Random OC Stories

"And All Your Tomorrows Become Yesterdays. Afterlight."

[So, a bit of context before I begin: My OC, Radioklik went through empurata because he stepped out of line, helping those who could not afford care. Here, he wakes up in the New Institute, devastated. Here's a link to the boy(tm): https://emilion-trans-formers.tumblr.com/post/188054192802/ok-so-here-is-my-tfoc-i-made-recently-his-name ]

 He woke up, a scream caught in his throat. It only came out as static. It had to have been a dream, no, a nightmare. It just had to have been a damn nightmare. Yes, he still had his face. He still had his hands. He wasn't marked by the Senate. He wasn't betrayed by the only person he came close to calling a friend.

He immediately noticed something was wrong with him. Pain splintered all through his body, sending his sensors alight. Shakes and shivers wracked his body in horrible waves as he tried moving even just a damn inch. He couldn't focus his optics right. He felt like something was missing. Missing... No. No. No. It didn't happen. They didn't perform empurata on him, no. He didn't do anything wrong. They wouldn't hurt an innocent person.

Radioklik sat up far quicker than he should have, making the tremors worsen. His voice came back to him and he was just barely able to whimper in pain. He cycled his invents, trying to coax his body into staying still. All this shaking he was doing reminded him of a patient he treated for an overdose of sensor dampeners. That patient didn't make it.

His hands. His hands, why the hell did his hands hurt so much? Radioklik could barely see anything in the dark, wherever he was. It wasn't The New Institute. They took bad people there, not medics who wanted to help a few people. There was a light ahead, shining down in front of a large mirror. It was like a spotlight on a stage, waiting for a performer to walk into the light and shine. Only here, it did not have that kind of allure.

Radioklik walked towards it anyway. Every step was another pang to his HUD. His pede hit the light first, and a jarring bright green splatter lay across it. Another step into the light. His arms were covered in it, so was his neck. It was his energon. His body shook even more fiercely now. It wasn't that he wasn't used to seeing blood, it's that he never saw his own like this. He couldn't find the strength to move his head to look up, it hurt so damn much. Shaking servos rose into his vision, covered in his own blood. They weren't his hands. Radioklik stared at these servos, watching them shiver. They weren't his hands. They were claws. They were the mark of the Senate. Radioklik's arms went limp at his sides, splattering energon on the floor.

He snapped his head up, mind whirling as he did so. In the mirror was someone new, someone who couldn't be him in any circumstances. Unless those circumstances entailed him going through an empurata surgery. Unless those circumstances entailed him helping all those gladiators and poor, unfortunate bots. Unless those circumstances entailed him being transferred to Kaon. And they did. They did.

One optic stared back when there should have been two. Energon covered his body when he should have shined. At the end of his arms there were claws where there should have been servos.

Radioklik raised his shaking arms and slammed them into the mirror, shattering it and causing shards to fall on his chassis and onto the floor. He slumped forward, kneeling and letting his helm hit the wall. He did not get up. He didn't have a reason to, did he? He had no idea where he was. He couldn't go back to helping people, he was marked by the Senate and therefore inferior and worthless. Not that status would help much; with claws and one eye he was now physically limited. So he sat there, hopeless, leaning his new head against the wall.

Why the hell did he help all those people if this was the thanks he would get?