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meallanmouse for being my beta and littlecafei for prodding me to finish this.
Title: Do You Know What it Feels like ~Chapter 2~
Fandom: Transformers
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2585
Characters: Arcee, Jhiaxus, Thunderwing, Micromasters, Duocons
Summary: IDW 'verse. Mad scientists, gender bending and creating one's own downfall. Explanations are due and the truth is realized.
Arcee didn’t go back down to that end of the level again. Nor did he seek out the Micromasters to let them know what he found. Instead he stayed in his quarters until he was called for by either Jhiaxus or Thunderwing. He sat on his berth, staring at the walls and wishing he had brought something to keep him entertained- even a bookfile. He wondered how much longer he’d be forced to stay down here.
He hoped there’d be a day he’d no longer be down here.
Whatever was happening in the meetings with Nova Prime helped to facilitate the work being done on Arcee. Soon he was being seen for longer sessions, mainly with Jhiaxus, sometimes with both him and his assistant. Arcee still didn’t know what was being done to him and every time he asked he was ignored until he stopped asking altogether. Sometimes he would be off-lined during a session but usually not. The only words he ever spoke by then only served to answer any questions given to him.
Arcee wondered how no one else could know what was going on below their feet. Then he wondered if any of them even cared.
~*~*~*~
Arcee was only paying the barest of attention as he left his latest session, slightly disoriented. All of his diagnostic checks came back with the same answer he was always given: nothing had changed. Except that he knew that something had. Somehow there was something inside of him that didn’t fit quite right and that made the rest of him feel off-kilter.
Part of him wanted to blame the new armor merely because it was the only thing he could blame. He knew it couldn’t possibly be the answer, but he needed something and the idea that Jhiaxus could’ve done something to him that his internal scanners couldn’t pick up was beyond frightening.
Arcee raised an arm into the air, twisting it around to watch the arm guard’s colors shift around the light. He was surprised that Jhiaxus had even deemed it necessary to give Arcee his first upgrade, but upgraded he was. The arm guards were just the beginning. From here on out, until the last session, Arcee would be given new upgrades until this experiment was deemed complete.
At one time that idea would’ve left Arcee’s internals clenching with anticipation, wanting to know so desperately what he was going to become. Now, though, with Big Daddy and Battletrap’s words in his processor and Flywheels sitting in the dark and whimpering to the fractured voices in his head, Arcee wasn’t too certain he wanted to find out.
His optics flickered downward and saw the small, orange form of Greaser waiting for him. Arcee stopped. “Can I help you?”
None of the Micromasters had ever gone out of their way to speak to Arcee. Even Big Daddy wouldn’t speak to him unless the full-sized mech spoke first. And yet there was Greaser, tiny hands on his tiny hips and leaning back slightly to stare up at Arcee. “We know you went to see the Duocons.” He said. “Big Daddy wants you to know that not all of Jhiaxus’s experiments are docile.”
Arcee canted his head to one side. “But I’ve already met everyone. Asides from being a little unstable, I don’t think either of the Duocons are particularly violent.”
Greaser snorted, obviously growing more and more agitated the longer he had to stand there. Arcee wondered if there wasn’t some side effect from the transfer to such a small cranial unit. “The Duocons are nothing. Jhiaxus doesn’t keep all his experiments on one level- there’s still plenty below us filled with other failed mechs. No- I’m talking about an abomination to all of creation. It’s down on sub-level 8.”
Arcee hadn’t known there were more sub-levels and that thought just made his cables run cold. “What do you mean? What’s down there?”
“I don’t know what it is exactly- Trip-Up and Hubs found a way down there once. They say it was a creature hodgepodged together from a bunch of other mechs. Not reconstructed from their pieces, but actually them with their processors forced to merge together to create this monstrosity.” Greaser’s hands trembled slightly and he jutted his chin out, trying to act as if the idea of this… whatever it was didn’t scare the ever-loving scrap out of him. “According to them it’s only capable of thinking of one thing and that is to destroy everything. The only reason Jhiaxus hadn’t put it out of its misery is because he hopes to turn it into some kind of superweapon.”
Arcee’s hands- now white, the new servos used to clutch over twice as strong in their gripping power –clenched into fists against his thighs. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because not all of Jhiaxus’s projects are for the good of anything.”
“Then why? Why do it at all?”
Greaser gave Arcee a long look, as if he couldn’t believe Arcee refused to see what was right in front of him. “There’s only one reason Jhiaxus does anything- not to advance the race but to prove to himself that it’s possible. Whatever else happens to us, what does he care? If he got all the information he needs from us, we could rust on the spot for all the attention he gives us afterwards.”
Arcee clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling. “That can’t be true. No one can be that sparkless.”
The Micromaster merely tilted his head in a shrug. “Suit yourself then.” He said, as if he knew that was going to be Arcee’s answer from the beginning. But he’d done what he was asked to do so Greaser transformed and his tires made a thin, high noise as he peeled out.
Arcee refused to believe it. If Jhiaxus didn’t care so much, then why would he bother upgrading Arcee at all? He kept his concerns quiet as the scientist and his assistant worked, but as more and more armor was being added to him (pink and white, not a normal color pattern for a member of the Security Force, not tactical enough) the words haunted him, pressing to the forefront of his processor.
A dissatisfied rumble from Jhiaxus made Arcee wince. The scientist leaned forward so the young mech could peer into his face as he lay on the laboratory berth. “What,” Jhiaxus asked with evident annoyance, “has gotten you so worked up? You’ll corrupt the data we’re inputting if you cannot keep your internal fluxes within acceptable limits.”
“I apologize. I-,” Arcee’s optics flickered for a moment, uncertain, “I would like to know what you are doing to me.”
Jhiaxus lifted his head minutely- possibly exchanging a glance with Thunderwing –before looking back down with a twist to his mouth. “I’m turning you into a female.”
Arcee’s faceplates shifted in confusion. “Female? What is that?”
“Organic beings that reproduce sexually have different genders with different genitalia required for the process. These are mainly divided into two major branches: male and female.” Jhiaxus explained gruffly. “In those societies, gender roles are prescribed to what is expected of each gender. One is ideally to be larger, stronger and often considered the hunter or protector. One is smaller, weaker and considered the caregiver.”
“But… I-I do not…”
“Irregardless of the fact that they need all their genders in order to continue surviving, one gender is always considered superior to the others. This is usually the stronger, a majority of which has been deemed the male. Those that do not fit the ideal of the dominant gender are belittled. You are to become a female, one of these lesser genders.”
Arcee’s optics were wide, hope hanging over a gaping void even as he asked, “Why would you do that?”
“To see how Cybertronians respond to someone that does not fit our predominant assumption of the ideal role.” Jhiaxus looked up, nodding and Arcee could hear Thunderwing shuffling around beyond his field of vision. “I’ve determined that the key to genders isn’t what a gender is capable of rather it just needs to be deemed exploitable and less important or competent.”
Arcee’s spark contracted painfully in his chest cavity, internals flushed cold and he could barely whisper out, “Why are you doing this? Who does this benefit?”
Jhiaxus tilted his head down, almost as if he were surprised Arcee even had to ask. “No one, of course. I merely wish to see if it is possible to recreate gender roles in a genderless society.” He moved away from Arcee’s side and then Arcee’s awareness went blank from forced shutdown.
~*~*~*~
It was almost laughably easy to see the differences now that Arcee had a reference to look for. He still couldn’t find the changes internally, but whatever it was Jhiaxus did to him, whatever it meant to be ‘female’ changed how others acted with Arcee. Arcee didn’t know if Jhiaxus and Thunderwing’s increasingly silent mannerisms were directly affected by the experiment, but it was obvious that the
Micromasters were far more aggressive and short-tempered with Arcee. Even Trip-Up had gone from annoyed posturing to almost threatening whenever Arcee went near him. Battletrap, conversely, ventured deeper and deeper in the territories around the labs, getting more daring in his strange enjoyment of making Arcee jump at every strange sound.
It had to be because of what Jhiaxus was doing to him. Arcee couldn’t understand why any of this was happening otherwise. He managed to corner Thunderwing, demanding to know how Jhiaxus had done this.
“It’s a very simple process,” the assistant said with an imperial calm, more receptive to Arcee’s question since Jhiaxus explained what was happening, “but what you’re noticing is the result of our manipulating your central cortex.”
Arcee’s optics paled. “Manip… what did you do to me?”
“We altered the information in your central cortex, which in turn has changed what others receive from your electrical field whenever it’s pinged by their sensors, adjusting it to the preliminary variables of gender specifications. The key in gender interactions is that no one must be aware that they are acting different. This must be a natural, subconscious process. If a society is predisposed to belittle or act aggressively to a gender for no reason than that they are that gender, then they see it as how it should be. If they are to ignore or act as if that gender is helpless, then that is what they do. Jhiaxus merely altered your cortex to reply to any preliminary pings that you are less important than other Cybertronians. How others react to that information is natural for them and therefore how they’d react to all females.”
“Change me back.”
Thunderwing tilted his head, as if the very thought had never occurred to him. “Change you back?”
“Change me back! I don’t want this! I don’t want to be this!”
“You agreed to the experiment.”
“I didn’t know what you were going to do!”
The green of his optics darkened, unimpressed. “And that is our fault?”
Arcee’s hands clenched, the fine constructs of his face twisted in fury. “I want to be changed back.” He growled. “I want all this undone. I will not be part of this any longer.”
“If you believe you can hide in our own facilities, you are welcome to try.” Thunderwing didn’t have to say it, but Arcee heard it loud enough. Others have tried. All of them failed.
But that didn’t stop him from attempting to. He switched rooms, never stayed in the same hall twice in a row. He picked corridors where he could hear approaches and had enough avenues of escape. He rarely recharged now, too afraid that he’d online with Jhiaxus peering down at him in disgust, as he finally lost all sense of who he was. So he huddled in room after abandoned room, consciously smothering his electrical signature as best he could. And he listened.
He could hear the small, telltale squeals of little tires in the distance and sometimes he could hear the faint screaming of Flywheels raving to himself. What he heard mostly was Battletrap, sometimes walking, sometimes flying and driving up and down the halls, laughing lowly.
“Arcee,” he’d crow as he’d travel, pacing outside of whatever room the young mech holed himself in, “come and play!”
Sometimes, in voices that made Arcee curl in the corners and shudder, Battletrap’s two components would ride with each other, both calling out, “Play with us! Come play with us!” Arcee didn’t need the Micromasters to tell him what Battletrap meant. The promise of a cruel and vicious game was evident in the echoing vocalizers that spoke with the same voice.
He listened to the slicing of rotary blades and rumble of engines. He listened to Battletrap singing out for him and cackling to himself. Battletrap would get bored- he always did. He’d get bored and then he’d leave and Arcee would finally be able to grab a couple cycles of recharge before he’d force himself to move again.
The hall eventually fell silent and Arcee ducked his head, slowly suspending his systems-
CRASH!
He jumped to his feet, pressed against the wall and stared at the door. Something slammed against it again.
“You’re wrong.” A voice growled out like ice from the other side; something scraping across the titanium plating of the door. “You’re wrong. You’re an abomination. You’re a freak, you’re not right.”
Arcee pushed himself against the wall as flat as he could go, afraid of that voice more than the words. It was a broken, fractious voice, misused and torn up- a voice that only knew hate and anger and no peace. It was Flywheels’s voice.
“You shouldn’t exist. None of us should exist.” The broken Duocon hissed. “We have no function, no purpose. We should all be scraped. Don’t you feel it? Jhiaxus put himself inside of us. He’s under our chassis now, he’s traveling in our cables. He tainted us with his signature and we can never be rid of him. We deserve to die. He deserves to die for making us what freaks we are.”
Arcee couldn’t say anything, just shook his head at the door as if that would ever be enough. He sat back on the floor as Flywheels continued his tirade, speaking in a low, spark-stopping voice about how wrong they all were, how they all needed to die. The words seeped into Arcee’s processor because he was too afraid to stop them. He sat and listened to all this and couldn’t move. He didn’t know when Flywheels had left, just stared at the locked door as if it could save him and he sat.
At some point, the door opened, Thunderwing standing on the other side. Arcee looked up at him sightlessly.
“Arcee.” He said with evident distaste. “It’s time for another session.”
“No.”
The quiet denial didn’t surprise the assistant in the least. “You’ll come with me now.”
“No.”
“I won’t play this game with you. You’ll either get up and follow me, or I will force you.”
“No.”
With a sneer, Thunderwing stepped back. “Very well.” The new shape in the doorway grinned with a mixture of glee and malice. Battletrap’s optics gleamed happily, finally getting his chance to play. “Bring Arcee to the lab. Refrain from damaging him severely.” Thunderwing left that task to Battletrap, steps fading away.
Arcee tried to shrink back, but he had no where to go.
meallanmouse for being my beta and littlecafei for prodding me to finish this.Title: Do You Know What it Feels like ~Chapter 2~
Fandom: Transformers
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2585
Characters: Arcee, Jhiaxus, Thunderwing, Micromasters, Duocons
Summary: IDW 'verse. Mad scientists, gender bending and creating one's own downfall. Explanations are due and the truth is realized.
Arcee didn’t go back down to that end of the level again. Nor did he seek out the Micromasters to let them know what he found. Instead he stayed in his quarters until he was called for by either Jhiaxus or Thunderwing. He sat on his berth, staring at the walls and wishing he had brought something to keep him entertained- even a bookfile. He wondered how much longer he’d be forced to stay down here.
He hoped there’d be a day he’d no longer be down here.
Whatever was happening in the meetings with Nova Prime helped to facilitate the work being done on Arcee. Soon he was being seen for longer sessions, mainly with Jhiaxus, sometimes with both him and his assistant. Arcee still didn’t know what was being done to him and every time he asked he was ignored until he stopped asking altogether. Sometimes he would be off-lined during a session but usually not. The only words he ever spoke by then only served to answer any questions given to him.
Arcee wondered how no one else could know what was going on below their feet. Then he wondered if any of them even cared.
~*~*~*~
Arcee was only paying the barest of attention as he left his latest session, slightly disoriented. All of his diagnostic checks came back with the same answer he was always given: nothing had changed. Except that he knew that something had. Somehow there was something inside of him that didn’t fit quite right and that made the rest of him feel off-kilter.
Part of him wanted to blame the new armor merely because it was the only thing he could blame. He knew it couldn’t possibly be the answer, but he needed something and the idea that Jhiaxus could’ve done something to him that his internal scanners couldn’t pick up was beyond frightening.
Arcee raised an arm into the air, twisting it around to watch the arm guard’s colors shift around the light. He was surprised that Jhiaxus had even deemed it necessary to give Arcee his first upgrade, but upgraded he was. The arm guards were just the beginning. From here on out, until the last session, Arcee would be given new upgrades until this experiment was deemed complete.
At one time that idea would’ve left Arcee’s internals clenching with anticipation, wanting to know so desperately what he was going to become. Now, though, with Big Daddy and Battletrap’s words in his processor and Flywheels sitting in the dark and whimpering to the fractured voices in his head, Arcee wasn’t too certain he wanted to find out.
His optics flickered downward and saw the small, orange form of Greaser waiting for him. Arcee stopped. “Can I help you?”
None of the Micromasters had ever gone out of their way to speak to Arcee. Even Big Daddy wouldn’t speak to him unless the full-sized mech spoke first. And yet there was Greaser, tiny hands on his tiny hips and leaning back slightly to stare up at Arcee. “We know you went to see the Duocons.” He said. “Big Daddy wants you to know that not all of Jhiaxus’s experiments are docile.”
Arcee canted his head to one side. “But I’ve already met everyone. Asides from being a little unstable, I don’t think either of the Duocons are particularly violent.”
Greaser snorted, obviously growing more and more agitated the longer he had to stand there. Arcee wondered if there wasn’t some side effect from the transfer to such a small cranial unit. “The Duocons are nothing. Jhiaxus doesn’t keep all his experiments on one level- there’s still plenty below us filled with other failed mechs. No- I’m talking about an abomination to all of creation. It’s down on sub-level 8.”
Arcee hadn’t known there were more sub-levels and that thought just made his cables run cold. “What do you mean? What’s down there?”
“I don’t know what it is exactly- Trip-Up and Hubs found a way down there once. They say it was a creature hodgepodged together from a bunch of other mechs. Not reconstructed from their pieces, but actually them with their processors forced to merge together to create this monstrosity.” Greaser’s hands trembled slightly and he jutted his chin out, trying to act as if the idea of this… whatever it was didn’t scare the ever-loving scrap out of him. “According to them it’s only capable of thinking of one thing and that is to destroy everything. The only reason Jhiaxus hadn’t put it out of its misery is because he hopes to turn it into some kind of superweapon.”
Arcee’s hands- now white, the new servos used to clutch over twice as strong in their gripping power –clenched into fists against his thighs. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because not all of Jhiaxus’s projects are for the good of anything.”
“Then why? Why do it at all?”
Greaser gave Arcee a long look, as if he couldn’t believe Arcee refused to see what was right in front of him. “There’s only one reason Jhiaxus does anything- not to advance the race but to prove to himself that it’s possible. Whatever else happens to us, what does he care? If he got all the information he needs from us, we could rust on the spot for all the attention he gives us afterwards.”
Arcee clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling. “That can’t be true. No one can be that sparkless.”
The Micromaster merely tilted his head in a shrug. “Suit yourself then.” He said, as if he knew that was going to be Arcee’s answer from the beginning. But he’d done what he was asked to do so Greaser transformed and his tires made a thin, high noise as he peeled out.
Arcee refused to believe it. If Jhiaxus didn’t care so much, then why would he bother upgrading Arcee at all? He kept his concerns quiet as the scientist and his assistant worked, but as more and more armor was being added to him (pink and white, not a normal color pattern for a member of the Security Force, not tactical enough) the words haunted him, pressing to the forefront of his processor.
A dissatisfied rumble from Jhiaxus made Arcee wince. The scientist leaned forward so the young mech could peer into his face as he lay on the laboratory berth. “What,” Jhiaxus asked with evident annoyance, “has gotten you so worked up? You’ll corrupt the data we’re inputting if you cannot keep your internal fluxes within acceptable limits.”
“I apologize. I-,” Arcee’s optics flickered for a moment, uncertain, “I would like to know what you are doing to me.”
Jhiaxus lifted his head minutely- possibly exchanging a glance with Thunderwing –before looking back down with a twist to his mouth. “I’m turning you into a female.”
Arcee’s faceplates shifted in confusion. “Female? What is that?”
“Organic beings that reproduce sexually have different genders with different genitalia required for the process. These are mainly divided into two major branches: male and female.” Jhiaxus explained gruffly. “In those societies, gender roles are prescribed to what is expected of each gender. One is ideally to be larger, stronger and often considered the hunter or protector. One is smaller, weaker and considered the caregiver.”
“But… I-I do not…”
“Irregardless of the fact that they need all their genders in order to continue surviving, one gender is always considered superior to the others. This is usually the stronger, a majority of which has been deemed the male. Those that do not fit the ideal of the dominant gender are belittled. You are to become a female, one of these lesser genders.”
Arcee’s optics were wide, hope hanging over a gaping void even as he asked, “Why would you do that?”
“To see how Cybertronians respond to someone that does not fit our predominant assumption of the ideal role.” Jhiaxus looked up, nodding and Arcee could hear Thunderwing shuffling around beyond his field of vision. “I’ve determined that the key to genders isn’t what a gender is capable of rather it just needs to be deemed exploitable and less important or competent.”
Arcee’s spark contracted painfully in his chest cavity, internals flushed cold and he could barely whisper out, “Why are you doing this? Who does this benefit?”
Jhiaxus tilted his head down, almost as if he were surprised Arcee even had to ask. “No one, of course. I merely wish to see if it is possible to recreate gender roles in a genderless society.” He moved away from Arcee’s side and then Arcee’s awareness went blank from forced shutdown.
~*~*~*~
It was almost laughably easy to see the differences now that Arcee had a reference to look for. He still couldn’t find the changes internally, but whatever it was Jhiaxus did to him, whatever it meant to be ‘female’ changed how others acted with Arcee. Arcee didn’t know if Jhiaxus and Thunderwing’s increasingly silent mannerisms were directly affected by the experiment, but it was obvious that the
Micromasters were far more aggressive and short-tempered with Arcee. Even Trip-Up had gone from annoyed posturing to almost threatening whenever Arcee went near him. Battletrap, conversely, ventured deeper and deeper in the territories around the labs, getting more daring in his strange enjoyment of making Arcee jump at every strange sound.
It had to be because of what Jhiaxus was doing to him. Arcee couldn’t understand why any of this was happening otherwise. He managed to corner Thunderwing, demanding to know how Jhiaxus had done this.
“It’s a very simple process,” the assistant said with an imperial calm, more receptive to Arcee’s question since Jhiaxus explained what was happening, “but what you’re noticing is the result of our manipulating your central cortex.”
Arcee’s optics paled. “Manip… what did you do to me?”
“We altered the information in your central cortex, which in turn has changed what others receive from your electrical field whenever it’s pinged by their sensors, adjusting it to the preliminary variables of gender specifications. The key in gender interactions is that no one must be aware that they are acting different. This must be a natural, subconscious process. If a society is predisposed to belittle or act aggressively to a gender for no reason than that they are that gender, then they see it as how it should be. If they are to ignore or act as if that gender is helpless, then that is what they do. Jhiaxus merely altered your cortex to reply to any preliminary pings that you are less important than other Cybertronians. How others react to that information is natural for them and therefore how they’d react to all females.”
“Change me back.”
Thunderwing tilted his head, as if the very thought had never occurred to him. “Change you back?”
“Change me back! I don’t want this! I don’t want to be this!”
“You agreed to the experiment.”
“I didn’t know what you were going to do!”
The green of his optics darkened, unimpressed. “And that is our fault?”
Arcee’s hands clenched, the fine constructs of his face twisted in fury. “I want to be changed back.” He growled. “I want all this undone. I will not be part of this any longer.”
“If you believe you can hide in our own facilities, you are welcome to try.” Thunderwing didn’t have to say it, but Arcee heard it loud enough. Others have tried. All of them failed.
But that didn’t stop him from attempting to. He switched rooms, never stayed in the same hall twice in a row. He picked corridors where he could hear approaches and had enough avenues of escape. He rarely recharged now, too afraid that he’d online with Jhiaxus peering down at him in disgust, as he finally lost all sense of who he was. So he huddled in room after abandoned room, consciously smothering his electrical signature as best he could. And he listened.
He could hear the small, telltale squeals of little tires in the distance and sometimes he could hear the faint screaming of Flywheels raving to himself. What he heard mostly was Battletrap, sometimes walking, sometimes flying and driving up and down the halls, laughing lowly.
“Arcee,” he’d crow as he’d travel, pacing outside of whatever room the young mech holed himself in, “come and play!”
Sometimes, in voices that made Arcee curl in the corners and shudder, Battletrap’s two components would ride with each other, both calling out, “Play with us! Come play with us!” Arcee didn’t need the Micromasters to tell him what Battletrap meant. The promise of a cruel and vicious game was evident in the echoing vocalizers that spoke with the same voice.
He listened to the slicing of rotary blades and rumble of engines. He listened to Battletrap singing out for him and cackling to himself. Battletrap would get bored- he always did. He’d get bored and then he’d leave and Arcee would finally be able to grab a couple cycles of recharge before he’d force himself to move again.
The hall eventually fell silent and Arcee ducked his head, slowly suspending his systems-
CRASH!
He jumped to his feet, pressed against the wall and stared at the door. Something slammed against it again.
“You’re wrong.” A voice growled out like ice from the other side; something scraping across the titanium plating of the door. “You’re wrong. You’re an abomination. You’re a freak, you’re not right.”
Arcee pushed himself against the wall as flat as he could go, afraid of that voice more than the words. It was a broken, fractious voice, misused and torn up- a voice that only knew hate and anger and no peace. It was Flywheels’s voice.
“You shouldn’t exist. None of us should exist.” The broken Duocon hissed. “We have no function, no purpose. We should all be scraped. Don’t you feel it? Jhiaxus put himself inside of us. He’s under our chassis now, he’s traveling in our cables. He tainted us with his signature and we can never be rid of him. We deserve to die. He deserves to die for making us what freaks we are.”
Arcee couldn’t say anything, just shook his head at the door as if that would ever be enough. He sat back on the floor as Flywheels continued his tirade, speaking in a low, spark-stopping voice about how wrong they all were, how they all needed to die. The words seeped into Arcee’s processor because he was too afraid to stop them. He sat and listened to all this and couldn’t move. He didn’t know when Flywheels had left, just stared at the locked door as if it could save him and he sat.
At some point, the door opened, Thunderwing standing on the other side. Arcee looked up at him sightlessly.
“Arcee.” He said with evident distaste. “It’s time for another session.”
“No.”
The quiet denial didn’t surprise the assistant in the least. “You’ll come with me now.”
“No.”
“I won’t play this game with you. You’ll either get up and follow me, or I will force you.”
“No.”
With a sneer, Thunderwing stepped back. “Very well.” The new shape in the doorway grinned with a mixture of glee and malice. Battletrap’s optics gleamed happily, finally getting his chance to play. “Bring Arcee to the lab. Refrain from damaging him severely.” Thunderwing left that task to Battletrap, steps fading away.
Arcee tried to shrink back, but he had no where to go.
