Rating: M
Chapter 3
The sound of the door opening was what
had Tracks jolting out of recharge.
He threw himself up off the mattress,
turning to the doorway. His angry optics and bared denta did not land
on the Decepticon who had bought him though, but a small, pink femme
with sparkling blue optics similar to his own. “G-good morning,”
she said, her smile a little concerned as she stared at the other
Autobot.
Tracks felt all his rage fade as
numbness overtook him again; he turned his helm away from the femme,
looking out his window to the gardens beyond.
“My name is Arcee,” the Autobot
said to his side. No doubt she curtseyed a little when she introduced
herself. “And from now on, I shall be your maidservant.”
She stepped further into the room,
coming directly into the mech's line of sight. “I apologize for
waking you, but breakfast is ready, if you would like to eat. There
are also many other things to do today, if you wish to partake in
them. I'd be glad to show y-”
“Why are you here?,” Tracks asked,
cutting off the servant's ramblings. He glanced at her quickly,
noting the golden braid around her throat. Catching his glance, Arcee
lifted a servo, touching her slave collar.
“Yes, I am a slave, the same as you,”
she smiled softly. “But you must forgive me when I say that I do
not mind. The master has been good to me, to all of us, all these
years. You might not believe it, but he is not like the others.”
The other slave did not respond to
that, looking out the window again. Arcee bowed her helm, quickly
moving past and to the armoire. “We'll start with a bath and then
getting dressed. After which, you are free to do as you wish for the
orn. Breakfast today is fresh, baked bread with molasses and fruit,
but if you are not hungry, then we can wait until later to get
something to eat.”
The femme looked through the articles
of clothe hanging in the armoire before selecting an outfit of red
and silver. “We have such a poor selection at the moment....,”
she sighed to herself, “But the Master will take you out for
shopping soon no doubt, if not buy you some new clothes himself.”
Arcee turned around, starting a little
when she realized that Tracks was now standing and facing her. “I-i
didn't even hear you stand....,” she mumbled to herself as her fear
tittered away.
The mech's optics were like dull
mirrors, but his wings were high behind him, fluttering momentarily
every few astroseconds. “Why,” he asked again, “Are you here?”
The Autobot femme looked apologetically
at the other slave. “I'm sorry..... Master Soundwave thought that
you might like some company. I presume he thought that if you were
with another of your kind, then perhaps you might not be so rash,”
she explained. The winged 'bot's optics narrowed, a firm scowl coming
to his lip components.
“Wanting my freedom is 'rash'?,”
he hissed.
Arcee backed against the armoire
quickly as the other Autobot marched towards her, looming over her in
a fit of sudden rage. “I refuse to remain here any longer and play
doll for this sick fragger,” Tracks growled, knocking the clothes
out of her servos. “I am no one's whore.”
Quickly, the mech spun back around and
stormed out of the room. The femme, scooping the clothes back up
hurriedly, rushed after him. “W-wait!,” she called desperately.
But the winged slave refused to acknowledge her cries. Arcee followed
after his heels all the same, even as they moved from hallway to
hallway, the other servants and slaves staring at them in confusion.
She could not answer their inquisitive
stares, more concerned about the mech that she was supposed to be
tending to from this orn forward.
xxXxXxx
“Request: ....repeat that.”
Soundwave looked first to the room, and
then to the femme by his side. Arcee, her optics lowered contritely,
repeated her last statement. “He refuses to eat anything, my lord,”
she mumbled quickly, “Nor will he change, bath, or otherwise leave
this room. After this morning, he.... well....”
The maidservant gave up trying to
explain, recognizing that she could not really tell Soundwave what
was going on, when she herself didn't really have a clue. Chasing
after the other slave had been an ordeal in itself this morning, but
the winged mech must have tired himself out eventually, because he
just circled back to his room, where he then refused to move. Arcee
had tried to bring him some lunch, but that was quickly tossed to the
floor, and any mention of grooming or the like was met with an icy
glare. Perplexed, and more than a little anxious, the femme had
retreated; giving the other Autobot his space.
The councilor though, had a fair idea
of what the reasons might be. Slavery was not a kind fate, even to
the ones kept in his household. Some were not nearly as lucky as his
slaves, and to someone robbed of their freedom, so late in their
life, it was no surprise that they would fight with everything they
had to regain what was stolen from them. Tracks, evidently, had
somewhat given up on physically escaping. No doubt, the guards posted
at every exit and window within the villa would have upset the
Autobot during his rampage this morning. So it appeared that the
winged mech would take the next alternative route open to him: he
would let himself waste away, until he was either sold again, or he
died from the process.
Neither were things Soundwave wanted to
happen.
Arcee remained behind as the Decepticon
stepped into the room, respectively giving her Master and charge the
privacy they deserved. Those dead optics turned to him as he entered,
once again drawing Soundwave in. He could barely comprehend why such
void orbs could sparkle still like they did. Not even bothering to
try and probe the other's processor (again, there was nothing but
silence), the councilor instead walked closer to Tracks, before
pausing a few feet from the bed.
“Inquiry: you are not hungry?,” he
asked.
Tracks was resolutely minimal in his
responses. Not even his wings were fluttering. Soundwave cycled a
long intake, folding his arms behind his back. “Fact: If you should
require nourishment, Arcee will get you something immediately.
Anytime of the orn. Inquiry: would you care for anything else in the
meantime?”
Again, their was no reply.
The telepath inclined his helm politely
to the Autobot, before turning and leaving the room. Arcee stood just
a little a ways down the hall; at the sight of her master, she padded
up to him, glancing quickly at the other slave's door. “My lord, is
he-”
Soundwave shook his helm.
The femme sighed quietly, looking at
her pedes. “Arcee,” the councilor began. The maidservant perked
up at the call of her name. Looking her firmly in the optic, the
Decepticon continued, “Order: are to tend to Tracks. Should he
decide he wishes to eat, you are to fetch him some food immediately.
Inquiry: do you understand?”
“Yes, yes!,” Arcee replied, bowing.
“Of course, my lord!” Soundwave merely nodded, leaving the slave
to her duties and heading for his own study.
xxXxXxx
His fuel tanks groaned hungrily, making
themselves vocal as they churned painfully. Tracks shuttered his
optics slowly, staring blankly at the wall as he laid stretched
across his bed. His systems demanded that he move; that he give into
their demands to feed. But, food would only give him strength,
nourish his battered frame..... allow him to live longer..... That
was something the Autobot did not want. If the Decepticon kept him
only because he was beautiful, then he would scar himself in anyway
he could. Starvation, especially, had such a lovely way of strangling
the chassis and emancipating a 'bot's appearance.
The Autobot shuttered his optics
tightly as pain lanced through his abdomen -the second stages of
hunger.
With shaking arms, Tracks pushed
himself up off the mattress, setting his pedes onto the floor. The
pain kept him from sleeping, but he refused to give in and eat
something, even if to quell the agony, so he would have to find
something else to occupy his processor with in the meantime. Quietly,
the slave crossed his room, opening his door. No guards stood outside
of it, he found to his surprise, though there was that other Autobot
slave curled up and recharging at the foot of his door. Lifting up
the hem of his robe, Tracks simply stepped over Arcee's unconscious
form, before aimlessly wandering down the halls.
The hallways were dark and empty as he
walked, with barely the wind stirring a sound in the corridors.
Unsurprisingly really, since it was well past sunset, and possibly
somewhere in the early hours of morning. No guards came to accost him
during his wanderings, though Tracks was certain they were still
around. He could always hear them, as if from a distance, but still
did not see a single one. A shadow seemed to move among the others,
drawing the Autobot's attention. He came to a slow stop as his helm
turned to the fleeting spectre, before the slave was padding softly
forwards, in the general area from where he first saw the shadow
move.
The shadow was actually prelude to a
doorway; which was tucked away neatly into an alcove, pitch-black,
and away from the lamplight of the hall. It was open just a crack,
and the light pouring out from the unknown room was what had the
shadows flickering, making them seem alive.
Hunger forgotten entirely in the face
of his curiosity, Tracks walked up to the door, leaning in closely.
He set his optic to the crack, peering inside. After the initial
glare had faded some, he saw that the room within was an office of
sorts. Hunched over the desk, working studiously, was none other than
Soundwave. The Decepticon did not tear his attention from his paper,
keeping the rhythm of his swaying feather pen going, as he unrolled
another segment of the scroll; starting on that section as he
continued his report. It was a peculiar sight, to see the other mech
deeply immersed in so natural a task.
The winged slave slowly pulled away,
feeling something vague squirm within him. He didn't quite know what
it was, nor did he really care to find out. His emotions were like
ash..... dark, clouting and utterly useless. It was better if they
all just blew away, he figured.
Feeling the numbness grow stronger,
overpowering even his distressed fuel tanks, Tracks turned and
continued his random stroll through the villa.
xxXxXxx
Better if they're gone....
Soundwave lifted his helm as the faint
words brushed along his processor, whispered from another's mind.
Confused by the sudden thought, and the weakness with which it had
been projected in, the Decepticon turned in his seat, gazing about
the room. There was no one in here, save for himself, and the guards
should have been too far away for him to hear anything from them,
unless they were under great stress or being attacked. Since there
was no alarm bell ringing, and the thought had been so soft as to be
almost non-existent, Soundwave didn't think it was any of his guards.
But then where had it come from?
An image of his newly acquired slave
came to mind.
The councilor tried to shake the idea
off, but it was quickly gaining root within his processor. He had not
heard a single thought drift from the Autobot's helm, nor could he
properly discern any emotions from that mess of muddied conscience,
though Soundwave was more than certain that Tracks was very much
alive and thinking. The few moments where something slipped past the
slave's facade were proof enough. But it seemed ridiculous that
Tracks could even block his thoughts from the Decepticon. After all,
how could he even know that his master was a telepath?
It would be nice though, a small voice
whispered in his helm. Soundwave frowned behind his battle mask,
turning forwards in his seat. He couldn't deny what the voice said.
To finally be able to know what the Autobot was thinking, would give
the telepath a much larger range with which to respond to the slave
with; not to mention erase some of the unease he felt when faced with
a processor that he simply could not read, no matter how hard he
tried. As things were now, it was most certainly frustrating, and
Soundwave almost wished he hadn't bought the winged mech in the first
place.
If he had only kept on walking by that
dark cell..... hadn't stopped to peer inside.....
Soundwave shook his helm a second time,
picking up his pen once more. It was foolish to sit here and regret
actions made in the past. There was no way they could be undone, and
it was not as if he really had much to complain about. He would
handle the things that would come, one by one, and hopefully,
perhaps, Tracks would begin to trust him and stop being so stubborn.
And then maybe the Decepticon could
figure out why an ignorant slave could avoid his invasions so
easily......
xxXxXxx
After a small rest and being dressed
for the day by his attendants, Soundwave made his way to Tracks'
bedroom. Arcee stood outside the door, a tray of breakfast in her
servos. The femme greeted him tiredly, looking somewhat drained,
despite her clean appearance. The councilor barely had to glean her
processor to find out that the maidservant had followed through with
her duties and remained by the door all night; waiting, should her
charge call on her. Such dedication would have to be rewarded,
Soundwave noted.
“Inquiry: has there been any
change?,” he asked, looking to the closed door.
Arcee followed his gaze, sighing
softly. “No, my lord,” she replied. “He has not come out of his
room, and still refuses to eat anything.”
Soundwave debated silently for a
moment, before walking forward and entering the room. Tracks was
seated on the edge of his bed when the Decepticon entered. At the
sound of his guest, the winged mech turned his helm to the councilor,
optics shuttering slowly. “Good morning,” Soundwave greeted.
“Fact: is a beautiful day. Inquiry: Would you care for a stroll
outside?”
Tracks merely turned his helm away at
the offer.
Soundwave frowned, remaining where he
stood for a few astroseconds longer, before he finally left. Closing
the door behind him, he caught Arcee's gaze, and the femme's
shoulders sagged at the silent response.
“My lord..... what shall we do if he
continues like this?,” she hesitantly asked, glancing quickly up at
the councilor, before dropping her optics to the floor again.
The Decepticon quietly mulled over the
options available to him. “Fact: shall do nothing,” he eventually
answered. “Status: is his own choosing. Shall not interfere.”
Arcee whipped her helm up at Soundwave,
her lip components moving as she gaped in shock at the callous words.
“B-but, my lord-!”
“Negative,” Soundwave said, cutting
off the slave's protests. “Order: shall not interfere. Actions
opposite of command will be punishable. Inquiry: is that understood?”
The maidservant bowed slightly, taking
care not to tip her tray. “Yes, my lord,” she mumbled sadly.
The telepath nodded his helm, turning
and starting down the other end of the hall.
xxXxXxx
The femme slave attempted to get him to
eat.
Tracks watched as she came in every few
hours, a tray in servo, and a dish on its glossy surface. No matter
how enticing it smelt, or how much his aching fuel tanks begged for
it, the mech refused to touch anything. It disheartened Arcee each
time, but still, she was resilient.
She began to speak of her own life:
about how she was young when fire and plaque had wiped out many in
her town. She was taken into slavery shortly afterwards, and soon
after that, bought by Soundwave. The Decepticon was a saint in her
optics, because he had rescued her from the grunge of her “store
life” and had swept her away before she could have been sold to a
cruel master who would have no doubt whipped and raped her.
If the maidservant thought that these
tales would lull the other Autobot into trusting this unknown mech,
than she was sorely mistaken. All it did in fact, was stir flecks of
disdain and disgust to this other slave who could let herself be so
easily swayed by the Decepticon. And still, Tracks refused to eat.
Starting to lose her hope, Arcee once
again left the room; the rising shadows of evening, the backdrop to
the femme's exit.
Tracks didn't even bother to watch her
go. His optics still fixed to the window before him, and the stretch
of sky above that reminded him tortuously of the freedom he had lost.
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