243Chapter 2
Darkstrike woke up early the next cycle. She couldn't get much recharge.
It was hard going into a peaceful slumber when she'd be waking up to the first cycle of her new, unpredictable life. She still had trouble processing it all.
A Gladiator— her of all bots.
It seemed incredulous considering just the other orbital cycle she'd been working as the CEO's secretary. Darkstrike tried to have faith in herself, but deep down she knew she wasn't created for strenuous labor. Adding her lack of fighting experience, it appeared to be a recipe for her death.
There was a chance she'd survive, but she wondered how much suffering that would entail.
Darkstrike hoped that her last two orns as a fugitive prepared her for this.
For probably the thousandth time, she thought about the events that led up to this, and how it all spiraled uncontrollably after she'd made her first decision.
Darkstrike pondered at the alternate reality that could've been if she'd never spoken up about what she found.
She likely would've continued working in the company— except with the knowledge that they were corrupt. Life outside work would've been easier, but she would've felt suffocated, scared to look over her shoulder in fear her they would discard her like they had with other nosy secretaries.
Her sense of dread would've worsened more than it already had; even before all this, things hadn't been going great.
At this point, she didn't know what fate was worse— the bottom of Kaon's fighting caste or the top position in her old soul-sucking job.
Who knew if it was luck or misfortune on her side when she had taken a wrong turn while running away.
Sighing, Darkstrike sat up for the first time that morning.
There was no denying how tired she was, but it was time to start the cycle. That, and she couldn't take another nano klik stuck inside her mind.
Darkstrike stretched out her limbs, feeling sore from the stiff berth. As she stretched, she caught a glimpse of her optics. She brought her fore armor near to get a better look.
Surely enough, a deep red stared back at her.
Is this who I am now?
Darkstrike certainly didn't feel like it.
Standing up, she made her way to the door.
The corridors were empty. Gruff voices echoed through the halls.
Darkstrike assumed that the fighters were awake, but she didn't know if she had to join them.
No one bothered to explain the procedures to her—that was probably supposed to be Soundwave's job. What a helpful bot he was.
What she needed was energon to fill her tank. She wasn't sure where to get it, but she figured the mechs could tell her where. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than walking aimlessly.
After a few nano-kliks, she finally moved toward them. Darkstrike decided that her method would be trial and error.
She nervously made her way through the hall.
Up ahead, she reached a door with a sign saying "Recreational Room."
When Darkstrike entered, she noticed the large group of mechs scattered. All of them paid her no attention at first.
Once her optics made contact with a random pair of red ones, the mech began to get the attention of other surrounding bots. Little by little, more pairs of optics turned her. Some mechs continued their conversation, but others seemed to blatantly be referring to her.
Darkstrike felt a nervous streak run through her spine. She walked through the aisle, stiffly looking straight ahead.
The femme attempted to remain indifferent, a tactic she often used in her old job.
She internally scoffed at the thought; this wasn't quite the same.
As she neared the counter, she moved aside, taking note of the mech getting his energon supply.
When he turned to leave, he appeared to immediately notice her.
She was suddenly met with Soundwave's visor. Her spark nearly leaped out of her chassis.
Darkstrike looked down at her pedes and kept walking straight.
With his mask and silent demeanor, the mech gave an intimidating impression. It was clear he hadn't liked being tasked with her yesterday.
As he passed her, she felt a sudden need to look back at him. As he walked to the door, other bots visibly avoided looking at him. It was almost shocking to see he had the exact opposite effect as her.
She could only assume Soundwave had a high ranking.
Darkstrike turned back to the counter. She focused on the worker that had attended him nano kliks before.
"Excuse m—"
"Designation?" the mech asked.
His abrupt words startled her.
"Pardon?" she asked.
Her optics narrowed.
"De-sig-nation," he spoke slowly, "Sheesh, and I thought you were supposed to be smart."
That comment certainly jabbed her, but she'd already anticipated bots to be critical of her background. This caste wouldn't be so quick to accept an outsider.
"Darkstrike," she said.
He looked down at the datapad and typed in some symbols. Wordlessly, he turned around to retrieve her cube.
He returned and Darkstrike took the energon, ignoring his judging stare. She examined the low contents.
"You're welcome," he quipped.
I suppose I can't complain.
At this point, she was grateful to be getting anything.
"My deepest gratitude," she replied, a bit of sarcasm in her tone.
Dismissing him, she faced the tables.
Looking around, Darkstrike realized that there weren't any seats that didn't sandwich her between two mechs. The fighters noticed her again.
A few of them moved to close the gaps, giving her unforgiving looks. She understood the message loud and clear.
Completely disregarding them, she went and sat in a secluded corner off to the side. Mechs at the nearby table made "hm" sounds and left to sit elsewhere.
She faced away, focusing on her energon as she dimmed her audios to avoid listening to the voices. Upon the first sip, she grimaced at the taste. She brought it closer to study its contents.
As she minded her own business, most stares eventually left her direction.
Darkstrike initially planned on staying there until it was time to train, but the sound of steps made her rise.
A group of mechs approached her.
Her insides grew cold.
They sat down, surrounding her on all sides. Darkstrike glanced at them but otherwise didn't move.
The mech on her right spoke first.
"You're our newest Gladiator, huh?" he asked.
"Not very impressive, eh RocketShield?" the one on the left said.
"Now Sledge, don't be rude. Let's at least hear what she has to say," he turned to her, "So, who are you, femme?"
Darkstrike looked at him warily.
She clutched her cube.
"My designation is DS-7RK3," she said.
The mech called RocketShield spoke up, "Darkstrike, right?"
She stood silent, a bit alarmed at how he already knew her name.
"You're a high-caste, aren't you?"
"I merely worked for high castes."
"Same thing," Sledge said.
Defensively, she replied, "I don't see why that matters anymore. I live here in Kaon now with an entirely new job."
"A resident maybe, but you're no fighter."
Darkstrike froze, unsure how to process his words.
"Uh—"
RocketShield cut her off, "Unlike us, you didn't earn your position— sure you cut off some mech's arm, but that's nothing compared to real Gladiator auditions."
She stared at him, watching as his smile faded and his true feelings began surfacing.
"You're not like us, and if it weren't for Lanyard's orders, I'd cut you up where you stand."
The mechs around her began closing in, almost giving her no room to breathe. It became evident that their intentions were not friendly ones.
Feeling their imminent threat, Darkstrike instinctively rose from her seat. She was outmatched and outnumbered.
RocketShield grabbed her wrist. She dug her heels in, preventing him from pulling her.
"So, apart from a weakling, you're a coward, too?" His fingers dig deeper into her wrist.
"The-the owner said you couldn't hurt me."
"Oh come on, I haven't even made a scratch."
Her optics widened.
Darkstrike could sense the other Gladiators staring at them. They appeared intrigued, but not enough to interfere.
She wondered if they all thought she was weak.
They have no reason to think otherwise.
Not a nano-klik later, there was a beep. A loud one. The mechs in the room began to stand up and head for the door. RocketShield grinned.
"See you on the training grounds. Best of luck, femme," he stated. He roughly pushed her away, making her stumble back. Darkstrike rubbed her wrist and glared at him.
RocketShield left, his group following him closely.
She made it through the morning, and now training was about to begin.
After about a joor of moderate training, Darkstrike was beginning to grow tired. Her servos felt dented after practicing her punches.
Clearly, her stamina and strategy needed improvement.
As she jumped over the spiked metal, she tripped on rubble. When she fell to the ground, the spikes returned to hit her. The force was enough to Darkstrike was thrown a few mechameters away.
She groaned in pain.
The femme remained on the ground for a bit, feeling momentary relief.
I need a break.
But judging by the sound of steps coming her way, it seemed someone else had an opinion.
A familiar mech came her way and popped up in her peripheral. Before she could say anything, he flipped her over with a strong kick. She yelled out in surprise.
Getting a good look at him, she saw it was RocketShield, the mech from earlier. He was alone this time.
"Get up, femme. Your training hasn't finished yet," he said.
Darkstrike attempted to get up, but her limbs failed her a few nano kliks after.
Her face hit the floor, "Scrap..."
"Figures. You... a Gladiator? How could Lanyard even think that'd be a good idea? High castes are only good for one thing, and one thing only: looking pretty and talking bullslag," the mech snarled.
She glared at him.
As he left, his heavy steps kicked dust in her direction.
Darkstrike coughed and gripped the floor beneath her. She was furious, but she felt useless.
Still, she didn't want to let a spineless mech think he could treat her like that.
Her fingers twitched and something deep inside her seethed. Her claws began trembling, growing incredibly hot.
She made a move to stand.
Her arms wobbled beneath her, but she forced them to stay put. Firmly planting a pede on the ground, she slowly stood up.
Darkstrike grabbed a broken piece of metal off the floor.
The mech had stupidly turned his back to her. She threw the object in his direction, never taking her optics off the target. It hit his helm comically, making a loud thud.
The mech immediately turned around, looking enraged. His optics widened with slight disbelief and anger when he realized that it was her doing.
Without saying a word, the femme turned around to resume her training.
She noticed a nearby bystander when she returned to her previous spot.
Soundwave watched her from a distance, far enough where she hadn't seen him before.
Darkstrike stiffened to a near-painful degree.
He probably saw what she'd done.
Her spark felt like it was going to lurch out of her chest. She forced herself to turn away.
Looking back at the other side of the room, the femme noticed RocketShield glaring at her. Darkstrike prepared for the worst as the medium-ranking mech came her way.
Darkstrike was exhausted.
There were scratches and dents all over her frame, energon leaked through her aching protoform, and her legs were just about to give out. That mech had commanded her and threatened her. Luckily given Soundwave's presence, RocketShield hadn't kicked her again.
She'd truly pushed herself in training.
The aching wasn't entirely bad, just one she wasn't accustomed to. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worked her body out so rigorously.
Perhaps my previous life did make me soft.
In a way, Darkstrike welcomed the idea of growing stronger. She hoped to rid of her past complacent way of thinking.
Without meaning, RocketShield helped prepare her mind and body for what was to come. It gave her an idea of what her opponent would be like.
If his mechs continued to pick on her too, she would eventually have no problem dealing with them.
They'll never anticipate it.
She smirked a little thinking about it.
The femme lay on her berth. Her limbs were sprawled out, too heavy to move. It had a difficult cycle, but at least she didn't have to worry about bounty hunters.
Conversely, if she ever grew strong enough, she would never have to fear them again.
It had been an awful thirteen cycles on the run, and it felt like she could finally breathe again. It hadn't come across her that she hadn't slept on a proper berth in all that time.
With all her soreness, her current dirty and worn-out berth felt like a blessing from Primus himself.
For the first time, she slept with hope for the future.
That femme lasted through the first cycle. Barely.
Soundwave observed her, more so on Lanyard's orders to stop any Gladiator from harming her.
He'd allowed RocketShield to push her to a certain point. The mech seemed to understand his limits meaning he hadn't needed to step in.
Throughout the cycle, he noticed many attributes about her.
many weaknesses. She reacted very restrained to intimidation. It displeased him and lowered his expectations, not that he had many.
He saw the group of mechs cornered her in the morning.
In most situations, that would have been wise, but considering her ranking, her decision to be left alone would be ignored.
Until she won her first fight, she would be insignificant to most bots.
For a moment though, he had seen anger in the femme's optics. It was a weak flame, waiting to be fully ignited. Much to his disappointment, she had extinguished it and let the mechs overpower her. It was clear that the femme lacked fighter instincts.
Soundwave was less displeased when he had seen her train. She had determination, unafraid to lash out at the obstacles or even back at RocketSheild.
There was also that moment when he let the femme know that he was watching.
Her red optics had looked directly at his visor. The femme had immediately stiffened, which pleased him. His first intention hadn't been to frighten her, but it seemed that not many actions were required to achieve this.
At the end of it, she had managed to stay in one piece, but she still had the rest of the orn to survive. A fool who had much to learn.
Soundwave shook his helm to clear her away from his thoughts.
That femme, the newcomer, was a whole datapad waiting to be unraveled.
He'd keep an optic on her for now.
As expected, the orn went by in a flash.
It went by too fast, in Darkstrike's opinion. Granted, 13 cycles wasn't very long anyway.
The mechs hadn't lessened their taunting or humiliation, but she'd gotten more tolerant of it. All her anger was used wisely in training.
Luckily, if Darkstrike avoided RocketShield, she could train without disturbances. Much to her relief, it was optional to spar with any of the mechs for training.
She practiced long and hard. Her paint had gotten less shiner, and her armor adorned more dents and scratches.
The aching had gone away for the most part, but she was sure the worst had yet to come. Darkstrike expected herself to receive the most injuries in battle.
It was time to see if her training had paid off.
Darkstrike knew that if she failed tonight, she might as well have been programmed to be a pleasure drone.
The femme knew that she needed to build more strength, but one orn wasn't enough time to achieve that. Even worse for her, this fight wouldn't allow weapons.
Her armor was thin, meant for an office job. Hopefully, if she won, she'd get access to a decent upgrade as the Owner promised.
It could even help her feel more confident in front of a large crowd. She could already hear how loud it was.
A random thought crossed her processor. Darkstrike unconsciously wondered if Soundwave would be watching.
She shook her helm. Of course, he wouldn't. Darkstrike was hardly worth his time. He was in a different league than her.
It shouldn't matter to her. They had only interacted one other time since her first cycle there.
She wasn't sure why she held such a curiosity for the mech, especially when there were plenty more high-rankers in the Pits.
Maybe it was the rumors.
From what she had heard, he was a Gladiator legend. This was no ordinary bot. He seemed to have a sleeker built in comparison to the bulky bots, which surprised her. Darkstrike was glad that he stood as a testament that size didn't always equate to strength.
Darkstrike heard he was a very reserved bot. Interaction with him was almost nonexistent.
She had only spoken to him once after their first meeting. The memory was still vivid in her processor.
Darkstike had wandered through the expansive corridors.
She quickly caught on that there were different dormitory halls. Each one for different ranking mechs.
Not considering the danger, Darkstrike continued on her path, letting her curiosity guide her.
She took turns, going left and right until she finally ended up in a surprisingly clean corridor. She stood still and marveled at the hallway. There were fewer doors, most likely because not many mechs made it far.
Darkstrike could only dream of making such a rank.
She walked down the hall, her pedes producing quiet thuds. An unknown feeling led her to one of the doors. It looked like any other, but there was something peculiar about it.
Darkstrike stood in her spot, staring intently. A few nano-kliks went by.
Much to her horror, the door swished open. Her optics met with a mech's chassis. Darkstrike's gaze hesitantly drifted up to his faceplates.
Unsurprisingly, she only saw a visor. The femme took a step back.
"Soundwave..!" she gasped.
He took a step forward, making Darkstrike back up into the wall. The door behind him shut.
His helm tilted in a threatening way.
"Corridors: Prohibited," he stated.
His voice sent her spark to a wild pulsing. Darkstrike did not miss the threatening edge his vocals held. She gulped, realizing that this was the first time she had heard him speak.
He had a thick Kaonian accent, though his voice sounded different than anyone she had spoken to in the Pit.
"Apologies. I was lost," she lied. Usually, lying wasn't difficult for her, but doing it in front of a mech like Soundwave seemed almost dangerous.
His optics weren't visible, but she could still feel his intense stare. Darkstrike's faltered and she shrunk the longer he stared at her.
He approached closer.
Darkstrike felt pushed against the wall. A surprised gasp left her mouth at the unfamiliar feeling.
She tried to create room but stopped when Soundwave's helm advanced closer. The femme flinched back, further pressing up against the wall.
She closed her optics when his visor was only inches away.
He stopped before their frames touched.
"Femme: Lying. Reason: Ignorant curiosity," Soundwave uttered.
Before Darkstrike could fully process his words, he was already gone.
That had happened before she learned who he was in the Pits.
Since then, Darkstrike decided that it was good that Soundwave ignored her.
Snapping her processor out of her thoughts was an all-too-familiar beep. Darkstrike clenched her fists.
Her battle was about to begin.
Darkstrike stood in the corner of the arena.
Just as she suspected, she was surrounded by a large audience.
They all shouted, impatiently demanding violence. Their rumbling yells almost felt like they vibrated the ground. A lot of them laughed and jumped in their seats while others booed and threw their energon cubes at her.
She could only see the first rows but afterward, bots appeared like tiny silhouettes. The arena appeared larger now that the seats were filled in.
It was very overwhelming.
They all looked at her as less than a person. To survive, she would have to complete her new purpose and entertain them.
Somehow, Darkstrike feared she was set up to fail.
"Fellow Cybertronians! For the first time in vorns, we have a femme fighting in our arena! Now, this a fight to surely remember," the mech spoke.
The crowd cheered louder. "Now, it's time to see whether our femme will survive or offline in her first battle..."
The audience booed. Darkstrike tried to ignore their obscenities. It made the Gladiators' torment seem infantile.
"In this corner, we have last orn's newcomer, Plasmo!" The crowd cheered when the mech threw his arms up.
"And, as his femme competitor... we have Darkstrike!"
She heard rogue calls and screaming complaints in response. Darkstrike dead-panned and felt impelled to tune down her audios.
"Gladiators, get ready... and begin!" The speaker quickly got out of the way and flew towards the stands.
Suddenly, she heard a loud battle cry.
The mech ran towards her, prepared to collide with her. Darkstrike noticed the mech was about her height. Perhaps that could be helpful.
Instead of moving out of the way like she probably should have done, Darkstrike firmly planted her pedes on the ground and leaned forward.
The mech came at her, slamming into her torso.
Though it was painful, Darkstrike was able to take the impact. She clenched her denta and clutched the mech's larger arms.
She threw him off her, but it only seemed to make him stumble back a few steps.
Darkstrike ignored the tingling sensation in her claws. Clenching her servo in a fist, she ran and swung at the mech.
Plasmo caught her arm with ease. She swung her other fist at him, hitting him right in the face. The mech stumbled and touched the new injury.
Seeing that he was momentarily distracted, Darkstrike punched his torso.
He looked up angrily.
She stepped back to prepare to kick him down.
Aiming, she realized too late her mistake of hitting his most guarded area. Plasmo grabbed her leg and swung her down.
Darkstrike hit the ground roughly. Pain shot up her wings.
Plasmo threw her in the air and uppercut her abdomen. She was sent flying back.
Upon impact, she coughed up blue fluids. Her blurry vision prevented her from seeing the mech come her way.
Plasmo grabbed her neck and pulled her up. She struggled in his grasp.
Darkstrike extended her leg and kicked his abdomen, making him lose his breath. The femme was quick on her pedes when he dropped her.
I have a chance here.
She launched forward and extended her claws at his face.
Before she could get close enough, Plasmo helm-butted her, making her fall back.
Darkstrike landed with a hard thud.
Plasmo immediately kicked hard enough to land against the arena wall. More energon leaked through her plating.
He looked down at her, wiping the blue fluids from his mouth plates.
"Stay down, femme," he uttered.
Cheers around her became dull in her audios. Blurry images hardly reached her optics, and recharge seemed like a gift from Primus at that point. Darkstrike weakly lifted her helm to see many Cybertronians celebrating her pain.
Her arms wobbled as she attempted to stand.
No, it can't be... She had trained too hard for this cycle. Darkstrike had shed lots of energon and had ached for cycles to prepare for this battle. The femme couldn't believe how futile it all had been.
She wasn't dead yet, but she'd surely be Lanyard's new courtesan.
Darkstrike had run from her assassinators in order to live; her life was worth something...
Was it really worth it if she had to fight this hard each time to survive?
Stand.
Her optics snapped open.
Do not be pathetic. Stand.
Darkstrike couldn't recognize the commanding voice. It was a graceful sound moving throughout her processor. It almost felt like a whisper.
She did as she was told. Her arms managed through the pain. Inner systems seethed as her claws twitched.
"High castes are only good for one thing..." echoed in her mind.
The taunting came back to her; humiliation filled her processor at constantly being reminded of how worthless she was. This was her moment to feel superior for once in her life.
Her rage returned once more, fueling her actions.
I will succeed.
Her spark palpitated hard against her chassis. Though she couldn't see well, she made out Plasmo's figure.
Time seemed to go slowly. For a moment, she could only hear white noise.
She roared and jumped on her pedes. The mech looked bewildered at her sudden appearance, only to realize it was too late.
Her fist violently struck his faceplates. Her other pede impacted his chassis.
Darkstrike couldn't bear her throbbing claws and allowed primal instinct to overtake her.
She dug them into his plating repeating, puncturing his protoform. Each time she retracted her claws, more fluids covered her servos. An awful heat engulfed her spark and traveled down her claws, attaching itself to the mech.
Plasmo released a raw scream. The power was strong enough to bring him down to his knees.
Electricity pulsed throughout his body. The seething heat left her systems completely as the mech before her shook.
Darkstrike retreated at the sight.
Plasmo fell on his front side, smoke emanated from his frame. The last electrical shock caused wisps of debris to fly across the arena.
Her optics widened in disbelief.
Something inside Darkstrike was severely disturbed. She watched as the mech gave her one last look before his optics shut.
Glancing at the blue energon on her claws, she looked at him in disbelief.
Did I really do that?
Darkstrike checked his spark chamber. He wasn't permanently offline, just extremely wounded.
She sighed in relief.
A part of her wasn't sure why she was so concerned. The mech hadn't been phased seeing her suffer earlier.
There was no need for her to feel remorse for him; this was what she had to do to survive.
I am a Gladiator now.
While it scared her to an extent, the sensation of unhinged power was something she had never experienced. It was unnerving yet promising.
She flicked the dripping energon off her claws, staining the ground next to her.
Slowly, she walked over to the fallen mech.
The arena had gone silent, aside from some whispering.
Darkstrike placed her pede on Plasmo's helm and looked up at the crowd. She grinned and raised her fist.
The femme had never experienced the same exhilaration as when the audience chanted her name.