled beneath him.

Optimus whimpered and tucked his head against the smooth fuselage. He was terrified of this Seeker who had now taken him. He sounded so angry!

“I’m going to blast you out of the sky!” Starscream flamed his afterburners to maximum, trying to catch up to them. Trying to get his slave back!

The Seeker underneath him snickered as he performed a strange stall-and-follow. Now they were behind Starscream. They were the pursuers now. “Fuck you, infected clone! Here’s a little missile up the afterburners as a going away present!” Optimus cringed as he felt his new master release a missile. Closing his optic shutters, he couldn’t bear to watch as Starscream was hit. Beautiful, glorious Starscream – dying at the hands of these horrifying invaders!

“Hey Scream, having fun yet?” a voice yelled from beside them.

Optimus opened his shutters, turning his head so that he could see who it was. Air Raid came up beside them, a terrified Silverbolt hanging on top of him. Briefly, Prime and his fellow slave locked optics. They knew it was dangerous to do this. It was against the rules for slaves. But they had new masters now. They faced a new life, which terrified them to their core. All they had was each other now.

“He, he, this is a blast Silver! Seen my wing anywhere?” the modified Starscream replied. Optimus furrowed his brow at the mechs using such strange nicknames for each other. And why was a fellow Autobot slave acting as if he was an equal with the Decepticon? In fact, even Mirage seemed to be acting as one of them. He gripped his fingertips tighter around his new master’s intakes. Was he facing a new life where not only cons – but fellow Autobots would be his masters? He felt his energy ball pulse wildly within his chest at the mere thought of that. Shame filled him at the sensation. Perhaps it was just the energy balls that differentiated him from his new Autobot masters? He hated that energy ball… Hated it with all his being….

“Nope, I heard him over the radio. He’s paired up with Mavs,” Air Raid replied.

“I’ll pray for him,” Starscream snickered. “Guess you’re my wing now. Let’s dump these clones so we can get back in the thick of it.”

Optimus whimpered as the Seeker banked hard and then threw on his afterburners. They were going faster than he ever thought possible! But why was his new master calling them clones? A faint memory tried to stir within him. A small voice echoing a forgotten name: Opie… Opie… Prime shook his head, trying to free his meta from the memory that felt so wrong. He was Optimus Prime the failure, the slave… He was no clone..

The city below them turned into the drab gray-green of the wilds. Whizzing below them so fast that neither Optimus nor Silverbolt could make out any details… Mudflows filled the wide valleys in between the hills. Lit in the surreal red glow of the faded sun above them…. Astro minutes passed with the thick cloud banks, and suddenly the two jets dove towards the ground. Prime yelped as he anticipated the crash… The cessation of his miserable functioning… But they didn’t crash. Instead, he felt his chassis press down hard against the Seeker as this strange Starscream thrust his nosecone straight up, forcing himself into a full vertical stall just a few yards above the ground.

“Let go,” he ordered.

Unquestioningly, Prime released his fingertips and plummeted to the earth. His optics raised upwards as he watched his new master disappear in a roar of engaged afterburners. The ground rudely broke into his thought processes as it met him with an unforgiving solidness. Agony shot through his meta as his already damaged supportive servos and linkages completely failed. He collapsed in a helpless heap.

He felt hands on him then. Many hands, lifting him up and carrying him…. He looked up, realizing now that two femmes carried him. “Master?” he whispered, his vocalizer barely on line now.

“Boy, he’s sure a mess,” Arcee commented to Firestar.

“Doc’s free, let’s throw him in his unit,” Firestar replied. She struggled with Optimus’s weight, her digits locked under his shoulders while Arcee carried him by his peds.

They carried him to a semi trailer. Optimus’s optics opened wide in surprise. He didn’t remember them building a mech that big. The rear doors opened, and First Aid beckoned the femmes to carry him inside. They laid him out on one of the repair tables.

“How many more are coming?” First Aid asked Firestar.

“They only found six sparked, so four more should be arriving soon,” she replied.

“Here’s the other one,” a calm, familiar voice said. Optimus glanced up, seeing a giant hand with its digits gripped around Silverbolt go by him. The unconscious flyer was carefully set on the table across from him. Biting his lip in fear, the slave let his optics follow the giant arm to the mech it was attached to. He gasped well he saw the familiar smooth blue head, the lazy smile… of Beachcomber! But a Beachcomber five times too big!!!

“Thanks Beachy,” the Arcee clone yelled up to him.

“No problem. Didn’t want him falling into the ash like that. I’ll go back to guard duty now.” The geologist gave them a nod as he walked away, gun in hand.

“Poor mech, he hates it when we have to hit them head-on like this,” Firestar muttered.

“Yeah, but at least we’re so far back that we can’t even hear it. So let’s start working on these guys – before our own soldiers need some repairs!” Arcee said with a shrug.

“Well, at least there’s five of us here to work on them,” a calm voice noted from above Optimus’s helm. Though he couldn’t see the mech, he recognized the voice all to well – Perceptor!

First Aid sighed as he began to hook up data links between his diagnostic computers and Prime. “It’d be better if we had Spock and Speed to help.”

Firestar grinned and patted him on his white shoulder armor. “You know their gestalts are fully engaged in the fray. Without the two combiners, we could never liberate the city.”

“I know,” the medic patted Prime’s hood without really thinking about it, “I just hate that we have to fight so much.”

“Worried about Charge and Scream?” Arcee gave the medic a hug and kissed him on his battle mask. “Don’t worry about them Doc; they can take care of themselves.”

First Aid watched the femmes leave, his optics full of worry.

“Let’s get him back to minimal functioning,” Perceptor said. He moved into Optimus’s line of vision then and began to open some of his dented panels.

“Petri? Need some help?” a femme voice asked. Optimus ran it through his identifier programs and found no match. Shifting his optics, he watched as a strange-looking femme walk into the med unit and close the door behind her. Her face was nothing but a reflective gold-colored sheet.

He jerked in surprise as the mystery femme seemed to start trying to pull off her own cranial unit! She pulled it up and off…. And it was a human head beneath! His mouth fell open in shock. Humans were extinct!!! That’s what Megatron had told him! They were extinct!

“Geese, don’t look at me like you’ve seen a ghost,” the woman chuckled. She patted his ped as she gave Perceptor an expectant look.

Optimus looked from human to mech and back again. The mechs were human-sized! He was human-sized!?! What was going on???

“Can he talk? Or is his vocalizer damaged?” she asked First Aid.

“Uh… I can speak… Um, master,” Prime replied. His meta was reeling with confusion now. Total and unspeakable confusion…

She giggled, moving up the side opposite that of the pair of mechs working on him, she stroked his face plate. “I’m not your ‘master’, my name is Ashley.” She glanced over at Perceptor. The pair engaged in a quick kiss above him. After this display of emotional attachment, she turned her attention back to him. “And this is Petri, he’s my husband.” She nodded to First Aid, who had his digits within one of Optimus’s hip servos. “This is Doc. He’s our best medic.”

The First Aid look-a-like with the nickname of ‘Doc’ looked up at her words, his cheeks heating up a bit. “No I’m not, McCoy is,” the humble medic argued.

Ashley patted Optimus’s broken windshield. “He’s as humble as his husband. Don’t listen to him, he IS the best!” Leaning down, she whispered in his audio, “He’s the only one Scream would ever entrust with an Optimus clone.”

Prime began to shake then, as his meta was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. He was nothing but a clone of Optimus!! A pathetic clone!! Tears filled his optics then as the memories came flooding back. Memories of his first activation… His first human owner.. She’d been a wonderful owner.. She’d treated him well… But then… Then she died in the riots.. He’d been lost without her… Captured by the Decepticons when he had wandered aimlessly…

But they weren’t Decepticons… They were just clones like him… But clones could own him… They owned him…. Just as these clone invaders now owned him!

Tears fell down the Prime clone’s scarred face plate. Tears of loss… Of pain… Of shame.. He flinched when the First Aid clone set down his tools and held his arms out to him. “I… I’m sorry… I’m… bad,” he stammered as he tried to scoot away from one of his new master clones.

“I think he’s afraid of you,” the young woman said. She tightened her grip on his shoulder armor, forcing him to look up at her with her other hand. “It’s ok; we’re your friends now. You’re safe.”

The Optimus clone buried his face plate into her. Humans had never hurt him. Had never been mean to him like clones had…. True, he knew nothing about this human other than her first name and that she’d taken a Perceptor clone for a mate. But she was a precious human… Humans were safe…

The woman put her armored arms around him, cradling him to her as she coo’d. He cried into the armor of her protective suit. Cried for his new Seeker master to come back.. To explain to him his new job…. His new rules… He needed to know the rules! So he wouldn’t be bad and break them…

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“They truly think of themselves as slaves,” Ashley informed the group. Her eyes were full of sadness as she glanced back at the group of rescued clones.

Optimus, no ‘Opie’ as he now remembered his proper designation, cringed as she spoke. He sat huddled next to the other ‘rescued’ slaves, staring at the large gathering of mechs, clones and humans. They had no idea what their new life would bring. No clue as to what use they could be to the military-like extended ‘family’. Would they be scrapped? Would they continue on as slaves?

Scream sighed, his optics scanning the terrified clones critically. “And we’re sure it was Tron leading the infected clones?” He clenched and unclenched his digits, controlled rage clearly visible on his face plate.

As the feminized Starscream clone settled her gaze upon him, Opie wanted to crawl under the closest rock. This was the Seeker who had carried him. By all rights – she now owned him. She was his master now! He was unworthy of such a strong and beautiful clone to even look upon! His energy ball pulsed wildly as the beauty seemed to study his chassis. Seemed to look into his pathetic meta… To see his shame plainly.. To think, he had ridden on top of this beauty.. Dared to curl his fingertips into her intakes… To feel her smooth chassis sliding beneath him..

“Yes, all indications point to that,” the Prowl clone named Jag stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

“And it doesn’t look like we managed to off-line him either. His chassis was not among the fallen,” the modified Optimus Prime clone named Charge added. His digits curled around Scream’s as he said it. His optics meeting the Seeker’s with deep understanding.

Opie felt his core plummet as the Seeker looked away from him to meet the optics of the other Prime clone. From their familiarity with each other, he could tell that they were far more than just friends. He berated himself then. How dare he allow himself to feel attraction for the feminized Starscream clone?!? How dare he have the audacity to still feel the smooth warmth of her beautiful fuselage against his armor?!? He was nothing but a slave. A pathetic effigy of the real mech! Paling in comparison to the strong and confident Optimus clone named Charge….

But the femme curves of the modified Starscream clone continued to beckon to him. He couldn’t help himself as he turned his optics back to the fech, greedily storing every move she made into his memory banks. Somehow, the modifications that had been made to the Seeker – seemed right. Like the Seeker should’ve been a femme model to start with.

“I’m sorry Scream, one-day we’ll get him,” Charge continued. His arm went behind and around the Seeker who was now struggling to contain his rage…

Turning his optics back to the frightened clones they had rescued, Scream forced himself to retain his composure for their sakes. His spark felt their sparks’ terrified pulsing. They needed understanding… They needed to feel wanted… To be taught that they were good clones again… “We need to rehab them,” he stated.

“I know, but with our march, we really don’t have the time,” the older woman named Sharon said.

“Yessssss, with battle to grrrrr prepare for; we cannot waste valuable time sssssssss on useless clones!” Dinobot agreed.

Scream sighed in disgust. All work… work … Work! And battle every week it seemed as they pressed southward… His meta worked into overdrive, devising a plan to give the abused clones the support they needed, even as they marched. “They aren’t ‘useless’ – they just need to be rehabbed,” he reprimanded his teacher. His optics turned back to the other clone officers. “Ok then, we assign mentors to them. Keep them within the protected core. Let them ‘earn’ their freedom by being ‘good’,” he decided. Then he began to explain his plan for their rehab, as well as to assign them to the various ‘civilian clones’ within the Unit.

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“What about him?” Charge asked as he nodded towards the last of the rescued clones. He was a Prime model like himself, but the rescued clone wouldn’t even look up. Wouldn’t even meet their optics! And he answered in short, stumbling replies to their questions.

Scream wandered around the Prime clone, who stood stock still and just stared down at his peds. Something drew him to this clone. Perhaps it was because he was an Optimus clone? Or perhaps it was because he had been abused as well. Regardless of what it was, Scream wanted him close at hand. And he couldn’t think of a valid reason to assign himself as his mentor. “You have managerial and logistics programming?” he asked him.

Without looking up, the timid clone nodded his head. “Yes m-master.” His voice had a pleading edge to it, as if he hoped that his response would please him.

“Don’t call me that. ‘Sir’ is sufficient until you make rank,” Scream ordered in a soft voice.

“Um, yes mas- uh, Sir.” Opie shuffled his peds nervously.

“What work did you perform prior to Tron capturing you?” The Seeker felt an urge to pull the broken clone into his arms and never let him go. But he resisted his urge. The new clones needed gentle, unobtrusive emotional support right now.

“I, uh, worked at the movie theatre. My owner managed it. I did the schedules and the general maintenance and janitorial routines after we closed each night.” Opie relaxed a bit as he talked about his former life. He just hoped that his new master found something of worth in his work experience. Electricity seemed to come off her fingertips where she had touched his shoulder armor. It was like he could still feel her touch.

“Well, he could probably be trained to help us keep the med trailer instruments in order,” Doc offered with a nod towards one of the two semi rigs the Unit now had. He kind’ve liked the timid Prime clone. It wasn’t any kind of physical attraction by any means. He was too passionately in love with Charge for that. It was the kind’ve emotion that made you want to reach out and help someone back on their peds – by just being their friend.

Scream glanced at Doc, then back at Opie. Yes, that was a perfect solution! Opie could do something of value, be within the safety of the heavily protected Unit core – and be around him during the off shift hours. “That’s a perfect idea Doc,” he said. He came around to Opie’s front. He wished the clone would look up at him. “Well Opie, Doc’s your assigned mentor now. I’m sure you’ll do very well!” With that, he slapped him on his shoulder.

Opie looked up as the two clone leaders walked away. The sway of the Seeker’s feminized hips sending shivers through his core. He knew Scream had ordered him to call him ‘sir’ – but he just couldn’t think of him as a mech. No, Scream was a femme. And for some reason that just seemed so right…

“Well, come on Opie. We’ve got a lot of disorder to put back in place in the med trailer.” Doc smiled at him as he nodded for him to follow along.

With a happy sigh, the broken clone followed along. Surely he could learn where all their tools went. Surely he could please the laid back medic.. But something pulled on his meta, and he couldn’t help but glance over at where the battle-weary officers were relaxing.. The bright red edging on the fech Seeker making him clearly visible as he joked and laughed with a Vortex hybrid clone..

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Opie tossed again, sighing in disgust, he activated his optics again. He just couldn’t defrag! Just couldn’t! It just didn’t – feel right… It just felt wrong..

He felt the sway of the trailer as the truck slowly drove with the convoy. He was totally fragged! Totally and completely exhausted… There was no reason he shouldn’t be able to defrag. But this was the third cycle he’d tried. The third cycle he’d failed. He was useless… Couldn’t even defrag! He’d start glitching soon if he didn’t. And then his master would be angry with him for not defragging.

“Pssst, Opie,” FiFi’s voice drifted over to him.

Opie shifted so that he could see his fellow slave, um, recruit. “Yeah?” he replied, his optics darting around at the other defragging forms around them. The Unit split itself into three shifts during their march. And those on defrag shift, filled the two semi trailers as their fellow soldiers drove them. So they were surrounded by them.

FiFi carefully made his way over to his friend. The Silverbolt clone reached over and touched the exhausted clone. “You haven’t defragged since they took us, have you?” he whispered.

The clone shook his head. “I… I just can’t,” he replied in a tone of total despair.

“Me and the others, well, we figured out how we could defrag,” FiFi told him.

“How?” Opie was willing to try anything at this point.

“Open your aft port and your cable hatch,” FiFi glanced around them, “and hurry, we can’t be caught!”

Trusting his fellow recruit, Opie did as he asked. Bending and spreading his legs, he let him have complete access to his most sensitive networks. The Silverbolt clone pulled some items out of his subspace and began working swiftly…. Not a word was spoken…

Pain flowed through Opie as his friend wrapped some scavenged barbed wire around his cable. Forcing it to curl back up and retract, KiKi whispered for him to close his access panel. Then the flyer forced something rough and knobby into his aft port. Again, nodding for him to close his access panel….

Opie winced slightly as he put his legs back down and curled onto his side armor. KiKi curling up next to him…. He now felt ‘right’ again. The pain not exactly the same, but close enough for his shattered meta to accept it. He nuzzled the back of FiFi’s helm, thanking his friend.

He knew that he wouldn’t be able to ‘disengage’ the geni-torture like they had back in the city. There was just not enough privacy in this Unit. And since the commanders had ordered them to go ‘interface’ free during the course of their training period, the former slaves knew they’d be in trouble if they were found out.

But they HAD to defrag, and their metas had been reprogrammed through their abuse. Been reprogrammed to only initiate defragmentation when steady pain filled their interface networks…. So they had to do it… They had to…

For the first time in five day cycles, the timid Prime clone defragged. No, it wasn’t a peaceful defrag like the Unit clones – it was the uncomfortable defrag of a slave… Torn and bleeding inside….

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Note: Ok, after writing ‘Total Domination’ I found the wimpy Optimus clone with the geeky name – tugging on the back of my mind… So much of the first part of this saga will kind’ve center around him…
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Age of the Machine (Market Comodity 3)