Work Text:
Earth was an unnatural, impossible place. Floating around the vast void of space when it shouldn’t even exist in the first place. This did not come from a place of hate, either, this was pure desire to learn on how this rock could even survive for so long without more advanced technology help. There were many things wrong with it, many things that should’ve deemed it inhabitable from the moment of its sudden creation.
And yet, here it was, functioning and thriving in the control of squishy, fleshy little organic creatures.
Steve was not amused by them whatsoever. He was entirely disinterested in their existence the moment they set course for this planet. These natives were loud and mean. They fought anything that didn’t look like them, including each other.
And while Steve could see some resemblance of his fellow Cybertronian within that particular group, he opted to keep his thoughts to his own processor. Vehicons don’t think, they fight, and they work. That's what they were built for, and that was their only task at hand.
The only good thing to come out of Earth was Steve’s designation. Steve couldn’t remember what exactly his last designation was, but once he saw those glyphs together on that organic-built structure, he took it as his own.
Other than the excellency of titles, Earth was a rather sad little rock floating apart of this star system. Many of the other planets nearby had far more interesting aspects about them, but apparently, some time long before Steve’s creation, their faction’s leader decided it’d be a grand idea to send energon reserves here of all places.
Not that Steve would ever question Lord Megatron’s decisions aloud. That was a direct pass to getting yourself a trip to the barely-qualified medic on the Nemesis’s upper docks. And or a meeting with the Pits, but rather than dwell on the hypothetical scenario of getting his sparked snuff, Steve tries to be positive about his current situation.
Which would be the delicate art of admiring rock. The same rock, mind you, that he’s been observing since they started digging out this mountain of rubble and dust. A good few cycles ago, and Primus himself must’ve given them some grace, seeing as the deeper they dug, the more energon they found. Powering a whole ship’s worth of mechs called for a heavy increase in resources. Ones that they couldn’t dare risk losing to the Autobots.
Steve was guarding said resources, and yet, all he could think about was snagging a piece off for himself, and just eating it raw right then and there. A ‘pick me up’ was desperately needed, but when you were just a vehicon clone with chronic processor aches, and a quirk for forgetting things, you were the last of the line for rations.
He deserved just a smidge of it, didn’t he? If not for him and his fellow laborers, who would be mining, transferring, and processing the energon? Certainly not that appearance-obsessed medic, nor his bulking shadow, and Commander Starscream would rather be snuffed than do work ‘below him.’
Steve would know, because he’s overheard it a thousand times over.
And Lord Megatron wouldn’t ever even be acknowledged as an answer in that equation.
With every important mech out of the way, it left only the vehicon clones as the logical backbone of the Deception cause. Steve wouldn’t want to shine his own frame, but he’d agree with that statement ten times over if he hadn’t been the one to think of it. Award the hypothetical speaker with something golden. Yes, that would be nice.
Though, unfortunately, Steve hadn’t realized his daydreaming was about to come to an end when suddenly a loud explosion rocketed through the cave system. Further along the mines, up near one of the entrances, he caught the faintest of signal requesting backup.
Ah, scrap.
Well, he supposed he had nothing better to do. It wasn’t like energon could grow pedes and walk away. Transforming his servo into the mass produced, armored blaster, Steve took his time approaching the corner of where the cave turned out into its main line. Counting the lines of different settlement types as he passed them. Earth, much to his surprise, was just as vast as home when it came to its natural formations.
If not a bit dusty for his liking.
Of course, Steve often had that issue regarding his attention. A few too many hard hits to the helm will do that to a mech. It wasn’t a shock to him to turn the corner and immediately be greeted optic to optic with the Autobot’s heaviest hitter, but rather the surprise came from the punch straight to the abdomen.
Benefit of the doubt in place, Steve believes that the green mech hadn’t even meant to hit him, but rather got caught off guard.
The last thing you’d want to do is surprise a war-hardened soldier in the field.
He hit the opposing wall with a thundering crash, the sharp, rugged rock exterior digging into his backstruts as he fell to the floor. Pieces of debris were stuck between his plating. Steve will have to bribe a fellow vehicon in the barracks to pick them out for him..less he dare to try visiting Knock Out.
“Primus—“ The Autobot shouts, “Bulkhead to Arcee, I’ve got optics on a scrap-ton of energon ores.”
A long stretched out pause follows. Steve doesn’t so much as twitch, because he’s now decided that the rocky floor is a lot more comfortable than a fight. Especially because he’s pretty sure if he does attempt to get up, he might purge his tanks, and he got double rations last shift due to excellent behavior! Those will not be going to waste on his watch!
The Autobot, Bulkhead, suddenly lurches back—helm and frame twisting towards the direction he arrived from, “She what?!”
Another pause. Steve wishes he had some neat interception ability like their communications expert. Alas, he’s just got some stupid blaster, and a cracked helm.
“Hold on, I’m coming,” Bulkhead vented, defeated in whatever vocal battle he was just engaged in. He muttered something about tinier life forms and their sneakiness, before disappearing from Steve’s line of sight.
Steve’s optical visor reset, watching him leave in slow, drawn out shutters. Before ultimately being left alone with the rocks and his own thoughts. What a nice way to spend the cycle before they’re forced to drag themselves into a retreat.
The echoing sound of gunfire and shouting reverberated off of the walls of the mine. Steve is more surprised that a stray shot hadn’t caused yet another explosion, or worse, a ripple effect through the energon ores. While yes, in its current state it wasn’t as flammable as say processed energon is, it was still something to be weary of.
Steve attempts at pushing himself up onto his servos, but falters right as he gets one underneath him—collapsing once again with an audible crash. Perhaps it was a sign from Primus that he should just..wait.
Patience rewarded its followers, did it not? Steve could be patient. Patient would’ve been his second choice in a designation had he not already chosen the perfect one first try.
Yes, he could wait, and because of that patience, he will be rewarded.
Steve gets through all but a few kilks before his frame is twitching for activity. The curse of being a cloned war frame? Your entire being was to work, fight, and thrive in the midst of battle. When sentenced to such a fate as this, Steve could feel his systems ring in multiple different states of alarm.
His processor ached to fulfill the emptiness of doing absolutely nothing. His servos twitched with the want of action. His pedes scuffed against the ground in an attempt to get them on the move. And lastly, his T-cog buzzed in his frame, making his wheels turn, and his paneling shift yet refusing to commit to a full transformation.
Steve vented loud and heavily, and then promptly slammed his helm into the ground. His optics behind his visor zooming in on the broken settlement beneath him, and a quick search on this Earth’s public database—an ‘Internet’—had him confirming his suspicions of the rock type.
Not like it was anything to report back to the Nemesis for. Steve just thought it was neat to be right.
Why was he on the ground again? Ah, right. A reward. Patience. All that good stuff.
Looking at it now, the reward seemed to be at the cost of his dignity and honor. What kind of Decepticon laid around doing nothing?
Steve, apparently.
Amidst his internal battle and external show of shame, his processor barely recognized the sensation of a ‘thunk’ and vibration rocking up his lower pede. Steve twisted his helm, glancing down as he watched a small rock roll into view. It stopped just beyond the start of his chassis—past his waist.
Last he checked, settlement was not on the list for obtaining life. No matter how many centuries of evolution its surroundings go through.
“Take that, ya’ Con!”
Steve all but screeches, the tiny, squeaky, feminine voice sending his systems aflame with fear as he scrambles with little success. All he manages is an embarrassingly short lived wiggle.
Focusing on his pede, Steve sees the smallest, barely noticeable dent formed where the rock had hit. It wouldn’t even be that big of a deal, if it hadn’t been for the cause of his cosmetic wound standing just above it. He follows the organic made—leather, he would later learn—pedes to the face of an unrecognizable native.
Had humans always had colored fibers upon their helm? Or had the ones he’s bared witness to just of the ‘cloned’ status, as well?
The human fem struggled a bit during Steve’s earlier freak out, she fell onto his paneling—her greasy, oily human fingers landing on his frame in a way that made Steve want to purge. Disgusting! He can feel it leaving prints on him! The sensation of natural fluids—sweat—dripping onto his precious paint!
Steve takes a moment to realize how much he sounds like their resident medic. In his defense, organics were scary, gross little creatures. They were anything but admirable in every sense of the word. They weren’t even cute! Some organic planets at least had the decency to evolve in a way that didn’t make Cybertronians want to purge.
Humans? Blah!
“Get off, get off! Get—“ Steve’s vocalizer blurts out in a stream of uncontrollable honks from his alt-mode’s horn. He shakes his pede as best as he can, the small fem wobbling with her hands grasping at his paneling. It doesn’t do anything but make it all worse when she starts to climb further up him.
Steve’s visor does a shutter—a double take—before he’s all but freaking out again.
Unfortunately, he finds himself at the mercy of the organic. It seemed when he hit the rock earlier, something must’ve lodged itself into his backstruts. His paneling feels all stiff and tainted. Steve silently pray to Primus—if he was still listening to his children, even after all this time—to take him away from this punishment. He’d take on a swarm of scraplets over this!
Okay, that was a bit of an overstatement. Steve would rather take on Optimus Prime single handedly than become make-shift scaffolding for a squishy.
“Woah! Did you just talk?” The girl shouts, beaming with metaphorical stars in her wet, squishy, dark optics. Steve shivers as he watches her trail up onto the side of his chassis. Just barely dodging the attempt he makes at swatting her away.
Steve internally groans, and accepts defeat as his servo drops heavily against the ground.
“Yes! Now get off of me, you’re leaking your external fluids onto me!”
The fem’s nasal bridge crinkles in disgust, “Urgh—gross! It’s just sweat!”
“Ew! Ew! Off!” He shakes his helm, visor flashing brightly. The fem laughs, honestly, truly laughs! Evil creatures they were! Lord Megatron was completely wrong about these things. They were from the Pits! A colony of Unicron’s spawn.
“C’mon, are you not even gonna fight back?” The fem deflates. Steve stops his helm just to whirl back and send her a bewildered look. Well, as best as he could without the features of facial decor. His visor blinks red once, then twice, before settling back into a dim light. The organic watches in fascination. Steve’s frame feels like it could squirm from the uncomfortable position he was currently in.
Temporary paralysis—a torture beyond just the intimidating name. To render any of Primus’s creations to an idle was a curse. It was their nature to move, to roam, to fight, to transform.
Not be victim to the sticky hands of a sparkling human!
“I will not entertain you, human! Begone! Remove yourself from my frame this instant!”
The fem stared at him, her optics wide as a grin broke out over her features.
‘Oh, Primus..help me.’
“Mm..nah.”
“Excuse me?!” Steve’s vocalizer frizzed out, static following shortly after his outburst.
“I said, nah! This is the closest I’ve gotten to a Con’ without them trying to kill me!” She all but giggled, legitimately whined, as she jumped back onto her pedes—finding her balance to further her exploration onto his frame. He could feel every little tap of her pedes hitting him. Revolting yet all the more terrifying.
“Ah, man—Bulk really did a number on you!” She whistled, observing him like a turbofox being dissected upon the operating table. Steve stayed silent, hoping it was a mere hallucination from the results of his helm injury when he first came to this planet. He heard stuff on occasion, saw things out of the corner of his optics, so the possibility was definitely out there.
“What’s it like being on the losing team? Hey, do you guys play games when you aren’t trying to destroy my planet? Oh! Does that Soundwave guy ever talk?!”
The rapid fire of questions sent Steve’s processor into a state of an idle, sudden reset. He froze for a moment, visor dimming until it suddenly flashed back online—effectively blinding the young organic with a wall of red. She squawked, falling backwards as she shielded her optics.
Steve beamed at his one, small victory.
Though, due to that victory, he thought he could escape the situation given short ‘reset.’ He squirmed until his frame rattled, the fem grasping at anything to keep herself steady upon the shifting weight beneath her.
It must’ve been a sick joke. A small sliver of hope for the vehicon. Steve only managed to flop onto his injuries backstruts, thus allowing better access to his current attacker. The organic climbed up from where she had fallen—pedes scuffing dirt onto his paint, and across his chassis, before ultimately settling down crisscrossed right over where his spark chamber sat.
Steve didn’t even bother an attempt at removing the pest. His limbs felt like they weighed more than the Nemesis’ itself—alongside all of its crew aboard. Steve’s vocalizer let out a river of painful whirls.
“Hey, hey—“ The fem chirped, “—don’t pass out on me, dude! This is my one chance at an interview!”
“I don’t..what?”
She slapped her squishy servos against his chassis. “Wake up! Spill the..er..what’s the term? Whatever—spill it, Con!”
“What do you want?!” Steve suddenly lurched his helm up, visor glaring right at the organic, but rather attempt at frightening the sparkling, his vocalizer was more on the path of begging. Why’d he have to be stationed here, on this day, at this moment in time. Hadn’t he been a good soldier?
“Information!” She yelled back with equal passion.
“I—what?!” He parroted, but only louder this time around.
“Spill it, Decepti-creep! Passcodes, defense positions, Megatron’s personal com’ link!” The fem yelled, slowly crawling up towards his visor with every option stated until she was standing back up on his faceplates. Steve’s ventilation systems went into overdrive as a huff of steam left them.
“I don’t know!”
“Lies!”
“What is wrong with you?”
“I’m bad cop, obviously,” She replied with an optic roll. Her painted hair bounced as she flicked it back over her shoulder. Steve felt her tap her pede on his helm, and before he knew it, squishy knuckle joints were knocking against his visor. “Don’t change the subject!”
“Where’s the ‘good cop,’ then?”
Steve would much rather prefer that hypothetical figure over this one.
“I don’t know,” She groaned, as if his ‘audacity’ to counter annoyed her, “and I’m asking the questions, Mr. Con!”
“Will you—“ Steve vented, “please get off my face then?”
“Will you..er—words—cooperate?” She fumbled for a split moment, raising a fur covered optical ridge at him. Steve nodded his helm to the best of his abilities. The fem huffed and then mimicked his nod; twisting on her pede, and hopped over back upon his chassis.
“Thank Primus.”
“Alright, now spill!”
“Have you even interrogated somebot before?” Steve shot back. She shrugged her shoulders back, “Looks easy enough.”
This was pathetic. Dishonoring. Unbecoming for a member that kept the Decepticon army afloat. He could only imagine what his fellow Vehicons would say. He’d never live down this moment if they found out.
“I don’t—nor would I ‘spill’ if I did—have any information for you, human.” Steve settled his vocalizer for some sense of stability. He’d rather not crackle like an explosion about to blow, thank you very much. That would be more embarrassing than this entire situation.
“Seriously?”
“..Seriously.”
And for a split moment of peace, the organic fem was quiet.
“Well, this was anticlimactic.”
“Did you even have a plan?” Steve can’t help but find himself asking, completely forgetting his earlier declaration of entertaining the native. Call his desperation for communication understandable when faced with the isolation that came with being positioned as a mine guard. It was either this, or he continues to fantasize about Earth settlements, and rock formations.
“No..?” She squeaks out after a beat of silence. She flop back onto his chassis, completely blissful of the fact she’s resting atop a war framed Decepticon thrice her size. Steve lifted his helm just enough to keep his visor on her. Just in case.
“Are you scared?” She asks with such a genuine tone it catches Steve off guard. Given her earlier shouting and seemingly demanding nature..
Truly a fascinating species. Always changing, always evolving. Such futile lifespans often demand adaptation, it seemed.
“Of fingerprints, yes. Stop touching—“ He interrupts as he feels her tap along his chassis. “Wipe your servos! You humans are so sticky!” He says with more fear filled disgust than one of superiority.
“So you weren’t scared of me?” She confronts; Steve catches her rubbing her servos against the fabric on her frame.
“Why do you sound so disappointed?”
“Because I am! What type of Wrecker can’t even intimidate the enemy!”
“..Are you..asking me?”
“No!”
“Then why ask?!”
“I wasn’t!”
Steve slammed his helm back against the cave floor. The movement caused the fem to shake on his chassis. She crossed her arms, giving the mech an unimpressed expression, as if he was at fault for their current predicament.
One, Steve would like to remind, was completely optional for one party. Given the fact he couldn’t move beyond slight shuffles; the organic was completely free to leave—no harm done. Yet, here she sits, waiting for him to spill what exactly? Decepticon secrets?
Steve doesn’t even know a mission’s containments until he’s being ground-bridged there!
“So.. are you all like—siblings?”
Steve doesn’t move. Maybe, if he doesn’t acknowledge her, she’ll go away.
“I mean, you’re all identical, but you’re clearly conscious, so you aren’t a drone. This isn’t a hive mind thing, right?”
Steve never had much self restraint, though, did he? His frame called for action at all time. He supposed conversation was included in that programming.
“My designation is Steve, and I am my own mech, thank you!”
“Yeah, okay—wait—did you just say ‘Steve?’”
For the first time in this entire back and forth, Steve has finally managed to surprise the human. If he could, he would’ve fired two shots in the air for celebration, so instead he settled for the image of it in his processor. How exciting.
“Your name is Steve?!” She yells, a laugh bubbling out of her frame as she starts to shake uncontrollably from the somehow amusing answer. Steve feed his systems heat up—he shutters his vents, visor switching off so he couldn’t see the fem even if he tried.
“Hold on—no, you’re lying.”
“I don’t see what is so amusing about my designation.“
“It’s just—you’re..a bot! Steve is a human name.”
“So? It’s mine now. You can’t have it.”
“I already have one, and I wouldn’t want Steve as a name, anyway.”
“Like yours is any better?”
“‘Miko’ is a thousand times better than Steve!”
Steve’s visor blinked back online. He tried the name on his vocalizer, but all that came out was a gargling of static.
“Impractical. It has no meaning.”
“Nuh-uh, it means beautiful.”
“Clearly your carriers were mistaken.”
‘Miko’ shoots him a deadly glare. One that actually manages to make Steve squirm. It only goes downhill from there when she sticks out a pink appendage from her intake, slides it up her servo, and then slaps it against his chassis. Steve all but chirps a wave of curses in Cybertronian. His wiggling is ineffective in removing the girl.
“Disgusting! How dare you—I will crush you, ‘Miko!’”
“Oh yeah? I triple dog dare you to try!”
Steve doesn’t have a clue what that means, but try as he might, he will take his revenge on this organic girl. Even if it’s the last thing he does before his spark gets snuffed. Miko’s optics sharpen onto his visor, and though Steve knew his processor was a tad bit slower than most, he knew almost immediately what she was planning.
“No.”
She stood, her pedes a thundering noise on his chassis. Steve shook his helm, scrambling for some movement in his pedes as he fidgeted. He attempted to transform—yet all he got was locked joints and paneling. ‘Curse you Primus, you glitch! What kind of fated punishment is this?!’
“Keep those sticky servos to yourself, human! Don’t you dare—“
Miko crept ever so closer to his faceplates.
Steve thought that his end would be near. That he’d forever live the experience of an oily, intake slicked, handprint on his visor. It made him want to drive off the nearest cliff. The mere idea wanted to make him scrub his seams till he popped the armor off his protoform.
And yet, by some grace of Primus, or Unicron, or even one of the Thirteen—a deep voice cut through the mines. The echoing, thundering steps of a heavy frame heading straight for their location. Steve, if it were possible, would’ve leaked optical fluid from his visor from relief.
Skidding to a stop, wrecking ball where a servo would’ve been, stood the Autobot that caused Steve’s current immobility. If looks could kill, Bulkhead could’ve added the vehicon to his list of extinguished sparks.
And yet, such a fate was preferred over this.
“Miko!” Bulkhead’s vocalizer glitched from how loud his pitch was. His optics shifted to Steve, a dangerous glare behind those blue tints. As if Steve was to blame for this. How dare he!
“Bulk! I got him talking—“ Miko began, only to be interrupted as Bulkhead hurried towards the pair—scooping her up, and then making space between Steve and him. Expecting the vehicon to retaliate? In this condition? Please.
“Bulk..!” Miko whined, struggling in his hold as he cradled her by his chassis. Bulkhead’s optics didn’t move from Steve as he spoke.
“I have been looking everywhere for you—how did you even..why were you..” He trailed off, before directing his fury to the injured mech. Steve just vented, visor flashing with alarm. “Did you hurt her?! So help me, Con—“
“Bulk, he was my hostage! Let me back at em—“
“I was not your hostage—!” Steve immediately argued, only to be shut up by the Autobot.
“Keep your intake shut, Decepticon.”
Miko banged on Bulkhead’s servo, the small painted fibers on her head falling in her face as she collapsed against his digits. “Bulkhead—“
“I don’t even want to know, Miko. We are leaving.”
“But what about my interrogation?!”
“Interrogation? You should be thinking about what to say to the team after sending us all over the mines trying to find you!”
“But I got just started getting information out of him! Just a little bit longer and he’ll crack—“
Bulkhead then turned on his pede, but not before giving Steve a one over—just to be weary. “No, Miko. We are done here.”
‘Good,’ Steve thought.
“But..the energon! The Con! You’re leaving him alive?!” Miko pointed out, jabbing her finger in the direction of the ore, and then Steve himself as they began down the mine. The vehicon in question kept his visor on them the entire time, especially the female organic. If he tried hard enough, maybe he could blow her up with his processor.
Yes, how satisfying that would be.
“Defenseless mechs are strictly prohibited from attacking, Miko. Autobot code.”
Steve glared at the back of Bulkhead’s helm, trying to add him to his explosive imagination.
Miko suddenly popped up over his shoulder plates—her optics meeting Steve’s visor as the pair got smaller and smaller with distance.
“Watch your back, Steve! A Wrecker never leaves business unfinished!” She yells between cupped servos. Pointing two digits at her optics, and then jabbing them in Steve’s direction.
In his processor, Steve filed a picture of the young fem’s face, fully intent on connecting it to his ever growing board of enemies. It was a small collection, unfortunately, but it was still a list he intended on finishing. Even if many shared the exact same frame as he did. Vehicons were just as unruly when left alone in the Nemesis’ barracks as they were on the battlefield.
‘Miko,’ Steve cursed, ‘my greatest foe.’
His digits twitched, trying to form a fist, Steve just pretended they did.
‘You will rue the day we crossed paths.’