Mine! My Spark!

Chapter 2.1: restoration of the dead disepticon.

"And what should I do with you?" I muttered for the umpteenth time, walking around the tractor.

Blue discharges of energy snaked through the body, patterns and dark stripes of alien coloring appeared on the skin, dotted with changeable writings flowing through the body and changing after the waves of blue energy. It was deadly hot outside, but I didn't feel it at all in this form: just a strange dryness, as if there was nothing valuable around, no energy. Just the usual small but dazzlingly bright sparks of my brats.

She adjusted her short, dirty shorts. The same dirty, dusty denim top and skinny vest with lots of pockets are all my clothes. I left my shoes until better times, when I return to the appearance of an ordinary person: I have only them and I didn't want to kill them completely. His only weekend clothes, a long-sleeve shirt and relatively new shorts, lay in a neat bundle in the shade near the hammock.

Something fell somewhere, and I heard the raspy, expressive swearing of small-time scoundrels and the sounds of super-small-caliber machine guns firing. They're hunting each other again... So they're not too lazy? There was a rocket explosion, and someone screamed.

"Shut up!" I snapped.

The screeching and shooting noise abruptly subsided.

"How many times have I told you! No shooting on my territory!"

I looked out from behind the tractor. Tos made an innocent face and released the beaten Koff. The feisty kettle gurgled with boiling water, carefully making sure not to spill a drop of valuable liquid. Not even steam escaped from the sealed container: It was his water supply in case I was generous with a treat.

Seeing my displeasure, Tos sidled up, transformed into a toaster, strained himself, and produced... two fragrant, crispy golden toasts! That's where this parasite steals FRESH bread from? I can't imagine! There's not a soul within thirty miles of here! Well, he doesn't transform it out of thin air!

"You are forgiven." I replied graciously, accepting the sycophancy.

Tos transformed again. I patted the bastard on the small head, and a wave of energy washed over him, which made him bigger and a little more powerful, reorganizing himself again. At this rate, the small-time scoundrel will become the largest in the group. It's already up to my waist, and before that it barely reached my knee!

Koff was whimpering piteously, cradling his injured paw. I patted the victim.

"Tos, stop hurting your kin for fun! It's undignified!"

Tos frowned, shifting the movable brow segments. I took a bite of the delicious bread, chewed, and explained my point of view:

If you want to control them, it's your right, but this right must be earned, not won or received from my hands: you must not offend them, but train and train them. The government imposes responsibility! I look after you, feed you, protect you, and take you with me. And I fix it when you cripple each other! And I also have to somehow smooth out the results of your dirty tricks!

These words made Koff squeak, showing me his injured limb. I shot a small discharge into it, which completely restored the victim of my overly aggressive toaster. But Tos thought about it and watched very carefully, clearly shaking what he said into a long segmented "mustache".

"Thanks for the toasts. Now, do something useful, but don't let me be distracted. Ill-naturedly, make some tea."

The kettle disappeared somewhere, but soon returned, faithfully handing me a battered cup with boiling water and a tea bag.

"Well done."

Maliciously, he cracked the lid, as if hinting that he REALLY wanted a bonus.

"Zlydia, you've got boiling water again. I can give you a treat, but do you remember what happened last time?"

The kettle squeaked in alarm and slammed the lid shut. Last time, he almost tore into a lot of little Zlydia's ones when the reaction started. He learned his lesson, but today he somehow forgot something. I have to remind you periodically.

"When you cool off, come back."

Zlydya was upset: because of his evil nature, he was constantly angry and freaking out, and the water was boiling. A vicious circle. To get a treat, you need cold water, and to get cold water, he himself must be calm and cold-blooded, which the little diseptic could not do, which made him angry and, as a result, boiled.

"It's all gone, little thing!" The red-eyed brats obediently disappeared, disappearing into the desert landscape: that's what, but we learned to hide very quickly and very efficiently. Especially after the Grave Wind squad rode past us... They even checked the suspicious tractor, but it was still just a pile of dead, rusty metal, and therefore aroused no interest. We hid as well as we could, praying that those freaks wouldn't scan the area for energon.

Fortunately, it was terribly hot, and therefore the brave soldiers did not linger and drove away, satisfied with a cursory inspection of the unfortunate tractor. Anyway, in the alt form, transformers practically do not sound and do not stand out at all on energon scanners. Even if you put this scanner under his hood! We checked, we know.

We've been in this dump for almost three months now. The nail arrived a week after the purchase of the dead disepticon, but we all hid, and I left a note that I would return soon with spare parts. He examined the wrecked tractor, shook his head and drove away, and never appeared again. Apparently, he decided that I had abandoned a hopeless car after all, and left a note so that no one would fire her. If I were just a human, I wouldn't even start messing with a dead dysepticon, but... I'm not really a human anymore, so there were chances to revive this pile of rusty junk.

But, strangely enough, so far the result has been zero: the tractor has not reacted to all my attempts to resuscitate it in any way, the blue energy seemed to drain from it, giving no result. Was he really COMPLETELY dead? But even the usual equipment came to life, and here... But there's nothing here.

There was no one to ask for help: a wave of hysteria about alien living machines was in full swing around the world. They were captured and mercilessly destroyed. The "Grave Wind" was raging. The corpses of recent allies were being bought and sold like some kind of trash, the autobots, who were so happy for the people, suddenly disappeared... or were destroyed by these very people. I guess they came under the pressure of the gratitude of the race, which they so wanted to save from their own kind. Where the surviving disepticons have gone is generally a mystery. The purple-valued ones disappeared, as if they had never been there. I was trapped in a desolate Nevada, forever unable to enter the city: the damned energon sensors screamed at me like a hysterical woman on a corpse. You can't send small ones either... the reason is the same. So it remains to wander around the desert state, visiting various garbage cans and landfills in search of an unexpected treasure, like this tractor.

I wish I knew WHO it was! And, preferably, before this "who" is revived.... If it ever happens.

The more time passed, the more often I had doubts that the dead disepticon would ever come to life, but some kind of stubbornness did not allow me to give up and leave the powerful car to rust at this old abandoned gas station.

The very thought of such a possibility caused a storm of instinctive indignation, and I returned to the tractor over and over again, despite my doubts and lack of results. It was like madness, mixed up with possessive instinct, stubbornness, and old memories of that fight and the mighty creature dying in front of my eyes.

Yes, that time the leader of the disepticons somehow came to life, only to die ignominiously two years later, this time definitively, on the ruins of Chicago, killed by the hands of the red-blue Prime. It is unclear what happened to the body of the Silver One, but this time there was no pretentious burial at the bottom of the ocean, which was so actively gossiped about on all channels at the time. Megatron disappeared into the pile of alien scrap that is still being taken out of the destroyed city.

He would probably laugh if he knew how the victory turned out for Prime....

I rubbed my forehead tiredly. Trell should be back soon: he left three days ago in search of water and something useful like an old dusty pickup truck. In our area, a beautiful new car is of natural interest. Unhealthy. And we don't need it at all.

I hope he finds water. At least some of it. Things weren't going well with her in Nevada. And with food too... And so for three months now I have to eat toast and all kinds of desert animals, which are actively caught by small disepticons.

Oh well. There's no Trell yet, shall we continue... After examining the military tractor, familiar to the last dent, she sighed once more.

"Okay, attempt number seven hundred forty-three. Let's try a constant feed..." I stumbled. "Damn, I could have revived an entire city!"

This time, I climbed into the cockpit, put one hand on the mangled dashboard, and the other on the steering wheel, and slowly began to apply energy to the dead metal.

The minutes passed one after the other, the strange energy obediently spread through the car, but there was still no result. The tractor remained just a car.

"Come on... come on." I whispered. "Come alive! I know you can...."

The tractor naturally glowed from the energy covering it, spreading through the hull in powerful flashes. But... nothing. Again. Failure again.

"What's wrong with you?" I growled angrily. "What are you MISSING? I know you can come alive! No, you HAVE TO come alive!"

In my heart, I banged my fist on the crumpled metal, my hand burned with a sharp sting, and a luminous white liquid flowed over my skin, which had long replaced my blood... after the final transition to the state of `fuck you, what's in alien Khokhloma.'

"Here it is..."

Automatically, she wiped the "blood" from her hand on the warped dashboard. Droplets of sparkling, brightly glowing liquid flowed inside, and I cursed.

That's what I was thinking at that moment?

I wonder if I can get infected with, um, "blood" now?

"Noki, give me a handkerchief! I cut my hand."

The last clarification immediately led to a flurry of activity: the cunning bastard immediately unbuttoned the flap and gave me a relatively clean handkerchief. I wiped my hand without interrupting the power supply, and returned the glowing piece of cloth to the satisfied smartphone. The rag was rolled up, pressed against his belly, and he put the change in his pocket and closed the flap.

Somewhere in the courtyard, a returning Trell roared a greeting. I started up, and was about to cut off the power supply, when, suddenly, the glowing spots disappeared without a trace into the metal and plastic.

Oh well? Has there really been a reaction?

I increased the power supply without taking my hand off the steering wheel, and was already deliberately dripping blood onto the angular emblem.

"Come on, come on..."

The drops were absorbed almost instantly, and I put my luminous palm to the steering wheel, right on the angular face, feeling my skin begin to tingle, as if the thinnest needles had pierced it.

"Come alive!" I whispered, watching the snow-white shining liquid being absorbed. "Come on! You can!"

A second, two... the heavy footsteps of the approaching Trell rumbled, and the first, still weak wave of primary transformation began under my hand: the steering wheel broke into segments and slowly began to fold, the floor began to wave, the tractor seemed to shudder with its entire body, dumping rust and dirt.

"Just a little more!" I whispered, dripping glowing blood somewhere into the internal mechanisms of the mech coming to life before my eyes. "Come on! Live!"

The transformation gained momentum, the floor jumped sharply, and I suddenly realized that I was sitting INSIDE a car that was slowly but surely crumpling in a convulsive, painful transformation....

I jumped out of the cab just moments before the tractor finally creaked and clanked into a complete transformation and turned into a humanoid form. Trell immediately picked me up and wisely jumped out from under the canopy. The terrified little ones ran away, Cassi hid behind a rickety house that had once been a store, and the stove on a pile of legs quickly flowed into a ditch and hid in the dry land.

The transformed mech was in no hurry to come out: a massive figure in the shadow of the canopy was struggling to get up from the floor, somehow jerkily, stumbling and falling, with convulsive movements getting out into the light of the sun.

Is it really that bad?

The giant crawled out from under an awning too low for him and painfully straightened up, holding on to his torn side. The mutilated, split almost in half head slowly rose, and I was met with a heavy, tangible, literally physically, gaze of a red eye. One. The second one, along with part of the head, was turned into a rusty mess by some kind of blow, which pinched the face to the chin and split the neck along with the shoulder.

There was something familiar about the contours of that face. Something very, very familiar! I've seen him somewhere before. But where? I sat on Trell's arm and stared intently at the mutilated face until, suddenly, two images came together in my head: a whole face I had seen a long time ago and this one, mutilated, almost cut in half.

"Silver?!!" I gasped in shock. He said nothing, continuing to stare at me with a hard stare. The Cybertronian stood straight, not moving, only something sparkled and sparkled in the split sternum and side, some internal mechanisms were visible, and occasionally a dirty purple liquid dripped, replacing blood for these creatures.

But... how come?

It can't be that I found the leader of the disepticons who died in Chicago in some scrap metal dump! The news showed how his head was blown off! It's supposed to be just a mountain of high-tech alien scrap, but not an old tractor!

Although... what do I know about transformers? Who knows, maybe it was the last cramp. Last attempt to escape... But how? He was DEFINITELY dead! Prime ripped his head out of his body!

But... maybe or not, here he is — Lord Megatron, the head of the disepticons in his own sinister persona. In a terrible state of rusty junk, barely able to stand up straight. And he barely had enough strength to maintain such a sudden burst of life.

"Megatron? That's your name, I think." I decided to clarify my guesses.

The defeated lord twitched his faceplates and croaked something indistinctly.

Great... he can't even talk! Either he's just not in the mood... or he doesn't know what to say to such a sacramental question. He just stood there, silently looking at Trell and at me sitting on his arm.