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Finding the Good Within	By : Scienceteacher Category: Transformers > G1 > Crossovers Views: 3107 -:- 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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If you're reading for smut - just pass over the forward... If you like to know the plot - read the forward..

Forward: The OC 'Hunter' is from a third faction of mechs that call themselves the Guardians. They are a religious sect, believing themselves to be Primus's chosen. They are based on Armada Earth - and built out of a blend of human/mech technology. They take mates from both Autobot and Decepticon factions. Periodically one of their teleporting Seekers gets 'lost' and ends up in another dimension.

'Hunter' basically has Sunstreaker's personality with a 'temper issue' to boot. So she is arrogant and thinks she's superior to everyone in this dimension. These mechs just haven't figured out how truly 'weak' she is - because her technology is so different.

*****Finding the Good Within*****

The pain seared through him as the Constructicon ground his hips tighter against his aft, forcing his bonding circuits even deeper within him. The Decepticon’s fiery spark tore through the slave. His overworked, circuits heated up in a wave of total agony. But the slave merely groaned as he trembled with the waves of pain. He didn’t struggle as he stood there bent over the table, even as tears streaked down his face. His dulled spirit barely took note of the other cons on the rec deck. Some having already satisfied themselves on him, others waiting for their turn.

This was his world, his life; Cycle after cycle of being pulled out of his cell, thrown onto the rec deck for the cons who had just returned from their missions to have a little ‘R-and-R’. When he had first been captured, he had struggled and fought. Which had only served to add to the cons enjoyment in raping him repeatedly; he’d been beaten, tortured and on more occasions than he could even keep track of – gangbanged until he’d shut down.

Now he existed in a surreal reality. Not quite conscious anymore, no longer feeling much emotion. He couldn’t even remember his former life, his true name. For he had long ago pushed those thoughts from the forefront of his meta in shame. He was no longer a proud Autobot – he was a pathetic slave who unlatched his codpiece for any con who demanded. He no longer had a name – he merely existed, waiting for the day his agony would end.

The mech was truly broken in every sense of the word. Over the cycles of brutality that he’d endured, not a spec of his former self remained. He no longer even thought of home, dreamed of life before his captivity, before the war. He had no dreams, no wishes, and no prayers. In many ways he felt like he didn’t even have a spark left.

With a final wave of total agony, the con released a final shot of fiery energy into his core. The slave merely convulsed, a tiny gasp of pain emanated from his vocalizers. As the con pulled his bonding circuits out of him, the slave didn’t move, he just sagged weakly against the table, staying in the position he’d been ordered to maintain. He didn’t even look as he heard another con move behind him. But he couldn’t keep the pained whimper escaping from his lips as the unseen con slipped fingers into him, judging the amount of heat that had built up within him.

“Give him ten astrominutes, he’ll be ready for more,” Hook’s voice announced. Removing his fingers from the whimpering slave, he patted the mech’s back and turned back to the poker game that he was playing with some of the Stunticons.

The slave just stayed there, he hadn’t been ordered to move, so he wouldn’t. Wiping his face with his hand, he folded his arms and set his head on them. He was just thankful for the brief rest break. As he glanced around the full rec room and made a silent count of who was there and who’d already had him, he knew he still had at least eight more cons to go until he felt the blessed coldness of his cell’s metal floor. And the peaceful silence of the empty cell.

“Well, well, if it’s ain’t our favorite Bounty Hunter,” Thundercracker snickered. By the tone of his voice he meant it more of an insult.

The Silver-tipped Seeker turned her cold hard gaze onto the con. Her strange almost liquid crystal optics swirled from amber to a more blood color. She enjoyed the blue Seeker’s tenseness as he felt the intensity of her gaze. “Can’t wait until someone pays me to off line your aft,” she said in her most seductive tone.

Several cons snickered as Thundercracker’s shade deepened. They all knew the Bounty Hunter’s reputation. She was ruthless, cold, and would take anyone’s contract. She didn’t care if she hunted cons or bots. And she made a point to remind them of this whenever she could, along with the fact that she refused to mar the beauty of her wings with anyone’s insignia.

She had seemingly appeared from nowhere many cycles ago; A Seeker of an alien construction and unknown materials. No one knew her true name, so her job title had become it. She was just known as ‘Hunter’, plain and simple; and accurate name for what she was. Both factions had tried to bring her into their ranks, their ideals. But she had refused. Arrogantly looking down her nose at the weaknesses she perceived in their ranks. She had no use for either faction it seemed, except for earning funds from one side or the other as she needed to. No matter the mission they offered her a contract on, she succeeded. She had an uncanny knack for infiltration, for tracking her quarry. And not a con in the room wanted her to ever get a contract offer on their tailpipes.

Onslaught actually liked the femme. She had a streak of independence that he found highly refreshing. Her deadliness made her almost irresistible. She made no attempt to hide the contempt she had for the perceived stupidity of the general ranks. And like him, she was loyal to only one mech – herself. If he was ever to be interested in taking a bond mate, it’d be the Bounty Hunter. Granted, he wasn’t the type to make such a commitment. That would mean that someone else’s needs would supercede his own, which wasn’t going to happen. So they just enjoyed the passion of bonding with a perceived ‘equal’ whenever they happened to run across each other, which wasn’t very often.

Roughly, Onslaught pushed Dead End out of the seat next to him. “There’s a spot open at this game, Hunter,” he told her with a nod.

Turning her strangely swirling optics onto the powerful Combaticon Commander, she simply nodded and moved to join the poker game. Casually picking up the hand that Dead End had so abruptly left for her, she glanced down at what had been played. She ignored the Slave standing bent over within an arm’s length, for he was beneath her even to notice. In her meta, he was the weakest, most pathetic example of the mechs of this dimension. His only worth was for giving others pleasure; whether they chose to take it from his pain, or from their own release into him.

Playing her hand, she didn’t even take notice as Motor Master took the slave next to her. His whimpers of pain increasing to screams as the black mech twisted his fingers into his wiring as he released his pent up energy into the helpless slave. Again and again, the waves of searing energy flowed into the trembling mech. He cried as he clenched his hands into hard fists, the tears rolling down his face as he dully looked at the back of the Bounty Hunter’s helm.

As Motor Master satiated himself, the slave collapsed on the floor, his trembling chassis against one of the Bounty Hunter’s legs. Pausing her conversation concerning tactics with Onslaught, she looked dispassionately down at the blue and white mech lying at her feet. Kicking him roughly, “get the freak off me you pathetic piece of slag!” she growled at the slave. As he weakly crawled a few feet away, sobbing in pain, she turned her attention back to the card game….

The whimpering slave weakly climbed back to his feet, grabbing the very table he’d laid against to help him up. With dull optics, he turned and leaned over the table again, baring his exposed bonding circuits for the next con in line. Laying the side of his helm heavily on the smooth metal top, his optics locked onto the back of the bounty hunter’s silver helm.

Hook paused briefly scooted his chair back a little, and continued his conversation concerning some recent ground assaults with the bounty hunter. Without even looking, he casually slid his fingers into the whimpering slave and probed for a few seconds. Sliding them back out he said “He’s ready,” and scooted his chair back as he went back to playing cards.

Tensing as he heard the familiar sound of an unlatching codpiece, the slave locked his optics on the back of that silver helm. He tried to imagine that he flew the stars, that he felt no pain… Then the searing flame of bonding circuits being forced deeply into him brought him violently back into reality. His entire chassis jerked in reaction to the pain as a rather pissed off Dead End dug his fingers deep into his armor’s creases as he shot his loads of energy into the mech, all the while glaring evilly at Onslaught. Picturing that commander bent over in front of him as he tortured the slave instead.

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A few astrohours later, the slave was thrown roughly into the Bounty Hunter’s temporary quarters. His entire abdomen ached with the sharp pain of overheated and overworked bonding circuits, but he knew he would not be able to rest in the comfort of his dark cell yet. Looking up at the two mechs making out on the berth, his spark shrank even further into the deep recesses within him.

“Hmmm, a little side pleasure?” Onslaught purred as he lifted up from the Seeker’s lips.

She smiled seductively at him. “His whimpers are so stimulating, are they not?” Her tone was sensuous as she licked her lips.

A sadistic grin spread over the Combaticon’s lips. “Indeed,” he agreed.

Getting off the Seeker, he slid off the berth. At the same time the Silver-tipped Seeker sat up and spread her legs, exposing her uncovered bonding circuits to the fearful slave. She enjoyed his terrified gaze as he slowly moved to the position that he knew she wanted. As he went to lick her wiring with his glossa, he felt the probing fingers of Onslaught in his aft. Tensing, he knew the pain that was soon to come, and the fact that he’d better pleasure the femme while he endured it, or he’d be in for even greater agony……

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Finding the Good Within