FIC: G1 - Reformat

[yami_samuraiflo]

A fic I wrote last month and I had totally forgotten about.
It wasn't beta'ed, so sorry for any wrong word, spelling and grammar mistakes you'll find.

Verse: G1, some AU
Title : Reformat
Characters: unnamed OCs, and one familiar character not named until the end
Rating: T
Warnings: Femslash (unnamed OC/OC), non consensual medical procedure.
Summary: On Cybertron, adoptive parents can decide everything. Including reformat their kid against his will, if said kid doesn't look them or fit in...
Words: 1751

“I heard you were the best at what you were doing, and well, my bonded and I, we really wanted the best care for him…”

The medic had nodded and smiled thinly at the two femmes before him, reassuring them everything would be fine and he would do his very best to please them and make sure the frame he would operate on would meet their demands.

It was a rather basic operation for him. Well, basic… he had had harder challenges before, and really, it wasn’t a frame modification he was unfamiliar with.

But usually, the patient was willing for the restructuration.

The medic glanced quickly at the prone form immobilized on the berth. Judging by the number of metal and organic leather straps used to hold him down, the mech must had fought like crazy before his assistants managed to get him still. Though they hadn’t made him quiet; he had heard him scream his head off from the other end of the hall before heading here.

Thankfully, the ‘patient’ had finally calmed down a bit. Well, to be precise, his voice box had finally been laced with too much statics before starting to stutter.

Strapped face down onto the medical berth, the trapped youngling – because it WAS a youngling, after all – could only sob in distress.

“Please, no… no… no… don’t want, please…” His wings moved like crazy, and he was shaking, body running hot as his vents didn’t manage to cool him down enough.

The medic patted him lightly on the helm as he read swiftly through a datapad. “Hush, you,” he said not unkindly. In his mind, he was already making plans, picturing exactly which tools he was going to need, and how much blockers for the sensors nets, how many monitors he would have to use to check the progression of the surgery and the removal of old, obsolete coding and the implantation of new datas.

It would be long, it would be hard, but he definitely could do it.

Making his specialized visor slide down, the medic turned his optics down on the patient. “Well, time to begin.”

The youngling sobbed even more and tried to shake his head, to no avail. “No… Don’t have the right…” he let out with difficulty.

The medic gave him a pitying look. “Of course I have the right. Your caretakers gave it to me. Now, stay quiet, I’m going to have a lot of work to do.”

Gesturing for a medical drone to come closer, the medic started installing scramblers and sensors blocks all over the frame. If he had the choice, he would have rendered the mechling unconscious, but unfortunately, the process was too delicate, and he needed the kid’s systems working hard while he operated. It was something that could not happen if he was in stasis, unfortunately. The trauma would be harder to handle, but better have the youngling alive and in shock than dead or permanently glitched.

Giving his young patient another gentle pat, he took a laser scalpel and started the first incision.

=====

It lasted for several orns.

First off, he had to stop the data transfer between the young mech CPU and the wings. All the sensors along the back had to be numbed, and in some case, temporarily extracted. When sure it wouldn’t affect the frame’s well being, he had started to cut through the metal plating, and gently disconnected the neural pathway of the two wings. Then, he had… simply cut them away, carefully detaching them.

All the while, the youngling sobbed and begged for the operation to stop. There was little to no pain in the procedure. Not physical, anyway; some blockers had been put in place and were holding good and strong, stopping any messages – pain or even touch – his sensors registered. He was mainly panicking because of the errors messages that kept being transmitted to him.

And well, the fact he was losing his wings, and his very identity as a Seeker.

After a while, the wings were finally down, letting two very obvious sensors nubs on the darkly painted back. It wasn’t over, however. As soon as the two large wings were taken off to be disposed off, the medic turned his attention toward the other most obvious default he had to correct: the thrusters.

Extracting them went easier; they weren’t as complicated in their inner workings and connections to the rest of the body than the wings. Still, he had to be careful in taking them out, before starting to remodeling the pedes into standard, ground-based mech ones. The high heels and turbines disappeared swiftly, and the whole feet changed into flat, larger ones, ideals to keep balance, especially for a mech who would have to learn to walk again.

The sobbing from the youngling went even more hysterical through the remodeling, and he broke down into incoherent gibbering, coolant and cleanser leaking from his optics, dulling their rather beautiful blue color. “My wings, my wings,” he kept moaning. He hadn’t registered yet about his thrusters. Unless he didn’t hold them in much importance anyway…

“Shh, almost over, little one,” the medic muttered as he reached to a new metal paneling his assistants had passed the orn making. It looked like a wing, but it definitely wasn’t a real one. It was a door. “I just have to install your new back sensors and put them online.”

The youngling didn’t answer. He went just limp, conscious but in shock. The medic sighed and grabbed a few more tools, intending to end it fast…

=====

“Your son is just fine, ma’am. In perfect physical health,” he added, hoping they would catch his meaning.

But they didn’t. They just looked at each other with satisfying smiles. “Can we go and see him now?” one of them asked.

“Ah, not just yet, ma’am. He’s still being repainted, with the scheme you chose for him. One of my assistant will bring him here in a few joors, if you don’t mind the wait,” he smiled thinly.

Primus, he found the whole thing distasteful. Couldn’t they even let the kid keep something of himself? A paintjob was such a minor thing, but one the kid would have liked all the same.

“If I may… why did you chose to go through the process?” he asked them, keeping his tone neutral.

“It was for his own good,” stated rather stiffly the bigger of the two femmes. “A Seeker in Praxus is practically unheard of, and we didn’t want him to fill ostracized. Besides, you know how Seekers are growing up; no good ever come from them. So we decided it would be better if we could reach him while he was still young and transform him into a productive member if society.”

“And we couldn’t have the neighbors gossiping over him,” added the other, shaking her head. The ‘and us’ wasn’t stated, but the medic heard it all the same. “Of course, when we adopted him, we had no idea he would be so difficult. Not that he isn’t a good mechling overall, but he has so many… quirks. We’re hoping he’ll stop trying embarrassing and dangerous stuns without those wings. Better for him to keep his feet on the ground, where we can watch him.”

So that was it… Prejudiced adoptive parents who just couldn’t deal with having a child of flyer spark and body, and chose to mutilate him so he would better fit their sick fantasy of a family?

Primus…

It had had been a more moral and law-abiding mech, the medic would have called the Enforcers and Youth Sectors as soon as they entered his office. He didn’t know if they could have or would have done anything to stop them, but the two fraggers would have thought twice before making such life-altering choices for someone else.

The medic’s optics showed clearly the distaste he held for the two femmes and their methods. Did they even realize just how much trauma their young charge went, continued and would live through? He seriously doubted it. However, they were paying clients, and he wouldn’t oppose them.

“I would like for him to come back each orn for a checkup. I need to assure myself the modifications are taking correctly,” he précised as he saw them start to get suspicious. “The operation went well, but I want to make sure there’ll be no sequels.”

They relaxed minutely. “Of course, we understand.” They chatted for a few more minutes, until the assistant entered, holding the end of the youngling, who trailed behind him, slowly, with small, unsteady steps.

The youngling was still crying, though he was now silent, still in shock. His face was blank.

He looked like a typical Praxian, now, with doorwings and chevrons, and curved chest plates. It had taken several more operation before all the modifications were installed, but now, nobody would guess the young one in front of them had been, at some point, a flyer.

His paintjob had passed from a gold and black scheme with blue streaks into a simple grey, with some red and black. The paintjob wasn’t bad on him, true, but… Well, it certainly was different.

One of the femme smiled sweetly at him, crouching so she could look at him more closely. “Why, hello sweetspark! Just look at how handsome you are now!”  The youngling didn’t even acknowledge her, staring in front of him at some undetermined point. Her smile faltered a bit and she exchanged a look with her spouse.

“Why is he like this?” the bigger one asked, frowning. “He’s a chatter house usually…”

The medic optic’s ridge rose. They really had to ask? Really? “He just went through a heavy operation, ma’am.” One he had not agreed to, he added mentally. “And he went through more than just cosmetics changes. He need time to adjust.”

The two femmes exchanged uneasy looks between them. The medic almost smirked. Were they finally realizing just how much damage they had done to the kid, to themselves? Probably not, he mused when the bigger one took an authoritative look.

“Well, perhaps he’s a bit shocked now, but he will thank us later on, for not allowing him to grow into some sort of ruthless criminal,” she said, full of herself. Her gaze locked on the youngling and she tried to smile gently. “Aren’t you, Bluestreak?”

The medic smiled thinly. “Oh, I’m sure he will thank you in time.”

Not.