Author's Notes- Hello all, sorry for my absence. My muses have been rather uncooperative. Hope you've all been well.

Warnings- Future chapters likely to be censored for sexual and violent- possibly triggering- content (including descriptions of abuse and torture)- see my archiveofourown (link on my profile) account for my unedited works.

Pairings- Knock Out/DJD, Knock Out/Stunticons, Knock Out/Breakdown, Megatron/Starscream, Thundercracker/Skywarp, Knock Out/Starscream/Megatron, Knock Out/Starscream and others in the future.

Disclaimer- I do not own Transformers or its characters.

Units of Time:- Astrosecond- 1 second, Klik- 1 minute, Cycle- 1 hour, Orn- 1 day, Decacycle- 1 week, Meta-cycle- 1 month, Solar cycle- 1 year, Vorn- 1 million years.

Italics- Flashbacks/thoughts/memories/link speak.

Bold- Comm speak.

Beta- The wonderful Iwanita.

All mistakes are my own.

Hope you all enjoy it.

Unfair Trial

Chapter One- Rumours

The sparklings stared in awe at the fireworks lighting up the sky many miles from their home, the Seeker trio settled together, wings fluttering, on the roof of their shared berthroom. They were brothers by trine, but not by energon, two sold off very shortly after their creation in the hopes of creating the ideal trine under the third who had remained with his creators.

So far, that hope seemed to be well-founded.

Despite the trine-third's blooming resentment that he had been destined to be the bottom of their little family, the trine-second's just contained annoyance with his superior's growing arrogance and his inferior's mischievous nature, and the trine-leader's frustration that the other two simply could not keep up with him as they learned to fly; they seemed to work well under pressure and even had moments where they got along well.

Like tonight, watching the bright oranges and sickly greens burst up into the dark night air. Cooing softly, half in sparkling babble and half in regular Cybertronian, their crimson optics shone with enjoyment and reflected the entertaining bursts of colour. To them, it was one of the most beautiful things they had ever seen.

Which was why, when the trine-leader's carrier flew up and berated them, carrying them down at least a full hour before their regular berthtime, they could not help but whine their disappointment that they had not gotten to watch the end…

Starscream stormed from the meeting room, wings raised in a well-known sign of aggression. Knock Out was not far behind, cringing at the feeling of Megatron's optics glaring through him at the Seeker's back.

Another day, another row.

This time it was over the disappearance, or so the official story said, of the thin flier's trinemates, and the Decepticon Lord's refusal in retrieving them. Outside the window as the two walked by, the Cybertronian sky burned; the sounds of suffering outside inaudible through the thick, reinforced glass. Amber tinting their frames and temporarily blinding, their pace quickened at the same moment to reach the other side and the sanctuary of darkness once again.

Knock Out sighed to himself, medic's optic roving over the dents and scratches in the deceivingly fragile seeming frame. Why Starscream felt the need to challenge Megatron at every turn and in such a disrespectful manner, the sports car couldn't understand. Raising points of constructive criticism was part of Starscream's responsibilities, yes, but calling their Lord and Master a fool while doing so was hardly wise. As was clearly demonstrated on the flier's frame now.

The fact that Thundercracker and Skywarp had wanted to 'disappear', had in fact volunteered for the mission Megatron had planned, seemed not to register in the Seeker's processor as he had demanded the return of his wingmates immediately and had been ruthlessly denied.

A Decepticon who could not keep hold of their toys did not deserve to have them.

Silence ruled between them as they finally reached the medbay, Starscream stalking over to lay himself out on what most thought of as his berth. Two pools of blood red blinked up at the ceiling, the Seeker's field seething with anger and resentment.

Emotions that Knock Out had felt in the fields of Thundercracker and Skywarp many times as they had stood beside him where he picked up his tools now, wings fluttering as they had watched him work on their third.

The third who always endangered the freedoms and welfare of the trine; a trine-leader who should never have been in charge of them or any other Seekers. Knock Out had overheard that conversation many times from across the shadowy medbay as Starscream had laid in a medically induced coma under his care.

Fists clenching, wishing Breakdown was with him and not with his brothers across the planet, Knock Out once more set to fixing the Air Commander with resources that they should not be sparing with the Autobots breathing down their necks. They held superior firepower and numbers, but that did not mean that the equipment of the medbay should be put to unnecessary use.

Knock Out began to work out the dents in Starscream's armour, several times opening his mouth to begin a conversation, only to be cut off with a dark glare that he dare not challenge. The Seeker energon in him stirred at the thought of how losing trinemates would feel, but as he had never had bonded wingmates the vain mech found it difficult to empathise.

Starscream, once and in a rare calm mood, had told him that while Knock Out was unnatural- all but an abomination of their kind in that he had willingly surrendered his wings and had never flown in a trine- that the reason the medic looked for groups to be a part of (the primary reason why he fit so easily in with the Stunticons and their unique power structure) was that in the absence of a trine, the medic was unconsciously always looking out for a flock to be a part of.

But he and his 'flock' were not bonded, and he knew that Breakdown would always return to him so that one day that status could change when things were more stable, so he still failed to relate to the winged mech's grief.

The thought of being rejected by the Stunticons though was enough to put him off trying as an icy chill ran down his back struts. Anyone else and it wouldn't matter, but they… They were different.

He needed them to feel whole, whether they held part of his spark or not.

"Starscream," the medic murmured as he finished his repairs, breaking through the overly loud beeping of the monitors. "You really must-"

Take better care of yourself. The gentle advice was cut off by a vicious slash across the faceplates, energon spurting over the ground as Knock Out's optics went wide in shock. A servo grabbed his throat, cutting off the cry that almost emerged and shoving him backwards onto the medbay berth behind him.

Helm bowed as the medic clutched his faceplate, Knock Out listened to heels clack over the cool, harsh medbay floor and the door swish closed behind raised, trembling wings. Helm tilting to glower after the flier, the sports car was careful to avoid reflective surfaces as he went to his workstation to sit down and quietly repair himself; the few lights that had automatically clicked on as he and Starscream had entered flashing off behind him. Restrictions had been placed recently on such things to conserve energy, and Knock Out had grown used to spending his time in dark rooms as much as he wished he hadn't; missing the sky with a need he was glad was only a small percentage of what a full-energoned Seeker would.

The need was safe and relatively easy to ignore as Knock Out increasingly desired the self-proclaimed 'Lord of the Skies' to be.

Why he consistently put himself on the line for Starscream of all mechs, he didn't know. He had no attraction to the mech, and the Seeker was hardly friendly. How many times had he heard in reprimanding sessions 'it was Knock Out's fault My Lord…'? How many blemishes were on his record that Starscream had placed there? Well, no more. If not even his trinemates, the mechs supposedly made for him, could stand him then Knock Out failed to see a reason why he should try to either.

If Starscream wished to be alone in this universe, then let him deactivate in kind.

Hatred rose in him before being tamped down, knowing Lord Megatron's feelings about infighting and wishing to avoid trouble so soon after the gladiator's temper had been pricked. He could be patient, and wait to be an audience to the Seeker's inevitable fall from grace.

A moment after that thought entered his processor, he almost regretted it. There had been rumours abroad recently of disappearances- genuine disappearances- from their ranks. Those with particularly unsavoury records or who had significantly displeased Megatron in some way had apparently been vanishing from their berths at night, and even reportedly from their shifts in the middle of the day cycle. Knock Out had heard whispers about very unsettling things, and wasn't quite sure now he thought about it if he truly wished what he had heard in the shadows on Starscream or not.

And then he felt it, the top gash across his cheek, the one that had drawn the most energon, and his field darkened.

Yes, he did. He wished so badly for Starscream's arrogance to take a fatal blow; but not the Seeker's spark, the Air Commander was recognised by his programming as a patient and therefore forbade him to truly want the worst of harm to befall the Seeker.

Though he could fantasise a little with no real intent, and couldn't help but indulge himself in daydreams of taking his saw to the flier's own face as he sealed the ugly wound that marred his perfection.

Once done, he laid the tool down and stood from his workstation, stretching out his limbs and sighing softly. His shift had ended a while ago, but… The medic glanced at the pile of reports on his desk. As much as it constricted his spark to admit it, he had nowhere to go that he could escape to, apart from back to his quarters to an even more claustrophobic environment. And to wander the halls meant a risk of running into any member from High Command, and he simply didn't want to face that right then.

Venting quietly, the CMO sat back down and got to work on the most tedious aspect of his rank. Soundwave insisted on thorough reports though and the sports car was in no position to deny him; nor was he motivated to try, the rumoured telepath being the most bearable of the three at the top of the Command chain. Silent and, though a perfectly capable fighter, only violent if exceptionally provoked. Though Megatron's rough nature was not a bad thing in the berth, not at all…

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips as a whole different kind of fantasy began to take shape in his processors. Relaxing properly back into his chair as a light mood settled into his field, Knock Out signed off on his reports; tutting at one that threatened him for approval for additional medical supplies and laying it to one side. He'd report it in to the TIC later.

Sometimes it was truly laughable how stupid some of their faction were. It was well known that if you were going to break a rule you should leave no concrete evidence- such as a signed datapad- to tie it back to you. Then again, an even bigger rule was to not speak your plans aloud in front of the faction's head communications officer, but Starscream, apparently the resident traitor, did so all the time. And, though he was punished for his attempted coups and disrespectful speech, no permanent harm was ever caused.

Then again, the flier had value others could not equal, and so had some protection. Only the end of the war and that advantage would tell Megatron's true intentions for his rebellious second.

Though there were rumours about the two of them and their 'special relationship' and Knock Out could at times believe them. If one thing was for certain it was that the only mechs to understand that connection were Megatron and Starscream themselves.

Perhaps the Seeker was simply masochistic as more than a few in both factions had derisively snorted.

Though that led to Knock Out briefly wondering that if the Autobots knew what was going on and were supposedly so noble, then why did the majority of them find the situation between the two Decepticon Commanders so amusing?

Fragging vile hypocrites.

The medic sighed, a puff of warm air from his vents into the cool, sterile medbay. It was an interesting train of thought, but one he at that moment cared very little about. There was nothing he could have done about it anyway, even if he had any inclination to do so. Megatron and Starscream were the ground and the air, unmoveable, unrestrainable and powerful in their own ways, and to try to combat one, let alone get in the middle of both, was decidedly unwise. Knock Out had learned that through personal experience.

Signing off on a report, the medic put it on his steadily growing pile of completed ones beside him. For a moment, he did a double-take, sure that there used to be a couple more there, then shrugged to himself. Perhaps the sports car was more exhausted than he had thought.

Or, as several shadows began to move in the dark corners of the medbay, perhaps not…

Last report finished, Knock Out pulled out a datapad from his subspace and began to write a quick, personal note to Breakdown. Of course he included no truly important private details, simply wanting his missed lover to know that he was thinking of him and their little… family. The CMO would never call what they were a flock, that was ridiculous despite what Starscream thought.

Knock Out had researched into that type of behaviour enough to know it when he saw it. He and the Stunticons were brothers and that was all, the CMO not even truly believing he had enough Seeker coding within him to wish for a flock when he had never felt the need for a trine as all others of the frame type did.

Starscream, learning from his Master, just wanted his subordinate to doubt and feel insecure in himself to keep Knock Out in his place. And the medic was painfully aware of the similarities between his relationship with Starscream, and the Air Commander's interactions with their Lord. The sports car knew there were times when he was only a punching bag in Starscream's processor, someone to take frustration out on when Megatron had done the same to his second. Today was just another incident in a long list, without the usual verbal barb that normally accompanied a slap, slash or even occasionally a punch.

Knock Out's shoulders stiffened, field giving a disgruntled pulse as he thought of the times he'd fixed the flier, only to have to replace him on the medbay berth as soon as Starscream regained his strength and wait for Breakdown to return to repair and pamper him. Not that be objected to the latter, it was the former that ground his gears.

Ungrateful little cybersnake.

Resting his helm back on the rest of the chair, the CMO's smouldering red optics cycled off, tiredness beginning to flare in his field from the long last few cycles. Surely a light recharge would be alright now his work was done? Curling up on his chair after safely storing Breakdown's datapad in subspace, the sports car gradually slipped offline, still aching faceplates going temporarily lax in relaxation as his engines hummed softly in sleep.

When he opened his optics again, his datapads were gone, with a message from Soundwave in their place to say they had been received. How very strange. The thin mech must have come down to check on Starscream's status; Megatron often sent the TIC down with some excuse if he injured the flier, so he could reassure himself the Air Commander, his valuable asset, was going to be alright without losing face.

It was very… sparkling like behaviour really, not that Knock Out would be so foolish to say it to the Decepticon Lord, or even think it anywhere near Soundwave. But still, the medic wished his Commanders could sit down properly and talk to one another properly like mature mechs. It would make things so much easier, and the Autobots wouldn't be able to insult and, worse, exploit their lack of effective teamwork.

That's where most of their recent failures lay mainly, the CMO was sure; Megatron and Starscream working spitefully against one another and overriding their other advantages on the field. And the amount of losses they were suffering was on the rise; morale crippling rumours that seemed to hold more truth than most that the Autobots were turning the tide were on the increase, and getting ever louder in the grunt's barracks. Knock Out was glad that he wasn't the one that had to keep the Decepticon High Command together and sufficiently unified to perform its function. Soundwave's job was not one to be envied by any means.

The back strut of the army indeed.

It was worrying the amount of damage the Autobots could do were they simply to take out one deceptively quiet mech. It wouldn't be easy by any means, but it was possible. And the enemy were well aware of that fact; Soundwave in the top three of their unofficial 'Must Assassinate' list from the beginning of the war, and even before that when the Council still retained its influence. But if the Autobots were to capture the possible telepath, that could be even more detrimental were they to extract his knowledge of the Decepticons and their carefully kept secrets, and then destroy him as the more ruthless element of the opposing faction were sure to make sure of; eliminating the danger to their comrades whether it was what their Prime wished or not.

Despite what the Autobots liked to think of themselves, they were more akin to the Decepticons than first appearances might suggest. Perhaps destruction was simply a part of Cybertronian nature. Or, at least, part of much of their race and at differing levels. Breakdown liked to smash things, but hadn't truly been comfortable when the medic had shown him some of his favourite recordings of torture sessions between Decepticon interrogators and Autobot prisoners.

They both liked challenges but in their own way. Breakdown liked an opponent who was at least his equal to get the rush that fighting gave him, and then enjoyed the spoils of getting to kill his adversary when the other was defeated. Knock Out preferred to work more with the processor. Testing it through pushing the limits of the body until both shattered so beautifully under his specialised servos.

A grin grew on his faceplates as he remembered such a pretty little Autobot that Megatron had given him as a reward for his successes on some barely remembered battlefield; one being much the same as any other and seldom worth storing very securely in one's memory banks. Even Breakdown had joined in the play then… It was always fun to share, especially when it was with someone he knew as well as the former Wrecker. They hadn't needed to discuss what they were going to do; an exchanged look between them was always more than enough. And the 'scientific research' they had carried out had given both of them such a wonderful evening.

Despite Breakdown's slight aversion to the use of torture, he certainly got revved up enough when covered in another's energon. The last few drops had barely touched Knock Out's servos before he was grabbed from behind and thrown face down on a nearby medbay berth, their subject's mech blood slick and sticky between them as they had rubbed it all over one another's armour…

Knock Out's valve had been deliciously sore for days afterwards, and the stains and dents that had covered him had been worth the hours it took to right himself again on that rare occasion.

Engines happily purring as he indulged himself in the wonderful memory, Knock Out sighed and stretched, arching his back and pushing his arms out behind him, servos interlocked. As sore circuitry where he had recharged in an odd position unkinked, the sports car moaned softly, optic lids fluttering in mild pleasure.

That was abruptly broken as he was grabbed from behind; a strong servo sealing over his mouth to cut off the medic's surprised cry of panic, thick arm wrapping around most of his lower belly, brushing over the top of his interfacing panel, as the sports car was lifted up to briefly dangle in the air. Knock Out's legs swayed uselessly above his chair as he was brought against a too hot surface and squirmed in discomfort.

"You whimper so sweetly," a low voice purred in his audio, dark amusement rich in the mech's tone as Knock Out's servos clutched pleadingly at the arm of the servo keeping him all but silent.

The CMO hated mechs, and femmes for that matter, who did things like this. Humiliated and frightened him with no provocation. It was one of the reasons he had given his wings up and put himself forward to be reformatted into a grounder despite the argument it had caused with Starscream, the Wing Lord of their destroyed home city. He hadn't been able to cope with the stress put on his systems whenever one of his disgruntled patients- no Decepticon took being injured well- played the practical joke on him of tearing his wings right off his back and leaving the CMO in paralysing shock. A type which, no matter how many times it happened, Knock Out's Seeker coding could never adjust to nor allow him to recover from very easily. Of course, his assaulter would always find the sports car's state hilarious; Knock Out inevitably shifting from frozen stiff to writhing in agony as his frame was overwhelmed by his panicked programming.

The reformat had been traumatic but ultimately worth it. His wheel was a target, yes, but not one that overwhelmed him so completely to lose; and a few suddenly severed arms with his saw quickly taught those in the CMO's medbay to behave.

As Shockwave had been known to mutter in what passed in his monotonic voice as exasperation, their mechs could be utter unintelligent brutes.

As the behemoth behind him appeared to be. Normally Knock Out would retaliate quite viciously to being treated like this, but… But he could feel the strength thrumming effortlessly throughout the other's frame, flaunted smugly in how easily the medic was contained. His spark twisted in nervous anticipation as he knew that he couldn't hope to prevent anything his captor had in processor.

This, in the Decepticon ranks, could very well mean the end of the relatively small sports car.

It wouldn't take much for a Decepticon like the one behind Knock Out to make the medic disappear for good with nothing tying him to the matter. They were strangers, the CMO was certain, and rank only had a limited span of protection which itself was affected by the amount of favouritism Megatron granted from one day to another.

Knock Out closed his optics, field flaring briefly in embarrassed frustration as his fists balled against the thicker armour, frame bracing itself instinctively for some kind of blow. Panic pulsed sickeningly, saturating the medic's field to wash over all other emotions, when he was suddenly yanked backwards, legs hitting the top of his chair with two echoing clangs.

The mech spun round and Knock Out was confronted by five shapes outlined in the darkness outside the perimeter of his overhelm desk lamp; the lights in the ceiling stubbornly refusing his internal order to switch on. Shutters flying open once more, the medic blinked harshly several times to try to get his sight to adjust, though he was not sure he really wished them to; anxious as to what he would see as all the recent rumours came crashing down on him...

"Now Helex," a silky voice emerged lyrically from the gloom, Knock Out's spark jumping in answer, "is that any way to be treating our Lord's personal medic?" The voice, though soft and low with more than a hint of humour, held a touch of warning as well. The mix despite the words kept Knock Out's worry running high for a reason he couldn't quite put his digit on; every safe protocol in his systems simply screamed about an unnamed danger and demanded that he run, that he escape…

But he couldn't. Not just because of the firm grip he was being kept in, but because of… that voice.

Shivering and flinching backwards, Knock Out tried to sort out his confused emotions and to silence his instinctive programming, knowing it was doing no good and likely making him appear even weaker to whoever these mechs were than his physical appearance portrayed. Like Starscream, he was built for speed, not strength, and once caught his entire advantage disappeared apart from that of surprise which sometimes saved him. But that strategy was clearly also gone in this situation in that they had used it against him first, and he doubted he would be able to get past the line of mechs blocking the exit even if he had dared to try to escape by using his saw to attack the one denting his metal.

Engines giving an upset growl, his servos released 'Helex's' arm and his arms folded, sparkling crimson glaring sideways at the ground.

If they had known the CMO was Megatron's property and had wanted to speak to him, why couldn't they have simply knocked on the medbay door and addressed him? Why had they had to play this demeaning game with him?

Foolish question. They were Decepticons clearly seeking to leave a lasting impression with all these theatrics, wanting Knock Out to be in no doubt of his place with them before they had even spoken a word…

The medic granted them a bit more intelligence than he had initially, unable to deny their plan had worked to satisfy their intentions.

Glower softening slightly, curiosity beginning to push away his annoyance, Knock Out again sought to look at them through the darkness when the lights suddenly flashed on throughout the room, temporarily blinding him and drawing a cry from the sports car's mouth that provoked quiet rumbles from several engines; the reasoning behind them clear…

The yelp ended on a muffled giggle, Knock Out rubbing his optics to soothe them. Sadists,the CMO had been caught by a group of pain lovers. He wondered if they were in a playful mood. If they were, it could end very badly for the CMO, but the thrill of his own excitement at finding others like himself was indisputable.

Knock Out blinked at the distorted, but quickly coming into focus, shapes, and hoped they liked to share. Perhaps if they did, he might be able to play with them sometime, as long as he wasn't the focus of their intentions of course… Which he seemed to be now…

And then he saw them, truly saw them as his servos came down.

His delight died, forming a cold heavy feeling in the bottom of his tanks as mechs right out of even Unicron's nightmares stood before him, and no doubt a similar monster stood, still hidden from proper view, behind him.

No, these were not for playing with, not at all. Breakdown would worry himself into deactivation if he found out his lover had been fooling around with Cybertronians like these. They were… grotesque, but…

But Knock Out's spark thought them honestly beautiful as well, exotic and like nothing he'd ever seen. It was obvious what two of them could do, and the other two he could see he'd wager also had nasty surprises concealed from view. The fifth shadow he had seen appeared to be a beast, standing and panting beside one of their legs, metal slightly brushing.

What in Primus's name could mechs such as these want with him? They were clearly uninjured, but had an obvious interest in him despite that…

This could end very badly indeed.

Without warning, he was released, dropping to the floor but quickly caught once more and pulled against what Knock Out thought to be thick glass. "Sorry little mech," an unapologetic voice on the brink of laughter vibrated through the sports car's frame. "Force of habit."

The arm gave him one more squeeze before finally letting him go altogether, letting Knock Out take a few quick steps away from the far larger mech. The others made an obvious show of surrounding him in a circle, leaving the red mech in the centre with no escape route. Barely given a moment to breathe out, the blind one suddenly draped himself over him, servos running curiously over his frame as the other seemed to want to get a feel for him.

A chill ran down his back strut that he didn't allow to show in his optics as Knock Out got the unsettling feeling he was being sized up for something, and he hoped that it wasn't which way would be the best to put him through the strange mech with an X over his face's middle. The CMO didn't think he'd get out the other side in one piece from the glinting of the blades embedded there.

And he liked his limbs in their proper places thank you very much.

A cold servo, thin and sharp, ran up and down his arm, shavings of paint falling to the floor as the medic tried not to wince, tried to hit the right balance between respect and strength. Whether these were his superiors or not, they had more physical power and easily outnumbered him. That efficiently destroyed any status a higher rank might have given him, and that was if he had it to use in the first place. Looking to the one damaging his paint job, he looked into two bright but icy optics and a plain white face. The eyes, judgemental and cruel, were those of an executioner who didn't care whether his victim was guilty or not. Like an eagle looking at mice, everyone was prey.

With a soft vent, Knock Out looked away from the gaze that dared him to say anything about his cosmetic damage and sought out the embers of then apparent leader's voice. He had that tone (commanding the titan and the CMO's back with ease), that stance, which conveyed him as the one in charge of the group, and would be the one who ultimately decided what, if anything, his mechs did to the medic. Trying to ignore the weight on his slightly bent back and the tingles of warm electricity going through his panelling, Knock Out worked to keep his breathing even.

And would have succeeded were in not for the large servo which clamped down on his shoulder and almost drove the sports car to his knees. The grinder had finally decided to move apparently, tiring of the others getting all the attention. Momentarily glancing up at the sinister grin, Knock Out instinctively glanced away. The servo left shortly after, as did the burden of the crackling mech's weight, and the subordinates of the team almost in sync took a step backwards.

A poet's servo cupped his faceplate, tilted his helm up as soft, commanding music began to play, not lessening in the slightest the oppressiveness the previous almost silence had created; if anything the weight resting on the sports car's spark grew in size. "Now," the mech rumbled, "I'm sure you will be relieved to be informed Commanding Medical Officer that you have passed our test. You retain your rank…" He leaned in closer, stopping Knock Out from pulling away as the grip on his cheek tightened some.

"And your spark."

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