insecuriosity

Dedicated to @harutemu

Word Count: 3890
Pairing: Cyclonus/Tailgate
Fandom: Transformers
AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9723002

Summary: Cyclonus’ function is a taxing, unrewarding, and draining ordeal. His entire function has been working towards alt-mode exemption, or a different escape from serving under a mad tyrant. The Senate sends him a gift to try and keep him complacent; he gets to build his own dream-mech. A build-order Conjunx, tailored to his every wish.

Galvatron intercepts it, and Cyclonus is left with the aftermath.

-

From the very first moment that Cyclonus had powered up, he had been exposed to the caprices of his superior.

Officially, his squadron had been built to become Galvatron’s most trusted and valued team of warriors – the backstrut to his army. A great gift of elite newsparks, ready to be groomed and formed into whatever Galvatron desired.
Unofficially, the council hoped that one of the newsparks would learn to withstand Galvatron’s everchanging moods and violent tendencies so that there was a soldier that could handle the more sensitive documents.

Their plan B, Cyclonus suspected, had been a quiet assassination during Galvatron’s recharge.

If you asked Cyclonus, it wasn’t yet too late to set that plan into motion. Better late than never, after all. Maybe then he would finally have a full recharge cycle without interruptions.
He stared up at the ceiling of his suite, and cursed the ringing from his console.

He grunted as he stepped off his berth, and he had to swallow a wave anger as one of the recharge cables snagged on a plate of armour. His console was still insistently ringing, and Cyclonus clenched his jaws together so that they didn’t show just how tired he was.
It would be a mistake not to pick up. Even if Scourge often took his duties during Cyclonus’ recharge, Galvatron would be enraged if Cyclonus didn’t respond to his every beck and call.

He accepted the call, and watched the screen flicker through security checks. Surprisingly enough, the contact information was not Galvatron’s – but… a commercial number? How odd.

“Hello, am I in contact with Commander Cyclonus of Tetrahex military? Hi!” A mech on the other side of the screen greeted him, sitting primly behind a desk that looked like it had never been used for actual office work.
The logo at the front of the desk was from one of the factories respondible for harvesting sparks and building frames. A newspark factory. Strangely enough, it did not appear to be a factory that specialised in warbuilds, or even any type of military-fit mech at all.

“…Hello.” Cyclonus said. He couldn’t remember contacting this factory – perhaps Galvatron had commissioned something from them without his knowing. Or, Primus forbid, he had been woken up in the middle of his recharge for an ad . “How did you access this number? This is an encrypted frequency.”

The mech on the other side of the camera blinked, clearly taken aback. “I’m sorry sir! This was the encryption that was filled into the contact-forms in your specifications document.”

“What kind of document.” If there was anything that Cyclonus knew, it was that documents and signatures were life’s worst traps. Especially ones that showed up out of nowhere.

“Your specially constructed-for-you conjunx enduera?” The mech on the other side had lost much of his confidence. “We- I called you to let you know that it’s been finished and shipped to you. You had some… unique choices, I should say, and I wanted to let you know we were able to fulfil them regardless of some minor issues.”

Cyclonus was dumbstruck. Of all the things to… – a mail-order Conjunx?!

He had heard of this practice, of course. In richer circles, people occasionally contacted a specialised bureau that would allow them to construct the mech of their dreams. Custom designs, custom optic-colours, custom personality cores, custom SPARKS even!
Cyclonus found it a distasteful affair – mostly because of the name that had been given to it. A Conjunx was not someone you bought, and modified to suit your tastes. Most likely, the name ‘disposable frag toy’didn’t sound quite as glamorous and expensive.

There was only one bureau on all of Cybertron that handled mail-order mecha, simply for how outrageously expensive it was.
One had to buy a spark from one of the hot spots, buy a frame design or commission a team of artists to make one, pick out bits of programming and personality traits - … And of course, a certified alt-mode exemption. Even though it could be argued that being someone’s personal shareware was a function, the laws said otherwise.

“I never ordered a conjunx.” Cyclonus said, and there was a flash of cold fear as he thought about the cost of the service. Was this some elaborate scam?! “Where did you send it to! I want you to cancel it!”

“Military base Tetrahex, sir!” The mech scrambled to reply. “It has been packaged in such a way that it can only be opened by you, or by an employee in case there was a defect. I- I am afraid I cannot cancel it- Did - was it not you who filled in the forms?”

“No. I have no credits for these kinds of luxuries!” Cyclonus replied, even as he checked into his credits account. It was an insane relief to find his funds still intact. The numbers ticked high for a mech of his caste and position, but he was still saving up for caste-exemption. A build-order conjunx would easily be ten times as much. “I never purchased a build-order conjunx. Show me the documents.”

“Yes sir!” The mech on the other side nodded quickly, and he lifted another datapad to his face. “It says right here that it was all paid for in advance by the Council. With, and I quote: “…a maximum credit use of 10.000.000, to be distributed by the receiver of the contract. Any unused credit will return to Council accounts.””

“The Council-?” Cyclonus blinked. Well, that explained. It wouldn’t be the first gift that he’d been given by the Council, but they had never gifted him something so expensive, nor had they ever failed to contact him just to have him repeat over and over how grateful and happy he was with his new gift. “The Council paid for everything.” Cyclonus mumbled, more to himself than to the mech on the other side of the screen.

“The frame, spark, and personality you requested were all paid for, yes. I will forward the necessary papers so you can see for yourself.” The factory mech said, and his fingers began to skitter over his console. His easy sales-mecha persona was starting to come back up, now that he could continue his usual spiel.“It was a surprisingly difficult mech to assemble, but we really hope to have pleased you, sir. We hope that your custom order Conjunx will bring you a lifetime of joy! I’m here to help answer any questions you might have about your custom built-”
Cyclonus tuned the mech out, and quickly skimmed the document that the mech had forwarded. Indeed, everything was official. The right marks and ecryptions were in all the right places, and every bills had been paid - to the last shanix.

“- countless other options still available to you! There are still plenty of funds allotted for you to mod your conjunx in any way that you’d like. We offer a great range of interface mods, from enhanced silicone structures to additional ‘parts’, to-”

“Thank you.” Cyclonus interrupted the mech. “But I have urgent business to attend to. Please do not call this frequency again.”

“Oh, I-!”

The vidscreen blinked off, and Cyclonus took a moment to savor the silence before he closed his optics and let his head roll back. Time for yet another call to the Senate. Better get it over with right now, as opposed to adding it to his ever growing list.

He opened his most used contacts, and let his commlink dial directly to Senator Shockwave’s personal line. He needed the mech’s service and advice so often that they had long since decided to leave out Shockwave’s secretary.
“Ah. Hello Commander Cyclonus.” Senator Shockwave practically sighed his greeting, and Cyclonus was tempted to do the same. “Is there a problem with lord Galvatron?”

When wasn’t there a problem with lord Galvatron? Cyclonus didn’t have the luxury of making a simple house call, unless it was to warn someone of what Galvatron was ABOUT to do. “Just now I got a call from a mech- factory. The service mech on the other side of the line told me that my custom-built mech was finished, and that the Council has paid for it.”

“What-? Oh! That is quite fast!” Senator Shockwave’s exhaustion lifted, and his optics seemed to light up as he looked into the camera. “I hadn’t expected to hear back from you so soon, or at all, really. I am happy to hear that it is not a crisis for once.”

“I suppose that means it is not a scam then.” Cyclonus replied dryly.

“It is all fully legal.” The Senator said jovially. “I know how much your work weighs on you, so I lobbyed for a fitting reward to be sent to you! I will say that I’ve been very curious as to what kind of frame you’d pick – though I wish I could have helped you with selecting a paintjob… It didn’t take you very long to decide on what you wanted if it is already being shipped!”

“Actually,” Cyclonus growled. “I was unaware that this gift had been sent to me, up until a few moments ago. I never received a form. Or a confirmation of any order.”

“You didn’t know we sent?…” Shockwave blinked slowly. “…Something must have gone wrong-… Your personal commlink is MIL.C-SND-987.08764.0993, isn’t it?”

It was his military commlink. Cyclonus offlined his optics again, and forcefully kept his venting slow and deep.
“No. It is my military commlink code.”

Senator Shockwave furrowed his brows, the lighting playing off his polished faceplate. “I -… Forgive me if this is an ignorant question, but isn’t that much the same as your personal frequency?”

“Lord Galvatron’s senses are honed to sense any and all threats of betrayal.” Cyclonus replied stiffly. He would not swear, but the name of his commander served as a curse in itself. “Loyal as I might be, I am not excluded from his inspections.”

“He accesses your military commlink!?” Senator Shockwave said. He looked truly surprised, though it could have been an act. Shockwave was one of the nicer Senate-dwellers, but he was just as sly and slimy as his fellows.

“You cannot tell me you are surprised, Senator.”

“…I suppose I should have expected that he would do something like that, but surely he wouldn’t try to take your reward as his own…?”

Cyclonus felt like his silence was enough of an answer.

The Senator sighed, and brought up a hand to massage his short filials. “I am very sorry about this, Cyclonus. I’ll do what I can, but I suspect that the Senate will be unwilling to compensate for your lost gift. It was… well, let’s just say that we meant for this gift to be extraordinary, and it had a price to match. I will make sure you are still rewarded for your service.”

“You know what I wish for the most.” Cyclonus replied.

“Yes, yes I know.” Shockwave murmured. “And you will have your alt-mode exemption, as soon as it is possible.”

Cyclonus might have put more faith into that answer, if it hadn’t been given to him so many times before. The only one he trusted to help him with his future was himself. “Thank you for your time, Senator, but I have a recharge cycle to finish.”

Senator Shockwave heaved a sigh on the other side of the screen. He did not mention the time of day. Most mecha were wide awake at this time, but Galvatron kept odd schedules. “Of course. Please contact me again if there’s anything I can do. You are very overdue for a gift, after all your dedicated service.”

Cyclonus could not agree more, but he kept his lips pressed together. The senate’s gratitude was about as valuable as a gilded trophy. If they truly wanted to reward him, they would allow him to leave the military and take up a different function.
As kind as Senator Shockwave was, even he didn’t feel much for allowing Cyclonus his freedom. Galvatron was hard to control, and Cyclonus was one of the few mecha that could do it.

Galvatron’s power was nothing to underestimate. If he wanted to, he could destroy entire planets, and decimate star systems. He had a talent for destruction He was a terrific double edged blade, and Cyclonus had been handed the honour of trying to wield it without cutting off his own hands..

“I will keep that in mind.” He replied stiffly. Once he had his alt-mode exemption, he would milk them for favours for all that they were worth.

He ended the video call, and marched back to his berth, lying down with as much spite as his pride allowed him.

Of all the rewards they could have chosen, they picked a live interface toy. As if that could convince him to keep his job as Galvatron’s damage control! As if it wouldn’t be a potential source for Galvatron’s jealousy, and another burden on his day-to-day life!

Cyclonus slowed down his vents and kept himself perfectly still and relaxed on his berth. There was no reason to get needlessly angry. Everything had turned out for the better.
His ‘gift’ had been intercepted by Galvatron, and it was no longer Cyclonus’ responsibility. Hopefully it would keep Galvatron busy for a while so that Cyclonus would be able to get some work done without frantically asserting damage control behind his Lord’s aft.

Yes. It was a blessing that this ‘gift’ had made it to Galvatron’s hands instead of his own. Very unfortunate to the bot in question, most assuredly, but useful for Cyclonus.

Cyclonus turned onto his side, and searched for the recharge cables of his berth.

What a cruel fate for a mech; harvested from the fertile fields of Cybertron, already sold to someone before the sentio metallico had formed, surgically manipulated to satisfy someone’s bodily preferences… And then dumped with a mech like Galvatron!

Cyclonus shuddered, and fit the last of his recharge cables into place. He could only be grateful that he had been spared that fate.

-

In the days following the vidcall, Cyclonus’s life went on as it always had. Galvatron made no mention of the build-order mech, and Cyclonus did not mind that at all. The less he heard about Galvatron’s inclinations, the better.

It was at the end of a long, unplanned shift, that Cyclonus found a large pristine box blocking the doorway to his habsuite. Minimalistic, tasteful, and decorated with thin lines of ununtrium, there was no doubt that it contained something obscenely lavish.
Cyclonus offlined his optics, took a long invent, and initiated his commlink to Galvatron.

“What is it!” Galvatron growled on the other side of the line. “I am busy !”

“My excuses, Lord Galvatron, but I believe a package for you has been mis-delivered to my habsuite.” Cyclonus replied.

“A package?” Galvatron’s answered. His inflection immediately changed from annoyance to excitement. “How typical – the servants of this world are so lazy and stupid – misdelivery! What is it!”

“A mail-order Conjunx, my Lord.” – So please just order me to bring it to you so I can forget about all of this and take a rest. Cyclonus added mentally.

“A-… Oh. That thing.” Galvatron said. Obvious disappointment at the lack of a gift and disgust sounded through in his voice. “Such filth isn’t for me.”

Cyclonus shuttered his optics off, and then on again. “…What is its purpose then, my Lord?”

“Why, it’s yours of course.” Galvatron said, and Cyclonus could practically taste the condescending smile in his voice.“A fitting reward for your great service.”

“I see.” Cyclonus knew that Galvatron couldn’t see his face, but he still angled his wings down, and kept his optics to the floor. “Thank you, my lord.”

“I made sure it would be useful beyond just acting as a warm hole and a spike, but of course, it is capable of interface.” Galvatron said. “Why mecha would desire something like that is beyond me, but do enjoy it. ”

“Of course. Thank you, my lord.” Cyclonus said.

“Hm, yes.” Galvatron said distractedly. Sometimes he played games while on the comms – sometimes he was in the middle of a meeting. Judging by the lack of nervous background chatter, Cyclonus guessed that it was the former.
“Do keep the thing busy. I don’t want to see it lazing around and fuelling on our energon supplies. It’s your responsibility to keep it in check, am I clear?!”

“Yes, Lord Galvatron.” Cyclonus replied dully.

“Good.” Galvatron said, and the commlink cut off.

Cyclonus offlined his optics, and took a slow invent. He was tired. Another duty was packaged up inside of that box, and he barely knew if it was going to be anything he could enjoy. Cyclonus’ tastes were specific in that he did not desire intercourse with mechanisms he didn’t know.
Knowing Galvatron, he was using this ‘conjunx’ as a creative insult.

Out of duty rather than excitement, Cyclonus dragged the box into of his habsuite.

The datapad on top was an informational packet. A bit of a misnomer in Cyclonus’ opinion, as most of it was about the benefits of a build-order Conjunx, and how absolutely amazing their brand-company was.
There was a list of additional mods that could be installed, a giftcard to get a discount on his ‘next purchase’, a ‘suggested names’ folder… and of course, a single page that contained all the more important specs, model-details, legalities and warranties, written in the tiniest font that Cyberton had to offer. Of course.

Cyclonus skimmed through the ‘first onlining’ instructions, and then put the datapad away. Reluctantly he hooked his claws into the gaps on the sides, and triggered the unlocking sequence. The box whirred, and dramatic puffs of steam began to flow from the opening panels. Smooth and satisfying, the packaging folded open, small lights initialising to further draw attention to the polished form lying inside of a velvet cushioned inside.

… It was a waste-disposal groundframe. A disposable.

Cyclonus stared. There was nothing special about the bot in front of him. Cyclonus must have seen this same featureless face a thousand times on the street. A plain visor, with a white metal cap over a the rudimentary fuel-intake. No nasal ridge, no custom colours or designs – it wasn’t even a flyer!
The body was no better. It had been posed to look enticing and to show off the shiny panelling, but it looked laughable on the thick little bot. The grounder’s tires were bulky and had thick profiles to help traverse the garbage dumps, and the mech’s seams were filled with rubber to keep trash and filth out. The words “WASTE DISPOSAL” were proudly etched into the mech’s arm.

The only thing that separated this mech from a million others of exact same build was the quality of his metal. At the very least, the factory had opted to use high-quality metals instead of the molten slag that other disposables were made from.

Cyclonus’s jaws were clenched tightly together. Well, that explained what Galvatron had meant when he’d said that the mech would be useful.
Galvatron had quite the pronounced opinion on cleanliness and soldiers. Where any sane commander would require soldiers to clean their own base and berth, Galvatron thought that all cleaning had to be done by cleaning drones and disposables. It was still an issue that cropped up whenever Galvatron was given the opportunity to speak to the Senate, but they had never buckled.

Soldiers had nothing to do during peacetime, so why not have them perform the basic upkeep for their own weaponry, medibay, launchpads and barracks? Military drills could only fill up so much time of the day…
Apparently this was how Galvatron intended to rebel.

The box chimed, and a singular gleaming button was unveiled. On top of it, beautiful gleaming letters shone up at Cyclonus.

~‘Initiate your new life’~

Cyclonus was sure it was meant to be taken in a positive manner. He pressed the button.

The box whirred, and there were soft clicks and clacks as vital parts were slotted into place. Cyclonus could even hear the pressurised gurgle of energon being injected into the frame, and the electric whine as everything booted for the first time.

The blue visor flickered to life, and Cyclonus stood by as the newspark began to move. Small testing movements began in the tips of its fingerjoints, ended in the soft roll of its head.
The bot’s movements were jittery, and its – his? - visor flickered through all data packets that had been installed into it’s cortex before sendoff.

Cyclonus had no idea what had been installed on the bot. There had to be some options there – mods to create a more desired personality, or to eliminate any need to teaching, but he hadn’t checked if they had been installed on this bot.
It wasn’t a far fetched idea that the bot’s programs would match up with its frame. A waste disposal drone was, after all, completely worthless unless it knew how to function.

“I-….” The little bot still seemed disoriented, and he looked around like he was completely lost before finally addressing Cyclonus. “Is is this the waste disposal plant? S-sir?”

“No.” Cyclonus responded. “This is military base Iacon.”

“Oh.” A silence fell between them as the disposable took in the new information and situation. “…Is… is this where I’m supposed to work then? My files say that I’m supposed to work at… um – Iacon waste disposal centre. I – are you my supervisor?”

Had there really been no other info-packets installed on him? Nothing outside of what he’d need for his function?

Cyclonus took in a deep breath, and let it flow out of his vents. “I suppose I am.” He replied. It wasn’t the drone’s fault that he had ended up here, intended as a gift and turned into a burden. If Cyclonus was in luck, the little bot would turn out to be obedient.
Cyclonus bent forward, and undid the last few restraints that were keeping the mech’s legs inside of his packaging.

The waste disposal drone almost tripped over his own pedes when he tried stepping out of his box, and CYclonus watched him stumble around as he tried to find his balance.
“Waste disposal Unit GT-5598 is ready to be assigned to a squadron and receive orders Sir!”

“What do you need in order to perform your function?” Cyclonus said.

The bot’s visor flickered slightly as he accessed his information packets. “Ah- er, a task list, a recharge-refuel berth, and the location of cleaning item storage rooms.”

It was do-able. Cyclonus supposed that waste drones wouldn’t be so plentiful if they were a chore to maintain. The only nuisance was having to assign it a room. Undoubtedly Galvatron would not want a berth to be occupied by a cleaner drone, so maybe Cyclonus would stick a recharge cable in his closet and keep the little bot there. It would have to work.

He began setting up a list of tasks for the small mech, purposely placing his own chores at the top of the priority list. Galvatron had mentioned that he could do with his ‘present’ as he pleased, and Cyclonus was going to use the disposable for his own gain for as long as possible.