A lil peak at this thing in writing :).
“These are younglings,” Megatron said flatly, optics gazing over the identical faces that stared up at him.
They were doing their best to look unphased, but there was no doubt in Megatron’s mind that the two had been taken from their homes, or the academy, and smuggled into the rings.
The gladiator scowled, but didn’t comment.
The only thing on Shatterstock’s mind was credits. Two younglings, who were impressionable and naive, would be significantly easier to train than adult mechs.
It still didn’t make it right.
Megatron frowned, “They’re too little-“
“Then you better train them well.”
Shatterstock nodded stiffly, optics glancing over the two younglings for a second, who were now gripping each other’s hands tightly.
Megatron didn’t bother offering an affirmative, mouth pursed distastefully at the prospect of having to train two sparklings to fight to the death in front of a large crowd.
What Shatterstock would do to all three of them if he didn’t, however, was something Megatron didn’t want to think about.
Quiet fell over the room, until the red one shifted uncomfortably, and finally spoke up.
“We’re not allowed to leave?”
The question wasn’t directed at him, but Shatterstock still snorted as he stepped from the room. The lock clicked into place- another reminder that Megatron didn’t have much of a choice.
And as much as ripping a mechs spark from their casing didn’t affect him anymore, letting a sparkling take their place was sick.
There was a line, and Shatterstock didn’t care whether he crossed it or not.
He imagined, judging from the dents and scratches on both their frames, there hadn’t been much sympathy when the bitlets had been ripped from their city.
By now they had stepped away from him, optics watching his large frame warily.
He was a whole lot bigger than them, and probably a whole lot bigger than the mech that had done the kidnapping.
“If you try to leave, they will hurt you.”
The red bitlet frowned, and huddled closer to his partner.
Megatron’s spark twisted at the naivety, and the innocence, that Shatterstock has dragged into his rings.
They should have been playing with their friends, and drinking better quality energon than the cubes they offered here, not sitting terrified in his quarters.
He wanted to offer comfort, any sort of reassurance, but it had never been in his coding to do such a thing.
“Designations?” Megatron asked instead, crimson optics burning into purple. They were afraid, but they didn’t look away.
The yellow one hesitated, and only after some kind of bizarre, silent communication was exchanged between the two, did he speak up.
Whoever named them had done well at picking designations that suited their frame.
“Thanks,” Sideswipe said quietly. He rubbed at the small audial nub on his helm, and gripped Sunstreaker’s hand tightly.
Megatron didn’t smile, but his optics softened.
“Have you ever been to Tarn?”
“Have you ever fought someone?”
“It’s different here. Do you know what a gladiator is?”
“Have you ever seen someone get deactivated?”
The answer would have surprised Megatron, but the two were from Kaon. Death was on every corner in that city, and he wasn’t surprised that Shatterstock had turned his optics onto it in order to get new fighters.
Generally, no one cared who went missing in Kaon.
