Feral Fears pt. 7
Transformers x Human
18+
Who's there?
[Prev] [N/A]
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The human went into sleep mode after the second cycle in captivity.
Which was good news, for the medical and science department. With the little fleshy beast down for the count, they could do all the scans and readings they wanted. It slept like the dead, overly exhausted to the point of just tolerating everything. It growled and snapped at them, but… didn't make any attempts on any other hardlight hologram humans’ lives again.
Rung suggested continued use of the faux human avatars, claiming it would be the least traumatic at this point. His glasses were off, tired blue optics watching silently with Perceptor, Brainstorm and Nautica in the laboratory.
…And Drift. Drift was there, too. Claimed he was here on orders from Rodimus but, well. Everyone on the damn ship wanted a peek at the freakshow. He probably was mostly here for himself.
Nautica sighed, frowning again as she looked through their databases from Cybertron on what possibly the human could consume. Again. And how they had exactly 0 things that seemed to be able to correlate. She looked to Percy once more and shook her helm. The microscope rubbed at his optic in frustration before turning once more back to his studying of the human matter to see if they could extract enzymes they could somehow turn into a nutrient slurry. Not the best, but on short notice, it would do.
Brainstorm… was playing mad scientist. So, his usual. The mech was sorting through various chemicals and materials, mixing them, testing the compounds and mixtures against some odd strips he had made, grumbling at each one coming back black or blue after being exposed to what he was making.
Rung and Drift were on Alien Caretaker Duty. Rung being the most… least intimidating, and Drift being… nosy.
The therapist looks back in the sharps bin, watching the rise and fall of that little chassis and abdomen beneath rags and cleaning cloths they'd bundled themselves in. They were so… soft. Almost alarmingly so, he thought. Such a strange, strange being. Not of the home planet, the galaxy, or even the solar system that he and the cybertronian race called home. Not even of any neighboring ones. He's had an introduction to a few other races, but never… this.
Slowly, he reached in, gently tapping the floor of the container. Knocking on the walls could be too loud, and echo.
Their head lifted from the pile, the corner of a cloth sliding off their little helm… And they proceeded to give Rung the dirtiest look he's probably ever gotten in his line of work. Which was saying something. So expressive, so similar yet distant from their own faceplates…
“Pardon me, I just… I was given a chip to be able to communicate in your language and want to make sure I'm processing the vocalizations correctly,” Rung murmured. “I know you dislike us greatly. I do understand it. Sometimes, we cybertronians don't recognize how… off-putting we can be. Or intimidating. I do hope I'm not causing you any duress.”
He only got a squinty, glare-y blink in response.
Drift stifled a snicker nearby. He couldn't understand what was said- he didn't have a language chip. But he didn't need to be a therapist to know that this little fleshy terror was telling him to go frag himself.
Rung shifted his glasses up the bridge of his olfactory sensor. He hummed, smiling slightly. You know… he didn't blame them. I mean… If their sizes and capabilities were swapped, he'd probably also be very, very off-put. Still, the only way for things to continue to get better for them was if they established SOME baseline communication. If they couldn't communicate, then if they managed to make some sort of sustenance or medicine and gave it to them, they wouldn't know if something was wrong.
“Ah, I apologize then. Really. Don't mean to be so offensive. I mean, compared to most of the others aboard this ship, I end up being looked at as one of the gentler sparks. I'm a therapist you see. A… processor and feelings medic. Or-” he pulled up the cheat sheet that Ratchet had sent him. “...Brain and feelings, rather. Speaking of, how is that? Your brain? Is there any… damages we should be aware of? Pains, injuries, so on? We're working quite hard to get you patched up.”
He got a growl and a little blob of spittle launched his way. It didn't make it far.
Feisty little thing.
_______
The human growled again, lower in their chest.
Faker. Faker faker faker fake fake fake they're not human, they don't feel, this is a fucking TRAP and they knew it. This massive metal monster was staring down at them with the brightest blue eyes they ever had seen. Not in a “ohh, teehee, such a bright and charming blue-” NO. Compared to the other robot bastards and THEIR glowy, stupid eyes, this guy was almost like two SPOTLIGHTS of blue. Reflecting faintly off the walls of the PROBABLY trash can they were stuck in, too tired to move.
They groaned and pulled a blanket over their head.
“I can understand if talking isn't something you'd like to do. Sometimes, something happens to us that makes it… hard to communicate. Hard to open that door between ourselves and someone else. This could be guilt, this could be fear, or even something we simply cannot place.”
Could he just shut up, please. PLEASE.
There's was another of that buzzing noise that made the human's BONES prickle in an unsettling way, the marrow cold. What was that spiky white fucker saying?? The orange one garbled a response, and the human heard that whirring, buzzy, blippy noise that was more speech. Whatever they said, the human wasn't allowed to be privy to.
Probably communicating best how to execute them. Or if the little human could be used in some way. They weren't stupid. There was no care between these things. Just the stupid, foolish human nature to anthropomorphize. They didn't know, or feel. Or if they did, it was probably no different than a human with a lab roach. Not a rat- too cute, too connective. No, a BUG of some sort. Fruit flies and mosquitoes and-
“Apologies, Drift tends to be rather intrusive when he's curious.” A mechanical sigh, wind through vents spun by fans and turbines. Eyes was back to focusing on them, it seemed.
They huffed. Uninterested. Another **Thunk thunk** vibrated the floor of the container. Not horribly, but notable.
“Do you think it would be possible if you could answer some questions for me? All you have to do is… knock. With your serv- hand. On the metal of the bin. We could say… Once for a ‘yes’, twice for a ‘no’. Does that sound doable? I know your arm is hurting.”
They wanted to stab out one of those big, stupid eyes. Yeah, no SHIT it hurt, they had fucking BROKEN it again!! Now it itched and ached and throbbed and was tender and-
“I'll just start, and you can chime in whenever you feel comfortable. Are you in pain?”
The human shifted further under their blankets.
Fuck them. They wished they were bigger so they could KILL them. Bastards. Violent, sadistic metal assholes, they weren't telling it SHIT. If the monsters knew, they would use it as leverage.
“Are you… hungry?”
Fuck you.
“This… gear, and the tools and weapons you have created… It's quite genius. A tad rudimentary but, the magnets… You're a clever little thing, aren't you?”
Fuck you.
“According to… our human specialist, Dr. Atchet… It seems you had a very violent response upon meeting other humans. Did humans hurt you?”
Fuck you.
“Has anyone on the ship hurt you, other than what was done medically?”
Fuck you.
“I do apologize but we don't have any easy way to take you back to… Terra. Earth. Is someone waiting for you back home?”
Fuck. You.
“Were there other humans being held in captivity?
Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you-
—
“I've done it!”
Rung straightened, optics cycling wider as Brainstorm sat upright, he and Perceptor looking to Nautica.
“You figured out some form of sustenance?”
She shook her helm, and held up her tablet. “No, not that sadly- but something for the pain! The problem is we don't really have anything THAT small to properly inject intravenous fluids unless we have a mini bot with mnemosurgery needles be specially outfitted, and even then, we would have to be careful or it could outright kill them.” The femme looked back at the rest of the files before turning to the science department (plus two). “However, it should be a compound we could make easily enough, and it would help their quality of life… even if… it isn't as long as it should be.”
The slight relief that came over the lab was… dampened once more by her words. They were nearing critical for where food would be necessary, according to everything. The dehumidifiers collected water to prevent any form of rust, but… they didn't know fully how long it had been since the human had eaten other than when they pumped the stomach. And they were definitely sluggish…
Perceptor turned back to his work, jawplate working as he seemed to pick up the pace. Brainstorm drummed digits against his arm in thought, before snapping and pointing at the femme.
“Mass displacement.”
Drift frowned. “And let me guess- we kit out Ratchet?”
“Of course. I mean, I don't know many others with the sheer finesse to handle finding tubes so small, and use a needle thinner than some of the fibers in our wires.” He shrugged.
“I don't think the creature that tried murdering his holoform is going to take kindly to being held down by a cybertronian-”
BANG.
Rung jolted, looking down at the sharps bin once more. He felt Drift peer over his shoulder, watching. The two of them witnessed as the human lifted their leg, then brought their pede down, kicking the bin harshly.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
“Is it throwing a tantrum?” Drift asked. And for a moment, he too couldn't puzzle what was happening. A… symptom of the hunger pangs? Or maybe the pain being so horrible, it was lashing out.
BANG.
BA-BANG.
“The knocks,” Rung murmured, frowning as he quickly recounted in his memory bank just what questions it could be responding to.
BANG.
“I'm afraid our dear co-captains should be made aware… that there is much, much more of a reason to worry than we initially thought,” Rung whispered, looking back to Drift. “Though, until food is sorted, I don't think much information will be told.”
Rung noticed the mood sharpened, and the three scientists began working at double speed. Ratchet was commed by Drift, while the painkillers were synthesized and Perceptor began constructing the tiniest syringe and needle they would probably ever see in this lifetime.
The therapist looked back into the bin, while Drift explained to the medic the plan. Slowly, lighter than the softest gust of air from his own vents, he brushed the lump of human and fabric, which flinched and growled.
Primus, poor little thing.
[Next NA]
