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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
- 26
- 27
- 28
**Age of the Machine part 21**

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

Note: Another looooonnngggg chapter. Smut is in Section 3 & 4
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Section 1

Mixed Unit holed up in the warehouse

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“He’s ok,” Sharon replied. With a cringe of pain from her sore shoulder, she leaned back against the couch. It was hard this ‘getting old’. Harder still when you were one of the few survivors left on this ruined world. Lifting the glass to her lips, she took a long sip, savoring the chocolate flavor of the nutrient mix. Everyone was getting sick of drinking it that was for sure, but it sure beat the alternative of starvation. Thank god they had run across a chemist clone like Alchemy – since the scavenging teams hadn’t been running across much in the way of canned goods as of late.

Daniel smiled, his eyes drifting to the pair of clones at the end of the living area. TC was attempting to teach Jamie the fine art of changing a toddler’s cloth diaper. And the poor Grapple clone was obviously in way over his helm. Yet, he was still trying hard to get it right and please the blue Seeker. “So he’s doing all this to get with you, hmmm sis? Never took you for a tease like that,” he teased.

She grinned and kicked up her feet. Taking another sip of her liquid meal, she glanced back at her clone husband and wanna-be-husband. “Misunderstanding, that’s all. But once I thought about it I really feel he’d be good for TC. Don’t you?”

“Let’s see - predictable, boring, intelligent, calm and thoughtful. All things those pretty Seekers are definitely NOT.” Daniel chuckled as he listed them off on his fingers. Seekers and their rather emotional temperaments had become the butt of so many Unit jokes that it was now the expected personality type. “Yeah, my little match-maker of a sister does have a point. Getting him hooked up with his exact opposite might make things go much smoother around here.”

“My sentiments exactly,” she agreed.

Picking up his bottle of the ‘chocolate meal’, Daniel began to shake it as he watched the humorous scene with the clones unfold. Scream had shown up with little Rhinox in tow, and now poor Jamie was attempting to change a male toddler’s diaper. The Seekers fell out in loud snickers as he got pegged with some pee.

The first ‘victim’ of the diaper changing practice was now through. “Mommyyyyyyyyy!” Airazor chirped as she darted from TC’s hold and spied Sharon. Her chubby little legs pumped frantically as she ran towards her favorite human, arms held out.

“My good little girl.” Picking her up, Sharon gave her a hug.

“Bobble!” Wiggling out of her mother’s embrace, the little one reached towards the bottle with her formula. Just like the adults, she had to live on the formulated diet that the clones designed; Though hers was formulated for a growing youngster. Almost knocking it over, she managed to grab it. With a triumphant slurp, she lifted it up and began to suck it down while she leaned against Sharon.

Daniel chuckled as he watched his niece. “Still hard to believe that she’ll transform into one of them when she hits puberty, she’s the spittin’ image of her momma.”

Taking a soft brush out, Sharon began to fuss with her daughter’s hair. “Your right, but without them…”

“I know, I know – Dinobot claims they’re the future of Cybertron.”

“Future of us too,” she softly added. Her eyes misted over a bit. The longer she fought, they fought, to survive – the more she tried to bury the dark feeling that they would ultimately die out.

“Don’t say that. Earth I will just become a lost world again. Maybe that means our descendants will be spared from war.” Daniel smiled as he tickled one of Airazer’s little feet.

“Ok Captain – I don’t need one of your little pep talks.” Sharon turned her eyes back to her adopted daughter. A daughter who was her genetic clone – yet wasn’t even human.

“Yeah you do, I know you too well Sis. And plus, that’s why they keep me around.” His deepening crows feet furrowed yet deeper as he shot her a wry smile.

She pegged him, her lips curling up. His sense of humor and positive attitude had always been contagious, which is the main reason he’d basically fallen into the position of leadership amongst them. “They keep you around – because no one wants to deal with a single clone with Speed’s issues. It’s better that he’s got a man to keep him in line.”

He laughed, not taking her crack in a bad way. Speed was a difficult clone to live with at times. “He wouldn’t be single, he’d still have Silver.”

Sharon rolled her eyes, “beautiful vision – the competitive and stupid leading the rash and stupid.”

Finished with her bottle, Airazer threw it down and climbed into her Uncle’s lap. “Boosss, Booosss!” she commanded.

Obediently, Daniel began to bounce her up in the air with his knee, all the while keeping his banter up with his sister…. This was what life came down to – family. And the entire mixed Unit was one big family now – with him responsible for ensuring their safety through his leadership….

Grammy walked in, trailed by the two clones that had become her shadows for the last few months. Her wrinkled face crinkled in a warm smile as she saw Daniel playing with the toddler. “Bout time ya learn’d to take it easy. I was worried ya’d keel over with a heart attack.”

Wiggling free of Jamie’s grip, Rhinox squealed in delight and ran towards Groove, his diaper only half-on. Holding his hands up, he grinned at one of his favorite adult playmates. “Moofit, moofit!” he demanded as he grasped the Jazz clone’s digits.

“My cool little dude,” Groove chuckled. Whisking the little one in his arms, he fastened the open side of the cloth diaper with a simplistic flick of his deft digits, much to the dismay of the architect clone who had been struggling with it.

With an excited yelp, the small black boy grabbed for the headphones that Groove always kept hooked to his shoulder armor and slammed them on his head. Fiddling around with the panel that opened to his touch, he quickly found the number of his favorite tune. Soon, the child was comically bobbing his head and trying to sing to a song that no one else could hear.

Sitting down next to Daniel, Grammy patted him on his other leg. “Ya’re a good man Danny, a good man. Don’t ya forget that!”

Continuing to bounce his giggling niece, Daniel smiled at her in thanks. Life was hard – and every bright moment was to be savored. “So when’s the wedding, hmmm?” he teased, with a knowing glance at the quiet Bluestreak/Prowl clone settling down on her other side.

“Gonna make me blush like a young-in,” Grammy chuckled.

Steel made a point to wrap an arm over her shoulders, his blue optics gleaming in bliss even though the only other sign of his emotions was the slightest of upcurl on the edge of his lips. Granted, how else would a Prowl hybrid be expected to act? At least this hybrid was a bit more easy going than Jag. Everyone knew that there was no way Jag would’ve taken up knitting like Steel had – there was no tactical advantage to knitting.

But Steel had not only learned to enjoy knitting, but cooking and playing with youngsters as well – all in his pursuit of Sally. Though he preferred to play board games with the older children and let his brother clone, Groove, play with the illogical younger ones. It was a situation that worked, and everyone in the Unit was betting on this family group to celebrate the first marriage – once they’d worked out an agreement with either a Seeker or an Eve.

“We’ve been in discussions with Electro, Poet and Kiki,” Steel quietly informed him.

Sharon leaned back as TC and Jamie settled down next to her. Like always, Jamie pulled out some wax and a buffing cloth and began to work on the Seeker’s wings. He was doing his damnedest to get on TC’s best side. “So, is it all panning out?” Sharon asked Steel.

Steel had begun to rub Sally’s stiff shoulders, as was his habit. “Affirmative. Poet requires a partnership agreement with a human, and Sally is one of the few he trusts.”

“Sounds like the perfect arrangement,” Daniel agreed. Electro and Kiki were also very good with children, and since Grammy was the kid magnet – they’d better be.

Groove interrupted them by spinning around while he danced with Rhinox. Swaying and bobbing to a song only he and the little one could hear.

“Well, at least you’ve taught him not to torture us all with his choice in music,” Scream snickered. His optics followed the silly clone as he danced around with his pride and joy. Though he trusted the other adult clone – he still thought of him as a bit of a glitch. But his son loved the black-and-white clone with a passion, so he never voiced a truly negative word. Now picking on him a little – well, that was to be expected!

“You need to come for a lesson – I’ll show you what a good time is!” the Jazz clone shot back, his face plate brightening up into a huge smile.

“Thanks but no thanks,” the fech mumbled with a roll of his optics. This was the common banter between them, and Scream would rather fly – than dance.

“Mmmm, little to the right.” Ignoring the others, TC laid down across Jamie’s thigh armor. There was nothing quite like a good buffing to stop the itching on one’s sensitive wing nets.

“O-o-o-k-k-kay.” Obediently, the Grapple clone shifted his hands. His attention focused on doing the best job that he could. He had to somehow makeup for being such a failure at the whole changing diaper thing.

Glancing at everyone; the humans discussing relationships and weddings, the Seeker getting a good buff, and the toddlers having fun bouncing and dancing – Scream decided it was time to bail. He had better things to do….

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Still in the warehouse
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Scream continued to snicker as he left his son in the care of the Jazz clone. The Grapple clone Jamie was so freaking desperate! It was obvious to everyone BUT TC. He’d considered pointing that fact out to the other Seeker, but why bother? It was far too entertaining to watch the stuttering clone following him around and kissing his tailpipes as hard as he could. Jamie wanted TC to notice him, to like him. For a moment, Scream wished he had a Swindle clone to lay a bet down on how long it would take TC to finally notice Jamie’s interest.

Hearing the sounds of training clones, Scream turned and began to stroll towards them. There was one clone he desperately wanted to see… To talk to… It had been two weeks since Charge and Doc had disappeared. Two weeks of coming to terms with his emotions of being abandoned. Two weeks of snuggling with Jag and discussing his sense of guilt with the calm and understanding tactician… He was ready now. Ready to face the emotions and the clone that had apparently caused Charge and Doc to abandon him and Rhinox..

Rounding the corner, Scream stopped and silently watched. Opie was busy. Changling clone teams surrounded him. He and Bond were discussing flight maneuvers and techniques for hanging onto flyers from the looks of it. Grinding his dental plates, Scream stamped out his instinctive jealousy towards the powerful changling. True, it should be himself who carried his love into battle. Who felt his wonderful digits digging into his intakes… But Jag was right. Opie needed a calm flight partner untarnished by abuse – just as Scream needed the same. Jag had explained how extreme stress from battle might trigger memory echoes in abused clones. They needed the mental strength of their flight partners to lean on. It all made perfect sense – didn’t it?

The red clone watched as the Optimus clone put the changling teams through their paces. He was so confident…. So powerful… His soft words of encouragement and praise for the smallest improvement made the new recruits eagerly jump to follow his every directive. In every way – he was a leader amongst them. Not through title. No, all he was called officially was the ‘training Lieutenant’. He didn’t need a title though. He had become a leader through his actions.

Scream’s spark pulsed hard as Opie’s brilliant blue orbs turned in his direction and locked with his. His knee servos felt weak. His energy core flared. It was like he was seeing Opie for the first time. Indeed he was, for the Opie of today was not the Opie he’d once knew… Once fell in love with….

“You all have done so well, go have some fun. You’re dismissed until 0500 tomorrow,” Opie announced with a smile, his optics never left those of the red Seeker standing a distance away. “Would you mind going with them Bond?”

Spying whom Opie was optic-locked with, the Cyclonus clone hesitated. “Jag ordered that one of us must stay at your side.”

Tearing his optics from the beautiful Seeker who was obviously waiting to talk with him, Opie gave Bond a friendly pat on the shoulder servo. “It’s just Scream.”

“Whom is still going through intense counseling.” Bond lowered his volume to a whisper, “Until your spark is strong and his emotional state stabilizes, it is unwise for you two to be alone.”

Now he couldn’t help but roll his optics. “Can’t you trust me for once?!?”

“Negative,” Bond didn’t shrink from the glare that comment earned him. He was as calm and focused as Jag ever thought of being. And Cyclonus clones didn’t compromise!

“Ugghhhh!” Pushing the Cyclonus clone away from him, Opie turned and began to stride towards Scream. “I swear I won’t fraggin’ slag him – ok!” He knew his flight partner would end up following them, but maybe he’d at least give them a semblance of privacy.

Scream’s entire air frame began to tingle as his sparkfield touched Opie’s. On shaky peds, he began to stride towards him, intent on meeting him halfway. The familiar sensation of meshing energy fields flowed over him, soothing his deep set fears… Taking his breath away in a wash of emotional excitement…

“Opie…. I….” Tears flowed from his optics as he and Opie stopped face-to-face. Further words were stopped before they left his lip components as a gentle digit went across them.

“Don’t…” Opie lowered his voice to a whisper so that hopefully his nearby flight partner wouldn’t over hear. “Feel me Scream.”

As those strong arms surrounded him in an embrace, Scream’s wings shivered. Sinking down into his spark with his meta, he felt Opie’s spark open to him. Raw emotions flowed over him, pulsing in time with his own. The familiar emotions of self-doubt, shyness, and longing to belong – were gone! The Seeker gasped - his optics opening wide in disbelief as he laid his helm on Opie’s shoulder. What he had observed during training was truly the clone Opie had become. His timid young recruit had grown up. Had recovered… Had become everything his model was supposed to be!

Opie no longer needed HIM for security. No… Scream’s empathic consciousness flowed through their sparklink. Flowed through every part of Opie’s emotional being…. Searching… Discovering… Realizing the full extent of his emotional fortitude… “How?” he whispered..

Stroking Scream’s trembling wings, the Optimus clone tried to calm him. “Glock and Dante – they repaired me from within,” he explained softly. Lifting one of his hands, he began to stroke the back of the black helm, pointedly ignoring the warning glare of his nearby flight partner.

“A Galvatron clone… went out of his way… to repair a Prime clone?” Scream was incredulous. Everyone knew that Glock was somewhat fixated on Opie for some reason only he knew. But for him to data link directly with a clone as fragmented as Opie – for the sole purpose of helping him – that was unbelievable!

“Yeah, crazy isn’t it? I told you that Glock’s a good guy.” Opie grinned as he pulled back enough to meet Scream’s gaze. Then a low growl filled his audios, a low growl that no one but him could hear. Scanning around, he quickly spied the source of the sound. Starscream-the-ghost was leaning up against the warehouse’s wall next to Bond, his dark optics gleaming in smoldering anger.

“No Galvatron clone is a good clone!” the ghost muttered lowly.

Scream felt Opie stiffen, felt his spark pulse hard through their link. The sudden change caught him off guard. “What’s wrong Opie?”

“We’re not alone – and he disagrees with me,” Opie explained. He wasn’t looking at Scream though, his optics were locked with those unseen ones.

Bond relaxed as he noticed Opie’s distraction. For once he was pleased that a free spark was nearby. It would keep Opie from going too far with Scream – and forcing him to intervene or they’d all face Jag’s protective wrath.

“He?” Scream looked around, and saw nothing.

“You’re such an idiot - Prime clone,” Starscream snorted, “Galvatron clones are just like their mech. They’ll use you, and once they get what they want – they’ll shoot you in your back armor and throw you out into space!”

“Yeah, ‘he’ – as in Starscream,” Opie met Scream’s worried optics. “Close your optics and see if you can feel his spark.” He looked back up, ignoring the Seeker clone’s shocked gasp, and met Starscream’s glare once again. “Sometimes you get a feeling in your spark. A feeling that you can trust another with your very life. I get that from Glock. He’s not like Galvatron. He doesn’t have the cruel selfish sadistic streak. He is what Megatron-Galvatron COULD’VE been!”

“I SHOULD BEAT YOU FOR YOUR INSOLENCE!” the ghost shrieked. He whirled around Opie in a rage. His soul wind picked up loose papers and threw them around as he flew. Allowing the other two clones to fully realize that there was indeed a ghost in their midst “HOW DARE YOU TELL ME WHAT MEGATRON WAS, COULD’VE BEEN OR COULD NOT HAVE BEEN! I SERVED THE WRENCH FOR A MILLENIA!! I KNOW MORE THAN YOU’LL EVER KNOW ABOUT HIM!! AND GALVATRON … AKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!”

Scream had his optic shutters closed, even through the poltergeist that surrounded he and Opie. Letting his spark field flow out, he searched….. Searched for emotion not associated with any sparks in the Unit that he knew.. Then he felt it. Rage… Overwhelming, all-consuming rage… He delved deeper into that rage he had found.. Beneath the inferno of rage – was pain so deep that it seemed the blackest of abyss’. “I feel – him,” he whispered in disbelief, his optic shutters still clamped tightly shut in concentration.

Keeping a protective arm around the empathic clone, Opie kept his shoulders straight and proud as he faced the enraged free spark without the slightest hint of fear. “We clones know more about you mechs – than you yourselves did or do.”

Starscream tried to punch the insolent clone for his blasphemous words, but his translucent fist went straight through his intended target. Growling, he picked up a loose stick and threw it at him instead.

Without even the slightest blink, Opie caught the stick and threw it to the ground. “You know its true Starscream. We have our mech’s most emotional memories trapped in our processors. We suffer to break free from your wants, dreams, desires – and create our own to follow. Though sometimes…” he nodded to the feminized Starscream clone held tightly against his side “we must first accept our mech’s deepest weakness – and turn that very weakness into our greatest strength.” He turned, continuing to face the ghost who spun around him. “Look at him Starscream. Look at him and see what you could’ve been. He’s been beaten down, broken by a clone of the very mech who beat you – yet he survived, recovered, and realized what his true identity was. And is brave enough to show himself for the fech he is inside.”

“HE IS NOTHING BUT SCRAP THAT THE PATHETIC HUMANS WELDED TOGETHER! HE IS NOT ME! HOW DARE YOU INSULT ME – YOU PATHETIC CLONE!” the ghost hurled more papers and boxes at the pair, his rage growing as the Prime clone effortlessly batted them to the side.

“Is he worthless scrap Starscream? Feel his spark touching yours. Feel his empathy for you,” Opie challenged. He gripped Scream tighter to his side, preparing to continue to protect him from the poltergeist.

Starscream whirled, his face plate a mask of the purest rage. He would not humor this pitiful clone with anything more than a brick up side his helm! Looking around, he finally located the ammunition he desired. Spinning, he lifting his arm, ready to bash both of their weak metal’d helms with the projectile.

…. Then a wave of pure emotion slammed into him… casting his weightless form backwards through several boxes.. Screaming in rage, he struggled back to his thrusters.. Denying that THEY could ever attack HIM! The wave crashed into him again. But instead of a mere wave – it was like the greatest of all tsunamis! He was slammed face down on the ground. His free spark open, unprotected from the direct assault. The tsunami of emotion held him still, forced him to endure the agony. Its tendrils ripped away his protective covering of hate and rage. They delved into the very core of his being, snaked around the wrenched pain of millennia of regrets, loneliness and abuse. Exposed him for what he truly was. What he’d hidden for so very, very long…

And then the loneliness disappeared from his spark. Washed away by the powerful emotion of understanding, empathy, togetherness… He staggered back to his thrusters, his dark optics locked on the feminized clone version of himself. A clone who was cradled against the strong Prime clone, his optics closed, his very spark now linked with his. “How?” the ghost gasped. A feeling of intense pain slammed into him, knocking him to his knees. He relived his own interface torture at the hands of Megatron. Relived them just as his clone relived his own…. Then a strange emotion uprooted the pain. A strange emotion that filled him with the oddest of sensations… He felt light.. Felt powerful.. Felt like not even a sun could destroy him.. Felt – happiness and fulfillment… Strange tickling emotions that he’d never felt before so couldn’t even guess what they were called….

Scream opened his optics then. He still couldn’t actually see the ghost – but they were linked so tightly that he knew every movement, every emotion.. “We are.. brothers,” he told the ghost. “And brothers love each other, help each other, look out for each other.”

The pressure of emotions lessened, allowing the ghost to finally stand. But they were still there, wavering around him like a mist. “How can a clone spark link with a mech spark – without contact?” he demanded to know. He’d never verbally admit to the weaknesses and emotions that this clone now knew of. Starscream never admitted to things like that. And he wasn’t about to start here with these pathetic mini-mechs.

“We are eve sparks. Our spark fires changed through intense abuse and suffering.” Opie motioned to himself as he continued to explain. “I have the ability to travel the spark realm.” He nodded to Scream. “He is now an empath that can help to change other’s emotions. And we have a third eve spark who can communicate with the unborn.”

Starscream’s expression was unreadable as he approached, his dark optics brooding as he considered this unexpected development in the clones. He still wasn’t about to admit that what the empath had just put him through had been the most incredible experience of his existence. Reaching out, he stroked the wing of the feminized version of himself, smirking as his cold touch caused an involuntary shudder to rake Scream. “So, you clones think you have it all figured out hmmm? Yet, you are so ignorant that you allow your fellows to be captured – and don’t even know it!” with that final insult, he disappeared….

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Section 2:

Around the same time, just outside of the warehouse…..

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Perched high in the browning pine tree, Owl and Polly sat perfectly still as they had for days now. The gun gripped tightly in Owl’s claws studying the Unit working and playing beneath them with an intensity that would make any special forces sharpshooter seem a mere enlisted grunt in comparison. There was a reason he had risen to the top of his team’s clone forces. The Megatron clone had the intelligence, tactical skill of his mech – but more of a Prowl model temperament with a slight twist of arrogance and tendency towards perfectionism to boot.

So here they had sat. The birds having patience equal to Colt’s. They had watched as Rumble had gotten into an insult match with a strange mech-type apparently designated as Dinobot. The insults had swiftly turned into violence – before the Autobot Beachcomber had intervened. Rumble and Dinobot had been forced to ‘make up’ – though it was obvious to the observers that the tension between the two was a constant issue.

They had watched as the Unit flyers had searched far and wide for their missing members. As expected, they had always returned empty handed. Yet, even though they had flown by and through the thick cove of dying evergreens many times, they had not spotted the Ranger clones. This was the advantage of absolute motionlessness. Most radar and detection systems would not spot them until they moved. And with the heat shielding that the Army had ordered for their special forces clones – they were undetectable with infrared as long as they kept their engines idled down.

Even the other strange mech-type designated Inferno hadn’t spotted them. In fact, he and a Red Alert clone had given them quite the education in mech-clone interfacing; since they’d enjoyed an entire evening beneath the very tree that the recon team had chosen to hide in. Colt had found it particularly intriguing to watch the clone suck off the strange mech. The mech’s cable was structured more like an organic’s penis than a true mech spike. Switching his optics to infrared, the Ranger clone could see the energon/fluid flow within the tissues. The temperature increased with every swipe of the Red Alert clone’s glossa. Until, with much moaning, the strange-mech released. His spike spurted silvery fluid all over his companion.

Watching them as they cleaned each other off, and then commenced to full interface of spike thrusting into forward port – Colt let his optics shift back into the normal spectrum. These mech-types were very strange. They seemed to be more organic-than-mech in many regards. Even their ‘overloading sequence’ followed more along organic reactions. Not to mention that there seemed to be some very close personal ties between the mechs and clones of this Unit, which was knowledge that Colt felt he could use to their advantage. He and the birds tracked them with their optics as they finished with their romantic encounter and returned back to duty. Yes, he would remember which mechs were paired with which clones. That knowledge was sure to come in handy.

They had identified three men who seemed to be in charge of most goings-on. Most of the time these men wore a type of experimental battle/survival suits when they came outside of the relative safety of the warehouse. These suits were very reminiscent of the now-defunct video game ‘halo’ – which for some reason Colt found to be highly amusing. But the suits were efficient, and he couldn’t help but contemplate on how they would increase the efficiency of the Ranger team if they were to obtain them for their humans.

Rumble was overheard muttering an insult under his breath concerning taking orders from ‘Fuckin’ Captain Trakersly’ during one of his routine insult sparing matches with the strange-mech Dinobot - Colt and the birds cross referenced the name and rank within their memory files. A possible link was found, for the CEO of their manufacturer had the same unique last name and his brother was retired military, though his rank had not been included in the bio. Could a member of this esteemed family have survived the eruption? Colt spent another few hours contemplating on this possibility. This could be the way ‘into’ this mixed Unit.

Focusing their attention upon the suited form of the man identified as a potential Trakersly every time he appeared, they began to form a true picture of how this Unit’s hierarchy was set up. The humans had apparently chosen this Captain as their leader. The other two men that worked outside took command when he was not around. They were also referred to by military ranks by their clone comrades. The interaction between men and clones was of a relaxed-but-militaristic design, indicating that these men had once been fairly high ranking officers in the US military.

The clones also seemed to be organized by a series of ranks. A Prowl and a Motormaster model seemed to be in command of the ground clones; a hybrid Vortex/Magnus clone commanded the choppers; a modified-to-femme Starscream clone commanded the jet model clones. Interestingly, there was a large contingent of clones of unknown model-types that were apparently ‘in training’. They were commanded by an Optimus clone who was assisted by a strange flyer model and a team consisting of a rather snotty Starscream clone and another unknown model which appeared to be of a weapons design.

For two days the Ranger clones watched the Optimus clone putting the strange models through their paces. They appeared to be trying to turn the four dozen clones into a combat unit. Each flyer member was paired with a ground member. They would transform, the ground clones grabbing onto their top sides with weapons drawn. They’d compete in various ‘hit the target’ games. Then they’d transform again and swap places, the ground clones now in alt modes, the flyers perched on top – shooting the targets.

But the powerfully built orange clones seemed to behave in more of an adolescent manner which caused the taller silver flyers to constantly loose patience with their assigned partners. The orange ones would gripe about not getting to do ‘roller coaster flights’ enough – while the flyers would complain about not destroying enough targets. These personality conflicts ended up disrupting the entire training sessions on many occasions. Just like the real mech, the poor Prime clone was left to constantly mediate the squabbles and remotivate them back into teamwork. Two strange model weapons clones seemed to assist him in this effort, though their handling of the conflicts was a bit more heavy-handed than the Prime clone’s. Colt couldn’t help but compare the entire situation to how his Ranger team humans had to constantly deal with the robo-form cassetticon clones’ spats.

It was good that the mixed unit was structured like a military boot camp. Military clones were programmed to understand how to function under strict rules. It made them feel comfortable. Colt had been a little apprehensive with this mission since he might have had to face a civilian organized Unit. That would’ve been much more difficult. But a training camp? He’d been there once, he understood it.

And now, finally, was the perfect opportunity. The Autobot had settled down in their grove with the hybrid Vortex/Magnus clone. They appeared to be almost on a picnic, since the mech was sipping on an energon cube while his clone friend sipped on a soda.

“Dude, how are we going to convince them to just get along?” Beachcomber asked with a roll of his optics. All he wanted was to live in peace. But this constant one-upping and challenging that went on between Dinobot and Rumble whenever they were within speaking distance – was unstoppable!

Clipper shrugged, his big blue optics locked on his Dr. Pepper. “That’s a hard question. I’ve been trying to get them to chill out for months. But they each seem to think that the other is direct competition.”

“For what?” The Autobot sipped his energon.

“Respect,” a different voice answered.

Clipper was on his peds in a blur, his weapon out and ready. He scanned with all of his sensors, his radar quickly picking up on three small boggies descending. Raising his optics, he got a bead on them. “Identify yourselves!” he commanded.

As Owl lowered him close enough to the ground, Colt transformed, landing lightly on his peds. He held his arms out for the two birds, not only giving them a place to land – but also showing the wary clone that he was no threat. “I am Colt and this is Owl and Polly,” he stated in a calm and controlled manner.

The Magnus hybrid moved around them slowly, his optics locked on their every move. The Unit normally found clones – not the other way around. And the fact that this Megatron clone and his birds had managed to get this far inside their guarded perimeter without being detected was not good – not good at all! Opening up his com, he….

“Don’t call them – you’ll just throw Jag into a tizzy that his security had a hole in it Dude,” Beachcomber chuckled. With one of his big hands, he pushed Clipper’s gun arm down. “And if he was hostile – he’d have shot us – not butted into our conversation.”

Clipper glared at Beachcomber, but lowered his gun. He wasn’t as trusting as his mate – though the Autobot had made a good point. He nodded at the intruders, “Open your core access panels,” he ordered.

The birds shared a quizzical look, while Colt narrowed his optics a bit. They had not anticipated this type of request. “For what reason?” Colt asked.

“If you’re sparked, you’re welcome here. If not…” Clipper shrugged, his meaning obvious.

“Sparked?” Colt stood his ground, trying to understand what the hybrid was referring to.

“Dudes, just open your panels. We just gotta take a glance.” Beachcomber gave them a warm half-baked smile.

Beachcomber’s reputation was all they had to go on. He was trustworthy; this would not be a trap. The Laserbeak clone was first, hopping a little on his ‘perch’ – his chest slid open, revealing the pulsing energy shield dancing around his core. Colt and Polly hesitantly followed suit, neither one relishing the sensation of stripping naked in front of the strangers. But they had to do it. Had to convince this mixed Unit to allow them in – and send the Seekers to go after the rest of the Rangers.

“Sparked - you can stay. Told you they weren’t hostiles,” Beachcomber grinned as he tapped Clipper on his helm.

“What does this term ‘sparked’ mean?” Colt inquired as the wary hybrid nodded for him and the others to close up their panels. Sparks were associated with mechs – not clones.

“It means you’ve developed an energy pulse around your core. AKA – you’re sentient,” Clipper explained. He cocked his helm, studying the Megatron clone with a slightly bemused expression. “So, where are the humans who gave them to you all?”

“GAVE them to us?” the Megatron clone narrowed his optics suspiciously; he did not like NOT being in control of a conversation. Especially with a model which was a natural follower. And not understanding what this entire conversation about sparks and being ‘given’ them was quite perplexing.

Beachcomber sipped his energon cube a little; obviously he didn’t consider them the least bit of a threat anymore now that he considered them ‘sparked’. “Yeah dude, you see our human scientists figured out that when a human becomes like really emotionally attached to one of our clones – it’s given a precursor spark.” He leaned back against a pine tree. Holding out one of his arms, he nodded for the Buzzsaw and Laserbeak clones to land on it. With a happy sigh, he began to stroke their backs. “Given enough time, they fire into full sparks and you guys are protected from the Decepticon cyberbug.”

Colt digested this information, his meta processor racing. His model was perhaps the most intelligent of the Decepticon clones – and he easily realized the implications. Implications that were now in direct conflict with his most basic programming! If they were declared sentient by the mechs, as was apparently the case, they could not be owned under intergalactic law. But yet every optic fiber in his chassis NEEDED to have a human to be assigned to! His hands clenched and unclenched as his processor became more-and-more conflicted.

Seeing the conflict behind the Megatron clone’s optics, Clipper put a comforting arm across his shoulder plates as he put away his weapon. “It’s ok, messes with all of our programming at first.”

Typical of his model, Colt shrugged off his arm. He didn’t need comforting. He wasn’t a weak-meta’d model type. He just needed some time to sort things through. Find a new focus and plan for his existence. “I do not need comforting,” he snorted in contempt.

The Magnus hybrid chuckled and took a swig of his Dr. Pepper. “Just like Glock and Stun – you Megatron-base models never change do you?”

“Interesting that he hasn’t gone through the physical change associated with sparked Megatron clones,” Beachcomber noted as he continued to stroke the two bird clones. Too bad they weren’t the real mechs. He’d always felt that all those two birds needed was some petting and they’d calm down and be happy.

“Means the human who sparked you – is still alive and connected to you.” Clipper offered the military clone his bottle as a sign of friendship. His optics danced over the identification numbers and regimen painted on the weapon clone’s chassis. “Army Ranger clone, hmmm? Now it makes sense how your humans survived – and why we never spotted you spying on us.”

With steely calmness, Colt took the offered drink and put it to his lip components. He wasn’t going to get overly friendly with a non-leader. After taking a sip, he handed the drink back to the clone, his glossa tingling with the explosion of flavors. “We will divulge that information only to Captain Trakersly,” he replied. His meta processor was still racing though. If they were sentient – they couldn’t be owned. If they were owned – the galactic community would call it slavery. Yet…. Yet, he couldn’t think of Sergeant Dave as a slave master… His meta spun. His programming telling him he had to have a human to serve. Had to…. Perhaps if this Captain was indeed part of the Trakersly family – he could explain this more fully.

“Guess that’s his way of saying – ‘take me to your leader’ – huh?” The Autobot grinned and stood up. His smooth head armor brushed against the browning branches of the pine grove, which showered the shorter clones with debris. But he was careful with the arm upon which the two Ranger birds were perched, never once did he stop stroking them.

“Affirmative,” Colt agreed.

----------
Section 3:

Back at the Ranger temporary camp…..

---------

Tim poked his head through the doorway. “Psssssssst hey Scott,” he whispered into the darkness. Two red orbs turned his way, informing him that Dunce was more than aware of his presence - Which was good, since Scott was a notorious heavy sleeper…

“He’s sleepin’,” Dunce informed him. His optics in the infrared range, he had no problem spotting the clone standing behind the other soldier. A clone who was shifting from ped-to-ped. “Whatcha want?”

Sliding in the room with the other clone on his heels, Tim nodded for the Rumble clone to close the door. His dark eyes darted around, his body temperature a little too warm for a normal human. He didn’t really want to admit to a stupid clone what his problem was. But hell, Scott had gotten some relief from them – so why not? It was still awkward as hell though. “Got the same problem Scott had,” he whispered.

Though everyone thought he was on the stupid side, Dunce easily figured out what the dark man meant. Tim was one of the quieter soldiers though. Not one to complain – or brag – like Scott always did. “Ya need to getta nut, huh?”

“Yeah, basically – but you two can’t tell anyone.” Tim moved closer, his breath creating a cloud of mist in the cool night air.

“Scott ain’t gonna wake up unless we put a cap in his ass,” Dunce snickered. Sitting up, he grinned at his twin clone. “So, ya gonna be Tim’s fuck buddy Spade? They give up some killer suckers for it.”

Spade’s optics lit up in the dark room. Suckers? He liked suckers. He had been a bit worried over all this interfacin’ stuff – but he was tougher than Dunce so he knew he could do it twice as good. On the other hand – it was scary. But HE wasn’t about to admit to bein’ scared ‘bout nothin’! “What flavor ya given’ me!” he asked in a raspy whisper as he poked Tim in the shoulder.

The man looked from one set of red dots to the other. Ok, he could handle this. All they wanted was suckers for sex? Better than a broad at a bar. A guy had to spend nearly fifty bucks to get her drunk for a piece of ass! He still didn’t feel quite right about fucking a machine. But if Scott found it enjoyable….. Well, let’s just say Tim was getting a little desperate…. “Whatever flavor you want – afterwards.”

The Rumble clone grinned triumphantly. Now it wouldn’t be just Dunce who got all the goodies. “So whatcha want me to do now?”

Tim thought about the organization of the room in his mind. He didn’t want to wake up Scott. The thought of admitting that he’d dropped so low as to fuck a machine – was a little too much to swallow. He just wanted this to be quick and efficient. Hell, the clones just wanted the sucker; they didn’t have the programming to enjoy sex anyways. So Spade would probably be just as happy getting it over with. There was a heavy dresser along the other wall. “Go over to that dresser and bend over it. Don’t make a sound – you understand?” he whispered.

Thinking more about the future treat than the current ‘work’, Spade strode over and bent over the dresser without a word.

Going over to the bent over clone, Tim began feeling along his armored aft, trying to find those robotic ports that Scott said they had. All he felt was hard armor. “Ok, where’s your pussy?”

Dunce snickered as he watched the scene, “Retract your pelvic armor dumbass!” Then he thought about it for a moment and got up.

Spade was raking his meta trying to figure out how to accomplish that. He had no clue as to how to retract something when he didn’t have the programming path to direct it.

“I’ll show the dipwad how to do it,” Dunce whispered as he pushed Tim aside. Slipping his hands between his twin’s legs, he slipped his digit-tips into the appropriate seems to uncover the port access. “Ya don’t wanna open this armor,” he advised as he slid a hand up to the front of the Rumble clone’s pelvic plating.

“Why not?” Both Spade and Tim asked.

“We’re Hermaphro-somethin’s, we got dicks too” the Frenzy clone explained. He slid his digits back to the appropriate panels for the ports and began to gently pry them open. “Scott says guys don’t like them. So we gotta just be chics.”

For once Tim was glad that his fellow soldier was such a pervert. He would’ve hated to have found out that aspect of clone physiology himself. Most likely – he would’ve punched the clone when something resembling a dick had shown up. Homophobia – most Rangers suffered a little from it. “He’s right. We only like chics.”

Dunce grinned over at the man. Perhaps he could scam himself a sucker for helping him get laid? That would be sweet. The panel finally slid open under his digit tips. And for the first time he felt what the surface openings of clone ports were like. Warm to the touch and soft… He poked around a little in curiosity, his digit-tips sliding inside his unprepared twin.

That startled Spade, and he started to instinctively turn and swing at his twin.

“Tim said not to move ya shit head!” Dunce spat. He grinned as the Rumble clone snorted – but did nothing more than grip the edges of the heavy dresser tighter. Knowing how uncomfortable the other clone must be feeling, he slid his digits in even further – loving the fact he was causing the other’s discomfort. That was how it was between them. Always pushing each other to the brink and then fighting about it later….

Tim moved closer to Dunce, his hands following the clone’s arms to where the other’s ports were. He felt around as Dunce pumped his digits in-and-out of Spade’s ports. Felt warm, soft, almost like a chic’s. But there was no wetness.

Clamping down with his dentals, Spade refused to admit his discomfort to them. Dunce could do this – so could he! But alarms were going off in his processors as the sensations flew through his networks. Tightening up his linkages, the tough clone forced himself to take it.

“Ya got some KY?” Dunce asked Tim. Scott had said that all soldiers carried it ‘for emergencies’. So surely Tim had a tube.

Shit, these guys needed lube!?! He thought the pleasure clones did everything just like people. Oh wait, these weren’t pleasure clones. So maybe they didn’t. “Yeah,” he whispered as he started fumbling through his pockets. Finding the tube, he handed it to Dunce.

With an evil smirk, Dunce coated his digits up. He’d been just getting one digit into each port – but he was going to see just how much his stubborn twin could handle. “I’ll bet a sucker that ya tell me to stop cus ya weak!” he whispered in challenge.

“Fuck you Dunce, I can handle more than you!” the Rumble clone spat. The wood creaked under his digit tips as the other clone pulled his digits out, only to slide wet ones back inside him. It was a totally unnerving sensation for the military clone. Like he was naked and helpless and not in control of his own sensory nets! His processor strained with the onrush of data. But he wasn’t going to admit that he was weak. No, Rumble clones weren’t weak!

Dunce nudged Tim with an elbow as he handed back the KY. “Why don’t ya help me lube him up for ya?” he snickered.

Sounded like a decent idea. Spreading some lube on his fingers. Tim felt around in the darkness until he found what must be the clone’s ass hole. Dunce pulled his digits out, letting him have that one to play with.

“We clonk out into overload when we cum,” Dunce explained to the man. “No biggie. That’s when it’s the best time to stick it in Scott says.”

Once again, Tim silently thanked the team’s resident pervert for training one of these clones in how to please a man. He slid one finger into Spade’s ass. “Damn it’s tight,” he whispered.

“Yeah, gotta stretch the ports out. Stick two in.” He dropped his tone, into his normal ‘bait’ tone. “Unless Spade can’t handle it,” he snickered.

“F – fuck you. I can handle it!” Spade snorted. His slight stammer told a different story though, and his servos were so tight he was beginning to wonder if he’d be locked in that position forever.

“Ok bud,” Dunce snickered. Roughly, he forced a second digit in with his first and started thrusting them in and out. It was actually fun tormenting his fellow clone like this. After all the fights they’d had – can we say ‘payback’?

Tim also forced another finger into the tight ‘ass hole’. For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the wet ssskkkkkk-sssssskkkkkk of their fingers going in-and-out of the stubbornly silent and still Rumble clone. Suddenly, Spade yelped and went totally limp.

“He, he, he, he, what a fucktard – didn’t last as long as me my first time!” Dunce’s tone was triumphant as he pulled his digits out of the unconscious clone. “Ya gonna give me a sucker for helping ya – right?” he asked Tim.

“Yeah, sure.” Tim still was a little weirded out by the fact that when a clone ‘came’ he went unconscious.

“Ok, I’ll hold him – ya fuck him good.” Moving to the other side of the dresser, Dunce grabbed Spade’s arms, crossed them in front of the clone and rather unceremoniously plopped his tail pipes down on top of them. “Ya got some duct tape?” he asked.

“Yeah, why?” Tim wasn’t sure what the clone was up to. And wasn’t sure he wanted to know either.

“When he first reboots, he won’t remember to shut up,” the Frenzy clone explained.

“Oh,” It made sense. Reaching into his pocket, Tim handed him the roll of duct tape. “You’re sure this isn’t hurting him?”

“Naw, we just ain’t got the programming to handle the data load. So we freak out until we get used to it. Nothin’ big.” Getting a piece of duct tape, Dunce covered his twin’s lip components. Oh, it was goin’ to be sweet to watch Spade’s expression when he rebooted! “Now go ahead and fuck him!”

“Ok.” Unbuttoning his fly, Tim pulled out his half-erect dick. He stroked it a couple of times, trying to get it to warm up to the idea of fucking a fake pussy.

“Just stick it in. That’s what Scott does. It get’s big in there,” Dunce advised. He liked this – he actually felt like an expert about something for once.

“That’s too much information Dunce,” Tim advised him. He went ahead and started to force it into Spade’s ‘pussy’ though. It was tight, warm, slick – everything a man needed to….

Spade rebooted right as Tim slid into him. His optics flew open in shock and he struggled in Dunce’s grasp. His legs were locked against the dresser by the press of Tim behind him, and his twin’s bulk kept his arms pinned. “Mnnnngggssttt! Mnnnnngggsssttt!” he yelped underneath the duct tape.

“You’re sure I’m not hurting him?” Tim asked Dunce, he didn’t move as the clone struggled underneath them.

“Naw, his processor’s just shocked. He’ll get over it. Thrust a bit.” Dunce grinned as he patted his struggling twin’s back armor. Felt good to be in control for once.

Holding Spade’s hips down hard on the dresser, Tim began to thrust his hips. His dick slowly rising to the occasion as the clone’s slick port gripped it’s every ridge. “Must say, Scott’s been spoiled if you feel like him.”

The Rumble clone struggled harder as his port was stretched. The soft penetration became harder, larger… The strange sensation became more of a burn. A sucker wasn’t worth all of this! He gasped as the man stopped for a moment, the head still stretching his opening. More KY was added to the hard shaft, and suddenly he was impaled again!

The Frenzy clone swelled at the compliment. It seemed that ever since he’d become a fuck-buddy – everyone was treating him better. “Watch this,” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone. Leaning over his struggling twin, his digits found the aft port entrance. He spread it wide, causing Spade to tense and buck under them. Suddenly, Spade went still again…

“He came again?” Tim asked in disbelief. How often did these guys cum?

“Yeah, happens a lot. But we can orgasm too. Just like chics.” Dunce nodded for him to continue to enjoy fucking the still clone.

“Shit – really?” Unlike Scott, Tim could last a while – no matter how long it had been. Cock now fully engaged, he fell into a regular rhythm of thrusts. When Spade was out, his port relaxed, making it feel even better along his length.

“Yeah, we just gotto make him overload so many times that he can’t reset again. Then he’ll orgasm.” Dunce forced two digits into his twin’s aft port. He figured it would cause Spade to immediately shut down the second he rebooted. That would be funnier than hell!

“And you clones like that?” Tim wanted to make sure he wasn’t hurtin’ Spade at all.

“Yeah, once we get used to it. He’ll be confused at first,” Dunce shrugged.

So they continued on, Spade shutting down the second he rebooted five more times in succession. He wasn’t even given the chance to struggle. To resist…. To tell them he’d changed his meta about this whole fuck-buddy agreement…..

“Ya know what?” the Frenzy clone said as he forced a third digit into his unconscious twin’s aft.

“What’s that?” Tim was getting to like this. When Dunce added another digit, the aft port pressed down harder against the port he was fucking, making it even tighter.

“Ya last a lot longer the first time than Scott,” Dunce complimented. He knew it was torture to Spade though. The first time or two was torture for any military clone. Hell, he wouldn’t have made it for this long! Five minutes had been more than enough for him. But Spade had always bragged ‘bout bein’ better than the rest of them – so let him suffer a little bit.

“Thanks, don’t mention this to him though.” Shifting a little, Tim thrust in deeper…

“Another sucker?” Dunce asked hopefully.

Extortion – great….. Tim nodded his agreement.

Feeling Spade stir again, Dunce grinned at Tim. “Now here’s how we make him orgasm. I’ll hold him open; you fuck him and rub his g-spot.” With both hands, he slid two digit-tips of both into the aft port opening, stretching it open wider than it was intended to.

Slipping two fingers in, Tim started to rub just three inches or so inside the port. Where most women had told him too….

Spade reactivated to a strange mix of thrusting and pain. His aft port hurt! But it felt so …. Weird…. Tim was rubbing a set of sensory nodes that he didn’t know he had. All the while the man’s shaft glided mercilessly over dozens more. Helpless, the clone began to tremble violently, his meta so overcome by extreme sensation that he could no longer piece logical thought processes together. Alarms went off, warning him that he had five more minutes before he was enabled shut down sequence again. He couldn’t make it five more minutes…. He couldn’t…. Just couldn’t…… Optics rolled up into his helm as his chassis reacted with a series of spasms….

Suddenly, the port tightened around his cock and his fingers. A motion that felt just like the pulse of a woman’s internal muscles worked up and down his shaft in a series that left him gasping in surprise. His balls reacted instinctively, releasing hot gizm which raced through his cock…. Grunting, he thrust violently into the quivering port, filling it with hot fluid as he erupted into a powerful stream of pure ecstasy. Three more times he thrust, his dark eyes threatening to roll up inside his head each time.

Finally spent, he sagged over Spade’s back, almost as incoherent as the clone he’d been fucking.

“Told ya it’d be fun,” Dunce snickered triumphantly. Hopping off of his twin, he held his hand out expectantly. He’d worked hard for those suckers!

It took a moment or two before Tim could think straight enough to remember what the clone wanted. Slowly, he pushed himself up off the incoherent clone still bent over the dresser. Pulling out of the port, he pushed his limpening member back inside the safety of his cameos and buttoned up. “Sour apple?” he stated more than asked.

A happy grin on his face plate, Dunce nodded eagerly, his digits wiggling in anticipation.

“No word of this….” Tim warned, holding up the two suckers.

“Lips zipped!” the Frenzy clone promised as he grabbed his prizes.

“So when will he come to?” the dark man asked as he patted Spade’s rump.

“Fifteen or twenty minutes. He’ll do it again if you give him two suckers too.” With a final shrug, Dunce trotted back to the bed to snuggle back up to HIS soldier before Scott got too cold.

Tim looked down at Spade for a moment. Deciding that he didn’t want to risk Scott waking up and seeing the obvious, he rolled him, ripped the duct tape from his lips and then tossed him over his shoulder and carried him out. The big black soldier not even the least stressed by the 200 pound clone dangling against his broad back……

…….. Sometime later Spade came out of his trance to find himself crammed in a sleeping bag with a snoring Tim snuggled up next to him. Looking over, the Rumble clone found two suckers with a note written on one of them. Switching his infrared to night vision, he was able to read the note. It said ‘You’re the best - FB!’.

With a triumphant gleam in his optics, the clone ripped off the wrapper of one of the suckers and crammed it into his mouth. HE was the best! Yeah – HIM! Dunce could kiss his tailpipes as far as he was concerned!

For a while the Rumble clone contented himself by sucking on his prize and enjoying the feel of Tim’s hard muscles pressing against his armor plating. But like always, his attention span for being contented in doing the same thing didn’t last for long. His meta started wandering, which the Ranger team members had always joked was a bad thing. Perhaps it was. But now he began to run the term ‘fuck buddy’ through his processor again and again. He liked the ring of it. It meant he and Tim were now more than mere soldiers assigned to the same team.

No, he and Tim were now much more than just brothers in arms. They had something special. Something real! They knew each other in a way soldiers didn’t. Spade’s optics gleamed as he pulled the snoring man tighter to his chassis. This was HIS man. HIS fuck buddy! And no one was gonna get in between them. Not now – not ever!

That determination made in his meta, the Rumble clone’s thoughts began to wander again. His free hand strayed to the space between his legs. A place that now felt sore and slightly damaged. Spreading his legs as much as he could in the confines of the shared sleeping bag, he felt down there. His armored panels were still open, allowing him access to an area he had never known he had.

He felt around for a while. The still slick twin holes fascinated him to no end. So these were why so many clones were bought by civilians? Humans must really love these things – as expensive as the humans in his team kept telling them that they were. Spade sank his digits into the first one; it was easier to get to by oneself anyways. It felt weird to his systems. They reacted with blasts of data which his processor fought to sort out fast enough.

Pulling his digits out, he held them up in the darkness and wondered. Why did that warm tight hole attract so much human attention? Did it really matter? Having them had made Tim his hadn’t it? So he liked having them. They gave him power over the man. The man desired these holes – he desired having a human to call his. It all worked out just fine.

Reaching over, he grabbed his second and last sucker. For a brief moment he considered trying to locate the ‘dick’ that he apparently had. That thought disappeared as quickly as the sucker popped itself in his mouth cavity. Tim had no interest in his ‘dick’ – so he had no interest in it either!

-------

Section 4

The clone Metropolis – formerly known as Little Rock, Arkansas

-------

An indecipherable groan escaped the Optimus hybrid’s vocals as he struggled to straighten up. Bumblebee X yanked on the neck lead several times, encouraging his charge to hurry up. If he was slow in leaving the pleasure stocks, then his replacement for this shift would be late in prepping for work, they’d all get beaten for it then! Yes, it was better to be fast. If you did what the masters demanded then life was easier.

Charge fell onto one of his knee plates as he tried to walk too quickly. Grunting in pain, his meta tried to focus on the task at hand. Fragmented programs swirled through his consciousness. Motor programs barely maintaining integrity…. Thought processes almost impossible to follow through to logic… He hadn’t been able to fall into defragmentation in two weeks, and the constant severe pain to his most delicate of networks was doing it’s intended purpose. In effect, he was rapidly going insane..

He growled as he struggled back to his peds. If he’d been able to use his arms for balance the task would’ve been made much simpler. But no, they were still chained behind his back armor. Useless and shooting pain signals to his fragmented processor with their need to move…

“Come – come, masters say we visit Mayhem tonight. You like Mayhem. We like Mayhem…” the yellow slave jabbered away as he tugged on his larger charge to hurry up. He desperately wanted to get off the pleasure stock floor before the next wave of masters came in. They’d be hungry then. And hungry masters were not nice masters.

Lurching as he walked behind the smaller clone, Charge could no longer focus on what was going on around him. It seemed all static to him now. There was no logic anymore. Only pain… Only hate…..

…. With a relieved sigh, Bumblebee X finally opened the door to Mayhem’s quarters. Soft moans filled his audios like the finest music. This was where all the slaves wanted to be sent to. When Mayhem was not ordered to hurt, he wouldn’t hurt. No, he was a nice monster.

The Motormaster monster looked over as they entered. With a nod of his helm, he informed Bumblebee X of where to deposit the Optimus monster. His glossa licked over his top dentals, which were all he had. For his lower jaw was gone, leaving nothing but a grotesque hole for his lower face. He couldn’t talk; his only means of communication was the body language he had learned to use. Body language that only the few he considered friends – ever bothered to notice.. All the others, including the masters, merely thought of him as the monster that the masters had created. They feared him. Feared him for truly no reason. He was as much a victim of circumstance as they all were. Like Bumblebee X, he had learned to follow orders – even when they tore his spark in half.

Along the walls of the room were many slaves who were in the process of being broken in. All were Optimus models, the hardest to break – but the favorites of the generals to collect. Some had finally given in. Laying on their back armor, their legs spread. They had finally begged for the monster to enter them. To put a temporary stop to the pain so that they could defrag. Mayhem’s tentacles slowly vibrated within them. His meta given pleasure through the warmth of their ports. Other clones had not given into their need. Had not been broken. These clones writhed in agony in their assigned spots. Their optics wild, their groans weakening with each passing day…. Eventually, they too would break. They too would beg for him…

Collapsing in the corner that the yellow clone pushed him to, Charge could do nothing but groan as he settled to his knees and began to sway back-and-forth. The repetitive motion having something of a calming effect on his processors these days….

Mayhem cocked his helm, giving Bumblebee X a questioning look.

The yellow slave kicked Charge gently, prodding him with his ped. “Mayhem take away pain. Ask Mayhem to take it away.” He expected the Optimus Monster to refuse. The stubborn hateful slave always refused. Even when his vocal programs were so fragged that he could no longer put phrases together – he refused. He was going to end up as one of the catatonic slaves if he kept this up. Here, you either accepted your lot as a slave – or your processor became so fragged you no longer functioned. There was no in-between…

This time though, the Optimus monster reacted differently. His entire chassis began to shiver as he rocked. Turning his unfocused optics upward, he met Bumblebee X’s worried blue orbs. Then, slowly, ever-so-slowly, he turned his head towards Mayhem. Perhaps he could still comprehend the sounds of pleasure and peace from the broken slaves that the Motormaster monster was gently slagging with his tentacles. Just maybe he’d finally realized the fruitlessness of further resistance…

Falling back onto his tail pipes, Charge let out a sobbing cry filled with wretched hopelessness as he finally gave in and spread his legs. He needed to defrag so badly. Alarms had been clanging for days within his meta processor, warning him that he was now approaching eighty percent fragmentation. A state that would mean indefinite meta shutdown – and without an outside programmer like Sharon – a state that he would not hope to come out of. He could not hope to resist if he went catatonic. Could not hope to kill….

Bumblebee X helped the broken monster get into a decent position to receive Mayhem’s tentacles. “Be better now. Masters will be pleased now,” he promised.

As the tentacles snaked over his legs and pressed open his sore ports, Charge tilted his helm back against the cold cement. He felt the horror stretch him; just as all the infected clones had used him for the endless days he had been chained down on the pleasure racks. So many multitudes of infected wrecks had thrust their cables into him, moaning and grunting as they called him a worthless monster - that their models now blurred in his memory files. They meant nothing now. Nothing more than ever-so-brief respites from the agony as their cables filled him – before they pulled out again and reactivated the electrodes.

His meta clouded over as he finally willingly accepted penetration. Core programs that demanded resistance fragmented into a thousand pieces within his battle processor. Mayhem stroked his entrances with a gentle swipe of his tentacles. He teased him with the temptation of a pain-free time to defreag - but not quite yet. Arching his back linkages, Charge tried to piece the words that wavered in his meta, just out of reach of his failing programs. His entire being NEEDED relief! He felt as though he would soon off-line without it. “S-s-slag meeeeee….” he begged, his vocal processor whining in effort.

Mayhem met Bumblebee X’s optics as he pressed his tentacles within the other monster. The electrodes installed within Charge’s ports reacted to the pressure from the invading snakes. The shocks to interface nets ceased. With a moan of utter defeat, Charge let his optics slowly fade. His meta now finally allowed the peace of defragmentation….

Bumblebee X smiled back at his best friend as his charge finally succumbed. Life would be better now. So much better now. A smile curled up his lip components, his optics brimming with happy tears as he met Mayhem’s optics. There would be one less catatonic wreck now. One more fellow slave that they might be friends with now….

Before he could revel in happiness, the door flew open and low snarls filled his audios. His spark pulsed with dread as he looked up….

A pack of animal-mode clones glared hungrily down upon him. The infected horde having a taste for the adolescent slave types, especially those that the generals showed favoritism towards… This usually meant Bumblebee models, since they were generally weak-willed and desperate to please – which meant they were the easiest slaves to break…

“Get down you piece of trash,” the lead Ravage clone growled, his lowered position one of a cat hunting down prey. His optics roved hungrily over the now-trembling yellow slave as his glossa swiped slowly over his sharp dentals. It was as if he could already taste his victim’s oil.

Bumblebee X whimpered and cowered. This pack was who all the Bumblebee clones feared. They tracked you down, used you, were mean to you for no reason other than the fact of your model. Looking up, he met Mayhem’s sad optics. His friend couldn’t help him. No one could help him… Getting down on all fours, he locked his optics to the floor as he began to slowly crawl towards his tormentors.

The pack grabbed him then. With sharp fanged dentals clamped on the back of his neck and arms, he was dragged out of Mayhem’s quarters and into the open hall. They mauled him without mercy, ripping his back armor to shreds as he stayed in a tight ball, his muffled screams echoing through the dark floor.

“Open!” A large Steeljaw clone snarled. With his claws, he raked open Bumblebee X’s aft armor, trying to tear the protective panels right off him.

Yelping in pain, the sobbing slave obediently commanded his port access panels to open. They slid aside with a whoosh, just as the heavy lion mounted his oil-soaked chassis. A strangled scream fled his lips as the big cat thrust forcefully into his unready aft port. Ripping….. Tearing…. Making it feel like his insides were being shredded just as his armor had been…

The Steeljaw clone grunted as he dominated the robot-mode clone. He hated them. Hated them because the generals treated him and his kind worse! He didn’t wait for the clone’s port to fill with protective lube. He didn’t want this to feel good. He wanted him to hurt! Sinking his claws deep into Bumblebee X’s shoulder plates, he forced him to accept every inch of his shaft. The adolescent model’s port was tighter than most, making the painful experience even more so.

“Suck it!” A Ravage clone growled as he plopped down on his side in front of the whimpering Bumblebee slave.

Bumblebee X took the cat’s enlarging member into his mouth before he could be ordered again. Tears rolled down his cheeks in rivers as his entire chassis rocked with each horrible thrust of the Steeljaw clone on top of him. He sucked the Ravage clone’s shaft down his throat, muffling his screams against the ribbed surface. He had done nothing to this gang. Nothing at all…. But they hated him….

“Arrrrrrrrrrrr!” The Steeljaw clone lifted his nose to the ceiling, roaring as the pressure built within him. This is what he loved. To dominate the robot-modes. To take what he wanted from them. His sensory nets began to overload his meta – shut down sequences beginning…… With a final thrust he went limp on top of the small slave.

Before Bumblebee X could even register that one was done with him, another took his place. He collapsed to the ground under the press of the Ramhorn clone. “Grrrrrrr! On your knee plates!” the heavy rhino roared.

His chassis shaking under the strain, the yellow clone slowly dragged his legs back under him – even as he was sliced into again and again. Ramhorn models never had the patience to wait for their partner to properly position for them, so as Bumblebee X struggled – the heavier clone stomped his weight down on his shifting legs as he struggled to continue to thrust in abandon. Linkages threatened to snap in the slave’s calves, but held – barely.

Slamming his horn down on the yellow armor with every thrust, the Ramhorn clone dug his hooves into the slave’s shoulder plates in order to stay locked on. Wetness began to flow around his thick shaft, lubricating his thrusts and adding to his enjoyment of the worthless robot-mode slave. He pounded into the small aft – biting down to aid his motions.

Swirling his glossa around the cable filling his mouth, the slave began to relax ever-so-slightly as his chassis responded to the penetration. Like all slaves, he’d become used to interface as a swift and violent experience. His sole focus was merely survival at this point. And survival meant that he please these beast-masters. Bobbing his helm up-and-down he worked along the Ravage clone’s length, sucking for all he was worth….

Again and again beast-clones overloaded into his ports and were replaced by others. Through it all, Bumblebee X sucked others off, giving no resistance to being used as just a mindless beast-clone. This was what he was – this was his life…

Finally, they left him laying there in the hall. Listening to the sound of their peds tromping away, Bumblebee X eventually dared to lift his helm. He was face down in a pool of his own fluids. Oil, lubricate and a slight bit of energon mixed beneath him, smearing his yellow armor in a mirade of sheen.

Grinding his dentals together, he cleaned up the mess. If he left it, one of the other masters would see it. They would find the culprit. And what he’d just been put through was nothing compared to what his punishment would be! Not having a towel, he licked it all up with his glossa like a beast-clone. The taste was disgusting, every swipe of his glossa reminding him that he was nothing but a worthless slave.

Done, he crawled back towards Mayhem’s door. Staggering on bruised linkages, he managed to get it open before he fell again. This time, gentle tentacles caught him… Lifted him up…. Closed the door quietly behind him and drew him into the comforting darkness of the lair…

Mayhem made soft cooing sounds as he turned him over and over in his tentacles, looking at the mess they’d made of him. Looking down, Bumblebee X noticed that his friend’s pelvic panels were still closed. “I’m … ok… for … you…” he gasped weakly.

The monster gave him a worried look and shook his head.

Struggling in the gentle tentacles, Bumblebee X managed to spread his legs. His ports were still exposed, still lubricated. He could manage it – he was just a little sore that’s all. He knew how much it meant to his friend. And so rarely were they allowed to be together for enough time. “Please… Mayhem….”

Nodding slowly, the monster retracted his plating. His ports had been removed by the masters – instead he sported two overly large cables. On the very tips of those cables was his own personal torment. The same electrodes installed as Charge had, but just one on each head. He let his little friend down, sighing as Bumblebee X’s glossa swiped along his lengths, wetting them so that they could enter him easier.

The yellow clone lifted his arms. “R-ready..” he whispered.

With a gentleness more suited for a First Aid clone, the monster surrounded him with his extra tentacles. Lifting him gently, he held him above his ready shafts and slowly, ever-so-slowly lowered him down.

Bumblebee X whimpered slightly as his sore ports stretched to accommodate his friend’s large shafts. He collapsed against his friend’s big chassis as he took the cables all the way to their hilts.

Mayhem didn’t thrust once he was fully inside his little tight friend. His other tentacles still filled other’s ports, ending their agony for a while. And now, his own pain was ended for a while. Using his free tentacles, he grabbed a few rags and began to gently clean away the fluids coating the small clone. Unable to communicate directly, he used actions and sounds to let his friend know that he cared.

Pressing himself against the ghastly monster, the yellow clone couldn’t help but to cry softly as he was cleaned. “Why can’t I please them?” he whispered more to himself than to Mayhem. He could please everyone else. He’d even learned how to please another slave like the Motormaster monster. Mayhem liked him because he knew how to take the pain away. The Generals liked him because he did everything they ordered him to. Well, perhaps ‘like’ wasn’t the best word to use when it came to Megatron clones – but they didn’t hurt him much anymore.

The big slave hummed to comfort his little friend as he cleaned him off. Slowly, Bumblebee X’s bright blue optics dimmed and he went limp against him. Putting the rags away, Mayhem enjoyed the tight warmth surrounding his double shafts. The pain was gone as long as he was buried deep within another. But he could never slag with his cables. No, never ever! For the masters had modified those double shafts. He had learned this the hard way. When he overloaded that way – his cables sprayed out an acidic substance. It hurt other clones very badly. Hurt HIM even more inside to cause that pain…

So, while he loved Bumblebee X and wished he could enjoy him like that. He couldn’t. And he couldn’t tell the little bright clone why. So he simply enjoyed it when they were ‘one’ like this. His cables buried deep within his friend, the pain gone for a moment. They were both worthless wrecks here. Only brief moments like this one made life worth living for.

Looking up, his optics scanned over the many other slaves in the room. Most of whom he was gently slagging with his tentacles, freeing them from their pain for a while. They were all Optimus models. Well, with the exception of the other pieced together monster with an Optimus head. The generals seemed overly fascinated with collecting these and Starscream models. Why they were – he had no clue. But the hunting teams ranged far and wide in search of fresh Optimus models for them…. They had so many now – Mayhem doubted there were many left out there to find…

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Ok, really long chapter and it took me a while. Because of real life – it’s probably going to be longer waits in between, though I hope I manage to touch on the pairings that you reviewers commented on and asked about. I’m glad to see that other authors are now adding to this third Commodity story. They’re good plot lines that are worth reading!

So please leave a review. I hope I gave you all enough shots of Starscream, Grammy (Sally), toddlers, Seekers, Rangers and - tortured Bumblebee models enough!
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Age of the Machine (Market Comodity 3)