robothell | (no subject)

Entry tags:

sixshot | phase6kindofbot

(no subject)

Who: Sixshot and YOU.
Where: Somewhere in the city!
When: Some… time.
What: Talk to doggy! Pet the doggy! Annoy the living heck out of the doggy!
Warnings: Standard potential violence warning because Phase Sixer.

Sixshot never stayed in one place for too long. There were places he would visit often, like the Decepticon base and the Autobot clinic, but he never lingered for longer than a day.

Sometimes he dug; there were various Sixer-sized holes around the barren city now. His olfactory sensors helped with homing in on various useful equipment and he left them where either Spinister, Tarn or First Aid would find them.

More often than not, he wandered. There were massive spaces underground, caverns left by destroyed metros, the dead roots of collapsed skyscrapers. Unstable death traps to most other mechs, but quiet places for one who could withstand half a world falling upon him.

There was a hole over this particular section of what appeared to have once been an underground mall. The sound of running water echoed through the darkness and Sixshot could see the sparkling spray as he got closer to the shaft of light.

A waterfall? A very small one, but it certainly looked like a waterfall.

Sixshot slows to a stop under the collapsed ceiling. The water disappeared into a pile of rubble for the most part and plants were scattered here and there and up around the edges of the hole.

Stepping up onto the pile, the Sixer sticks his massive head out of the hole in the ground. Where does this pop up into?

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This was getting weirder and weirder by the moment. They reach the crater before Sixshot's curiosity finally gets the better of him.

The giant six-former stops suddenly at the edge, looking back at Kagerou, wings shifting in unease.

"Why are we doing this?"

"Because you said I could."

That's. Literally his answer. He doesn't see any problem with that answer. He stops where he stands, shifting his weight.

Does that mean he has to leave?

"No," Rampage says to First Aid's request to change the topic. Back off when things were just getting interesting? No way! "You and I have very different understandings of what doctors do and don't-"

And then there's Sixshot back again, interrupting, and Rampage's horns sweep back as he once again feels awkward and out of place between two people who actually like each other.

He shouldn't be bothered by it. It's not like he wants anybody to like him or anything. People generally aren't expected to like abominations. That doesn't stop him from lapsing into sullen silence though.

Rampage and First Aid had very different ideas of interesting. His plating rattles and he fights the urge to bury his face in his hands. He luckily doesn't need to respond; Sixshot chooses that moment to return with the box in his teeth.

"Thank you." His voice is quiet and he reaches up to take the box from the large mech's mouth.

He vents softy, slow, and opens the box, looking at the contents as he steels himself and numbs his spark as much as he can.

"There are some doctors that care more about reputation than helping anyone. Being a doctor doesn't make you a good person. I'm not a good person, but that doesn't matter. I'll help anyone who needs it."

Except he won't.

It's funny how dystopias always have strict hygiene policies...

"I want to investigate it. Would you like to join me?"

He just kind of stays in that position, waiting and hoping Sixshot just kind of takes it. Seriously. Any day now. Once he does, Pharma drops his hands and nods. "Well. Good talk, then."

Pharma doesn't allow himself a deep exhale of relief until Sixshot's turned his back and is far enough away that he feels comfortable doing so, sliding down to the ground.

"That, doesn't answer anything." Sixshot turns suddenly, teeth flashing, frustration and irritation in every line of his massive frame. "Why are you doing this? "

That's. A switch. And it's enough to make him take a step back, his expression registering the surprise before he can school himself back to neutrality.

"I... don't know what else to do."

At least it's honest.

"I've decimated countless armies and destroyed thousands of worlds. And I shot Rampage twice."

Sixshot doesn't seem particularly repentant about the last part. He's too busy flopping back onto his side next to the two of them.

"You're in the company of not good people. No one's about to judge."

"And then there's some who care more about cutting you open to see what makes you tick," Rampage says, optics blazing. "The ones who push you until you begin to break and ask 'Can it take any more?' The ones who don't see people, only projects."

So yeah, Rampage has a few issues with medics. Just a few.

He crosses his arms and stares away from Sixshot, muttering petulantly, "I'll judge who I want."

"If you want. There's not much else to do around here."

And Sixshot wasn't particularly adept at entertaining himself.

The startled expression and meek reply sparks off a sudden blaze of something repressed and old and very close to hate. Sixshot slams his claw down hard enough to crater the road beneath them, armor plates bristling and optics flaring in rage.

"You are not allowed to use me," he growls, voice so deep it shook the buildings. "You have no right."

And again, he's completely startled. Stunned into anxious silence. He doesn't know how to respond to that. No one has ever accused him of... of that. Of using someone.

"I... what?"

But he's already taken a step back. Instinct telling him to be ready to fly off.

And just like that, the anger seeps away, back into nothingness, leaving static in its wake. Sixshot slides his jaws shut, withdrawing both externally and internally.

"Go away," he says sullenly, turning to stride off into the waning light.

... This time, he doesn't follow.

His tension drains away. He stays there, staring after the departing bot. Wondering what it was he's done wrong. Fighting down the urge to follow.

... and now he's alone, again. Alone and uncertain and burning bridges without even realizing his mistakes.

What Rampage was describing sounded more like the Institute than any clinic. It was obvious he was speaking from some sort of personal experience, since he had about the tact of a youth. Most older mechs knew how to keep secrets.

First Aid takes Sixshot's exposed belly as an opportunity to rub it, but he doesn't linger with it and gives a parting pat.

"He has the right to prejudice. I've had a privileged life compared to most in the war."

"I'll judge your face-"

The hand on his belly makes Sixshot half sit up with a start and a surprised 'whuff!'. The petting ends before he could really figure out how he felt about it though and the Sixer stares blankly at First Aid, stunned into silence.

"I- well-" he manages after a few seconds, trying to recover. "Doesn't mean you're... bad."

Rampage rolls his optics hard, feeling a prickle of annoyance ~~and a bit of envy~~ at the casual closeness between the other two. Even if Sixshot does seem surprised by it.

He misses having friends. A friend. His only friend. Life sucks.

"I don't think he's bad. I'm going to judge him for being pathetic enough to feel bad about hurting someone who deserved it."

So there! He is so very mature and not a youth at all.

"If valuing life makes me pathetic then I will gladly own it."

He settles and starts cramming the candy into his face. These mechs would never really understand; they were all strength and size. He didn't fault them for it, but they obviously didn't see his own strength.

"It's because I was angry. It's not Pharma. I shouldn't have made that decision in anger."

"Not everyone enjoys killing, Rampage. Even for revenge."

It wasn't a concept Sixshot entirely understood himself, however. He was built to be loyal, to hunt, kill and destroy. But while the joy of carrying out his function had faded eons ago, they had still been an everyday part of his life until very recently.

Why wouldn't you kill someone who committed injustice? Why wouldn't they deserve it? Gruesome and often public executions were such an ingrained and normalized part of Decepticon justice that hardly anyone batted an eye at it, much less questioned it.

The lack of violence was foreign to him, something he understood in theory but not applied to himself. It was like speaking about some peculiar aspect of an alien culture, a practice or behavior explained but not something an outsider would ever entirely get.

But, well, Sixshot felt more like contradicting Rampage today than admitting that.

You are just begging for another crippling eye roll, Sixshot

"I'm aware of that, mutt," he drawls. "I just don't see the point in indiscriminately valuing life. Not every living thing has value, and some of them don't deserve life."

And some who deserve life don't have it. He states gloomily at the ground, mood darkening as he thinks about Transmutate.

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