# Mine! My Spark! part 1

Аноним Nytare

Warning from the parking lot owner. Going to the dump for a car.

Eight and a half years later

"Where are you going?" I purred affectionately, creeping up to the little scoundrel retreating from me.

The scoundrel was sidling away from the table and was now retreating, sticking out metal plates and helplessly waving the milk nozzle: he knows that attacking me is fraught.

"I'm asking you, WHERE'S MY COFFEE, you little bastard?"

The arrogant and long-established toaster, flashing its red, slanted, cunning eyes, slowly crept up on its terrified counterpart, carefully rearranging its outstretched paws: this parasite had done its job and prepared toasts for me, so it could calmly poison the lives of its relatives. Standing on tiptoe, the vacuum cleaner gripped the edge of the table with thin segmented fingers and moved the hose funnily. All this was watched from the ceiling by an alarm clock that escaped in the morning and a phlegmatic fan that stubbornly continued to do its job. Until he wants to fly.

"Coffee! Immediately!"

I put the cup on the table and pushed it towards the terrified coffee machine, which had inadvertently come to life. This bastard ruffled up, forming cannons, but as soon as a tiny blue lightning flashed between my fingers, the change blew away and obediently poured coffee. With milk. Then he carefully pushed the steaming cup away from him.

That's a completely different matter! And they say that disepticons are not amenable to training. They also give in if you find the right whip!

Clever. - I picked up the cup, sniffed, took a sip... no, without any coasters, everything is as it should be: coffee latte with sugar. And did you have to squirm like that first and then panic?

She reached out and patted the disheartened parasite on its tousled head. A small dysepticon of my own production stomped dejectedly to the other side of the table and defiantly transformed into its original form: a Bosch coffee machine.

"But don't get into the offended position here!" The coffee machine ignored me, aggrievedly flashing a red indicator. "If you're offended, I won't give you any treats!"

This argument worked flawlessly: the litle disepticon stopped portraying the innocent victim and immediately transformed, faithfully looking into my eyes. And the toaster, the sycophant, even brought a plate of toast. And fried the way I like it: evenly, with a crust.

"It will be delicious in three days!"

The little ones looked downcast, but they couldn't stay depressed for long, just physically, and soon the toaster got into a fight with the coffee machine again, slamming it with a red-hot foot. Koff screamed, spat a trickle of milk at Tos and ran to complain to the Dust about the limitless man, who was slowly but surely seizing power among his small relatives, hiding behind the plump green carcass of a former vacuum cleaner.

At that time, Nyashka, the food processor, was climbing on the imperturbable huge stove, which had escaped after me from my previous place of work, and was looking into empty pots, checking them for the presence of "yummy". Naturally, there was no such thing, and each piece of debris was characterized by the word "no", angrily scattering the covers. The stove didn't like it, and just a couple of seconds later, the pest jumped up with a squeal, flashing its burnt paws. Already on the floor, choking on a raspy curse, he expressed his dissatisfaction to the listeningly listening Litya. The swearing was completely childish, but it was very emotional and expressive.

However... they were all ordinary children. Even the old trailer we lived in. Although not. The trailer looked more like a lazy teenager. He's also... alive. But he didn't drive us and rarely transformed, preferring to keep the shape of the car and not glow unnecessarily. And his complaisance was explained simply: he was saving up energy for a third alt-form. He wanted to become a racing car, and I promised to personally make a "yummy treat" for him, so necessary for gaining strength, if he would be my home. So we have a complete understanding with the calm and balanced Trell.

Someone knocked on the door. Panic began among the relaxed disepticons: the little things quickly ran into their places and took on a natural alt-form, returning to the appearance of household appliances, from which they originated. The displeased stove pulled the curtain shut with its clawed paw.

"Nana, are you there?" Mark Dykes' loud voice rang out at the door. The Evil one hissed, but when he met my gaze, he returned to the form of a teapot and fell silent. That's what a nasty dirty trick it is! It stands and boils, illuminated by red diodes.

"Mr. Dykes, I'll be right back!" Straightening my clothes, I opened the door and jumped down onto the sandy, rock-packed soil.

"Nana, the holiday season will start in a week and people with cars will arrive. I'm going to have to ask you to make room in the parking lot." The good-natured man said somewhat guiltily. "I hope your car gets fixed soon." I spread my hands. "The car is old. They can't find any spare parts. And what is there is very expensive."

"Look at the dump. She's three miles away from me. They seemed to have cars on the move. Mark pointed somewhere to the west. "Go there. I'll give you a bike. Maybe you can pick something up."

"Thank you. I'll take a walk, I can walk. The weather is good today. Solar."

The joke about the nice sunny weather in Nevada was on duty.

Mark laughed and left, and I began to think where to get this mythical car that I didn't have. Of course, the Trell could transform into a pickup truck, it had such a shape, but how am I going to explain the sudden disappearance of a large van?

Sighing, I returned to the trailer, and red glowing eyes were already staring at me expectantly from all sides, only the kettle was hissing angrily and spitting boiling water towards the door: he disliked Mark after he unceremoniously grabbed him to pour himself tea.

"Well, it's a small thing. We're going to have to get out of here soon." I rubbed my face. "Trell, while I'm gone, make sure that this pack of uglies doesn't scatter."

Four red eyes appeared on the wall and winked. He likes to bully this small pack: without his permission, they may spit here, but they won't go outside: the Trell is bigger and stronger.

I didn't put off going to the dump: it's still early and I can get out before the heat sets in. And maybe I'll really find a car: even if it doesn't drive, it doesn't matter. For me- it will go... after it comes to life. The main thing is that the whole dump doesn't come to life... and doesn't try to kill me.

Although... it seems that not a single lively disepticon has raised his paws on me yet. They did dirty tricks, of course, but not out of malice, not wanting to harm. Their nature is like this: belligerent and aggressive. And they vent this aggression in constant skirmishes and hunting each other. It is quite understandable and familiar pastime for combat cybernetic creatures. Even tiny ones.

Or am I already used to them? To constant fuss, hunting, outbursts of aggression and anger, endless swearing and squabbles that instantly stop as soon as real danger appears. The instincts of a belligerent creature do not depend on its size: small disepticons crave battle, venting their aggression on each other, arranging a kind of outdoor games with a combat bias.

A hot breeze blew in, raising fine, powdery dust. The sun was shining brightly from a clear blue sky, untouched even by light clouds. It's going to be hot. And at night, it's cold as always. Pulling my wide-brimmed straw hat lower so that the shadow covered my face, and adjusting my homemade poncho made from an old cotton pareo, I stomped on, already habitually putting a small plastic button in my mouth.

Three miles is not such a long distance. I've already gotten used to hiking in the desert. I learned to walk on it so as not to get heat or sunstroke and not to get dehydrated, having developed several simple rules that help to live normally in this territory.

It is necessary to drink properly in the desert. Especially when hiking. Strictly observing the water norm, following simple rules for its consumption and using simple thirst control methods. Such as an ordinary button stuck in your mouth: a foreign object stimulates salivation and slows down the onset of thirst.

And you also need to be able to dress. Especially to dress up and walk properly. I've learned. And for the same reason of controlling the consumption of moisture in the body, I refused the bicycle brand offered. The usual measured step is less harmful. I'll get there easily and without unnecessary stress on the body in the desert.

How did it happen that I moved from a big metropolis to this deserted hole? I had to... Willie, you asshole, you kicked me out of my job at the cafe and didn't pay the money, writing it off to pay for the damage. The funny thing is that his expensive stove, along with the pots and the cash register, suddenly ran away after me. Yes, Cassie... This wonder-hungry creature stayed in the trailer to meditate over colorful candy wrappers and bottle caps, carefully counting them and carefully storing them in cells in his stomach. He's the epitome of GREED in a surprisingly quarrelsome and petty disepticon: he drags everything that glitters and looks beautiful, and it's very difficult to take even one wrapper away from him. I had to take his LIFE once.

This execution impressed EVERYONE, and after that my little ones became amazingly compliant, unconditionally recognizing my right to command them. Including the newly revived greed. He even gave me a stolen wallet somewhere. The thought came up again that Cassie should buy a couple of decks of cards and let her meditate. He'll like it.

As I stomped along the side of the road, I remembered my life, which had changed dramatically since that momentous day when the Silver One doused me with his blood. I knew intellectually that it wasn't just the purple liquid, there was something else, but what? I did not know. I didn't even have any assumptions due to lack of knowledge, and the chaotic pictures that had been composing my dreams for years hadn't brought much understanding yet... except that I suddenly discovered that the squeaks and barking curses of my scoundrels had acquired the meaning of coherent speech. And here are the images that glided through my mind.... Apparently, I haven't grown up to their awareness and understanding yet....

Anyway, about a month later, when the severe phantom pains were gone and the alien coloring disappeared from my skin, I found the first litle dysepticon in my apartment.

It turned out to be... my cell phone. Nokiy. Quarrelsome and harmful, like all disepticons. He was the first person I unknowingly revived back then, but far from the last. Time has shown that I can transform any technique into transformers, even just passing by... if I don't control myself. And now most of this filth of my production is running around somewhere in the desert, having emigrated with me from the big city. The most annoying thing is that they don't leave me far, except for those who, for some reason, immediately left for unknown distances. Given the extremely lousy nature of all the disepticons, and I was the ONLY one who could do it, my life was... not boring: like the teacher of a vicious kindergarten of small demons, each of whom was somehow armed with MILITARY weapons. Even if it's small, like a needle thrower or a nail thrower. But they could kill ANYTHING! Oh, there was also an electric drill that came from nowhere, crawling out only to feed.

The nicest one turned out to be Tos, who took care of me in his own way: every morning toasts were waiting for me, even if there was no bread or money. That's where he got the bread? He was mysteriously silent, saying a vague "tama"... The phlegmatic, silent Duster generally tried not to stray far from the Trell, carefully removing the results of the debacle inside the trailer, as well as Lithi, our stove, who secretly kept order, and the little gopniks tried not to annoy our lady.

After all these troubles in recent years and the showdown between transformers, we felt very uncomfortable in the cities. Even the energon sensors worked on me a couple of times. LOOK AT ME!!! Not at my assholes, but at me! Or were the sensors reacting to the energon that the dying Silvery had doused me with?

I sighed. Who am I lying to?... Something's been happening to me ever since. I'm kind of a human being: I need to eat, drink, sleep, but...

"Tuta!" suddenly there was a sound from under my feet, knocking me out of my thoughts.

I almost jumped! Tos rolled around my legs in a partial transformation into the second alt-form of a large toy car and held a wriggling rattlesnake in its tenacious paws.

"Tos, how many times have I said it, it's poisonous!" The toaster immediately twisted the animal's neck and tried to calm it down. Sighing, I coiled the snake more compactly, shook its tail and put it in the back. Tos hissed and cracked contentedly, imitating the sound of a rattle, examined me and took me back to Trell: the meat was spoiling quickly here, and the refrigerator was part of the van.

He returned an hour later, along with happy blender, riding someone's skateboard, when I was already approaching the dump.

"Where was it stolen?" I asked bluntly, knowing that I wouldn't be able to shame them.

Once stolen, it means they are stronger and more cunning, and the skate is their legitimate prey. That's the whole logic.

"Tama!" Disepticon hissed his satisfaction and shook the ratchet he had torn off the snake.

These are inventive scoundrels!

"Has someone else arrived?"

"Yeees." a small pest rode along the road and got a lot of pleasure from this uncomplicated process.

You'd think he couldn't ride on his own wheels the same way! Maybe! But it's much more interesting to do it on a stolen skateboard!

And let someone prove to me that these brats are not alive and do not feel emotions! Out, they're happy, they're already glowing! However, their happiness usually comes out sideways to someone: either they scare the passers-by, or they drive some kind of animal to kondrashka.... Well, at least they bring meat sometimes. Or whatever they can steal.

The smartphone, which was entrenched in my breast pocket, switched on the music and covered itself with a flap: he did not like the bright sun and was now muttering something displeased. What? Ah, the network coverage was not satisfied! The signal is weak and malfunctioning.

And why do you need a signal? I asked suspiciously.

"Nada!" The pocket creaked angrily.

The music is over... homegrown music lover.

It was with this escort that I stomped to the dump. Tos and Der immediately got sucked into the tall, dry grass, dragging the skate with them and arguing.: They were going to catch snakes, but the skate was in the way, and their natural greed did not allow them to abandon their prey. I went to get acquainted with the landfill workers and its owner. Maybe they'll let me pick up the car. Maybe even for free. Especially if it is old and for some reason not very convenient for cutting and disposal.

The owner of the dump turned out to be a skinny, lanky man named Nail. That's how he introduced himself. When asked about a cheap car, he phlegmatically waved his hand, offering to walk through his patrimony in search of treasure. As it turned out, some of the exhibits have been here for years, maybe I'll find something... if they didn't steal the spare parts before me. But I was looking for a CAR that would then leave on its own. Unfortunately, serviceable cars were not suitable for me: there was no money to buy them.

I wasn't happy about the dump: what stood on the common area is hardly capable of coming to life even in my hands. In most cases, all that remained of the machines were completely stripped skeletons of varying degrees of rust, stacked one on top of the other. Some were already compressed and towered in uneven grotesque piles, which were supported by powerful metal beams dug into the sun-scorched earth. Some of the cars still have their interior trim and some interior elements, some even have seats, but the engines and all more or less useful spare parts have been removed for a long time.

Tos and Der got out from behind the bent and pressed body of the pickup truck. Surrounding me, the little ones chattered, jumped from their overwhelming feelings, pointing somewhere deep into the dump. They found something. Something so important that they could barely describe it coherently from their bursting emotions.

"Tama!!!" Tos screamed, choking with incomprehensible delight. "Tama!!!"

Der was nodding actively and hopping impatiently on its short legs, buzzing and whistling. Okay, let's see what these parasites have found: usually, small skeptics are not mistaken in their assessment of technology.

I couldn't get to this "tama" quickly, because I couldn't get through where the small pests were seeping in, so I had to go around. But finally, I saw an overturned skateboard abandoned, piles of cars cut and pressed into pancakes, and a hefty armored military tractor standing almost at the press, which had already been used for sawing.

Old. It was almost completely rusted through, with a crumpled and twisted back and cabin, as if the transformers had dented and kicked it before they put it on the saw. There was an abandoned welding machine lying nearby, which had already been dragged towards me by two parasites.

"Put it down! I still don't have enough money to pay for your damaged device!"

The little girl exchanged glances, quickly turned the device around and dragged it away, after which she returned to the huge military vehicle.

"Tuta!" the former toaster was bouncing around a huge flat tire.

"And what is "tuta"?" I grumbled, looking at the powerful and definitely dead tractor. Something strange happened: Der respectfully stroked the wheel and chattered with delight.

Strange. They didn't react that way even to brand-new technology.

"This junk?" I asked skeptically.

The little thing was already filled with indignation from such neglect, jumping up on the spot, stroking the pieces of the tire, as if apologizing to the silent giant for my words.

A really strange reaction. Such sincere adoration and admiration, downright reverence for the dead tractor. I walked around the rusting monster that had been thrown into the landfill, already mentally preparing for the fact that I would have to force the Nail to give me this rusty junk.

"Okay, okay, don't freak out." I muttered.

The military tractor looked... terrifying. Torn tires, smashed, partially torn out headlights, broken windows of a cabin crushed by some titanic impact, doors already cut off lying nearby, a rusted, peeling, partially shattered body... A sad sight.

"Tuta!" again, the small disepticon drawled wistfully, managing to climb onto the hood and gently feeling the twisted metal.

"Yes, I see it. Tuta... full of achtung." The small ones jumped on the spot, and then, suddenly, they abruptly shrank, having managed to drag the skate after them: the owner of the dump with two workers taxied out from behind a pile of scrap.

"Oh, I found our main exhibit." Nail grunted as he approached the tractor.

"It's hard not to notice him: a colorful car." I replied neutrally.

"Colorful." the Nail nodded. "But it's junk. Even the engine was eaten by rust: porridge under the hood."

"And how did you get it?"

"Yes, they found it in the desert. They were tired of dragging this colossus. We thought we'd find something valuable, but here..." He shook his head. "When they opened the hood, they found only a rusted mess inside."

"It's hard to disassemble, it's impossible to move without a tractor." One of the mechanics, a red-haired guy, spat irritably. "While the doors were being cut down, they got dirty."

The man shook his head.

"They dragged me in vain. Only the fuel was burned."

Is this really my chance? If they're so disappointed with the car, maybe they'll give me this tractor. He's bothering them anyway!

"Do you need it?" I asked cautiously.

The men laughed.

"Baby, I'd throw this stuff away, it just takes up space."

"Is it completely rubbish?" I asked despondently.

The redhead nodded, the Nail spat and confirmed:

"Full."

I sighed. Little red eyes stared at me pleadingly from under the flattened cars. The little ones won't forgive me if I leave this tractor in a landfill.

"And if the engine is changed?"

"It makes no sense: his bridge is broken. It won't go anyway, but to repair it..." The Nail spread his hands. "It's easier and cheaper to buy a new one. It beat him well: it only holds the shape, everything inside is broken."

That's it, that's it! Well, what if...

I really wanted to get this tractor! My hands are shaking! This desire arose latently, imperceptibly, quickly gaining strength and firm confidence.: This is it. Exactly what I was looking for. I NEED this tractor! There was something about him... something that made my body shudder. Some kind of vaguely familiar hidden power, a feeling of something like that... I don't even know what to call it. Recognition, or what? This wrecked tractor stood out to my perception, as if a blinding bright ray had focused on it. Just the thought that I might NOT GET it made me feel unhappy. And the longer I was near the tractor, the more clearly this feeling appeared, literally screaming: "MINE!".

The Nail in my throwing noticed that I had succumbed to this strange Call so much that I lost control of myself, staring longingly at the wrecked car as if it were the most valuable thing in the universe. Moreover, the value is definitely MINE!

"Forget about that car, baby. I'm sorry for her, but..." he spread his hands. "It's just for cutting."

"And if..." I faltered. "And if... well..."

The mechanic chuckled.

"If you want, take it." the owner of the dump graciously waved. "It's more expensive to cut it than to just throw it away: it's too strong, it's an infection. There is more fuss than profit. I can even take you out into the desert. People don't drive here very often, so you'll have a couple of days to bring a tractor and take it away. But then you'll have to pay for our fuel."

My hundred...

"Oh, come on." I took out the bill, without regret giving the last money into the hands of the Nail. "How far can you take it?"

He thought about it, automatically folding the table and putting it in his pocket.

"There's an old gas station nearby." Finally, he said. "It's been abandoned for ten years now, but there's a carport, so you can park the car. If you want, we can take you there. And it's not far from the trailer park: you can walk for half a day if something happens."

I almost jumped for joy.

"I want to! Can you take my trailer there? Because my Ford is still under repair, and I'm constantly running back and forth.... He's at a trailer park ten miles away."

"We'll give you a ride, why not."

Seeing my impatience, the Nail was surprised:

"Now?"

"Please!" I whined, making a plaintive face.

The guy chuckled, but... didn't object. While his workers were starting their tractor, he waved his hand at me, inviting me to follow him.

"While they bring this junk to the gas station, let's go, I'll drop off your trailer."

I jumped after the Nail, and soon we were driving an old pickup truck to the parking lot, where, after saying goodbye to the good-natured Mark, we picked up Trell and drove along the highway to a distant abandoned gas station.

As soon as the tractor disappeared from sight, my brain turned on and started working normally, and I almost bit my elbow and ass at the same time when it dawned on me what I had done. I bought a battered military tractor with my last money! A tractor that has a 99.9% chance of never coming to life! And all because, for some reason, I couldn't figure out what made me jump, like Cassie over a colorful candy wrapper!

However, I did not play back. I bought and bought. I used to trust my gut: too often it saved me, pulling me out from under the raids of Gravediggers, to go against such a powerful surge for just a hundred bucks. If I'm so twisted out of the blue, then there must be a reason for that!


I must say that I was a little nervous: after all, I didn't know the Nail and its mechanics, and trust hadn't worked out too well for me in recent years. But I was worried in vain: the guy really brought me to an abandoned parking lot and even waited with me until an old tractor appeared, barely dragging my dubious purchase.

A military tractor was rolled under a dilapidated canopy, and the tow rope was unhooked. The Nail, already getting into the car, said:

"Well, come on, baby. If anything, contact us. Just look, be careful here: the place is abandoned, you never know what."

"Thank you." I sincerely thanked him.

The men said goodbye to me cordially and drove away, raising columns of dust, and I ran to my future car, near which the former toaster and blender were already jumping with wild excitement.

And it doesn't matter that the tractor is rusty and broken! This is MY tractor!

And I'll figure out how to revive him!

"Tuta!" Tos deftly climbed into the cabin, waving his paws invitingly.

The short-legged Der was squeaking while standing downstairs: he was too clumsy and couldn't get into the car on his own.

Is that what they're trying so hard to show me?

Having hooked up the former blender, I climbed into a spacious but very dirty cabin, which had long since parted with its seats ... well, everything that could be removed. Even the mounting points were gone, along with the torn-out metal of the floor, as if these seats had been torn out with meat. But the steering wheel remained intact: an excited Tos hung on it and stroked... the emblem with a predatory angular face, which appeared on the scratched metal after being touched by a little brat.

I froze, as if frozen, staring at this clear, intense purple emblem. A familiar logo. To the point of pain, to the point of tears, to the smallest tilt of rigid predatory straight lines... A huge military tractor, killed to death, turned out to be a disepticon. Finally and irrevocably... dead.