TF: Ten 'first lines' prompts

It was the longest day of the year, today. Not because the sun spent more time in the sky, but because today... today was the anniversary of his younger brother's death. The blue moth shuddered, head lowered into his hands; grasping loosely at limp antennae. 'Anniversary'; a word that could mean such joy in one context and such pain in another... Every uttered letter was a hammer driving the nail of reality in deeper; Aliarzo had died protecting Caskit of all mechs... Caskit had been found dead two days later, having self-terminated. Probably from guilt of some sort, which he had hidden extremely well...

Antorin let out a soft sob. What kind of a Swarm leader was he, to lose two Swarm members so easily? What kind of a Swarm leader was he, to have descended so easily into the uncaring embrace of the world of addictions simply to escape the reality of his brother's missing presence? The blue moth had made himself dead to his surroundings, and dead he would remain.

I never meant no harm. After all, why would I want to avoid harming those who took such pleasure in humiliating and hurting me? It was all done so perfectly today; just a few drops of poison in the energon dispensers in the teachers' lounge, attaching a virus patch to a fellow student during the jostling to get to class... It went smoothly as well cared for clockwork. By noon, everyone in the school was dead, and I was free to collect their optics, which I did. There wasn't much finesse, and the removal was messy, but with better tools and practice I should be cleanly able to pop them out with only the unbearable pain and lack of sight to tell the person their optics were actually gone. No rushing energon or gouges to worry about. The bland optics I stored in a bag, so I could tinker and discover how they were put together so I might make my own, and the fantastic ones went into my subspace so I could start a collection. Everyone at the orphanage has, or had, bland, uninteresting optics as far as I was concerned; I'll just use a few well placed viruses then collect and sell their optics so I can save up for some mods.

I must look good! I can't forever be some plain little nondescript mech with ugly optics! I just can't! No one would remember me if I died; I will make sure they have reason to remember me and my deeds! They shall shudder when they hear my name, they shall both seek and fear my talents; I don't care how they view me, it matters little, but I will. Be. Remembered!

He was the ugliest child anyone had ever seen; that was the general consensus. It wasn't that his face was not handsome or his form was displeasing. Not technically, anyway. His frame was just... transparent in places. His spark was always clearly visible, as we're his processors and brain capsules from the left side of his head. Other transparent patches were in seemingly random locations, one being on his slightly higher shoulder. Despite the ridicule and how often he was shunned, Dandiu seemed to have no problems. While Eskolo would get upset and question why they'd say nasty things just because Dandiu was unusual, the older mech would just smile, pat Eskolo's shoulder, and tell them it was simply a lens.

Dandiu was always an optimist; if there was acid rain he would remark on the soothing sound of it drumming against the buildings and ground. If their food got stolen, he'd comment on how it was lucky that they'd subspaced most of it. The only times he ever lost his smile and air of peaceful calm were when something interfered with him taking photographs, or the composition of said photographs. Eskolo loved to watch him painstakingly set up his tripod before jumping and transforming, hearing him mutter as he adjusted himself on the tripod so he could get the most perfect image possible. Whenever he thought of his brother, the first thing that he'd remember would be the smile, gentle embrace, and the hummed lullabies. It hurt so much to remember them, remember the details of the older mech's character that he'd loved most, and then remember how he had died; by the hand of an Autobot who assumed that everything that didn't conform to his precious sense of normal meant 'Decepticon'...

Her fake brother slept on the floor while she occupied the bed. Looking down at him, her lip curled in a sneer. Bulky, unattractive... Prima, Corpus knew how to ensure she wouldn't jeopardize a job; there was no way she'd interface with that sorry lump. His tongue and spark probably weren't worth consuming... She'd have his tongue after the job was done though, just because she needed something to distract her from how irked she was. Who did Corpus think he was, telling her to go on a road trip to Polyhex, interface with one of the underground bosses, and not consume the mech's spark? Everyone knew Polyhex's crime lords were among the most attractive on Cybertron, due to how fit they had to remain to keep on top. The attractive, well-maintained chassises were simply to show of how they could afford to draw optics. The other things they could afford were what was driving this mission though. The Polyhexian crime lords had large contact lists, and that could open potential doors to jobs, as well as getting them a way to deliver things faster. All she had to do was deny herself the pleasure of an undoubtedly delicious spark, flavoured with cunning...

Hissing softly, she rolled over. What she wouldn't give to consume whatever sorry excuse for a spark her boss had! Especially if Scintillae was wrong and Corpus actually was the mech who they'd met when they joined the Corpus Negotiatoribus. Lingua licked her lips and smirked. If he were, his spark would surely be delicious...

This is the saddest story I have ever read, this story of misplaced sparks and weeping lovers. Or it would be if it was actually written and not in progress still. I know not why the sight of bereft young couples pains me so; first with a sense of understanding, and then vindictive feelings that drive me to capture their sorrowful sparks and suspend them that way forever, so that they might suffer as... I suffer. I don't remember what might have happened to me to make me feel understanding. No, that's a lie; I occasionally remember enough to tell someone to put me out of my misery, if someone happens to be around. But not in the dark. Never the dark. It's waiting for me, can't you feel it?! It's fingers are clawing at the spaces around me, reaching for, seeking my own spark! But it can't get me, no it can't. Not so long as I collect these sparks that keep the dark at bay. I don't want to die. I miss her, but I don't want to die and unravel the lies the priests speak through simply worshipping the creed. There is no Well of All-sparks, there is no Pit; there is only darkness, and I just can't go there! I refuse to submit to my fears!

Despite this admission, there's something wrong. Am I not in constant subjugation to my fears, this way? All my actions dictated by the darkness... No! I am in control! I am in no kind of servitude whatsoever! .... Ouch, that hurt... No, no little spark! Don't go, please! I need you to protect me! We'll all be safe together! No, don't shy away... Go back to being suspended where nothing can frighten you anymore... Don't tremble, I won't hurt you...

It rained all morning, meaning that being forced to stay outside didn't offer even the least sort of entertainment. He could hear the sounds from inside of his parents partying with other mechs and femmes like themselves. He wished he could escape it all; just... cease to be, if necessary. The acid rain continued to make pockmarks in the ground, hissing and spitting maliciously as the young Cybertronian considered. He could just reach out... It would hurt, but he could turn off his vocalizer, right? His hand lifted, then snapped back down as the door opened and he lowered his head, expecting one of the adults. Instead, a blue mech sat next to him; a blue youngling like himself, to be exact. "Who-?"

"Placido. You're only dreaming, Chakka... You escaped our parents many, many years ago..."

"But that's... Prove it." Placido stood, smiling, and stepped directly into the rain. Chakka covered his mouth, looking horrified, then blinked and stared in wonder as the rain did no damage at all.

"Come on," Placido said, holding out a hand and smiling as the acid rain lost its greenish tinge. "You love dancing in the rain." Hesitantly, Chakka took Placido's hand and stepped out. It rained all afternoon, but it didn't matter that much.

In his sleep, Chakka clasped Placido's hand, and the younger brother nuzzled the back of his neck, arm draped over his older sibling.

The silence woke her, insufferably loud against the calm in her head. Shifting, she rolled over, then frowned when she saw Jared wasn't there. Sitting up, she looked around. Everything seemed to be in place except for- She froze, staring at the bottom of the door. Energon? Oh Primus please don't let it be... Trembling, the camera got up and approached, crouching and touching three fingertips to it before recoiling. It was energon. Standing, she opened the door and swallowed before following the trail of blood. What had made Jared bleed? Why had it not woken her?

Rounding the corner, she screamed in shock, fear, and pain as Jared's mutilated and torn to pieces body greeted her, his body all over the floor, his head on the counter; the expression he wore frozen in a perpetual scream as something leaked out of his mouth that looked suspiciously like-

"Shutterflick, Shutterflick!" Concern and panic slammed into her spark from the bond as Jared woke her, all four hands on her as he shook her. "Shutterflick please!"

"J-Jared?" Looking up at the tall insecticon, she shook before hugging him tightly and pressing her face against his neck. "Jared they- they got you! I don't know how but they got you...! Oh thank Primus you're alright..." The identity of the mysterious 'they' was easy for Jared to guess, and it made his inner lake go calm and completely still with cold, calculated rage. How dare some simple malcontents send a letter that would scare his mate so badly she'd have nightmares about it and sound like she wanted to cry when she woke up? He'd track them down, that was certain, and he would deal with them. No one could fault him for being overprotective, especially not with his bonded; not when insecticons were the way they were about ensuring their mate's comfort. If no one else, Vosnians would agree and probably back him up should his... dealing get him into a court room in an entirely new way.

"I'm here, sweetest, I'm here... No one will ever get either of us..." he murmured, holding her close and kissing the top of her head before allowing his lips to rest there.

What's that creaking sound, he wished he could ask. Unfortunately, he knew what it was, and who was making it. Slagger. He supposed it wasn't Notch's fault that the floor had started making odd creaking sounds, but he could still blame him for it, and would stubbornly continue to do so until the floor stopped creaking. Then again, if he did that, Notch might somehow wind up on some 'Impressive Missing Persons Bureau' list or something equally stupid. He supposed he had to be... forgiving. Notch was a racer (a highly popular one in his time) and not a gladiator after all; he had not had the same emphasis put on being light of pede, and how being nearly silent could save you in a match against a blind yet frighteningly skilled mech.

Determined to be a grouch, despite the fact he had been unable to get to sleep anyway, he called out. "Just open the damn door already, Notch. I know you're there."

"As you wish," said the larger mech as the door slid open. He was smiling again. Damn it when did he stop smiling in that knowing little way? It was fragging annoying! .... And vaguely comforting. No, he didn't think that. Never.

"You're loud enough that even a deaf old dingbat like the one two floors down could have heard you!"

"I'm sorry," said Notch, not sounding very sorry at all as he approached the huffy object of his affections. "Are you having trouble recharging?"

"No." Damn it all to Pit, why did his tone automatically change when they were in private and tell Notch everything he tried not to say?!

"Well I am," said Notch. "Do you mind if I stay?"

"Fine, but don't expect this to be a regular thing." They both knew those words were empty, seeing as Nailfile felt far more clingy than he would have liked, and took any perceived opportunity to be close to the other mech. To Notch's disappointment, none of those 'opportunities' were public yet, but he could live with that. Laying next to the smaller mech, he pulled him close, being careful of his useless legs, and nuzzled into his neck cables. The small ex-gladiator was a lot warmer than most other mechs; a fact that had thoroughly surprised and delighted Notch. Nailfile grumbled at the nuzzling, but he relaxed so easily into Notch's arms, almost desperately... Notch had seen the simple desire to be wanted and loved that Nailfile had held his whole life, but had almost viciously denied, so he made no teasing comments. Instead, he just stroked the smaller mech's back and purred quietly as all he wanted remained willingly in his arms.

When shall we meet again? The question was on Seohn's mind frequently. Razorblade said he couldn't come along for whatever business he had to take care of in the next city over, but the butterfly desperately wanted to keep company. Being alone filled him with just as much terror as any predator could. Razorblade said that there were a lot of mechs looking for butterflies in that city, and that butterflies were stolen every hour. That had been enough to give Seohn pause, at first, but his dread at the thought of the larger mech's absence made it unimportant. Razorblade wouldn't let anything happen to him, and if he did get kidnapped, Razorblade would find him; he always did. Perhaps he had come to rely on the larger mech too much, but he was the only company Seohn had, and he was too small to make most of the things in Razorblade's house work without exhausting himself or making himself sore. Turning on a light switch required he ran his shoulder into the thing at a pretty good speed, and that was... uncomfortable, to say the least. And he was Razorblade's bonded! He needed to go with him! He had to make sure Razorblade wasn't going to abandon him for someone who would be large all the time, instead of only during malign season... But Razorblade said no, and did nothing to dismiss Seohn's fears, which only made them worse. He had to follow, he had to!

Business had taken longer than it should have, but Razorblade came back to his hotel room instead of signing in to a place closer to the meeting hall. That was commendable at the very least. Someone had left energon on the nightstand, and he raised an eyebrow slightly before just scooping it up and chugging it. Fuel tanks satisfied, he flopped backwards onto the berth and offlined his optics. Once he calmed his breathing and had sleep perfectly imitated, he waited. It was a soft whisper of wings that told him who it was even before the small body curled up against his neck and shoulder. Once the tiny form was asleep, he reached up and cupped a hand around him. He could punish him for disobeying later, for now... it was just nice to have someone who cared.

He still was not dead. The fact filled him with despair as he sat in his cell inside the Stockades. He had done so much wrong... He still longed for Caskit, but knew he did not deserve the moth. How could he when he had distorted the mech into a convoluted shadow of his former self? He'd ruined so many, damaged so many more... Some of them ruined before they were even born. He started shaking as he thought about that. He hadn't even had the decency to leave sparklings alone. Sparklings. How could he do that and still call himself a mech and not a monster? Monsters deserved execution, a sweet pain that had been denied. Mercy. Mercy would be stopping his spark through any means. Keeping him alive to wallow in his sins... That was cruelty.