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The Choices We Make	By : Breech_Loader Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > Het - M/F Views: 1284 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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The Choices We Make

By Harley Quinn hyenaholic

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Me: Another story about Hotwire’s past, and about a medic who heals Decepticons. Very dark, with the hardest choice ever. Note that it takes place on Cybertron again, before we get to Earth. It’s sort of a songfic, but not really. This chapter was written while listening to “If Everyone Cared” by Nickelback on loop.

Please note, while this is technically a Transformers Animated story, and features some Transformers Animated characters, it also involves characters who have not yet featured in Transformers Animated, for the sheer purpose of Hotwire interacting with Transformers Animated heroes as little as possible.

This fanfic is designed to explain why Hotwire is so cynical about the existence of good and evil. Being the narrator she’s very much the central character, so if you really don’t like OCs taking center stage, don’t bother reading it.

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Chapter One: If Everyone Cared

The designation’s Hotwire.

And there’s a monster in my makeshift Battlefield Hospital.

But my patients don’t care about the monster. They don’t care about the designation. They don’t see the face, or all the terrible things the monster’s done.

All they care about is the healing hands I can lay on them – maybe the only hands that will ever choose to heal them.

I’m an unbiased Medic-bot. At least, I want to be. Are there others like me? I don’t know. But the Autobots always have Medic-bots. The Decepticons don’t have Medics. Weapons researchers, programmers, scientists and soldiers yes. But I’ve never met a Medic-con. Medics just don’t join the Decepticons. They’re too disgusted by what they do.

I’m not.

I’m disgusted at what I’m doing.

I can hear the voices of my patients, in this hospital, in my dreams, in my head.

“Medic! Help me, please! I’m starving, I’m burning, I’m dying...”

“No, Medic Hotwire, help me! I’ll give you anything! I swear, I know Megatron!”

“No, medic! You have to help me! You have to help my friend! I’ll kill you if you don’t help my friend!”

All of them need my help. They need fuel, medicine, shelter. No Auto-medic will touch them, so it’s a job for the freak. I always knew the function of Battlefield Medic would try my every ability to their very limits. I never dreamed it would try the abilities of my Spark too.

There are two-dozen Decepticons in this Battlefield Hospital right now, and the numbers keep rising. Every one of them has killed, some of them in defence, some of them obeying orders, some of them for the sheer joy of causing pain. They’ve all killed Autobots, and some of them have killed Decepticons too.

I could save so many lives just by leaving. I’d leave them in the hands of their scientists, their weapons researchers, their programmers. So many of them would offline and all I have to do is walk out that door.

But I can’t do that.

I used to say that as long as some had more than they needed, and others had too little, a medic’s work would be cut out for them. But here... nobody has anything. We are all equal in our poverty, and yet the work goes on endlessly.

Ah. Meet Wildrider, a Stunticon. Insane, out of control, and a killer, as likely to drive into his comrades as he is to drive into an Autobot. His comrade Dead End, who brought him here, told me that a bunch of Autobots ambushed them. A freak I may be, but I’m not stupid. Chances are that Wildrider managed to do this to himself.

Right now though, he’s crying out in pain. I’ve told him a thousand times that the wounds aren’t dangerous, that there are others more wounded than him, that I don’t have enough equipment to use it on him right now. But that doesn’t make the massive tears in his armour heal up.

Finally I’ve got the time to repair him. It’s just a shame that I lack the painkillers. So, while I’m using a welding torch designed to be used on mindless drones, he’s screaming in agony and begging me to offline him.

But I can’t do that.

I keep working. And his screams keep ringing out around the hospital. But I’ve become very good at ignoring screams of pain. It’s just a shame I can’t ignore screams for help.

There are a lot of tears in his armour, and the job takes a long time. The fuel for the welding torch is half-empty by the time it’s done. It was full when I started.

He stops wailing gradually, and Dead End helps me move him to the recovery bay, muttering about how they’re all probably going to offline anyway. It’s no surprise, since all week he’s been talking about how Wildrider’s going to offline. No gratitude. Not that I get any anyway.

So now, I’ve got to move onto a Triple-Changer known as Octane. I don’t know him well, but in his short stay here I’ve already learnt that he is a cheat, a liar, a bully, a thief and a coward. He wants treatment and he’s been threatening me, attempting to manipulate me and trying to steal it since he got here three days ago. What’s stopped him is that he can barely move in pain.

It’s bad enough that he’s considered contemptible even by Decepticon standards. But as a Triple-Changer, he’s going to be at least twice as hard to repair as a regular mech. They need more time, more Energon, and more parts to repair them, usually for both air and ground alts.

“What... took you so long, medic?” he snarls, turning to me, “It... hurts to... do anything! Letting me just... lie here... You’re a monster!”

I ignore him. He’s just playing on my conscience. Typical of a Decepticon. Day after day they do it, but it never goes away. If he could feel how much it hurt me to heal him, maybe he’d shut the frag up and stop whining. I open up his right leg and right arm, both of which have been so badly damaged in a battle with the Autobots that he cannot even transform.

I start by removing the damaged parts, too damaged to use on anybody else. And I continue by replacing them. It was hard to get these parts. Octane needs parts from both a heavy cargo plane, and a bulk Energon Transporter. I could repair two Autobots with what I have to use on him, and let him offline from an infection in a day or two.

But I can’t do that.

Triage. The medic’s term for murder. Those who would die even with treatment, the ‘Expectant’, are left to offline, and the parts that would have been wasted on them are given to others who can be saved. With so many Decepticons here, the definition of Expectant grows ever looser. Mechs are repaired in order of rank instead of their need.

Octane grimaces, wails and curses as I mend him. In the time it takes to repair him, I could be helping at least two regular mechs with different injuries and leave him to suffer.

But I can’t do that.

The work on Octane is finally completed. It takes two other Decepticons to help me move him into recovery, and I walk around the med-lab, surveying my many patients. While I was repairing Octane, a Seeker who was Priority Two has deteriorated into Expectant. He’s going to offline now, and it’s my fault. If I had treated him sooner...

No. Don’t think about that. Think about how his parts can now be used for other mechs.

I can’t waste painkillers on the Expectant, especially when I don’t even have any left. But I can’t force him to offline slowly and in pain either.

I move him into a side room, and take a light Pulse Blaster with me. First off, I copy his life data so that it doesn't go to waste. Then I fire once at his head without a warning. The shot offlines him, and this Seeker’s corpse can now be dismantled and used for parts for other wounded. If I ever find the time to do it.

“Medic,” a new voice behind me growls, so I turn.

Behind me is standing a massive Decepticon known as Lugnut, who has claimed repeatedly to be the most loyal servant of Megatron on this planet. It’s not something I’d take seriously, if I hadn’t heard one of his rants once. He’s probably the craziest mech in this Battlefield Hospital right now.

It’s just typical of the way my life is going right now that the mech he is carrying is one I had hoped never to meet, let alone have to repair.

“Medic!” the growling voice of Lugnut breaks me out of my reverie, “You must repair our Glorious Leader Megatron! He has been wounded in battle by the weak and pathetic Autobot Ultra Magnus and you must repair him now!”

Megatron. You all know that name. Megatron the Tyrant. Megatron the Decepticon Leader. Megatron the Glorious. Whatever. The Decepticon who started this war. The Decepticon who drives this war forward in the name of the Glorious Megatron Empire. The Decepticon directly responsible for killing millions of mechs, both Autobot and Decepticon.

“Medic! I will destroy you if you do not repair our Glorious Leader Megatron!” Lugnut bellows at me, mistaking my contemplation for hesitation. Ah. He will destroy me. As if I haven’t heard that threat from a Decepticon before.

Other Decepticons transform into military vehicles with guns on them. Megatron transforms into A gun. He’s a sadistic brute; a murderer completely without conscience. He’s in my hospital.

I’m a Medic. I don’t need Lugnut standing in front of me, telling me in a loud and thunderous voice that I must repair Megatron right now. I can see damn well from his appalling injuries that if he doesn’t get repairs in a matter of hours, he will offline.

I look up at Lugnut, “Put him on the bunk and wait in the next room,” I tell him, “You may return in three hours to check on him.”

The Decepticon obeys my order, leaving me alone with a sadistic and cruel warlord. I don’t know how far Lugnut has travelled to bring Megatron to my hospital, but I do know that he wouldn’t take even a step to bring Lugnut to me.

Megatron doesn’t see himself as a fanatic. He sees himself as a freedom fighter, leading the Decepticons out of Autobot ‘tyranny’. The fact that he intends to replace it with Decepticon tyranny doesn’t really matter to him. He controls people using fear. He betrays and exploits even his own soldiers. He murders the helpless and kills all who stand in his way.

But right now, before me he is the one who is helpless. All I have to do is stand here for an hour or two. Megatron would offline just from his injuries. Nobody would ever know what I’d done. I’d save supplies. I’d save lives. I might even end the war. With no Megatron this war wouldn’t have started. With Megatron, this war will never end.

Lugnut will probably offline me if I don’t succeed. He’ll definitely offline me if I don’t try.

But if I let Megatron offline, I won’t just save lives; I’ll avenge millions, Autobots and Decepticons alike. I’m a Medic, my function is to save lives. The many over the few; that’s what Triage is about. The Seeker parts I now have in this room might not even take, and then they’d be wasted on his corpse. I’ll save Energon badly needed by other Decepticons in this hospital. He doesn’t just kill people, he turns into a device whose only function is to kill people. I could leave him to offline and escape out the back easily, and I wouldn’t even have to suffer Lugnut’s fanatical vengeance.

But it doesn’t matter what I think, or how hard I try to convince myself that it would be the right thing to do to just leave this murderous brute to offline. I can see just from standing over him, with the optics of a Medic, that critical as his wounds may be, they are not yet fatal. If I start repairing him right now he has a high chance of surviving, and I can return to my duties of repairing the other Decepticons.

He won’t feel gratitude. He won’t reward me for saving his life with supplies, or support, or credits, and he wouldn’t reward me even if I was a Decepticon. All I’ll get for repairing him is – possibly – my life, and a demand that I join the Decepticons right now.

He deserves to offline. It’s not just that he has killed; he will kill again, and without remorse. This whole planet would be better off if he offlined. Every mech in this hospital deserves to offline. I should just walk out the back and leave them all to their well-deserved sentences for the innocent lives they’ve ended.

But I can’t do that.

I have a Seeker’s parts in the corner, just enough Energon, and Megatron’s wounds are not yet fatal. I can save his life if I move fast. And because I can save his life, I must. It’s my function. What else do I have here?

So I get to work, deconstructing the offlined Seeker, and using what parts I can transfer from one to the other. Then I hook Megatron up to an Energon feed, and start to work on him, feeling a sense of satisfaction that this is my choice. I have to feel that satisfaction, because the only other thing I ever seem to feel these days is self-hatred, boiling and churning inside me.

I’m still working on Megatron three hours later, when Lugnut enters the room, probably to check that I haven’t run away. Not that there would be anything he could do if I had, for Megatron would be offline by now if I had, and I’d be three hours away.

But I’m not. I’m still here, working on Megatron.

Lugnut drops to his knees before his ‘mighty and beloved’ tyrant and starts ranting about his strength and power and leadership. I ignore him and keep working.

Ironically, it’s moments later – or it could be hours, it seems to take so long – and Megatron’s optics snap open once again. He starts to rise to his feet, with difficulty. I now feel not only the satisfaction of a job successfully completed, but also the far rarer feeling of fear, so thick it fills my mind until I can’t move or speak or even think.

“Where AM I?” he snarls, raising his fusion cannon.

It takes every ounce of processing power that I possess to overcome the clogging fear, even enough to bring myself just to speak, “You... you’re on the Iacon Battlefield... in one of its Battlefield Hospitals... the only one I’m aware of that will treat Decepticons...” I manage to choke out.

“A Decepticon medic... how rare...” Megatron looks at me thoughtfully, lowering his cannon, “Your loyalty will be rewarded,” he states.

I don’t believe him in the least. And it takes far more courage than before to inform him of the truth of the matter, “I... am not a Decepticon,” I manage, pointing to the red Decepticon symbol on my chassis, “I’m neutral...” I whisper, “I repair both sides...”

“Then you will join the Decepticons as a medic and repair only Decepticons,” he states confidently. He’s raised the cannon again, and is now aiming it at me.

I think of all the faceless mechs I couldn’t help if I was trapped in his service. The decision is easy to make, but almost impossible to voice, “No...”

“YOU WILL SERVE THE GLORIOUS MEGATRON!” Lugnut bellows, stepping forward to beat me into submission. He’s blocked by Megatron’s outstretched arm.

“You will become a Decepticon,” Megatron repeats, still calm, still cold, still aiming his cannon.

“Keep in mind, Megatron,” I tell him, and he can see how afraid I am, “This is the only hospital on this battlefield which treats Decepticons without then arresting them. If you destroy me for my refusal, those I could have treated will offline.”

“They are a collection of grunts and incompetent fools,” Megatron replies, “I care nothing for them.”

Well, can’t say I’m surprised at his response. Perhaps another approach, “You’ll lose any further medical care too,” I point out, shaking in fear, “You’re still weak, Megatron, and I can help you.”

He considers this offer for a moment, then glances at Lugnut, who is waiting for him to execute this disgraceful femme with the affront to defy him, “I’ll make do,” he says simply.

I try again, the last appeal I can think of, the last and the most hopeless; an appeal to the Spark, “Then consider, perhaps,” I whisper, “That you will be offlining possibly the first mech who has ever repaired you without the incentive of fear to do so...”

I don’t know what I’m more ashamed of right now; the fear that clogs my mind, or the boiling hatred within me that regrets so utterly that I didn’t just leave him to offline, or the desire to do as he says. All I need to do to save myself is kneel and pledge my loyalty to Megatron. All I need to do is claim to be another of his nameless, faceless killing machines...

But I can’t do that.

His optics narrow, and I can hear the cannon charging, and I am so afraid that I cannot tell whether it’s really happening or just in my head. But I will not, I cannot kneel before this murderer. Even if I have saved his life, even if I have doomed thousands, no, millions of mechs by doing so... I cannot kneel to him. I shudder and squeeze my optics shut tightly...

“Humph...” He lowers his cannon and turns away, “Come, Lugnut. We could be doing something useful with our time.” And he heads out of the hospital without looking back, doubtless on his way to kill more innocent mechs.

I look up again. Finally, with Megatron gone from the room, I can drop to my knees, filled with so much shame, so much self-hatred, that it is crushing me. I could have stopped him, just by doing nothing at all. But what I’ve failed to not do, the inaction I’ve not committed tonight has ended more lives that I can ever save in my life. It’s caused more destruction, spread more fear, than I can ever mend. All the things my very function was designed to prevent, I have caused, and all by doing what I selfishly happened to assume was right.

There is a monster in this hospital. And it’s not Megatron.

It’s me.

~~~

Singing Amen I, I’m alive, (I’m alive)
Singing Amen I, I’m alive,

If everyone cared, and nobody cried,
If everyone loved, and nobody lied,
If everyone shared, and swallowed their pride,
Then we’d see the day, when nobody died...

~~~

Me: Review right fucking now. Yes, I know Megatron doesn’t turn into a gun in Animated. What’s to say he didn’t change his mind for his alt at some point in the past?
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The Choices We Make