[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]Cracked [Patch, Placebo]

[Patch]

3.5, Week 1, Day 1



A muggy haze of heat lazed motionless in stagnant, dusty air.

The hum of a dim string of work lights heavy across the stained stone ground.

Distant, shrieking shrills cried out of mining equipment on innocent rocks. Like a hollow scream on the edge of the horizon. Sounds of clatter and large rocks falling well past anywhere a voice- even a desperate, strained one could reach from here.

She knew- she’d tested.

Indeed, it seemed an heir of hopeless was threatening to descend within the deepest bowels of the decepticon mine. In an abandoned tunnel stripped of life, the energon within it long since stolen and likely spent. In a cut out bit of space, along that large corridor’s side, behind an acrid humming energy field, sat a plate of metal bolted to the back wall, and a figure restrained by it in binds, with hands behind her.

She looked worse for wear, large spots of her white and red paint ground off and stripped. The metal beneath tinted a myriad of colors from exposure to heat- not unlike robotic bruising. Her right tire (and consequently her right heel) was gone, her knee dipping lower on the right than the left as they sat bent in front of her.

They were dented in, a bit- her elbows too. Her shoulders. Recently so. A few matching chips out the wall above her, where it could be gathered they'd connected. Her forehead rested upon the slightly higher left knee-guard, face out of view. A very faint whistle of pain could be heard, between ex-vents. Small mums intermittently as it seemed the autobot did the closest thing to rest she was currently capable of.

She’d been consuming what fuel they gave her, small portions though they were. Spoken lightly with a few of the guards- attempted to, at least… though she hadn’t budged on useful information.

It’d been nearly a week. No transformation. No stimulation besides the mine equipment and the constant noxious buzz of the electrical containment field blocking her cell from the rest of the tunnel. No movement outside the very small radius allowed by the chains- no lying down for that matter, no walking.

She’d been scraping away at the stone. Humming to herself- talking to herself. Tapping, squirming, making noises. Thrown a few tantrums, despite her recent injury; hence the dents… Though the whimpering- the pain was more likely from internal upset. Foolishly pulling upon new welds, and pushing freshly replaced energon vessels to carry a bit more than their share.

There was no sun here.

She’d been keeping track of time, using the changing of the guard.

She could pull the math back later, once she knew how long she’d been gone, but it was likely somewhere between five and twelve earth hours each shift, at least and most that they could be expected to stand there. That was two to four guards a day.

That meant it had either been 7 days, or… 28.

No no, that wasn’t right.

That was too many...

five six... eight nine ten eleven-... No. Nine.

Between 7 and 9 days. That made sense.

She’d been learning how to keep track of them by the marks on their backs- the Vehicons. If for nothing more than to note the one, in particular, she knew would talk… Just. Non, Stop talking.

One she’d met before… One who’d saved her life, actually.
She’d given him the time of day, and not much more, but… He’d done a lot to keep her sane.

He was likely due to come in sometime soon, she reckoned... Usually it was him after this stiff. Never looked back, never cracked jokes. Never responded to her’s- one day she’d tried screaming as loud as she could for a while, just to see if she could get him to budge.

He hadn’t, needless to say- which… Had actually impressed her a little.
Took will- she was loud.

She-...


She wasn't okay.

...Not really.

And that was likely not accidental, on the part of her captors...

[Deleted]

It had taken a bit of convincing, as these things often do, but after successfully pleading his case Placebo was finally allowed to pay a visit to their latest, ah...acquisition. Prisoner of War was such an ugly phrase, and while Placebo knew it wasn't helpful to ignore the harsh reality of the situation, he felt slightly less profoundly uncomfortable with the whole affair by referring to it in a less direct fashion.

Not that it helped much, calling a spade something other than a spade. It was just pretend, a pretense adopted for the daylight hours so he could live with himself until the night came – because as all children know, everything comes true in the dark. The little everyday horrors that hide in the corners of one's mind, in the periphery of their visions – they always seemed to find Placebo when he was alone, when the world was made up of stillness and long shadows.

Still, it brought a little false cheer to an otherwise grim situation – like putting a bright coat of paint on a corpse. Sure, it did absolutely nothing to improve things, but made the corpse a little less upsetting to look at.

Hence Placebo making a point to call his little task a house call instead of an interrogation. It made him feel marginally less awful about the situation, even if it was all just a ruse – he was well aware that he was lying to himself, but he had long since come to the grim conclusion that in this life, one had to take their little pleasures where one could find them. Provided they didn't come at someone else's expense, of course, but he felt that went without saying, despite the sentiment going against the majority opinion.

Hopefully, he would be able to convince their young asset of his good intentions – that he didn't want to see her come to harm, despite all the convictions and suspicions she likely had to the contrary, and rightly so. After all, Decepticons weren't particularly well known for their trustworthiness or their compassion, and though Placebo was hardly a Decepticon in any of the ways that mattered, he still wore a purple badge branding him as someone who made his bed with monsters, even if he wasn't one himself.

Not that Placebo ever claimed not to be a monster. There are excellent arguments that could be made to the contrary – he knows because he's argued them himself, time and time again in those lonesome midnight hours when there's naught else to do but stare sleeplessly at the ceiling and face who you are in the dark.

Oh, but he was getting lost in thought again. It was those gosh darn tunnels, so dim and dreary and dark that his Nighttime Thoughts found their way to him despite his plates still radiating with warmth from the sun. It really was dreadful, those tunnels. Place knew better than to try and suggest better lighting, or even more egregious, some decor, but he still couldn't help but daydream a little and imagine how he might spruce the place up a bit as he made his way deep, deep down to where their little asset was waiting for him. Not that she knew she was waiting, mind – Placebo had been rather insistent that she not be informed of his visit ahead of time, knowing she would likely assume the worst and anticipate all sorts of terrible things.

He didn't want to frighten her, didn't want her to prepare her defenses and become entirely resistant to his intervention – especially since she was likely to be both of those things already, which is why Placebo made a point to scrub his hands over his face and sooth the tension out of his smile before approaching her cell. He made a point not to walk too quietly, even knocked on the wall as he entered the corridor to announce his presence so he wouldn't startle her.

“Hi there, kiddo!” He chirped, voice soft but bright, like the glow of headlights in the fog.

“My name's Doctor Bo – it's short for Placebo, but you can call me “Doctor Bo”, or just “Doctor”, or “Hey You!” if you'd prefer.”

His smile quirked slightly at one corner, as though he was amused by his own lame attempt at humor. It was an unorthodox approach, but he hoped she would be disarmed by his casual, overly-familiar way of speaking and feel more confused than afraid.

“I just wanted to pop in for a bit and see how you were holding up. I know it's not fun, being a non-consenting house guest, but I'd like to try to make things a little better if I can.”

It wasn't a lie, not really – he did genuinely want to help the poor kid, it's just that helping her wasn't his only motivation.

[Patch]

At the sound of metal softly hitting stone- a Knock, outside her door, the captive’s helm popped up off her knee, and drifted a little as she took a breath in. As though she’d been woken, despite having not been quite in recharge. Processing. Catching up to what was going on.

She looked off a moment considering who it could be, or what they could want. Mentally measuring the weight of their steps, and noting they were not a vehicon.

As the figure emerged into her view, the femme readied herself as best she was able. Her helm lowered and angled downward, face hardened, optics slit as her intake twisted to a sneer-

-that is… until she SAW him.
Like really saw him.

Confused she most certainly was.

Weather it was the degradation of what semblance of a filter Patch would usually have had, from all this damned alone time, or simply the fact that in her centuries of life, she had never ONCE seen anything Remotely like him-

She couldn’t help it. It was reflexive and instinctive and before she could consider it simply fell out-

“-Whoa.”

A small, quick, visceral reaction as her face suddenly curdled in confusion and surprise. Concern, almost, for the wellbeing of whatever creature could Possibly Consciously Choose to exist in an environment as hostile as this one surely was, with those, human-baby colors plastered all over their frame like a Solus-fragging Target.

What had this poor spark been through… Had he lost a Bet?

Evidently NOT- as he then continued on with the... charade? It HAD to be. No One actually Spoke like that! He sounded like one of those... religious leaders of earth she'd seen in her briefings. Someone trying to convince their youth of the glory of whatever higher power they followed. He spoke like a cartoon! Like a living, speaking little flake of saccharine; and that was coming from PATCH.

Her chin angled slightly as he continued, gaze shifting to more of a side-eye. Flecks of minor, self-repairing cuts across her face, and what of her dermal metal sat exposed. What could his angle here possibly be… There WAS one- there had to be.

A doctor?

A self-proclaimed one, at least- though she struggled to believe someone with his physique and demeanor had survived the war anywhere NEAR the frontlines… he looked better suited to Well attendance… Sounded that way too…

That is… unless there was reason to fear him besides his physicality…

At this notion, her demeanor tightened once more- regaining a bit of the composure she lost initially with her newfound sense of apprehension. A look of mistrust weighing down her brows as her chin turned away a bit more, a deeper breath taken to cool her spark’s sudden kick of additional activity.

Her helm shook slightly in deep, dark disbelief. An almost incredulous, flippant edge to the question, befitting- nae, enshrining her current state of cognitive and emotional development. Her adolescence.


"...Why?"

[Deleted]

...Oh.

Oh but she was a young little thing, wasn't she?

If Placebo wasn't already numb to the gross indecency of his fellow mecha, he might have been disgusted – both with his own faction for taking her prisoner, and with hers for allowing her to be a soldier in the first place. Alas, Placebo had long since come to terms with the fact that war, and the people who participated in it, were repellent to every sense and sensibility, and so he had little to spare by way of shock or horror. The most he felt at the moment was a small twinge of something vaguely unpleasant, like the dying cry of a moral standard from days gone by, but he was sure it would properly upset him later, when he least expected it. If he was lucky he might even manage to cry, and wouldn't that be something?

Cheered by the thought, Placebo warmed his smile and tilted his head, allowing the finials on either side of his helm to follow the movement and flop casually to the side.

“Because that's all I've ever wanted to do.” He replied, as though it was as simple as that – and for him it was.

“I know that might be a little hard to believe-” There was a wry pause, his smile turning a touch self-depreciating as he inclined his head towards Patch, acknowledging her blatant suspicion.

“-but it's true.”

He took a few steps closer to the cell, moving at a slow, relaxed pace for the dual purposes of letting Patch know he was moving in, and monitoring her body language and expression so he didn't infringe on her comfort. At the first sign of unease (or once he was only a step or two away from the bars, whichever happened first), he would stop dead in his tracks and lower himself to the ground, folding his gangling limbs into a semi-comfortable sitting position.

“I was lucky, back on Cybertron. Not everyone had the privilege of choosing their role in life, like I did. I could've been anything, but I wanted to help people, so I became a psychologist.”

And then he became radicalized and his world fell apart, literally and figuratively, but he really didn't need to explain his life story to his literally-captive audience. All she needed to know was that he had every intention of helping her, insofar as his he could without doing anything that might be misconstrued as treasonous.

To help convince her of his good intentions, Placebo leaned forward a bit, shot a look over his shoulder as though to check for eavesdroppers, before turning his attention back to Patch and cupping a hand over the side of his mouth, to help her hear as he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial stage-whisper.

“And there's nobody in the known universe who needs psychological help more than the Decepticons.”

[Patch]

The young femme’s optics flicked around across the stranger’s frame a moment, as though verifying it wasn’t a tint from the energy shield- he was in fact painted like a tub of cotton candy. Another instant of sass pressing through the veil of neutralness she was doing her damndest to put between the two of them.

It was her mission to make sure she didn’t break to this mech- make sure she showed no fear, no weakness… As he approached, however, this goal was immediately shattered.

The instant it became clear he was coming Towards her (the second step, or so) her bent knees tensed a bit, her plating drawing closer slightly as a ping of warning coursed across her brain.

At which point she noted that he stopped.

He wasn’t trying to enter her space? Not trying to make her uncomfortable, or make her feel watched, or bared down upon- now what sense did THAT make? Was it not his job to make her speak?

'so I became a psychologist.'

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit-

Her expression opened up at this, optics going brighter as she tensed, and sat more upright.

He was gonna crack her open like an egg- here to make her bleed her vulnerabilities for the enemy, the vulnerabilities of her family and there wasn't anything she could do to physically resist it! This wasn’t GOING to be a test of physical will- No, she could have Swallowed pain. That’s what she’d been expecting! That’s what she’d been stealing herself for- despite her best attempts not to make it hurt Twice.

Okay, okay- stay calm… He hadn't done anything yet, she just-... Didn’t have to say anything. Least not anything important, no different than it had been this whole time.

She had honestly, not entirely relinquished the notion there may be some, Vehicon with a cart of torture implements around the corner- but for now… For the INSTANT, now, If he kept to this story, she was at least, physically safe.

The stage whisper seemed to get the femme’s hackles up, at first. A slight defensiveness as she braced to be told she, or her faction was awful, and broken, but-... No.

No that- couldn’t be right.
Right beside the legs of the Vehicon guard no less.

The young femme’s gaze flicked up to the back of the standing mech, then Placibo in turn- the vehicon not responding to the comment, of course. Remaining professional and stoic, facing away.

Surely this, ‘Bo’ realized... Did he not Care if the Vehicon heard?

Confusion seemed to wash over the young femme once more, then, a slight shift of her rear. Pushing up upon her peddes as she squirmed a bit and pressed herself further into the wall. Clinging to her defensiveness, and… loosing her grip, slightly. Tension in her optic ridges as something urgent tugged at her side and appeared behind her optics. Something she tried desperately to squish to no avail.

Curiosity.

“What do you want from me?”

A warm, earnest phrase that petered off the stone of her cell. Loud enough to be heard, but only just. Her blue, glowing focus flicking around his face, around his optics- which were now level with her's. Trying to read him.

A repetitive question- weather Patch was aware of this or not, was unclear. He had already given her an answer to this, though… Perhaps she wanted to test how consistent he’d be with such a thing? Perhaps she wanted to see him respond, as this was presented again.

She was obviously skeptical, wavering on the fence between wary and intrigued.

[Deleted]

A little known thing about Placebo – in the sense that nobody bothered to know him, not that he made a secret of it – was that he had a special fondness (some might say weakness) for cute things. Felines of all stripes (ha, puns!) were particularly near and dear to his spark – in fact, they were his favorite thing about Earth, next to the natives' musical theater productions. Something about their big eyes and sweet little faces just got to him in a way that, from a purely biological standpoint, made very little sense. After all, Cybertronains did not reproduce or develop in a way that would necessitate the evolution of baby schema, and so there was no reason whatsoever for them to develop a nurture-response to juvenile traits, in order to promote warm feelings and motivate care-giving.

Ah well, just another one of life's little mysteries, Placebo supposed. He knew he was far from the only Cybertronian to experience an innate attraction towards things that were small and helpless and needed taking care of, though at this point, with their population being as decimated as it was, he supposed he might be one of the few remaining willing to admit to it.

--Not only that, but to do so proudly without a hint of reservation. In fact, if asked, he would freely admit that he found their little Autobot house-guest to be quite frankly adorable. Maybe it was the bright optics, the childlike curiosity, the way she looked at him like he was a monster and a shelter both at once – everything about her served to make her all the more endearing, which just served to place her presence in the cell in even starker contrast. A sweet little kid like her had no business being involved in a war. This ugly world that she had found herself in – she didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve any of this.

Alas, such was life. Placebo found that lamenting the cruelty of this cruel, uncaring, and unjust universe served very little productive purpose, beyond serving as an ever-ready trigger for feelings of despair and existential dread when one needed to have a good cry, so he tried not to think about it more than once every other minute.

“Well,” He began, pretending to think the question over. “I would really like for you to be as far removed from the war as possible, but I know that's asking for a bit much, so I'll settle for you getting home to your friends in one piece.”

He paused to spare a glance at the guard, who remained dutifully silent, before turning his attention back to Patch. His smile wavered slightly at the sight of her, losing some of its exaggerated cheerfulness as he tried and failed to maintain his facade of unyielding optimism.

“There's...really nothing I can do to make that happen on my own. I can give you some advice and put in a good word for you, but...”

His voice trailed off, his shoulders bobbing in a helpless shrug, the finials on either side of his head sinking down along along with his gaze, as though he suddenly found it difficult to continue looking Patch in the optics.

“...I can't guarantee your safety.”

His smile wavered once again, growing as faint and reluctant as his voice had become. It didn't leave his face, not completely, but it was a near-thing – then, as though all it needed was a moment to catch its second wind, his smile brightened and he lifted his head to meet Patch's gaze once more.

“But you can.”

[Patch]

He didn’t suddenly snap and loose his patience at the request for repetition- that was a good sign. Nor did he seem in the slightest annoyed. She could tell he was feigning his consideration of the question- but that… only really made it harder not to trust him.

He was softening her up- he HAD to be. There was no way a con would have such good intentions, not without an ulterior motive. She’d made that mistake too recently to let herself make it again- it was still tender to the touch… It was the reason she was Here.

No she couldn’t- she couldn’t trust him. Not this Fast.
She couldn’t let herself.

And yet… As the first friendly face she’d seen in- she’d know eventually- how long… It was VERY hard not to fall into the promise of support. Even if it Was just pretend, it was warm and she was very cold, here.

She didn’t wanna die, here.

She caught his smile fading, how he couldn’t meet her eyes… No.

He was working her. Playing her up to make her feel like a victim- well it wouldn’t work. Patch was a survivor not a victim- she’d made it this far by her own damn hand. She’d make it farther or she wouldn’t. Feeling bad about it wouldn’t change a damn thing.

Sure she was a kid, sure she’d been hurt. She was alive- that's what happened when you were alive. She’d keep it that way as long as she could; and she’d give it up the second the lives of others became the price. That’s how she’d been trained, that’s how she lived her life. It’s how she’d always figured she’d die- and she’d already made it a hell of a lot farther than she knew she'd ever been meant to.

She didn’t wanna die here, no.
But she’d still do it if that’s what it took to keep her family safe.

“By what, talking?”

He had to know she couldn’t do that. Perhaps his suggestion would be more constructive than her fabrication of what it could be- but the young femme felt the need to gain some semblance of control, and in light of this, an edge of incredulous forced through her voice as she interrupted, slightly. Doing her damndest to harden herself to this stranger.

[Deleted]

Ah, there was. The subtle accusation that she was being manipulated, interrogated on the sly. He had fully expected it, and so he took no offense – he could hardly fault the kid for being suspicious, for rightfully assuming the worst of a Decepticon. She wouldn't have survived as long as she had if she were so naive as to give him the benefit of doubt and take him at his word that his intentions were pure.

Still, the question sat unhappily in his chest, as though he had swallowed something that didn't want to go down.

His brows tilted, his smile turning a touch sheepish as he favored Patch with an apologetic look.

“Well, yes, but not the way you're thinking.”

Assuming he was correct in his assumption of her assumption, which was a doozy of a sentence.

Shifting his weight a bit, Placebo leaned forward so he could rest his elbows on his knees – or at least he tried to. It was a bit difficult to arrange himself comfortably in the position, now that he had a new alt mode and his limbs were no longer as familiar in proportion. He really ought to have scanned something a bit closer in size and shape to his old alt, but nothing else on the planet had appealed to his sensibilities quite as nicely as the vehicle he had eventually settled for. Ah well, he would adjust. He always did.

“Here's the thing, kiddo. There's only two reasons why someone becomes a prisoner of war.”

He lifted his hand, raising his index finger in demonstration.

“One: because their enemy is trying to keep casualties to a minimum, or -”

Another finger joined the first.

“Two: their enemy has a use for them.”

He could have left things there, let the kid's imagination run wild and fill in the blanks for him, but he felt it prudent to properly illustrate the severity of her situation.

“Sometimes it's because they can provide labor, or, like you guessed, information. Sometimes it's so they can be indoctrinated or conscripted. Sometimes it's to demoralize their comrades. Sometimes it's so they can be used as a bargaining chip, to secure a negotiation.”

He paused to give Patch a moment to process his words, wanting to make sure she had enough time to properly hear and understand him.

“And sometimes it's because people can be cruel, and they want to do cruel things to the people they have power over.”

His smile was a ghost of itself, small and sad and perfunctory.

“I think you can guess which of the two options applies to you. Between our factions, mine isn't the one that takes pains to keep a low body count.”

[Patch]

He was moving himself still yet lower- Patch noticed this. Now below her optic level. Lesson one of ‘things one could often do to make a patient comfortable’. To make someone relax, to try and be seen more as an equal. As a ‘helper’ as a friend, more than some figure of authority.

Her optics remained fiercely on the candy colored mech as he explained, as he described the nature of her current predicament. Of prisoner taking. As a concept, really, more than, anything to do with Patch's specific scenario.

Yet somehow the notion still settled quite solidly in the young femme, as Bo spoke.

No one had really… Said, the words, to her.

Patch was, a prisoner of war, now.

She would now always, have once been, a prisoner of war.
Dead or alive.


She re-set her voicebox, with a small click. The only real shift in her scuffed, dusted frame as she sat with her knees up. Back against stone.

“Between our factions, mine isn't the one that takes pains to keep a low body count.”

“So I’ve seen.”

The young medic, was a little too steady, in this. Conviction, blame behind glowing eyes as they narrowed slightly, against cuts in her face where the shards of a Vehicon had pierced and been removed only days before.

The femme’s frame shifted forward, slightly, chest lowering a little as her butt hopped back. the chains behind her rattled as she pushed up with her legs, as her arms moved. Her optics lowered with this, then lifted once more to settle squarely on the mech before her.

Her expression was quiet. A steady intensity in her gaze, as azure optics scanned his face. Engaged, present. Just a little in pain. “Tired” as so many people claimed that’s all it was. Eyes almost hollow, as her lips pressed together, a little.

She was trying to read him, it seemed.

And then she broke away.

Her optic ridges lifted, as her chin tilted down. Optics shifting to the corner as her helm quirked, a bit. She tisked.

“...What do you suggest I do about it then, Doctor Bo.”

Her gaze returned to him, already not trusting the words yet to be said.

[Deleted]

It was not an appropriate occasion for smiling genuinely, this Placebo knew, but all the same he found his perfunctory expression bolstered by just the slightest flicker of amusement, or something near enough to it. The young Autobot had fire behind her optics, dimmed though it was by her dire circumstances. Though slightly unsettled by having those circumstances outlined for her so plainly, as evident by her pause and the subtle click of her vocoder as it reset itself, she still held firm to her composure. It was admirable, her display of fortitude, and Placebo was proud of her for it –

Not that he could admit such a thing out loud. The most he could do to convey the sentiment was let his polite, placid smile twitch just the slightest bit at the corners, authentic feeling bleeding through the mask as quickly as a blink, there one moment and gone the next.

She didn't trust him, not the slightest bit, and she was well within her rights not to – but she was willing to at least entertain his advice, listen to what insights he had to offer. He had no delusions that she would take his words as gospel, or give them more than the barest consideration, but she had opened a door and given him the opportunity to be heard, which was the most he could really hope to ask for. All he could do was give her information; it was up to her to do with it what she saw fit.

Inclining his head slightly to the left, Placebo met Patch's gaze head-on, without flinching or faltering or being the slightest bit affected by the open suspicion he found there.

“It's pretty simple, actually. If you're more trouble than you're worth, then you're not worth keeping around.”

One of the decorative finials atop his head swiveled slightly as he spoke, twitching down before flicking back up to its previous position.

“You have to sell the idea that it's better to keep you than kill you. There's a lot of ways you can do that, but a good place to start is by being a model prisoner.”

He paused to shoot Patch a wry, knowing look.

“I understand why you wouldn't be thrilled to play nice with the bad guys, but not every hill is worth dying on. It's in your best interests to be as cooperative as possible, when possible. This means being respectful or at the very least civil, even when you aren't shown the same courtesy. When you're dealing with people who already have every inclination to cause you harm, you don't want to make things worse by giving them an excuse to, you understand?”

[Patch]

That smile…

Clutching to his grin like a grounder over the edge of a cliff- desperate, pleading. Hanging on for dear life. What would happen if it slipped away, she wondered? If he was holding on so tight to it, what was this mech without it?

Unfettered, unmedicated pain continued to burn across the young soldier’s plating, beneath silver spots of stripped off paint. A ripple of cool, acrid warmth- almost itching as her frame healed. Unable to rub, to scratch, to analyze even with her own two servos. Trapped for however long she’d been here now, previously undamaged wrists ached nearly as much as some of her wounds. The internal damage evident, even externally by virtue of now prevalent scratches and scuffs from rubbing and pulling against the cuffs.

It seemed she took some level of offense to the doctor’s advice.

She hadn’t done anything! Not REALLY. She’d been civil to the medic- He’d been civil to HER! She’d been in his position before, knew what that felt like to treat an enemy soldier. The others? They'd ignored her, and it was painful to be ignored. Pushed to the back of one’s mind like, Trash. Maybe she couldn’t make them interact with her, but at least she didn’t have to make it EASY to ignore her.

She watched- yet again, the gears turning in her head as she looked at him softly. Wide eyes, mouth hanging open just a crack as she proceeded. It felt like she was being prepped for something. Like he was trying to get her in a state of submission BEFORE someone came in to get something done.

“...What are you planning?”

She wanted to cut to the chase. All this talk about talking, the warm up. Beating everything around the bush except the bush itself.

“For me. What are you gonna do with me?”

There was a sort of blank vulnerability to this. She didn’t mean ‘you’ as in Placebo, she meant ‘you’ as in the CONS. The whole of the faction he’d aligned himself with. There was nothing she could do, nowhere she could go. There was no argument in the question. No imagined scenario where she could avoid what was coming- but she knew SOMETHING was coming, and-...

Well if there was a CHANCE this mech would tell her what it was…

Maybe she could at least resign herself to whatever it would be, before it happened to her.