Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

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
- 20
- 21
- 22
**Age of the Machine part 18**

**Written by StSE; Universes G1, BW & TFA**

Note: This chapter is in sections just like the other one. I added a Bumblebee clone at a reader’s request from my FF account. And just maybe I’ve managed to answer some more of kuroikitsu’s questions…

-----

Section 1: Surveillance

Army Ranger temporary camp

------

“So’d the birds come back sir?” Mike asked as he walked up. The ‘birds’ had been on a week long surveillance mission of the team’s quarry. Everyone was itching for some information on what they were finally catching up to after all these months of tracking.

Dave glanced up at the half-shaven man who was still in the process of running the razor along his jawline. Did this guy ever stop thinking about the mission? He wouldn’t be half surprised if he turned around one day to answer one of Mike’s queries, only to find the man in the middle of taking a dump while he asked. “Yeah, Colt’s downloading them now.”

Running the razor along his right cheek, Mike nodded. He glanced over at the Megatron clone who was bent over a laptop. The two ‘birds’ were transformed into their alt modes – which looked just like iPods. “Mazen’ how those mechs went from cassettes to iPods. Wish I could pull a change over like that.”

Dave chuckled, “You just might get a date then.”

Magnum glanced up from his position next to his fellow model, his sharp audios having caught the entire conversation. “As human technology changed the Decepticons altered themselves – a wise tactical decision.”

Mike nodded as he ran another long swipe. “Then why do they still call them ‘cassetticons’?”

Colt shrugged, his optics never straying from the screen of his laptop. “Who said that the MECHS ever did call them that?” Though his optics never strayed and his voce did not change tone – his meaning was quite apparent.

“He’s got a point there. I’d say he’s 4-to-1 on top of you this morning,” Dave joked. The banter back and forth between the two weapon clones and his SIC kept things pretty light hearted in the team.

So used to putting his foot in his mouth that he never bothered to notice, Mike just shrugged. “Well, tell ‘em if they’re going to mimic something new of ours – that I want 1000 tunes downloaded ASAP – and a pair of good ear buds!”

After two years of being around the comic human, the pair of Megatron clones knew when it was time to ignore him – or they’d both deal with annoying quips for the remainder of the day. So like perfect images of each other, they shifted their optics back to the screen and didn’t bother to acknowledge his last demand. Only the serial numbers that ran along their left arms made them different from each other.

“The report is like this Sergeant: The group we’re tracking have at least seventy clones that have been observed; Consists primarily of pleasure types – though about a dozen are either police or military models. There is also the possibility of two true mechs, and several other clone-sized mechs of unknown models. The observed adult humans number twenty-five and there have been brief sightings of young. Exact numbers are hard to obtain, since we cannot see into the semis within the convoy.” Colt glanced up as he paused, his red optics meeting Dave’s.

“How many semis in the convoy?”

“Eleven now.”

“Distance?”

Colt glanced back at the screen, his digits raced like lightning across the keys as he brought up the information requested. “Since they’d bogged themselves down with the semis and have had to continually clear the roads of debris as well as being stopped by the storms, their average daily distance has been five to ten miles since we began our mission. Our average has been fifteen to twenty. We are now within eighty miles of their current position.”

Mike whistled “And to think these old blisters managed to wear down their lead from three hundred – to eighty.” He lifted one of his booted feet, waving over it as if to cool it off. “Damn we’re good!”

Dave nodded to his SIC, a smile breaking out on his face for a moment before he returned to seriousness. “What’s their guard zone?”

“Estimate ten to twenty mile zone of awareness. They are currently holed up in a warehouse complex – riding the ice storm out.”

“Hmmmm, we can get pretty close then if we are careful.” Dave rubbed his chin as he considered tactics. They still didn’t know if this group was friend or foe. More intel was necessary before that was discerned. Though with mechs involved… “What faction are the possible mechs from?”

“Yeah, if they’re Decepticons – might not be too inviting,” Mike quipped.

Colt shot him the look that meant ‘duh’ before answering. “One Autobot – identified as Beachcomber; and one Decepticon – identified as Rumble.”

“One of each – and they haven’t killed each other yet?” the human SIC snickered. He pointed his index finger at his head and made as if he was shooting himself.

“Negative, appear to be cooperating with each other on a friendly basis.” Colt’s optics narrowed in thought as the video showed the pair helping each other to secure a rig to the warehouse with chains. Rumble stumbled, his peds blown out from under him by the high winds of the storm six days prior. The larger Autobot caught him by his arm and stabilized him. The pair smiled at each other before going back to work. Instinctively, the clone knew that the cooperation ran deeper than mere survival.

“Friendly basis huh?” Dave rubbed his chin as he considered the news. “Chances are that the Decepticon got his ass left here during the eruption – then he hooked up with the Autobot in order to save his hide.”

“Autobots are known for their capacity to ‘forgive and forget’. Beachcomber’s reputation is of a dedicated peace lover. I agree that Rumble probably took advantage of this – in order to save his own tail pipes.” Colt met Dave’s eyes as he spoke, he could tell they were thinking along the same path.

“With Beachcomber amongst them – I doubt those women were taken against their will.” Dave squeezed the hand he had resting on Colt’s shoulder servo, causing warmth to spread through his weapon partner. This was the best news they could’ve had! It would definitely lighten everyone’s mood.

“Hell, they probably ran screamin’ out’ve that crazy town. Those guys were some serious fucktards when it came to us havin’ military clones.” Mike patted his Megatron clone partner on his leg as he made that statement. The Army Rangers had been greeted warmly by the townspeople – until the clones they were carrying in their alt modes transformed. The townspeople went nuts when that happened! Very anti-clone for sure…..

His optics still glued to the screen, the clone didn’t pay his partner’s pat much attention. Magnum cocked his helm, his attention riveted to the screen. “Interesting…” he muttered to himself.

“What’s interesting?” Dave moved closer to them. Standing right behind and between them, he put his arms over their shoulder plates and leaned in for a look.

There on the screen, a violent scene played out. Two clones slid out the door of the warehouse. One was a First Aid model, the other some strange combination of models. They walked by the posted sentries. Polly the Buzzsaw clone high above them, following their every move. He continued to follow them as they walked several miles, apparently involved in some heated argument.

They didn’t seem to have a particular direction, didn’t seem to be paying attention to their surroundings. Polly saw the danger they were approaching, a half a mile before they blindly walked into it. Five clones – three Autobot models and two Decepticon – were waiting in ambush within a wreck of a building.

The pair of arguing clones came near, and with two perfect shots – they fell unmoving to the ground. The five ambushers swarmed around them. In a show of pure efficiency, the victims had their communications and weapons systems ripped from their chassis within a minute. In another thirty seconds, they were bound and draped on carry poles like some prize bucks. The ambushers trotted away to the west with their catch….

At this point the two ‘birds’ of the Ranger team split up. Polly stayed in position and continued his reconnaissance of the group they’d been tracking – while Owl followed the ambushers and their catch. The Sergeant and his top clones watched as the recording continued from the Laserbeak clone’s memory banks.

“The Hook clone has obviously come into the possession of a Starscream model’s nullray,” Colt noted.

“Indeed, very impressive how well-planned out the capture was.” Magnus was always the type to be impressed with a show of military prowess.

“The question is – where are these ambusher’s from? Where are they going? And why did they go to the effort of capturing those clones?” Dave mused. He cringed inwardly as one of the captured clones reactivated, only to be ruthlessly kicked in the helm until he blacked out again.

“Hmmm, much more violent that the mixed group we are tracking,” Colt dryly noted. His optics gleamed as he watched the other captive getting the same treatment as he reactivated. It wasn’t that the abuse of the prisoners actually bothered him. Few Megatron clones were bothered by that type of thing. It was the difference in clone behavior that he was studying.

Magnum was studying the same difference. His optics narrowed as Owl took a close up of two out of the three Autobot ambushers. Their insignias had been changed. They now exhibited Decepticon insignias. And of the five, they seemed the most violent. “Odd behavior traits for those models.” The last Autobot was a Bumblebee clone. He looked rather beat up and instead of armor plating over his energy core, he had a polyglass panel.

The memory file fast forwarded, day turned to night turned to day. It slowed down for a brief moment as the observing bird witnessed an act of brutality so shocking, so horrific, that it was unmentionable. The file went back to fast forward afterwards.

The two soldiers were left with nauseated stomachs. Even Mike stopped shaving, his face going white as he tried to keep his last MRE down. “Sick motherfuckin’ son-of-a-bitches…” he muttered.

Sergeant Dave leaned back a bit, the hand gripping Colt’s shoulder servo now shaking slightly. “Holy god almighty….” he whispered.

The two Megatron clones were not affected by the act in an emotional way, which was one of the common model traits that they shared. Instead, they studied it from a tactical perspective. “We are dealing with a very ruthless potential foe,” Magnum noted.

“Agreed,” Colt nodded, his optics still locked to the screen, judging every action of this new group. “We must remain vigilant – or risk ending up in a similar situation as those two Mixed Unit members have.”

“I will inform the Shockwave trio to heighten night detail security.” Magnum’s optics were hard as he watched the ambushers stop over for another night – and perform another act of pure brutality on their captives. “We have discovered some very abnormal clones.”

Cocking his helm, Colt nodded his agreement. “Ironhide models can be short tempered – but they’re notorious for being soft towards those less fortunate.”

“And Jazz models are known for only thinking about one thing – partying,” Magnum finished for him. “I’m not sure about that Bumblebee model, he seems afraid of the others, yet involves himself in their brutality against the captives.”

“Fascinating isn’t it?” Colt replied, his optics narrowing in thought.

Having finally convinced his stomach that he didn’t need to hurl, Dave frowned; it was obvious that something was off in behavior about these five clones. He glanced at the other half of the screen, where Polly’s observation of the holed up group continued. Those clones who were outside on apparent ‘guard duty’ were walking around in pairs. Despite the icy snow flakes pelting their armor, they were talking, laughing and smiling to each other in a very lighthearted and friendly manner. A few were even playing jokes on each other by pegging other sentry teams with well-aimed snow balls. His eyes went back to the five ambushers who continued on their way with their prizes. “Very different behaviors when you compare the two groups.”

“Indeed.” Colt’s optics met his human’s for a brief moment.

“Interesting….” Magnum’s words brought the two commander’s eyes/optics back to the screen. Owl had fast forwarded through the rest of the five day observation. Now the ambushers were at their apparent goal. A city appeared. A city west of the Mississippi… One that had been abandoned by its human population years ago… But was no longer empty.. Dozens of clones could be seen flying and driving between the buildings. Dozens of clones whose numbers most likely tallied up to hundreds….

“Holy shit – isn’t that Little Rock?” Dave felt his hands go cold as he saw some clones being forced to clear rubbish from the streets. They were of every model conceivable – though mostly pleasure types - but all were in chains – all were showing extensive damage. Their chest panels over their cores had been removed, showing the glow of their energy core shields.

Other clones were acting as vicious guards. Again, all models conceivable – though most were non-pleasure models. But all were in perfect condition, all had Decepticon insignia regardless of model – and none had their chest armor open.

As one, the two Megatron clones narrowed their optics. “Yes, it is the city named Little Rock.” Colt glanced at his fellow clone, “I’d hazard to guess that this is a gathering of infected models.”

Magnum nodded solemnly. “And those clones that were captured must have developed the same energy shields that we have. It seems the infected clones are gathering more for slave work.”

“We have noticed a tendency for infected clones to be attracted to those of us with energy shields. I agree that it appears these infected clones have banded together and are collecting shielded clones. Why is the question.” Colt’s optics locked with Magnum’s, they both understood how dangerous this colony of infected clones would be as the Nation tried to rebuild.

“So we can conclude that the group who attacked the town and took the women – is most likely made up of energy shielded clones?” Dave asked the pair.

The two nodded their heads in unison. “If you notice, there are no humans in Little Rock. Just clones and clone slaves,” Magnum stated.

“Infected clones normally attack and try to kill humans at stage two, so this makes sense.” Colt rubbed his narrow chin, his optics glittering as he thought. “Another clue that the original group we are pursuing consists of mechs, humans as well as clones. Mechs wouldn’t allow infected clones to continue functioning around them. It would be too dangerous for them.”

“The mayor definitely lied then. Granted, we’d already figured that,” Dave spat in disgust.

“I would hazard to speculate that what really happened was that the townsmen drove off all the clones in the town out of fear,” Colt began, he glanced at Magnum.

The other Megatron clone narrowed his optics; they both well understood how attached clones were to their human owners. “If certain models were included in those driven off….”

“Then they would’ve gathered up the others and gone back for them,” Dave finished for him. The soldiers had seen this in their own clone partners. Even the Megatron clones showed extreme loyalty to whom they considered ‘their human’. Or maybe it was actually a mild possessiveness?

“Affirmative,” both clones replied as one.

Dave stood up, his expression grim as he considered it all. “We’ve got to march hard. Get to this mixed group. Discuss” he pointed to the video of Little Rock, of the infected clone guards beating one of the slave clones mercilessly, “our mutual problem.” He walked towards the door, “We’ll leave in one hour, and be ready to assist us in packing the gear along the march.”

That meant the clones would remain in bot mode and heft the supply packs on their back armor. This would allow the Rangers to move much faster. The two Megatron clones glanced at each other, and then back down at the screen. “The mixed group is unaware of their missing clones,” Magnus noted.

Colt nodded his agreement, his optics straying to the video of Little Rock. His engine revved in excitement at the thought of attacking an entire city of infected clones. He loved a good fight! “A true battle faces us,” he mumbled to himself. Of course he and Dave would be in the heat of it. That’s what Army Rangers were trained for!

Magnus’s face plate broke out into the same excited grin as his fellow model. “Let us hope that the mixed group has a few more of our models to join us.”

“The more” Colt grinned as he paused for effect “the easier the slaughter shall be!”

--------

“Hey Serge, I’ve got an idea,” Scott said as he packed supplies into his pack.

“And what would that be?” Dave didn’t bother to look up from his own preparations.

“Probably to get some more fucking out of the way before we go,” Mike snickered from the other side of the room. Several other comments were added by others in the team, most were derogatory towards Scott’s new interest in their clone team mates.

“That too, but seriously, I’ve got a killer idea!” Scott shot Mike a grin – it didn’t bother him in the least to get picked on about getting some satisfaction. He wasn’t the one walking around with blue balls anymore!

“Ok, fire,” the Serge glanced up as he spoke.

“Why should we march? Colt says that the mixed group has got plenty of Seeker models. Let’s just get one of the birds to carry him there. He can arrange an alliance – and get them to send their Seeker clones to carry us back.”

Tim stopped packing, his dark eyes widening as if in shock. “You know, for once Scott’s come up with a good idea!”

“Got a point there,” Dave glanced over at Colt. True, he was a Megatron clone – and that model didn’t have the best of reputations as being trustworthy – but he was painted as a U.S. Army Ranger clone. On top of that, if any of their clones could talk a good game – it was Colt. “You game for the mission Colt?”

A warm smile flowed over his thin lips. Once again his human was putting his full trust in him. Once again he’d prove that he deserved that trust. “Yes sir,” he replied.

--------

Section 2: Promises kept

Unit temporary camp at the warehouse, five days earlier.

--------

Feeling stronger, Opie activated his optics and carefully rolled over. He had finished erasing Bond’s damaged base programs and had loaded and installed the new ones that he obtained from Cyclonus the mech. Now it was time to find out if it had worked. “Hey bud, activate,” he whispered as he tapped his digits on the cones of Bond’s new audio receptors.

The smooth frame next to him trembled. Dark optics slowly brightened to the red so characteristic of Decepticon models. Bond’s optic ridges furrowed as his meta was flooded by system information and checks that no longer matched what he’d come to expect. “What has … happened to me?” His voice was filled with concern – but strangely - not tinged with fear anymore.

Opie stroked his friend’s new jawline. He had to admit, Bond was now a very handsome model in appearance. The clone’s new deeper voice flowed like honey in the confines of the bunk. “Your mech was altered by Unicron’s power, and since you were a sparked clone not tightly connected to a human – you were altered as well. You are now a Cyclonus model,” he explained.

“Cyclonus,” the name flowed off his glossa. It was a powerful name, Bond thought as he held up the arm and looked at it. A powerful name to fit a powerful mech. He ran a system-wide scan, learning his new model’s specs, weapons systems, etc…. Indeed, he had changed. Now the only models that matched him in air supremacy would be the two modified Seekers – Scream and TC.

“So what do you think?” The Prime clone asked. His smile widened as Bond’s optics turned back to his.

“This air frame is far superior to my old.” Bond frowned as he realized something. He wasn’t terrified by this change! Wasn’t terrified of the unknown anymore! “My programming… Its…”

“Repaired,” Opie finished for him.

Bond flashed through his memory banks, that’s when he finally noticed that he was still processor linked with the Prime clone. “You,” he accused, “How?” He dove through the shared link as he spoke, his meta needing to know the truth.

Throwing up his firewalls, Opie’s weakened spark staggered at the sudden onslaught. “I… I did fix you… But Bond – don’t!”

“These aren’t Skywarp programs! Show me how you accessed them!” Bond grabbed Opie’s hand, not allowing him to rip the connections away. His processor pressed hard against the clone’s firewalls, demanding access.

“Please Bond… I don’t want you to see. I don’t want anyone to know.” Opie met Bond’s optics as he pleaded for him to stop, pleaded for him to understand.

But Cyclonus models tend towards single-meta-ness, and now that Bond had gotten it into his meta that he must know – nothing would stop him. He slammed like a battering ram straight through Opie’s firewall. His meta quickly accessing the memory files he sought. The entire file of Opie and Cyclonus copied, downloaded, scanned and understood in the blink of a clone optic lens.

Tears of shame filled Opie’s blue orbs as Bond left his processors. He couldn’t bear to meet the other’s gaze. It was bad enough that he had to live with the knowledge of what levels he had been forced to stoop to – now the recipient of those programs also knew.

Bond breathed in deeply, his engine rumbling as he considered everything. Reaching out, he whisked Opie’s shame filled tears away with a gentle digit. Cyclonus models tended towards extreme loyalty. Extreme loyalty to those who proven themselves to be both powerful and leaders. He had seen what Opie was truly capable of. Seen that Opie could truly travel the spark realm…. Seen Opie’s concern for others surpassed his own sense of self preservation. The Prime model would one day become a great leader. He was everything that a Cyclonus model would dream of following! “I am yours to command Opie,” he whispered.

Opie sniffed back his next round of tears, his optics widening in surprise at that whispered vow. “I… I don’t want to command you Bond. I just wanted to fix you. You’re my friend.”

Wrapping an arm over Opie, Bond rolled onto his side armor and pressed against him. “You believed in me always, You protected me, You cared for me when everyone else turned their wings to me in disgust over my fragged programming.” His optics searched Opie’s as his deep voice droned on, listing all the ways that he felt he owed him. “You begged to have me as you flight partner in the medic team.”

“I needed a partner,” Opie shrugged.

“No, you could’ve easily kept Dante and had Glock ride on your hip in alt mode. But you chose a weak-meta’d Seeker over him. Chose me – because you believed in me when no one else did!” Bond’s deep voice shook with emotion, his optics growing hard as he remembered how disgusted TC had been with him. That disgust drove Sharon to emotionally distance herself from the purple one. “Because of what you did for me when I was weak…. Because of what you did to make me whole again… Because of how you risked it all for changlings you didn’t even know… I am YOURS.” His tone made it perfectly clear that this decision was final.

The Prime clone stared in awe at the powerful flyer model, his meta still not fully comprehending it all. “But…. But I’m mated to Jag… And one day…” He trailed off, not able to fully voice his true dream.

“And one day our Air Commander as well.” Bond finished for him. Cocking his helm, he gave the Prime clone an expression that was almost humor-filled. “I’m not giving myself to you in that manner. I will one day find a suitable spark mate of my own. I’m giving you my loyalty as a follower.”

Opie relaxed now that he didn’t have to worry about yet another romantic triangle. One was more than enough for a clone! “So you no longer want TC and Sharon?” he asked.

“TC abandoned me emotionally long ago, through no fault of my own.” Bond glanced up at the ceiling as he spoke, his voice getting softer. “And because of TC’s estrangement, Sharon eventually pulled her emotions away as well. No, I don’t blame her. Who could’ve loved an emotionally weak clone like I’d become?”

“Don’t say that. Many loved you, still love you!”

Bond’s crimson orbs drifted back to Opie’s. “You were the only one who truly showed me love and compassion. Only an Optimus model such as yourself has that depth of compassion.”

“Charge showed you compassion too.”

The Cyclonus clone snorted in contempt. “Charge was more than pleased to thrown me to you as a partner. He intended for me to fail you. For you to fail. Please, don’t list that hybrid’s name as your equal. He’s merely a hybrid – he’s no true Prime clone like you.”

Opie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. To him, Charge had always been the perfect Prime model. He was strong, powerful, and confident. All traits that Opie could only dream of having….

A low growl startled him out of his thoughts. Focusing back on Bond’s optics, Opie could see the true depth of the flyer’s disgust in their Ground Commander. “Do not consider yourself so lowly Opie,” Bond’s voice went lower, his optics locking with Opie’s, “You will one day know greatness. And I will proudly serve as your flight partner from now until eternity!”

The Prime clone trembled as he felt the strength of Bond’s conviction flow over him. He’d been so right that any clone of Cyclonus’s would have his strength of character. He just hadn’t expected to see this fanaticism directed towards him.

“Told ya Cyclonus was a freakin’ fanatic for his leader,” a familiar voice snickered.

Startled, Opie bolted upright, scraping his thin audio receptors rather painfully against the low ceiling of his bunk. He scanned frantically for the source of that voice.

Wheeljack’s translucent head was sticking out of one of the walls, as if he was a part of the semi trailer’s very metal. Despite his face mask, his widening grin was very apparent. “Yep, warned ya ‘bout him didn’t I? Now you’re stuck with him through thick and thin – just like ‘ol Galvatron is.”

“I – I’m not in defrag! How am I communicating with you now?” the Prime clone asked as he rubbed his throbbing audio receptors.

Bond’s battle processor clicked on as Opie began to act as if there were others with them in the bunk. Carefully sitting up so that he didn’t bang his audios as well, he warily scanned their surroundings. “My sensors pick up nothing Opie.”

The mech spark cocked his helm as he looked over the changling clone. “That’s because ya ain’t got a spark like his – ya dumb aft,” he snickered. For fun, he reached out and flicked one of Bond’s audios.

A sudden rush of cold flooded his sensory nets from his audios. Instinctively, Bond cringed back, his very spark shuddering at the unseen touch of the dead. Drawing his weapon, he snarled low and deep, not caring for a situation he did not fully understand.

Laying a hand on Bond’s weapon, Opie calmed him. “He’s no threat to us Bond, put your weapon down.”

“Useless anyways. Why don’t ya mention that?” Wheeljack’s ghost teased, his dark optics gleaming in humor.

“Who is ‘he’?” the Cyclonus clone demanded to know as he lowered his weapon. His spark felt someone near, but none of his other sensors did. It was a very, unsettling, sensation for sure…..

“Wheeljack, an off-lined Autobot. He’s just playing around, that’s all,” Opie explained. His optics went back to the ghost. “I thought you’d be on your way by now.”

The ghost shrugged, “Naw, me an Ratch kind’ve like hanging around you clones. It’s like seeing how we could’ve been without the war. Ya know, like seeing Prime laying here all snuggly with Cyclonus.” He winked with that last comment.

“A ghost spark?!?” Bond shifted, slinking further away from the side of the bunk that Opie was talking to.

“Yes, guess I can see them even when I’m fully operational.” Opie smiled at the ghost, then at Bond. “Apparently, he and Ratchet have been hanging around us since they found us. They’re fascinated at how Decepticon and Autobot clones live together so peacefully.”

“So they aren’t trying to find a chassis for their use?” Bond was still warily glaring at the empty space where the unseen ghost was obviously located.

Opie glanced at Wheeljack with questioning optics. After getting the ghost’s chuckling shake of his helm, he turned back to Bond. “Affirmative. They merely wish to observe.”

His weapons systems finally shut down now that he was assured that there was no threat. The gray-purple flyer unconsciously pressed against his friend. His spark pulsed hard at the presence of the free spark so near. In a strange sense, he was looking to Opie for protection from the unseen one.

“Calm down Bond he’s just….” Opie’s words were cut short as the privacy panel slid open.

“Good, you are both recovering quickly,” Jag said. With a courteous nod at Bond, he crawled over him, stopping when he was straddling the sitting Prime clone. “Now, you are not escaping the inevitable this time.” His optics were hard as he cocked his helm expectantly, waiting for Opie to begin to talk.

“Prowl’d be so proud,” Wheeljack’s spark snickered from the wall.

Opie snorted at the dead inventor, rolling his optics. “Would you be quiet?”

Jag’s blue optics narrowed. “Excuse me?” Though his words were polite, his tone was harsh.

“Oh, uh, I wasn’t speaking to you,” Opie stammered as his face plate heated up.

“He’s gonna give ya the one-over for that,” Wheeljack the spark snickered. “Ya know, Prowl was the one mech who could make Optimus run for cover when he was investigatin’ something.”

“You’re not helping things!” Opie gave the ghost his best glare.

Glancing behind him to the spot that Opie was looking, Jag saw nothing. Turning back, he grabbed one of his mate’s audio receptors and pinched it. “Stop playing games, you’re not getting out of this – this time.”

Yelping, Opie looked away from the ghost and met Jag’s harsh gaze. Wheeljack made a few more snickering comparisons between the security clone and Prowl the mech – all of which Opie tried to ignore.

Before Jag could pinch the Prime clone’s audio again, a hand reached up. Strong digits surrounded his and pulled the interrogator’s hand away. “That is unnecessary. He is not playing ‘games’. He is communicating with a free spark.”

Jag turned his optics to meet Bond’s. The changling clone met him with an expression of quiet confidence, much different than the Bond he’d anticipated. “You’ve changed,” he noted.

The Cyclonus clone nodded slightly. “Indeed, Opie was very instrumental to my program repair.”

“I see.” Jag turned back to the clone beneath him. “But he still has a lot of questions he’s got to answer.” Noticing the data link cable still connected to Opie, an idea hit him. Why question him at length – when he could just demand to download the actual memory files he was interested in? Grabbing the loose end, he held it up in front of Opie’s face plate. “I want you to SHOW me all that you have done.”

Opie made a grab for the thin cable. “No!” he replied. It was bad enough that Bond knew what he’d done. Jag would never forgive him!

Bond made as if he was going to intercede again, but a swift warning glare from the black and white clone stopped him in his tracks. “He’s done nothing of importance,” he instead told the clone. He understood why Opie didn’t want his mate to know of the transgression, and his sense of loyalty prodded him to help him in any way he could.

“This is a matter between mates.” Jag’s sharp tone made it obvious that Bond had better stay out of it – or face the tactician’s wrath.

Opie cringed back against the wall as Jag shook the end of the cable. He wasn’t going to get out of it. Jag would know. Jag would hate him – then Scream would despise him. “Please don’t,” he pleaded.

Narrowing his optics, Jag glared at his mate. “We ARE still mates – aren’t we Opie?”

Looking down, Opie chewed anxiously on his lower lip and nodded.

“And if we’re mates – then we keep no secrets from each other do we?” Jag’s tone was leading, was filled with warning…

Tears filled Opie’s blue orbs. “Please don’t. If you see what I’ve….done… You’ll hate me!” His voice broke with quiet sniffs.

Jag’s optics stayed hard, he’d dealt with one unfaithful clone before. That time he’d not given the Seeker a second chance…. Had not cared to understand… This time he HAD to SEE what had occurred. HAD to understand his new mate’s intentions and emotions…. He had to know it all.. Investigate it all… Then he’d make his decision… “You have a choice Opie – if you don’t let me download the memory files then I will assume that we are no longer a couple because there is no trust.” His voice went lower in tone. “Or, you trust me enough to show me everything – and let me decide whether I can still care for you – based on the truth.”

Now tears were streaming freely down the Prime clone’s face plate. He was screwed either way! There was no good way out of this. He would be on his own and alone. Then he felt digits surround one of his hands… Strong, comforting, understanding warmth flowed through his digits.

/Show him that you are stronger than any clone could ever be/ Bond’s deep voice advised him over his comlink. /I will stand by you – even if Jag does not/ the clone promised.

Sniffing back his next round of shame-filled tears, Opie took the Cyclonus model’s advice. Nodding, he timidly met Jag’s optics. “Please don’t hate me,” he whispered as the tactician opened his data link panel and plugged in the other end.

“I can give my word that I will not hate you.” Jag’s optics were unwavering as he met Opie’s, just as his meta processor began to reach across their link. “It’s whether we are still mates afterward that is in question.”

“Just as straight forward as his mech. What did Jazz ever see in the guy?” Wheeljack’s spark mused to himself from the wall.

-------

Jag’s processor raced through Opie’s memory banks, downloading and copying everything. He went much farther than just the Cyclonus experience. He went through it all. His spark wanting to know…. Needing to know… Desperate to understand… He went all the way back to Opie’s earliest memory files… Back before Yellowstone.. Downloading all of Opie’s memories of life as a human’s mate, as a tortured pleasure slave, as a terrified recruit with a crush on a Commanding officer… He had it all now.. Knew it all now….

Opie kept his optics locked down to the hand that held Bond’s. Jag now knew all of him. All his many faults… He trembled anxiously as the tactician shifted his weight. Glancing up, he saw that faraway expression which meant the clone was sifting through the memory files. Reading them… Bringing them to his active RAM… Judging him for what he truly was…

After a few minutes, Jag’s optics finally cleared and focused back on Opie. His expression was guarded, unreadable, almost – cold… “You’ve been through a significant amount since your activation.”

The Prime clone nodded without a word.

“You’ve recently chosen to involve yourself in acts that I do not find agreeable,” Jag went on. He narrowed his optics as he considered the fact he needed to discuss some events with Glock and Dante as well. They’d broken several rules – no matter what technicalities Glock had preached after the fact. Glock was slick and polished – but rules were still rules no matter the angle viewed from.

A tear dripped down Opie’s cheek. Gnawing on his lower lip, his tasted energon from it’s now raw surface. Again, he spoke no words. Simply nodding to Jag’s statements of fact.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Jag ordered in a harsh tone.

Silently, Bond showed his support by squeezing his hand. Opie met his mate’s optics. No – his former mate’s – for he knew without a doubt that Jag wouldn’t want him now.

“You agree that I have every reason to throw you out of my bunk?”

Opie nodded. It was pointless to speak. Jag knew it all. He knew the things Opie had done.

“So what do you want Opie? What do you feel towards me?” The Prowl clone cocked his helm, his optics boring into Opie’s. “We both know how each other feels towards Scream – but what of each other, hmmm?”

Bond squeezed his hand, /be truthful my leader/ he whispered in his meta. /I will stand by you regardless of who your mate is./

The Prime clone’s lower lip trembled. How did he really feel about Jag? Did he love him? Well, he didn’t love him with a passion like he did Scream. But did that mean he didn’t? Granted, Jag had just about admitted the same thing about his own feelings hadn’t he? “I, um….”

“You what? Am I just a stepping stone towards Scream – or do you feel something for me as well? Is that why you couldn’t come clean about your recent activities?” Jag’s face plate was completely devoid of emotion, his poker face so well practiced. His emotions suppressed…..

“No…”

“No what? Which is it?” Jag pressured him, his voice getting louder.

/Face him! Don’t take this interrogation like some frightened sparkling!/ Bond bellowed over their comlink. His grip tightened painfully around Opie’s digits.

Drawing in his breath, Opie straightened his shoulder servos. Bond was right; he was a Prime clone wasn’t he? And Glock HAD repaired his base programming. “You are NOT a stepping stone for me Jag.” Somehow he managed to keep from saying ‘uh’….. “I have feelings for you… I think its turning into a form of love.” Reaching out with his free hand, he tentatively stroked Jag’s digits. “No, I don’t deserve a second chance.. but…”

Without warning, the tactician’s harsh gaze softened. Leaning forward, he gave Opie a tender kiss. Electricity raced through both of them at the light contact of their lip components. Pulling back, his digits curled around Opie’s free hand. “We started this relationship out of mutual needs and goals – not love. We both know that. But when I took you in – I understood that you were damaged goods. Understood it better than when I was paired with Scream.” Jag sighed sadly at the memory. “This,” he fingered the data link still between them, “has given me a much deeper understanding of why you are the way you are – of why Scream is the way he is. And Opie?”

His chassis still humming from the light kiss, Opie felt light-helmed as he fell into Jag’s brilliant blue orbs. “Yeah?” he whispered, still in disbelief that the conservative clone had kissed him – after knowing it all.

The Prowl clone slapped him lightly on the side of his helm, as if he was trying to knock some sense into his thick meta. “Dinobot may have taught you how to fight and Glock may have helped you to develop into a true Prime clone – but you still have absolutely NO tactical sense! Why’d you think that there was only one way to convince Starscream and Cyclonus to like you?!? Ughhh! I’ve got so much work to do with you!”

Opie and Bond sat there with their jaws hanging open in total shock at the rare show of emotion from Jag. Wheeljack’s ghost broke the silence for Opie. “He, he, he, he – little Prowler made a joke! He, he, he, he, - how about that?!?” The ghost’s head disappeared as he fell back into the wall still wailing in uncontrollable laughter.

The shocked look on Opie’s face plate swiftly changed to a huge grin. “Guess so,” he sheepishly agreed.

“Hmmm, interpersonal relations strategies? Yes, a very interesting course of study,” Bond’s deep voice agreed with Jag.

Jag glanced in Bond’s direction and nodded. “From the memory files, it appears that your model may be talented in it.”

“Indeed it is better to think and plan – before one acts.” From Bond’s smile, he was pleased with the compliment.

Cocking his helm, Jag studied the changling flyer. “Perhaps we should agree that Opie goes no where without one of us to accompany him for a while.”

“Then we can teach him that he must think before he reacts. Yes, a very good strategy.” Bond shook the tactician’s hand on it.

“Don’t I get a say in what training I need?” Opie asked.

“No.” The two spoke in perfect unison.

Opening his mouth, the young Prime clone was about to mention that he thought it was a load of slag that he didn’t get a voice in deciding on his training – when Jag shut him up with a mere roll of his hips. Interface systems went wild! Even his sore ports began to respond with readying lubricant.

“And since you’re an Eve spark who’s just agreed to be my mate – we’ve got to discuss the new marital rules that the Unit has been discussing.” Jag actually had a slight smirk on his face plate as he rolled his hips again, teasing the youngster.

“What rules?” Opie gasped. His cable pressed hard against its confines. Jag knew how sensitive and reactive his interface networks were… Why was the stoic clone teasing him like this?

“We have three forms now. All are concerned with reproduction. In our case – since you’re an Eve clone – we’ve got to find a human that will agree to be included in our ‘marriage’ to spark precursors as well as another clone or more that will agree to take responsibility for training newly sparked clones.” Jag’s free digits drifted over Opie’s hood, eliciting a low, needy moan from the young Prime.

“Uh, I think we could ask Torie or Samie, they kind’ve owe me a favor.” Opie couldn’t help but to thrust a bit with his hips. The tactician’s cod piece rubbing against his was becoming an overwhelming rush of need.

“Mmmm, a satisfactory solution since the human does not have to be sexually involved with the Eve clone.” Jag’s strange smirk widened as the young Prime bucked underneath him.

“And I will take on training responsibility,” Bond offered. His optics brightened as two sets of blue optics turned to him. “As you pointed out with the human mate – I do not have to be interface involved with the Eve clone.”

“Are you serious Bond? This is no simple matter,” Jag replied. He actually hadn’t meant to include any other clones – except for Scream and whoever was mated to the human that agreed.

“Yes, and I understand the complexities.” The changling smiled at the pair. “Whoever I end up taking as an interface mate shall have to also accept the same responsibility.”

“Marriage sure isn’t what it used to be.” Opie smiled at the black and white clone. His optics drifted along the handsome chassis straddling his lap.

“Life is much more complex than it used to be.” Reaching down with his free hand, Jag intensified his teasing of Opie by tracing the edges of the protective plate over the clone’s hidden cable. “Now marriage is not about love – but about responsibility to ensure the future.”

“But it can have love,” Opie moaned as he arched up against Jag.

“Indeed.” Jag smiled as the youngster’s armor slid to the side, a thick cable swiftly pressurizing. “As long as you understand that this…” He squeezed Opie’s cable, causing the youngster to yelp at the unexpected pain, “is only allowed entrance into my – or Scream’s – aft port.” His grip tightened a little more, before relaxing into a long and slow stroke. “Unless it’s forced interface – or in the spark realm - that is,” he added as an afterthought.

Opie’s helm clanged hard against the wall of the bunk, his optics threatening to roll back inside his helm. “So… Mmmmmmm….. My ports are free game?” Those very ports were now dripping with anticipation. He’d never expected the stoic clone to show such dominance.

“Since we both know you’re going to continue to screw up in the future – I’m giving you that outlet. At least for now.” He flicked the end of the shaft with his digit-tips, enjoying the reaction he obtained. He’d rather expect the youngster to screw up – that way he could lay down the rules for the screw up.

“Mmmm, do you mind if I enjoy watching you two as you consummate the marriage?” Bond’s hand slipped from Opie’s grasp and slid down curved purple armor to rub his own cod piece.

His mood unnaturally teasing, Jag met Bond’s red optics. “Since you’ve volunteered to be included as an official spouse – you may.”

Bond sighed happily as he released his own throbbing cable from its confines. It felt so good to be included in a family Unit that did not judge him. A family that would not care if he tried out different partners until he found one to his liking….

“Mmmmm, god Jag – I never, mmmmm, expected this….” Opie moaned as the tactician continued to tease his cable with long sure strokes. Reaching into his subspace, he pulled out one of the vibrator rings. “Here, mmmmmmm, Bond, let me…” He reached out and circled Bond’s cable with his digits.

Jag continued to tease the youngster while he watched him slowly work the ring down Bond’s length. He could imagine Scream in the flyer’s place, and it was incredibly erotic to watch his mate handle another. He’d never thought like that before – had he? Searching his memory banks, he pulled up distant memories of watching Scream eat out women while the Seeker jacked off. It hadn’t bothered him then. Perhaps it was because Scream wasn’t into interfacing with them? Perhaps it was because nothing was hidden from him? Just thinking about it – was making him even more horny. Was that the key he needed for dealing with these interface-addicts – giving them certain ‘liberties’ in front of him? Could it work? Could HE handle it now?

The tactician decided that he needed to investigate this new personal theory. They were involved in the ideal situation in which to do so anyway. So why not? “Do you like his cable in your hands, Opie?” Jag asked in a low husky whisper.

Opie and Bond looked up at the tactician in shock. Neither one had ever expected him to say something like that in their lives! “Wh- what?”

Jag pumped Opie’s hard cable, his port dripping in anticipation… “I know you and Scream can’t handle holding another’s cable…” his tone lowered “without longing for more.”

His chassis overcome with a shiver, Opie couldn’t answer for a moment. “Are you glitched…mmmmm…. Jag?”

“I do not require inclusion in your consummation,” Bond added. Taking the offered remote, he moaned as he turned on the ring. “However, I do require some lubricant.”

Jag stopped Opie as the clone pulled a small bottle out of his subspace to hand to the changling. “Why don’t you… Give him some of your oral lubricant instead?”

Opie couldn’t argue that just seeing Bond’s cable made his mouth water. But what was up with Jag? “You sure you aren’t glitched?” he asked.

“No, I just want to see if a personal theory is correct,” Jag replied with a smile. He glanced down at the cable Bond was beginning to stroke, and then back up at Opie. “You want a taste don’t you? Scream would.”

“Mmmmm,” Opie arched again to his strokes. “Yes…. But are you trying to …mmmmmm… test me or something?”

“Test?” The tactician thought about that for a moment. “Yes, it’s a test – but more for me than you. I grant you explicit permission to taste him – if both you and he are willing.”

The two glanced at each other, which appeared quite comical since they were still sitting side-by-side at one end of the bunk, both of their cables straight up in the air like flag poles. “You promise not to hold it over my head?” Opie met Jag’s optics as he asked.

“What if I turned that permission – into a direct order? Would that convince you that I will NOT hold it against you both?”

“When a Prowl clone gives his word – he is true to it,” Bond noted. He had to admit, Jag’s offer of letting Opie wrap his lips around his cable made for a delectable visual image. It wasn’t that he desired Opie in that way. But pleasure was pleasure – and an unmated pleasure clone wasn’t about to say no to some free oral interfacing… Just as no single man would either…

Opie glanced back and forth, still unsure about this request. “You sure?”

With a disgusted snort, Jag pulled away from him. “I want to test myself to see if I can truly handle the sight of one of my mates pleasing another! Wouldn’t you rather I know it now – or later when you screw up again?”

“Uh, ok then.” Since Jag had gotten off of him, Opie slithered down to lay next to Bond. His digits curling around his flight partner’s shaft, he guided the clone to turn his hips towards him. Lapping the tip, he smiled as Bond let out a moan.

Jag’s motor revved as he watched the cable disappear down Opie’s eager throat. Bond’s moans of appreciation added to his desire. His digits drifted down to his now-exposed forward port, dipping in each time Opie pulled back and swallowed Bond again. It was true! It didn’t bother him as much – if he KNEW there was nothing more than lust involved. Geese – why hadn’t he realized this back when he’d broken up with Scream?!? Life would’ve been so much simpler!

Grabbing Opie’s hips in a demanding grip, Jag forced him to lay on his back armor while he continued to blow Bond. His entire chassis hummed in anticipation as he straddled him again, his hands guiding the cable’s to his entrance….

“Mmmmmm, if I may request a better view of the … penetration,” Bond’s deep voice resonated in the bunk, making the very word ‘penetration’ sound beyond sensual. Their optics met, Jag understanding that Bond was testing his willingness to compromise as well. Since Bond had already done a favor for him – Jag leaned back on one of his elbow servos. The change of position giving the seated clone a perfect view…..

Bond nodded his appreciation, a hand drifting to the back of Opie’s helm. He forced the clone to take his cable deeper into his throat as he watched Jag’s port opening stretched wide by the tip of Opie’s cable. The thick girth disappeared within the dark cavern with agonizing slowness as Jag lowered himself, moaning as sensory nodes were stimulated.

Time passed slowly as clones watched each other’s cables being engulfed by pure pleasure. Jag relaxed further with each thrust of Opie’s strong pelvic servos. His slick shaft slid over hidden nodes within the tactician, causing blistering waves of pure ecstasy to wash over him.

“Mmmmmmm,” the Cyclonus clone’s deep rumble vibrated within his air frame. His digits slid over Opie’s helm, stroking his thin audio receptors. The Prime clone shivered, his digits digging into Bond’s smooth armor as his thrusts into Jag accelerated slightly each time his sensitive receptors were stroked. His glossa swirled along Bond’s length, flicking each sensitive ridge in turn….

Balancing his weight on the elbow placed behind him, Jag reached forward with his other arm. His digits ran along Opie’s headlights and hood, as if he was tracing each line into his memory. The youngster’s muffled moans increased in volume, his chassis heating up as his partners’ touches threatened to overwhelm his already overwhelmed meta with pleasure signals.

“It is gooooooood….” Bond purred, his strokes along Opie’s audios quickening. His intakes sputtering as his systems swirled, overload approaching rapidly…

“Yeeeeeeeesssss,” Jag’s optics began to roll up, his chassis shaking hard with each thrust into his forward port. His digits curled around one of Opie’s wiper blades, tightening into a vice as he rode the first warning wave of overload signals. “Clooooose..”

Opie quickened his pace; both with his mouth and his cable. Armor dented under his digits as he allowed himself to go over the edge. His meta crashed into the abyss just as his partners fell limp and silent…..

……. Alarms shut off one-by-one. Slowly, the young Prime ran checks on each system as he activated. Feeling a press on either side of him, the world came into focus and he found himself sandwiched between Bond and Jag. The latter having his arm draped around his shoulder servos in a somewhat possessive hold.

“Enjoy yourself?” the Prowl clone asked in a somewhat dazed sounding voice.

Opie grunted a bit as he shifted to a more comfortable position. “Yes, still can’t believe you let me do that. Sure the virus hasn’t mutated and infected you some how?”

Jag chuckled softly. “I’m fully functional, just needed to know.”

“Have you satisfied your curiosity?” Bond arched an optic ridge in humor. He wasn’t about to question why he’d been allowed such a pleasurable experience; he’d just take it at face value.

“Yes.”

“So?” Opie poked him, prodding him to say more.

“It does not seem to bother me when infidelity is performed in my presence.”

“Cool! So we’re going to do this more often?” Opie’s face plate was beaming in excitement. It would be nice to not feel any guilt after his lust made him do things he shouldn’t…

“Perhaps.”

“Hmmmmm.” A thoughtful look crossed Bond’s face plate. Putting his hands behind his helm, he looked up at the low ceiling. “A question inside me has also been answered.”

“Really? What was that?” Opie turned to look at his friend.

“What model I prefer for a prospective mate.” The powerful flyer shifted a bit, settling more of his frame seductively against Opie’s.

“That would be…” Opie was naïve enough not to see the obvious.

“Optimus model I would expect,” Jag answered for him. But there was no jealousy in his blue optics as he met Bond’s.

“Indeed…” Bond’s optics went back to the ceiling. “And I suspect we shall run across many sparked Optimus clones in our journey.”

“I’m sure one of them will come to appreciate you.” Reaching over, Jag patted the clone in a friendly manner, not worried in the least that he’d go after Opie behind his back. No, not any more. His ‘clone husbands’ now knew they could share – in front of him….

---------

Section 3: Missing

Unit temporary camp at the warehouse – next day

--------

“Shit! What happened?!?” Daniel raced into the med trailer, his hazel eyes full of concern as he saw three of his best clones laid out on tables.

“Made the mistake of butting in where we weren’t wanted,” Steel muttered. He cringed as McCoy put another layer of protective polymer on his ripped facial alloy.

“Anticipated him being quick, but not that quick,” Storm agreed. He growled as pain washed over him from Speed repairing one of his torn rotors.

“You’re just a fucking loser Storm. Ya’ll should’ve known that you can’t fuck with Charge.” Speed made sure to tug a tad harder than he should’ve.

“Speed, shut up,” Daniel ordered. He marched up to Steel, “I want a full report of what happened. No one has been able to find a trace of Doc or Charge since yesterday.”

“No tracks?” Clipper’s optic ridges came together in worry.

“Another storm blew through last night. If we’d known what had happened then – we might’ve found them. Now there’s no tracks – nothing.” Daniel shook his head in dismay.

“No radio contact?” Storm was now becoming alarmed as well. Charge tended towards micro-managing so it wasn’t like him to not be in constant contact.

“Negative. No tracking beacons have been activated.”

Clipper staggered to his peds, his meta still throbbing with pain. “Is the weather conducive to aerial search?”

“Not by the jets or Seekers. Spinner’s been doing what he can. The wind gusts are very dangerous.”

“Maybe with another chopper looking, we can find them.” Still reeling a bit from the blow to his meta, Clipper headed for the door.

“As soon as ground sloth here,” Storm glared at Speed as he spoke, “repairs my rotors – I will join you two.”

Daniel watched Clipper as he transformed and headed for one of the large double doors. He hoped the choppers found the missing pair… But a bad feeling had come over him… And he normally wasn’t wrong when he felt that premonition….

-------------------------------------------------------------

Section 4: Living a nightmare

Location: The trek westwards with the ambushers.

Time: 2 days after capture.

-------

Everything HURT! Pain signals sought to overwhelm his rebooting processor. Fighting through it with the stubbornness of a Prime model, Charge ground his dental plates together as he forced the full reboot. Scanning positional awareness programs, he knew that he was lying face first on a surface with his arms secured behind his back armor, his legs spread and his port covers open.

It wasn’t until he’d fully come online and his optics began to glow that he realized the true horror of what his chassis had been experiencing. Agony shot through his pleasure nets from his ports. Damaged sensors screamed as they were hit again and again by the thick cable pummeling his aft port. Instinctively Charge kicked out, trying to get whoever was using his ports to disengage. The clone merely grunted, shifted and recentered himself – never pausing in his assault.

Turning his head, the hybrid snarled as he attempted to flip himself over. This only earned him more pain as a ped smashed down between his shoulder plates, pinning him to the ground. The clone using him, grabbed his hip armor tightly, his static-filled intakes of air quickening as his pace increased.

Growling as rage engulfed his processor, Charge’s optics shifted from brilliant blue to a burning red-purple as his Decepticon battle processor took control. He attempted to kick out again, but digits surrounded his ankle servos – keeping him still. “Let me GO!” he bellowed.

Digits curled around his thin audios, twisting them painfully. He yowled in pain and fury, trying to deny that he was truly at their mercy.

“Quiet, quiet, be alright. Masters’ just given pleasure. Like pleasure,” a timid voice whispered. Charge shifted his optics up, yellow armored legs coming into focus. His audios were being held by a Bumblebee clone. He was one of the smaller models, only 5’6” tall. The type ordered by humans who wanted a ‘teenaged’ clone.

But that wasn’t what stood out in Charge’s meta. It was the condition that the clone was in. He was dented and dinged, his once bright and cheerful paint job now dull and lifeless. His optics coated with grime, the left one cracked so badly that it was doubtful if he was actually using it anymore. The armor over his spark core had been removed and replaced with a clear sheet of polyglass – showing his pulsing spark to the world…. But the most shocking thing of all – was his face plate. There a familiar scar was slashed permanently from his left cheek down to his lip. A scar that matched the one Opie carried.

Charge’s purple optics widened as he realized the true horror of his situation. There was only one clone whom marked his clone slaves like that. One infected clone who could gather hordes of followers. One infected clone whom seemed stalled at stage two infection. A stage of intense rages and mild glitches – but still allowed the clone logical, clear thought processes. A clone they had battled with before… Tron…

With a final greet thrust that made Charge want to hurl his last Dr Pepper, the clone using his port slumped over in overload. “Masters like new slave’s ports,” the Bumblebee clone babbled cheerfully. Still holding Charge still with a grip on his audios with one hand, the smaller clone reached over and pushed the now limp clone off of his back.

Grunting in relief as the spike slid from his aft – Charge was about to speak to the yellow clone when without warning he was pierced again. Howling in outrage, he struggled and writhed in their grasp as his forward port was violated.

“Silence him!” another voice barked. Though it was also full of static, the model it belonged to was easy to discern.

The Bumblebee slave shivered in fear. Jerking Charge’s head up, he cringed as the new slave started to curse. “Quiet quiet!” he pleaded. Not getting anywhere with his pleas, he dug his digits into the battlemask’s hinges and forced it to part.

Charge snarled and tried to bite the yellow one. He didn’t care if he was also a captive. The clone was helping the rapists! Catching one of his digits, he bit down hard, causing the timid one to yelp in pain. The Bumblebee pulled his digits out of harms way, and the next time Charge tried to bite – he crammed something into his mouth.

In horror, the hybrid now found his mouth cranked open slightly by a device that locked to his dentals. Now he couldn’t bite! Couldn’t defend himself in any way! Screaming his rage, his struggles increased. This only added to the clone’s pleasure behind him, as his port clutched tightly around his shaft. He groaned in a static filled voice – sinking his shaft yet deeper into Charge’s depths.

The Bumblebee yelped again as he was punched by the clone who’d originally ordered him to shut Charge up. Falling over, the smaller clone groveled on his knee plates to the MotorMaster clone. “Pleeeeeeaaaasssseeee Master! I’m trying!” he whined, his optics filling with tears.

The black clone growled and kicked him again. “You’re not doing what I ordered you to!”

Scooting back towards Charge, the yellow clone couldn’t look him in the optics as his spike activated and swelled. Thrusting it into Charge’s unwilling held open orifice, he finally muffled the clone’s curses. “I please you Master?” he asked hopefully.

Charge was mortified as his mouth was assaulted by the other. Obviously the Bumblebee clone was a slave – but still to torture another? It was unbelievable how fragged they’d made his programming! His helm was now held tightly as the smaller clone thrust in and out. His lips made raw by the motion. His throat already made sore as the clone forced his entire length down it.

Unable to defend himself, Charge’s rage turned to horror as he heard the familiar sounds of his mate rebooting. Shifting his optics – and his meta – away from his own abuse, the hybrid scanned in desperation for dear Doc.

It didn’t take long to spot him. The poor clone was being held up between two infected clones. Both of their cables piercing him…..

…Terror filled the night as the faded red moon looked on… And two small red optics recorded every moment……..

-------

Daylight…

Daylight streamed into his optics, piercing his meta with the growing ache of helpless rage. Working his dentals on the ball of oil soaked rags that the Bumblebee slave had stuffed in his mouth, Charge cursed him in silence. In vain he commanded his battlemask to part, to allow him to spit out the rags and tell his captors to go to hell. But the duct tape refused to give way. So he was stuck there. Hanging from his bonds on the metal pole which went through them, like some prized deer humans were taking back home.

Craning his helm, he could just barely make out the forms through the icy fog in front of them. He knew Doc was being carried in front of him. Knew without a doubt that death would be preferable over the horror they were being taken to. But death was not available to them as a choice.

The hybrid’s optics burned a deep purple, his Decepticon battle processor and Autobot meta processor finally… and completely…… ONE….. His thoughts no longer on being the perfect Prime model…. His thoughts now focused on survival, escape – and destroying every clone who assisted these sparkless hordes… Slave or not – they were as good as dead in his combined conscious…

-------

Note: Ok, totally long chapter here and my CT is acting up something fierce! Please leave some reviews on the AFF site! Pllllleeeeeeaaaaasssseeeeeeeee…..
- 20
- 21
- 22
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Age of the Machine (Market Comodity 3)