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The cold seeped into the very foundation of the cramped cell. Flickering lights and distant droning filled the gray, battered halls. The energy barrier at the door crackled with a constant low hum, casting dim light into the dark room.
Curled up and hidden away, C-09 took what time he could to remember himself. Running his blunted claws over his dirtied silver armour, phrenshile tail tucked close. Small even for a minicon, easy to fit into gaps. Black accents throughout his frame, but all armor was ultimately ornamental. Aesthetics over protection.
He always felt too bare, too cold. Hunger was a constant companion, low-energy warnings refusing to be dismissed.
Three tallies scratched into the underside of the empty berth; C-09 had fit easily enough under it. They would come soon, the Guards and Pyrite. His Creator.
C-09 was the youngest and never got to meet the first batchers. The earliest ones died quicker. C-07 taught him how to think fast, strategize, and plan escape routes- until he got caught.
C-04 was smarter than most, but weapons don't need to think. Before C-04 had been taken for reprogramming, he had told C-09 something that he hadn't understood at the time.
"It's a failsafe, our Sparks. It isn't a flaw. We were manufactured this way; don't forget it." Pleading, begging C-09 to understand.
C-09 had outlasted them all, every single other C-Minicon dying of a burnt-out Spark. He had seen some go violently, others go in their sleep- it happened seemingly with no trigger. No cause, just a simple failure of the frame.
Plating clattering, C-09 curled into himself tighter. He counted the sparkbeat in his own audiles, attempting to steady himself.
It didn't matter. He had been fighting since he was onlined; it was almost comforting. The anticipation of confrontation, the inevitability.
C-09 heard the heavy steps of distant mecha as he spent his last self-controlled moments under the berth. He took as many deep vents as he could while pressed against the wall.
One in, hold for three, breathe out for five.
Over and over until you can think clearly.
…C-05 was the one who taught him that. Thinking clearly didn't save her from Pyrite. And no one was coming for C-09.
He heard gruff voices outside his cell. The barrier dropped with a harsh crackle as a too-large warframe shuffled in, grumbling. C-09 couldn't press deeper into his hiding spot if he tried, but he did anyway.
As the guard reached under the berth, he grabbed blindly for C-09. Who dug his claws beneath their plating, yanking the warframe forward.
SLAM
"Bleeding GLITCH!!"
C-09 could hear smug laughter from outside the cell as the guard stumbled back, cursing and bleeding energon. Darting forward as fast as he could on low power, he slipped under the distracted warframe. Acting on instinct, he used his small size to run through grasping servos and tangled limbs. He ran out into the open hallway, trying to recall what he knew of the facilities layout.
Maybe he could actually do it this time!
With a heavy slam, he hit the ground. A heavy, cold servo closed around the back of C-09s neck before he could recover, damage warnings joining his energon levels. It's too bad. Dreading what would come, he turned his helm to the side.
Green, unfeeling optics smiled back at him, weight ever present and unyielding. Dark, unmarred plating trimmed with expensive, gaudy gold- do all Seekers like overly expensive things? Pyrite's dark blue metal wings framed him from behind. All completely unmarred by the dirty cell he currently fills. Pyrite always cared far too much about appearances.
"I would have hoped some more time in isolation would bring you a better temperament…" Faux sympathy dripped from his words as he smiled condescendingly, smooth and polished.
"You've never been v-very smart, have ya-" C0-9 glitched out as the servo holding him down pressed their full weight down, cutting him off.
"Quiet now. Weapons can't talk back to their owners. You're a tool for our great Prime. You should be grateful. You wouldn't have even been concepted if it weren't for me." Pyrite spit out, vitriol clear in their optics.
C0-9 felt the code activate before the sequence even began. His already small frame compacting even more, splitting apart and shrinking down. Losing clear sight or audio cues, the world narrowed down to one singular point.
With a clatter, a silver sword and barbed whip fell to the floor.
With a sneering huff, Pyrite quickly knelt and equipped the weapons into his own integrated weapons system. Standing up and dusting himself off, Pyrite turned to the remaining warframe.
"I will need this cell cleaned and the footage cleared - I assume you wouldn't want anyone knowing what happened. Do you want me to call a medic, perhaps?" The smile Pyrite wore was almost gloating, fake pity coloring his words.
"No. Thank you, Sir." The warframe growled shortly, energon dripping from their olfactory sensor.
"Good. Now see that you attend to that." With a sneer, he turned on his heel walking swiftly through the barren halls. Pyrite could barely stand being down here for more than a few kliks. Small spaces caused such agitation in his flight coding.
But he had won today. Scanning the final security check-out and finally stepping into the open air, Pyrite took a moment to look out on the bustling city of Iacon. Buildings of impossible height and glamour reached towards their two suns, roadways built for civilian frames winding through it all. A glorious capital for all to look up to, to aspire towards, to forge a new path forward.
It was perfect. Pyrite knew his experiment would lead to great success for Iacon, for Cybertron. Success had been proven once before; it can be repeated. It has to be.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He breathed out, running a servo over the blade at his side as he set off.
Not that C-09 could answer. He had gotten used to being locked in his alt-mode; it never made it easier. Blind, immobile, completely reliant on others. Can only transform back into root-mode once allowed to. C-09 knew he had spent his short existence mostly relegated to just a sword.
C-09 couldn't wait to die in a cage; he wouldn't lose more time to silence. He had heard stories from C-05 about the open sky. He would stand beneath the sun on his own two pedes, no matter the cost.
And then he could run far away from here.
Report: Subject "Crashout" C-09 was originally part of a small batch of cold construct weapon-grade minicons.
The Scientific Institute hoped to create Outlier Weapons for the High Guard. Unfortunately, the C line's Spark instability and behavioral issues were well documented in the line of duty. Headed and overseen by Nobleman and Professor of high esteem, Pyrite.
C-09 was constantly kept locked in his Alt-Mode, undergoing intense behavioral reprogramming. The entire C Batch of minicons before 09 are in terminal condition, or have died. The cause was determined to be Spark Overload due to the power output of an Outlier Spark in an Incompatible frame. The different autopsies showed consistent melted hardware and overtaxed processors. The C line was heavily altered between each iteration to try and combat this issue.
The experiment was cut off shortly after Pyrite's disappearance. The C line was determined a failure; C-09 will be sent to The Pits. Continue to monitor for any new information or developments within the arena.