Cybertron has been revived, but Predaking enjoys the planet he knew as Earth as well. There were far more creatures than he could count, and most were as connected to nature as him. Instinct ruled them, though this beast was far more civilized and c...
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This had become ridiculous. Not only was it the next Earth morning but Ratchet hadn't heard a peep from Predaking or even Tapper. Let alone Skylynx and Darksteel. Yes, time was different between the two planets but after several long Earth hours of trying to get (Y/D) to take a nap Ratchet had blown several fuses. Of course he didn't yell or throw anything at the youngling, he'd save that for Predaking when he came to pick her up, but she had several time-outs which she was clearly not used to and more than a spanking or two for her blatant disobedience. Five months and Predaking allowed this behavior?
The medic gave a heavy sigh as he sat down after what felt like eons. She was finally tuckered out and napping in her odd, half awake way: wings splayed out in her Predacon form and squatty pedes extended at all sides as if she just flopped there (of which she kind of did) having spent her burst of energy after being so sick from the faulty Visco. Ratchet had watched her simply flop down like a thrown doll and slowly dim her optics.
"Come on, young one," he pat her helm, making the she-beast stir, "Let's get you somewhere a bit safer than the main hangar floor, alright?"
She gave a heavy nod as Ratchet guided her with a servo on her helm, doing their best to sneak around corners and avoid prying, human optics. It wasn't that hard when it was only three in the morning and the guard was changing (not that they needed it but the humans were known for unnecessary and useless precautions such as these).
"Almost there," Ratchet urged, knowing she was slowing down with toddler-like tiredness.
Five months of research (when he had the spare time) revealed she was very much like a human toddler. The temper fits, the babbling of nonsense, insatiable curiosity and clinginess to whoever she trusts the most. She was truly a fascinating creature, and Ratchet was enamored by the possibility of more of these femmes coming to light. How would they act in groups? Would the Predacon femmes watch over these other younglings or is that the mech's duty? Is there some other way for them to be created besides that of scientific means?
Ratchet shook his helm. Until (Y/D) grew, or matured, he doubted he'd ever find his answers through pure speculation alone. It was nonsensical and dare he say it- 'illogical'. The mech rolled his optics at the word that held such disdain in his processor. It was just a word yet the mech who used it ever so often turned it into an almost cursed vocabulary. The medic was thankful (Y/D) didn't have to coexist with the isolated, crazed mech. Who knows what the Decepticon would have done in the name of science. Probably worse than even he can think up.
A thought suddenly struck the medic as he opened the door to the storage hangar. A truly terrifying one that made him shiver as he looked to the Predacon youngling, now curled up in a corner of the hangar. Despite his thoughts, Ratchet covered her with a tarp, the beastie crooning her thanks as she relaxed. She was so gentle when she wanted to be, adorable and hard to say 'no' to at times. Yes, her wide intake that could swallow a Cybertronian whole and unblinking optics could be quite foreboding, but she was so sweet- even upon their first meeting.
