WARNING: This chapter contains pedophilia. Read with discretion.

Disclaimer: I do not own what I do not own.

Prologue

A strange scent hovered in the air, rising from the floor like steam. A pale veil of fume accompanied the smell, barely visible in the dark hall. Reaching upward, trickles of smoke floated lazily, and grasped for height with thin, transparent claws. They faded into the suffocating shadows of the high ceiling, where grand arches hid, swallowed by darkness.

The hall was vast, stretching far, seemingly infinite. It was empty, devoid of life. The walls were unlit, leaving only a flickering phantom fire at the very end of the hall. It did little to provide brightness, and only made the blackness of the shadows even weightier and more oppressive.

Soft, clicking sounds of fragile thruster heels briskly walking barely made enough impact in the massive chamber to echo. The footsteps were quick on the reflective surface of the floor, which took the appearance of a black, bottomless ocean, a watery grave. The mirroring effect of its flawless polish was disorientating. It made the hall look twice as steep, twice as suffocating.

A tiny flick of a movement was followed by a small glint in the dark. Light from the phantom fire bounced off the thin metal of a pair of wings. The wings were relatively small, still in growth. They needed time to harden before they were strong enough to take their owner to higher altitudes.

The wings gave another flick, and trembled.

Unease made glowing optics flicker about dartingly, glancing at all the dark corners of the hall. Joints stiff with tension, the small figure walked swiftly, only half-heartedly suspicious of what could be hiding in the inky shadows dominating his surroundings.

He did not wonder where all the guards had gone. He was too nervous to wonder much at all.

He only had one goal in mind.

His footsteps gained speed, but without increasing into a run. He was still somewhat unsteady on his peds, having only recently had his thruster upgrade. He was developing well, making progress towards maturity at a good pace. However, youth and naivety still clung to him like morning frost not yet thawed, a shrouding, chilled mist protecting his spark from the horrors of the world.

A step too wide gave him a small wobble, and he skidded in little hops to avoid a fall. His intakes hitched. The sharp sound shot through the flat silence like a spear, but it was quickly swallowed.

As though the misstep finally pushed him over the edge of fear, he started to run, his inborn grace disturbed by youthful awkwardness. His features gained more prominence as he got closer to the phantom fire, which ghosted over his plating with a cold, illuminating haze. He was slight-framed, thin-plated, and slender even compared to the other young of his kind. However, such characteristics were not disadvantages. They increased his potential for agility and speed, which were considered as most important for his kin.

He approached the end of the hall, and made a swift left. He continued to run, but spared a brief look back behind him. The fume in the air seemed to gain colour under the light of the phantom fire. It was a soft, pastel green, shifting periodically into a sinister tinge of yellow.

He shivered, and thought of taking flight to quicken his speed. He hastily decided against it, however, after running an internal analysis of the chemical composition of the strange, green smoke. He did not have enough data stored in his central processor to name the compound or its effects, which meant he could not determine if it were flammable. He took a calming cycle of air through his system, and continued on. He was probably in no immediate danger.

So far, the vapour only tickled the sensors in his wings, and left a numbing sensation.

He turned another corner, and entered a narrower hall. The light from the phantom fire dwindled, and he was eventually engulfed by the shadows cloaking the rest of his way. The darkness put him on edge. He had never encountered this thickness of black because even the walls were supposed to shine at his home. They no longer shined now, and he did not know what was different about this night that made them lose their internalized light.

Luckily, he could still see well enough to maneuver with relative ease. Everything looked awfully dull to his optics, but it was a detail best overlooked.

Turning another corner, he almost cried out in fright as a hulking figure suddenly appeared in front of him, blocking his way. However, as he made several small, jumpy skips backwards, he realized that it was a guard, standing at the mouth of the dark, long corridor leading to his creators' recharge quarters.

The guard was perfectly still and silent, standing in attention. There was no form of acknowledgement given, but what was even stranger was the lack of glowing light from the guard's optics. The lack of sound was disconcerting too, but it was not uncommon for guards to quieten their systems to the point of complete silence whilst on duty.

He hesitated for a few kliks, unable to interpret the guard's behaviour. However, his hesitation was eventually overtaken by the urgency of his original goal, and he decided to overlook this bizarre, but unimportant detail. Giving the guard a barely noticeable nod, he shuffled into the corridor. All guards made him a little uneasy. They were some of the biggest fliers. However, he knew they were loyal to Vos, the city his creators ruled.

Curiosity made him turn his head and give glances back at the guard, but he continued walking towards the doors to his creators' chambers. As he made his way down the corridor, he startled many times in realization that there were, in fact, many guards lining the walls along the sides. Some were standing. Some were slouching, and some were even sitting on the floor.

They were all still as statues, not making a sound, optics powered off.

His wings twitched and hiked up higher, trembling in greater vigor. He did not understand why the guards were all acting so strange, and that lack of understanding terrified him. His peds suddenly hit an obstacle, and he tripped, finally breaking the heavy silence with a sharp cry. Stumbling on his thrusters, his intakes hitched, and he barely caught himself from falling to the floor.

Swirling around, alarm almost startled him into a frantic mess, but he managed to rein his emotions in check. Locating the reason for his near-fall, he found a rather chunky, unidentifiable object. He stared at it with wide optics, but could not tell what it was even after scrutinizing it to the best of his abilities. Tentatively, he nudged it with the tip of a ped. It did not even wobble in the pool of unknown, liquidy substance it was lying in.

With a slight frown on his faceplate, he turned around, and was surprised to take notice of even more chunky objects littered around, gaining in numbers closer to the doors of his creators' quarters. Taking a few careful steps around them, his peds encountered more liquid, and he looked down, lips curling in displeasure. He was somewhat disgusted by the feeling of sticky wetness under his thrusters, but he walked on, slowly as to not trip over any more of those strange, large objects.

He trudged onward, and paid little attention to the weighty obstacles aside from avoiding them. He thought he recognized what some of them were, but the answers did not make sense – could not make sense. He ignored them, and ventured closer to the massive doors at the end of the hall. The only reason he wandered out of his quarters when he was supposed to be deep in recharge was to find his creators, and find out why his bond with them had abruptly extinguished to nothing.

Their creator-sparkling bond had been slowly fading, but it should not become fully severed before he reached full maturity.

Skipping over another chunky object that had an uncanny resemblance to an arm, he reached for the key pad at the side of the large double doors. The darkness made the elaborate strokes of Seeker cant hard to read for his youngling optics, but his vision was sharp enough to eventually pick out the different characters. Squinting and subsequently making his optics glow brighter in the dark, he slowly entered the pass-code to the doors. His fingers were shaking, though he did not quite understand why.

He was frightened, but there was no reason for the fear to be so strong. The situation was strange and confusing, yes. It made his wings twitch with jumpiness, yes, but ultimately, he was safe. He was in Vos, the most secured city on Cybertron. With the guards along the corridor protecting him and his creators, no harm could possibly befall him.

He tapped the last sequence of the pass-code, and the doors slid open with a sound akin to grinding, rusty gears. He glanced at the doors, surprised and displeased. This would not do. Everything was to be impeccable at his home. He would need to inform his creators about their doors so they could get them fixed later.

He entered, and the doors gave another sore moan as they slid closed behind him. He was once again swallowed by darkness, only his shinning optics giving away his location.

Cautiously, he took a step forward, the thruster heel of his right ped making a faint click against the floor.

His creators' quarters were as silent as the rest of the tower, but the stillness here held malevolence. He felt that if he were to extent his glossa and taste the air, it would be sharp and bitter. Scanning his surroundings, he noticed with dismay that the chamber was in a big mess. Furniture was overturned. Data pads scattered over the floor. The more fragile of frivolous objects were smashed to pieces, their original purposes unrecognizable to his optics.

His left ped took another step, and another faint click echoed in the room.

"…Hello?" He whispered, the strained tension behind the word almost seizing his vocalizer in static. He was even more anxious now. His wings were raised, and gave an especially violent jerk when a sound abruptly buzzed into existence.

It was too soft for him to decipher at first, but slowly and steadily, like spilt energon inching outwards on the floor, it became louder. It spread, crawling along the thick web of silence. He did not know where it came from, but he hesitantly labeled it as interlaced humming. Stringed together by unresolved dissonances, the twisting song seeped into his thoughts, clouding his processors as logic quickly became overtaken by emotions. His young spark pulsed erratically under a thick film of fear, prompted by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

The cycling of his intakes began to speed, making hitched, sharp gasps. Glowing optics darted about the room, wide and frightfully attentive. He remained completely still, rooted to his spot a few steps from the doors, as a light tremour began to dominate his frame.

Suddenly, without warning or any indication of previous existence, large, thick arms shot out from behind him and wrapped themselves tightly around his frame. A hand immediately clamped over his mouth, and the other arm snapped around his midsection, holding his arms immobile. All joints in his body tensed up, and he let out a terrified scream, hot energon freezing in his system. However, even as he cried out for help, all his audials caught were muffled, desperate whines.

He kicked and bucked, wings fanning out and trembling uncontrollably, but his actions did little to free him. The arms did not budge even an inch, clamped around his lithe frame. Instead, he was pressed back further, snug against a chassis much bigger than his.

"Shhhh…" A voice cooed beside one of his audials, and he jumped, instantly becoming still. His wings still shook, making tiny vibrations against the warm plating his back was pressed against. His captor, only then, seemed to materialize into existence. His sensors eventually picked up miniscule disturbances in the air, and he let out a tiny whimper, wondering how he could have missed the obvious clues suggesting the presence of another Cybertronian.

The intruder was big, and heavy. Thick plating was firm against his much lighter build. He could not imagine any flier mad enough to even attempt increasing their weight by adding denser metal to their bodies, which could mean only one thing:

His captor was a ground pounder.

"Calm, little one," The deep, rumbling voice soothed, "Wouldn't want your pretty little wings to fall off from all that shaking you're doing now, would you?"

His suspicion was confirmed. Only a ground pounder was stupid enough to think that a flier's wings could fall off from fearful shaking. However, this confirmation only gave rise to more questions, such as how a grounder had managed to sneak into the Royal Tower, the only building in Vos accessible only to fliers.

"I mean you no harm, pretty little Seeker…I just want to play a bit," Low laughter made his wings tremble even harder; "…Always loved them with wings…"

A jolt of terror made his entire frame rattle, and he let out a louder whimper. He did not completely understand what the grounder wanted, but it sounded as though the big mech was planning on taking his wings. If his mouth were not covered, he would argue that his wings would be useless to one as massive as his captor, but his ability of speech was inhibited, so all he ended up doing was making terrified, high-pitched whines.

"…Just want to play a bit before I let you join your creators."

At the mention of his creators, his helm perked up in hope. The movement did not go unnoticed by the grounder, who chuckled. "If you are good, I will take you to your creators." The deep voice purred, dripping in sweetness. "Will you be good for me, little Seeker?"

He nodded, eager to get away from the suffocating embrace he was forced into. So far, the grounder had not hurt him, so he would play, if only to humour the other mech enough to take him to his creators.

"Ahhh…very good…" Another chuckle rumbled beside his audials. "Now, stay still…"

The hand around his mouth loosened and fell away. It wandered downwards, and rested flat against one of his thighs.

"I'm not…I'm not sure how to play with you if you keep me so close…" He spoke in a small voice, still apprehensive about the situation. The only games he knew how to play were in the air, where the grounder would not be able to join him. Under normal circumstances, he would not have cared, but this one promised to bring him to his creators, so he had to be nice.

"Don't worry, little Seeker. I will do the playing for the both of us." The next chuckle his captor made held an ominous edge, and it immediately made terror return to his spark in a flash. However, before he could start thrashing and screaming again, the hand on his thigh moved, and slid upwards to cup firmly against his codpiece.

Confusion momentarily distracted him from calling out for help, and he frowned, the thought of squeezing his thighs together not even registering in his processors.

"What are you—"

The hand gave his codpiece a hard rub, and his sentence was interrupted by a surprised squeak.

"—Wh-What are you doing?" He wiggled, making a thin whine as a heated sensation suddenly flared between his thighs. The sensation was unfamiliar, and he was not sure whether it was supposed to be enjoyable or not. Before he could decide, the hand made another rub, and he spluttered out a small, keening sound, wiggling harder. As he shifted around, his aft came in contact with the mech behind him, and the mech suddenly moaned, startling him into abrupt stillness.

At first he thought his wiggling had somehow hurt the grounder, but when the larger mech only pressed closer, he reasoned that it was not a moan of pain. He let out a silent breath of relief through his vents. His chance of finding his creators would significantly lessen if he had somehow hurt the intruder.

Besides, this strange game was not bad. At least it was not painful. He bit back another embarrassing noise that threatened to leave his vocalizer when the hand repeated the kneading motion, reaching further inward. Fingers traced around the edges of a panel, their feather-light touches almost tickling. As the touching continued, heat began to gather in his lower region, making his spark swell and throb.

He did not know what the panel was for, only that it covered something important, which was why he only gave a questioning whimper as he felt something wet gathering behind it. For a spark-seizing moment, he thought that the rubbing had somehow injured him and that he was leaking energon, but the lack of pain quickly shot down that possibility. Curious, he parted his thighs, and tried to peek down.

The grounder, for unknown reasons, was pleased with how he had spread his thighs. Another chuckle rumbled out from behind him, and he tilted his helm slightly to the side, catching partial sight of the mech's faceplate.

The grounder wore a visor, which hardly shone, but glinted. From what he could see, the big mech had a high nose bridge and rather chiseled cheek-plates. Thin, gray lips were curling upward in a smile that did not quite look friendly. However, it was not a dangerous expression, not threatening enough to worry him with immediate harm.

"Can you take me to my creators now?" He asked, voice high and slightly shaky. "…Please?" He added only to be polite, but an unexpected reaction from the grounder silenced any other words he might have wanted to say.

With a deep growl, his captor swooped down, and pressed their lips together.

Before he could even register what was happening, a thick glossa poked at his lips, which were slightly parted from surprise, and entered his mouth.

The glossa was hot. The grounder's mouth was hot. His own frame suddenly felt hot. Everything was engulfed by heat. A few more rubs later, he felt the panel between his legs give a small twitch, and it retract with a sharp snap. The 'something wet' that was gathering behind the panel was released, and it trickled down his thighs.

The grounder gave another deep growl, and he felt the mech's big smile rather than saw it. Fingers probed at whatever it was that hid behind the panel, and he jumped, squeaking loudly.

He was extremely tender and sensitive there, and when the fingers probed again, he whined in protest, strong flares of heat and sharp sensations of pressure making him a little wary.

His captor seemed to understand his discomfort, for the fingers stopped their probing, and started to rub circles instead. It still made him jerk unevenly from sensitivity, but the pressure was gone.

As the heat in his core steadily rose, his intakes began to cycle faster to cool down his temperature. The grounder's glossa moved alongside his, becoming more insistent as the fingers rubbed faster, running over sensor nodes he was not aware he had. Little whimpers leaving his lips were muffled, and his hips began to move on their own accord, reacting to the circling motion of the mech's actions.

His spark was pounding in his spark chamber, making his core temperature climb even higher. As the sensations began to mount, a strange, straying thought started to dance around almost tauntingly in his processors.

He wanted the grounder to resume the probing.

He did not know how to ask, so he pressed downward against the fingers, and, after a few tries, the grounder caught on. The fingers made another sweeping motion, and started to push upward, their tips sinking inside him.

The sudden intrusion made him buck and whine. He was not quite in pain, but he felt a potent soreness. The grounder only pushed in two fingers from what he could tell, and those two fingers could not have gone in beyond the first knuckles. But still, it was uncomfortable enough for him to resist as the mech tried to push in further. Luckily, his captor was quick enough to catch on. The fingers retracted and dipped inside him, but never beyond what he could take.

Even with the soreness, the heat he was under did not disappear. As the fingers continued to rub and dip inside him, he was seized by an urgency that made him tremble uncontrollably. Warnings began to flash in his processors, and his intakes cycled even faster. His spark continued to swell. More liquid trickled down his thighs. More whimpers left his lips, and the grounder leaned away. Though freed to speak, he could not come up with coherent words. The only sounds leaving his vocalizer were high-pitched whimpers.

The fingers moved faster, motions made slick by the liquid now staining his thighs. His lips parted, and he made little moaning sounds. The grounder watched his faceplate with an unreadable expression, visor glinting brightly. He did not know what was happening enough to feel embarrassed about being stared at. All he could concentrate on was a sudden, apparent pressure deep inside his core, like a heated explosion waiting to happen.

Before he was ready for it, it combusted.

With a screechy, strained scream, he bucked and shook violently in the grounder's arms, optics flashing like twin supernovas in the dark chamber. A gush of liquid rushed down from inside him, splattering on the mech's hand, though the mech did not seem to mind. Shuddering and whimpering brokenly, he endured the almost painful sensations, frame jerking and intakes hitching. By the time the tide had gone, he could no longer support his own weight on his peds, limp in the grounder's arms.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" His captor spoke, and his voice sounded heavy with tension, laced with static.

Not knowing the answer to that question, he wiggled weakly, and tried to shake the fogginess from his processors.

"Can you…bring me to my creators now?" He asked pleadingly.

The grounder merely chuckled.

"All in good time, little Seeker. Our game hasn't ended yet."

With one sweeping motion of his arms, the grounder lifted him up. He squeaked and flailed, not liking the sensation of being manhandled in the air, where he should be in control. He had not even steadied himself yet before the older mech strode into his creators' recharge chamber, and promptly threw him down on the berth.

His intakes made a small, cough-like sound as he landed on his back, the impact jolting his wings in an uncomfortable manner. He groaned, and tried to push up on his elbows to eliminate some of the soreness in his wing joints. Before he could do so, the invader advanced upon him, climbing onto the berth. The big bulk instantly obscured his view, but he managed to catch a few glimpses of his creators' recharge chamber.

His creators were nowhere to be seen, and he briefly wondered where they could have gone to. He did not have much time to ponder though. Lips once again covered his, and his protest was muffled as he was pushed back down onto the berth. There was too much weight on his wing joints, and he squirmed in discomfort. "Stop." He wanted to say: "Not like this." He had not minded the game when they were standing, where the grounder's movement did not hurt his wings, which had yet reached the durability of maturity. He now felt crushed under the bigger frame, the weight and shadow being a frightening reminder of how he could no longer see the high ceiling or the room around him.

He placed his palms flat on the grounder's chassis, and pushed. The intruder seemed to realize his predicament, and backed away slightly. His fans gave a spluttering sigh, relief soothing his agitated processors like energon washing away thirst of a parched throat. Without sore wing joints to distract him, he began to notice the foreign glossa in his mouth, and the hand rubbing circles on the inside of one of his parted thighs.

He shifted slightly, settling better into the berth. If they were going to continue their game, he might as well get comfortable. Trying to play his part despite his lack of understanding, he spread his thighs further, remembering that it pleased the grounder before. As he expected, the other mech gave a growl of approval. What he did not expect, however, was the grinding motion that followed.

The tender, exposed place between his legs remained uncovered. He had not even thought of issuing the command to close the panel. He made a small whining sound when the rubbing not only did not stop, but became more energetic, making tingling sensations shiver through his system. It was getting hot and wet again, the place between his legs, and he hummed in confusion. Why was he leaking there? He had not even known such a place existed prior to the night's events, but something in his spark was throbbing aside from the warmth that was once again expanding.

He could not explain what it was.

The game was strange, but it did not hurt. He was not in pain, yet he felt dread growing more prominent with each passing klik. He tried to seek reassurance in the grounder's embrace, since the mech was older and more knowledgeable. However, the closer he pulled the bigger mech towards him, the greater his trembling became.

The grounder moaned and muttered between their lips. He felt the bulkier frame on top of him grow hot. Heated air blasted out from the other's vents, and caressed his wings, stimulating his sensitive flight sensors and causing his wings to quiver. The grounder suddenly shifted from between his legs, and let out a deep groan. He answered with a bitten-back whimper, wiggling his aft in disappointment when the rubbing disappeared. The strange, somewhat pleasurable sensations were the only thing keeping him distracted from the confusion and dread in his spark.

The intruder chuckled, and he onlined his optics. He did not even notice he had offlined them. The grounder's grinning faceplate and shining visor greeted his vision, making him shiver. A sense of anticipation filled his core, but he did not know what he was waiting for.

"Relax, my little Seeker," The grounder spoke softly, voice low and deep, "Remember to relax, and you will like this."

He barely had the time to nod before something hard pressed against his soft, tender place.

Squeaking in surprise and confusion, he looked down, and felt his optics widen at the sight.

Something was protruding from the grounder's codpiece. It was not there before, and he could not fathom where it could have been hiding because it was quite large and long. Sticky liquid covered its tip, making it glisten in the dark. It was rubbing against his soft place, hard and hot.

He watched, fascinated, disgusted, intrigued, curious, and frightened. The grounder nuzzled against his neck, biting gently and licking his neck cables, but he did not notice. His entire attention was on the rod-like object as it stopped its rubbing, and slowly began to press forward.

The first sign of discomfort was a dull soreness. He felt his soft place beginning to open to accommodate the object. Then came a sharp jab of stinging pain. The object's tip was trying to reach further inwards. He immediately protested, making a high-pitched whine, trying to scoot away, but the hand the grounder placed on his hips tightened, and held him still and secure.

"Remember to relax, my little Seeker." The bigger mech said, but his voice was no longer entirely gentle. It held a rough, grainy edge, and it frightened him.

Whimpering, he bit his lips, and turned his helm so that he no longer had to watch the object invade his body. The grounder still licked and suckled his neck cables, but he barely noticed, trying his best to relax against the growing pain in his lower region.

Optics flashing in the dark, he tried to find something to distract himself with, and, by mere chance, he caught sight of another pair of optics.

They were dark, signaling that their owner was offline and unresponsive. He frowned. The faceplate the optics were on was damaged, marred by scratches and cuts, but he thought it still looked vaguely familiar…

His bright optics passed over the helm, hoping to identify who this mech was by his frame type, but their search was abruptly cut off.

At the end of the neck cables, where the rest of the mech's body should be, was nothing.

He was confused.

His optics remained on the torn neck cables, staring, lips hanging slightly apart.

Why was there nothing?

The neck cables must lead to shoulders, a torso.

They must connect to the rest of the mech's body.

Where was the mech's body?

Where was—

The scorched faceplate was suddenly very familiar.

Realization hit him so forcefully that it visibly rattled him. His optics flew back to the faceplate of the mech, recognition blaring like warnings inside his processors.

The mech was his carrier-creator.

The helm with the disconnected neck cables…It belonged to his carrier-creator.

His carrier-creator had no body.

His carrier-creator was not offline in recharge.

A small nibble on his neck cables woke him from his horrified stupor.

His carrier-creator was watching him.

A stabbing pain erupted from between his thighs as the hard object slowly advanced into his inside, readying to enter even deeper into his body.

His lips parted.

And he screamed.

A brief, startled moment of hesitation from the grounder was all he needed to shove the heavier body back enough to scramble away. Tearing himself from the intruder's embrace, he continued to scream, unable to do much else. He practically fell from the berth in his hurried escape, fear making the chamber turn on its axis and plunge his world into dizzying chaos.

The scent of drying energon hit his olfactory sensors, making his tank churn in nausea. His limbs shook, and his peds threatened to refuse support. He could barely stay upright, wings trembling so hard that they made rattling noises in the heavy, suffocating silence.

There was a reason the walls no longer shone.

There was a reason he saw no guards on his way to his creators' chambers until he almost reached them.

There was a reason a chemical residue lingered in the air, poisonous perfume swirling and dancing in deadly glee.

He cried, running blindly in the dark on unsteady peds, thrusters making loud clicks against the floor. Fingers grappling wildly, he sought desperately for escape, his blurred vision making sight an almost impossible task as coolant streamed down his faceplate.

"…Where are you going, my little Seeker?"

His wings felt the acute air current change even before the grounder's hand came down to grab him, and he shrieked, leaping in the air and thrusters sputtering on. The brief ignition of his flight system propelled him just far enough away before his terrified processors became too overwhelmed by the situation to plan a landing. He fell on the floor in an undignified pile, gasping and hysterical.

Heavy steps approached him from behind, and he lifted his helm, turning to look.

The grounder was a black, looming shape in the dark. An amused smirk lifted his thin lips under the glowing shine of his visor.

"What are you waiting for, my little Seeker?" The intruder asked, voice in a pleased lilt. "I do love a good hunt…"

He stared up at the grounder, too afraid to move. His intakes completely hitched to a stop.

"Run, Crown Prince." The intruder's smirk turned into a grin. It stretched so wide that it cut the terrifying faceplate in half.

"I want you to run."

In an instance, he pushed himself onto unsteady peds, and fled.

He ran out of his creators' chamber, slipping on the pools of energon on the floor.

He ran through the corridor, tripping and falling over various body parts of the guards.

He ran into the Great Hall, panic so strong that there was only one thought left in his processors, reasserting its dominance in his mind in a never-ending loop: get away. He barely registered the faint sound of the plating of his soft place clicking back into position. He had forgotten even his ability to fly.

'Run', the grounder had said, so he ran.

A plasma shot sailed over his helm. He yelped and stumbled, ankles wobbling on his thrusters. From the way the grounder laughed, he knew the older mech did not miss by mistake.

Frantic, he rushed up a flight of stairs, and almost tumbled. Only his quick reflexes saved him from falling back down and breaking his neck cables at the bottom. He ran as quickly as his peds could take him, wiping his vision clear with his hands when coolant pooled in his optics and fell. He dodged plasma shots by instinct alone, aided by his flight sensors of the changes in the air, and did not stop until he no longer had anywhere left to run. He was so absorbed in his terror that he did not realize where he was going until he was facing the opening to the topmost flight deck of his home, the highest tower of Vos.

He slowed to a stop, and looked out at the city.

The streets still held a very faint glow, but all the towers were dark, their inherent light lost. The start of a new cycle had yet begun, so the city was silent. Even the flight paths were empty, the drizzling acid rain discouraging any flier still awake from taking to the air.

His optics, glossy from the still surfacing coolant, looked up at the sky. Thick, dark acid clouds met his vision, shifting and writhing as though in pain. They shed agonized tears to the surface of Cybertron, and he felt his spark sink into dread and helplessness.

Another plasma shot startled him from his thoughts. It grazed his wing, and he cried out at the burn, sensors reeling from the contact. The grounder emerged from the dark, features harsher due to the shadows cast by the glow from the streets that sneaked into the tower. Optics wide and lips parted in a soundless utterance of surprise, he turned, and stared at the other mech. He could not understand how one as large and heavy as the intruder could move so silently and swiftly.

His optics flickered down, and he gaped with horror at the monstrous looking cannon the grounder's right arm had transformed into. The cannon barely emitted any sign of heat, which could only mean that it was barely activated beyond its resting mode. The scorched tip of his wing throbbed, and he shook even harder.

If even the lowest setting could cause so much pain for his light frame, what would the highest setting be capable of doing?

The grounder, chuckling, took one step forward, and he backed away in three.

He barely noticed the first splatters of rain on his sensitive plating, optics still glued to the giant cannon. His audials caught the sizzling whisper of acid eating away his polish and paint, corroding his beautiful shine and bright colours, but his processors hardly responded to the sensory input. His wings quivered, finely tuned flight sensors growing aggravated by the acidity, but he hardly noticed beyond feeling a full, potent burn.

The grounder followed, equally oblivious to the acid rain. The grin grew wider and more feral, and the visor shined even brighter, predatory glee making the bulky frame tremble with excitement.

His intakes hitched, and he let out a terrified whimper, the abruptly severed creator-sparkling bond in his spark aching like a lonely, black hole. He wrapped his arms around himself, and came to a stop midway on the takeoff deck.

The grounder slowly walked forward, and the massive cannon gave a slightly pinched whirr as it powered up.

"What a shame, really," The larger mech said, voice lighthearted and nonchalant as he lifted his cannon arm, "For such a pretty little thing to be wasted for scrap metal."

The cannon activated. Its dark barrel grew blindingly bright, a charge swiftly gathering. His optics gazed into the mesmerizing light. His processors screeched to a halt as fear seized his body.

His spark was what reacted.

With a sharp jolt, he suddenly found himself dashing toward the grounder. The grounder took half a step backwards, and grunted in surprise. Seeing the opportunity, he jumped, wings catching the wind. Their bodies collided, and he flung himself onto the larger mech, pressing his lips on top of the intruder's parted ones.

Arms latching around broad shoulders, he frantically sought for the other mech's glossa, licking and sucking messily. Coolant washed down his faceplate from his optics, mingling with the acid rain. He mimicked what the ground pounder had previously done to him, and rubbed his hips forward, grinding their codpieces together.

The intruder growled, and tried to pull back to push him away, but he whimpered needily, pressing closer.

Only a few kliks passed before the intruder returned his gestures, and a hot mouth responded to his clumsy kiss. A large hand cupped around his aft, holding him in place, and squeezed gently, making him emit a sharp squeak. The intruder's visor still shined, and he hastily offlined his optics, not wanting to see his actions being observed. The grounder chuckled, and their kiss deepened.

Their glossas intertwined, one desperate and one amused. The grounder's other hand, no longer a cannon, roamed shamelessly over his intimate parts. Unlike their previous encounter, he did not feel heat, or the strange, somewhat pleasant tingle. He slid his arms down from the shoulders they were latched onto, and wrapped them tightly around the other mech's midsection. His spark pounded fearfully in his spark chamber, and his processors finally caught on to what his instinct had dictated him to do to preserve his life.

He pulled back, and his optics flickered on.

The grounder wore a smug smirk on his faceplate, his bigger bulk blocking most of the acid rain. Droplets of clear liquid slid down from the mech's hulking form, falling much like the coolant still staining his cheek-plates.

He stared up at the ground pounder, for a moment studying the harsh, cruel features. His arms tightened further around the bigger mech's torso, and he abruptly activated his thrusters.

They shot off the flight deck.

The smug smirk fell from the grounder's lips, and shock replaced the previous expression of amusement. He simply watched the changes in silence, entertaining the thought of crying out in triumph. He felt like laughing, celebrating, but he only stared, tears continuously pouring out of his optics. They floated in the air for the briefest moment until his thrusters spluttered off, and only air remained beneath them.

They fell, gravity mercilessly tugging them down, and, once again, his spark pounded in fear. However, his processors no longer responded, a blank slate devoid of thought. He merely watched the grounder's expression of astonishment with detached fascination, and reveled in the way the air rushed past his flight sensors. His instinct screamed at him to activate his thrusters, to take flight to avoid deactivation, but he ignored them, tears flung from his faceplate by the howling wind.

They both fell, the grounder's dead weight pulling them down from the highest tower of Vos.

His wings shifted on their own to accommodate the different air currents surging past their bodies in attempts to keep them from falling. Their movements were second nature, so he barely noticed them. He kept his attention on the grounder's faceplate, wishing to see what the last moments of life looked like.

Would he see fear? Regret? Or perhaps desperation?

No.

The grounder threw his helm back, and laughed.

The murderer of his creators laughed, and wrapped his thick arms around his thinner frame.

"Don't worry, my little Seeker," Amusement returned, making the visor twinkle. "My bulk alone is cushion enough to save your cute little aft from falling to death." The grounder smirked, and looked awfully pleased even as the ground rushed closer towards them.

"…You're too pretty for your own good, y'know that?" The visor watched him, admiring his beauty in the last kliks before death. "So, I'll let you live."

They crashed, the deafening sound of impact almost splintering his auditory sensors.

Even then, the ground pounder's smirk remained, unashamed and delightful.

The visor flashed for the last time, and blanked into darkness.

He stayed lying on top of the deactivated body, and he did not know what to do.

He stayed there, motionless, silent, as the rain continued to fall.

Notes: Whew! Hope this was okay! This entire prologue was inspired by the first five minutes of "Sucker Punch", more specifically the music. I really enjoyed that movie despite the reviews it was getting. Its soundtracks were repeatedly listened to throughout the writing of this story.

And speaking of that…

There will be two Volumes to this arc. Most of Vol. I is already finished (since the past summer, actually), but it still needs extensive editing. Everything after the prologue will be in first-person POV, as narrated by Starscream. The story starts before the war, and will contain chronological jumps.

Some things to note about this AU:

Femmes: There will be no femmes in this story. I don't see why the Cybertronians, being a genderless species, would have gender conscious distinctions and/or employ gender-issued pronouns prior to close interactions with organics, hence why all cannon "femmes", when mentioned, will be addressed as "he" by default.

Time: I watched this video a little while back, and, apparently, time moves slower on bigger planets compared to smaller ones (eg. Time on Jupiter is slower than time on Earth; please don't ask me why because I have no clue whatsoever XD), so I've decided to use this for Cybertron vs. Earth as well. I'm not particularly concerned about how long a Cybertronian second is in accordance to Earth time, especially since Vol. I takes place entirely on Cybertron, which is why I've decided to use corresponding names to make things simpler. This basically means a "klik" to a mech is equivalent to, or feels like, an Earth second does to a human, and so forth. The terms are as follow:

Klik – second

Breem – minute

Joor – hour

Cycle – 1 day (not to be confused with "night cycle", which just means night-time)

Deca – A week

Stellar – half a year

Meta – 1 year

Vorn – 10 years

I think, this way, it'll give everyone a better grasp of how long these time values feel to a Cybertronian instead of how they would relate to us as humans.

Robot Sex Ed. 101: As you already know, this fic will contain sticky interfacing. It's pretty standard: mechs have both a spike and a valve/port, yada yada yada. Sparklings though can only be conceived by bond mates. The initial spark merge that binds two mechs together will not result in a new spark. However, all consecutive spark merges the two bond mates have whilst interfacing will result in sparking.

That's everything I can think of to say at the moment. Hopefully I haven't scared you off with all this reading. I look forward to sharing the rest of the story with you, and, if you could, leaving a review for me would be wonderful.

Thanks for reading! : )