TF: Choices
Rating: PG-13
Series: G1 AU
Pairings: Hinted Smokecreen/Swindle
Summary: A mech wakes up in Iacon’s medical wing. What happened to him, and what will become of him?
Warnings: Violence
Disclaimer: As per usual, the good things in life are not mine to have, but belong to someone else... in this case Hasbro, Takara and IDW and anyone else I’ve forgotten…
Authors Notes: For the tf_speedwritingSaturday 3rd March prompt - …but alive. Okay, the premise for this comes from an RP I was in a while ago, ashes_of_iacon, set at the beginning of the war. It was such a fun rp, and it’s such a shame it petered out, but the stories live on!
Feedback makes friends. Flames dealt with by the masters of paranoia and fire, Red Alert and Inferno.
Prompt: 6
Time: 1 hour or thereabouts
When he woke up, he was honestly surprised he remembered as much as he did. He remembered the pain, the betrayal, the agony as energon pooled on the ground under his frame. He remembered struggling to move, trying to find a way out of the back alley they’d dumped him in.
Then nothing.
“Where am I?” He asked when he was sure his vocaliser was online.
“You’re at the Academy in Iacon, Medical to be specific.” A cool voice told him. Turning his head so he could see the owner of the voice, he caught a glimpse of his frame; mangled almost beyond repair.
“What…”
“What happened? We don’t quite know. I’m guessing from your injuries you were the victim of a mugging gone seriously wrong.” ‘Or the victim of a madman who wanted to possess him’, he amended.
“But you’re alive.” The mech continued. “We’re going to rebuild your frame.”
“You are?” He sounded surprised.
“Of course we are. We never leave a mech in distress, certainly not when we can help it.”
“Thank you.” He murmured, never so more profoundly grateful than he was right now. Well, there had been that time outside the club when he was found. But that was a lifetime ago.
A lifetime.
“Now, we don’t have much to work with, so we will have to redesign much of your frame. Do you have any ideas?”
“Make me useful.” He asked. “I want to train as a medic.” The words were out of his vocaliser before he realised it. But he agreed with them. This was his chance to change. A chance to hide away his past life, get away from everything and do something to help.
“You do?” Now it was the medic’s turn to sound surprised.
“Yes.”
“Do you have any training?”
“No, but I’m willing to learn everything.” He tried to sit up, but was stopped as the medic laid a hand on his tattered frame.
“All right. Once we sort your frame out, I’ll make the arrangements.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll need to know a name…” The medic prompted. “You didn’t have any identification on you.”
“… Ratchet. I’m Ratchet.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The day he graduated from the Academy was a day Ratchet finally thought he could put his past life behind him. He’d firewalled the coding and routines behind the strongest firewall he could. He didn’t want to go back to that life… even if he had enjoyed it before that had happened.
“Come on, we’re all going to go down to S&S!” One of the other medics tugged at his hand. Ratchet faltered briefly, and his hesitation must have shown on his faceplates.
“Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re too much of a prude to enjoy watching those pleasure-bots dance?”
“No.” Ratchet shook his head. “Lead the way.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The atmosphere was dark and smokey, almost exactly as Ratchet remembered it. Almost as though it hadn’t changed.
But he had.
So much so, he doubted whether anyone would even recognise him. He certainly hadn’t the first time he’s seen his new frame. The medics had had some concerns about such a bulky frame on a mech with such a slender protoform, but he had persuaded them to go through with the reformat. And he’d barely had a problem since. He’d joined the Academy and excelled in his studies, graduating near the top of his class. For a mech with no background, he’d certainly made a name for himself.
“Come on Ratchet, this is a chance to let go and enjoy yourself.”
“Because of course I don’t do that on a regular basis anyway…” Ratchet countered. The parties in the medical dorms were some of the more famous parties in the Academy’s history.
“Heh, you gotta point there.” His friend slapped him on the shoulder.
They sat close to one of the stages, watching the dancer writhe around the pole. Ratchet couldn’t help but study the frame, letting his optics rove over the dark green paint. The mech had a smile on his face, and Ratchet could tell it was a genuine smile. He would be surprised if it wasn’t. Every mech who worked for Swindle and Smokescreen enjoyed themselves. Most had found their way there like he had; mechs on the fringes of society that Smokescreen took in and helped. Some had debts hanging over their head that Smokescreen paid on the proviso that they worked for him until the money was paid back. Most agreed. And most stayed on long after their debts were repaid.
Ratchet had planned on staying. But things had taken a different turn. A turn for the worse as it turned out.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“What a great night.” Ratchet’s friends crowed as they stumbled their way out of the club.
“You’re too overcharged to remember what we even did.” Ratchet snorted, helping one of his friends to straighten up a little.
“I remember looking at all the hot mechs and femmes dancing…”
“You would remember that.” Ratchet shook his head, steering his friend back towards the med dorms.
“Something wrong Smokes?”
“Just… thought I recognised someone.”
“Don’t look like anyone you’d know.” Swindle stared after the medics. “Come on, let’s get you back inside and distracted with something.”
“Or someone?”
“Or someone.”