This is my first attempt at G1 stuff, even thoguh I haven't actualy seen the series. Blame Ultharkitty for her incredibly awesome portraying of Vortex and Panthothenate's amazing Soundwave/Bluestreak fic, which triggered this evil plot bunny.

Chapter content advice: Dark themes, graphic violence, implied rape and graphic robot gore. This story does not have scenes of the smutty persuasion YET, but I'm not sure of where it will go beyond a certain point. Just to leave things clear, if there is such a scene in the future, it would be tactile/plug'n'play.

Notes: Time measurements where taken from tfwiki:

vorn = 83 years
deca-vorn = 8.3 years
stellar cycle = ~7.5 months
orn = 1 Cybertron day
joor = 6 hours
cycle = 1.25 hours
breem = 8.3 minutes
klik = 1.2 minutes

mechanometer ~ meter
kil ~ kilometer

EDIT: Now this fic has a beta! White_Aster has gently agreed to help me with this, so I'll take this chance to thank her once again for being bags of awesome-cookies and teaching me stuff all over the place ^^

Enjoy =)


CHAPTER 01

0

It was like a wall: a wall made of sound. And he fancied for a minute that he might actually be able to feel it with his servos if he tried.

"-and you know what? It's not even funny anymore how lame your tactics are! Starscream wouldn't be able to trace his aft's location with both hands and a GPS. And let's not even talk about the bunch of retarded fraggers he calls trine mates. Where do I even start! They could only frag up more than they do now if the Earth cycle had more kliks in it! And what I don't even-"

Soundwave listened, not a single wire moving as the words washed over him relentlessly. It was his job to listen to all that was being said in Decepticon headquarters. Of course, whatever a prisoner had to say ranked much higher on his priority list than the daily nuances of the other Decepticons' lives, but it was infuriating nonetheless.

He was used to dealing with the vast amounts of -probably useless- information that was the rumor mills, rec room dialogues and whispered words in deserted corridors. He could occasionally extract from them bits of information for further use, either for blackmail, cross-referencing or simply amusing gossip to feed his cassettes.

He even enjoyed the inner chatter that flowed among his symbionts. It was relaxing to just eavesdrop on their conversations without needing to search for patterns. It was familiar.

"-at all! I honestly can't remember if I've ever been more bored out of my mind. Honestly, guys, I think I can congratulate you, because you have finally made me glitch out of the pure dullness that is looking at your faces. It's like one of those human films where all the greenish guys say "braaaaains", only you are uglier. Speaking of ugly, what's bucket-head doing now, eh? I mean, I'm pretty sure he's having one of those epic evil epiphanies, probably including purple griffins and all. Damn! Did we had a laugh with that! That was a good-"

But this! This meaningless constant babbling unnerved him. It was both the constant patter, grating on his nerves, and the knowledge that there was at least a tiny infinitesimal possibility that among the monstrous quantities of senseless data, the Autobot might spill something of importance. Soundwave wished desperately that he could momentarily shut down his audio receptors, but he knew that if he missed the tiniest part of it, he'd be haunted by that possibility. He got other mecha to relieve him of watching the offending Autobot, but since he asked them to hand him a recording afterwards, the annoyance was pretty much the same, only filtered through a data pad.

They had brought the Autobot in around five solar cycles ago, after the last skirmish near New York. It had been just another struggle between seekers and Protectobots, but Bluestreak had been around for some unknown reason, and a lucky stray shot from Skywarp brought part of a building down on the young bot. Laserbeak had been just as surprised at finding his unconscious frame as the Autobots had been when they realized their sharpshooter was nowhere to be found. At some point in the non-stop blabbering the Autobot had told whoever might be listening that it was the last time he detoured to the city to get personal supplies for Cliffjumper, so Soundwave assumed that that explained the random encounter. It was yet another stellar example of the wrong mech in the wrong place at the wrong time... something that in his opinion could caption half the defeats the Decepticons suffered.

"- just as expected of a pair of scrap-for-brains. All the same, me and Sunny had quite some fun that day, though-don't take it personally-I rather enjoy not having to see Decepticreeps like you on my days off. Man, that was actually quite a vorn, once you think about it. There was that time Wheeljack managed to blow up half of Blast Off's cargo haul instead of us, the cone-heads' barrel-roll incident, that time Blot got locked in Shockwave's warehouse and we watched and pointed from outside, when the glue gun-"

It had been an odd experience. Most apprehended Autobots either sat in defiant silence or cursed angrily to show a lack of fear, but when they got Bluestreak to online again it was something else entirely. There where insults of course, laced every couple of words, but there was also everything else.

He accused, whined, preached, mused and demanded. He glided through irrelevant anecdotes or epithets and slalomed between questions like a politician. Not even Megatron had expected that when he had growled "Wake him up, and make him talk!"

"-but why would they even bother looking for that station there? I mean, I am no strategist myself, but damn! That was so off the mark they were left for mega-cycles orbiting on their afts. Still, I don't think we got lucky after all. Sorry if I am offending anyone by stating something so painfully obvious, but it was a given you were gonna fail miserably on that one too. I don't think I've ever seen Astrotrain's brains at work, period. Still, there might be-"

They had sent for Vortex, of course, but the damned slagger was still half a quartex away on some mission with the other Combaticons. The order from their leader had been that he had to be kept alive until then. Wildrider had told Drag Strip that he'd love to be there when the copter met the Autobot just to see the interrogator's face plates when he met a subject that offered willingly more information than cable TV. Soundwave had to admit he was looking forward to that moment as well, if only to find out if the torturer managed to break the mech or not. It would probably be highly... instructive, to say the least.

Soundwave, for his part, thought it would also be profitable if the Autobot remained alive afterwards, since the bot could still make a good bargaining chip if he was glitched, but not so much if he was offline. On a foot note, having a living punching bag had done wonders for crew morale, even though he still wouldn't shut up, even with every plate on his frame dented. Granted, a defiant, energetic mech was much more interesting to punish than a weakling that crumpled into a corner whimpering, but even Motormaster felt that after a while the fun wasn't worth the headache. And Motormaster had been thorough. Bluestreak's paintwork was now half gone and his plating was cracked and dented, showing in certain places rubs of other colors in easily identifiable patterns. Most of his data panels, as well as his interface covers had long ago been ripped and tossed away, along with one door wing. He was a sorry sight, and even his air cycling rattled with the loose internal components from warped vents.

"-Pit and back. And do I know a disgusting imbecile when I see it. Even Lugnut had more brains than him, and that is saying a lot! But he did pull a good one over on Swindle, and if there is one mech even more horrid than him, it's Swindle. I don't even get how his gestalt can bear him... it must be like being bonded to a can of used oil. Not that it would matter much to them, I mean, Brawl can't be that far-"

But still, as long as he remained conscious, he kept on talking. Even through gasps and spitted energon, the flow of words stuttered but didn't stop.

0

Bluestreak's mind was trying to analyze his situation without seizing up in fear. He noted that his energon reservoir was almost depleted, though he knew they wanted to keep him alive, so it wasn't that much of a problem. Far more preoccupying was his dropping coolant and hydraulic pressure. He really needed those to have at least a fighting chance if an opportunity to escape mystically appeared (not that he was really expecting one), and the 'Cons where clearly not going to help there.

He could tell a few solar cycles had passed, but they had blocked his internal chrono. He was a bit disoriented, and his comm systems had been disabled first thing, so he had no way of calling for help, either.

Despite his appearance, Bluestreak was quite perceptive and prone to thinking before acting, something that helped him in his role as a sniper. His usual cheerfulness wasn't a facade, but he was far from being an impulsive bot. The chatter that flowed from his lip components was only a shield that kept his inner thoughts confined to an unreachable space, and he dedicated to it only a small fragment of his processor. In truth, most of his routines run in the silence beneath.

It was discouraging for a sadist to see a victim that didn't seem to care at all what was being done to it, and Bluestreak knew that perfectly well. He had created such a distance between his processor and his speech centers that once he was in full babbling mode he could be nanokliks away from fatal system failure and still be broadcasting.

But he was really close to desperation now.

He knew the 'Cons hadn't contacted his faction. He hadn't been sure of that until a few breems ago, when one of his "caretakers" had wondered aloud, between punches and clenched denta, how much he would talk once Vortex arrived. And that single name had been enough to make his tank constrict in panic.

He continued to frequently mumble to himself even when he was alone, because it brought clarity to his thoughts, but just for once he wished he didn't have to think at all. He wasn't sure he'd be able to keep his act up with the Decepticon interrogator. If the copter managed to break his barrier of protective noise... well, nothing would stand between him and madness.

0

"I just don't get why someone hasn't ripped out his vocal processor already," Frenzy said as he fidgeted with a tiny cam array. The desk at the communications officer's workstation was littered with microchip components. The red mech wasn't paying any attention to the video that displayed a view of the cell holding the bot in question.

"Complications in acquiring intel" was the laconic answer, and the symbiont could almost swear that the sarcasm wasn't just his imagination.

Rather than clutter up his HUD, Soundwave had opted to receive this particular feed through an external screen. His cassettes had started to avoid the room after a few solar cycles of Bluestreak's incessant chattering on the screen, so Soundwave had internalized the audio stream, earning himself a wave of relief and gratitude through the quantum bond.

Now they ignored the Autobot completely. The spy master wanted to chide his symbionts for underestimating a source of information merely because it was annoying, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. It was an intensely annoying source.

"So what! We can just ask Hook to stick it back in him when Vortex gets here... it's not like he is saying anything worth slag..."

"Hook rarely cooperates. Frenzy, desist query."

"Fine, fine, I was just saying," said the cassette, shrugging. He eyed the screen warily and saw the slight movement of the face plates as the Autobot went on talking. He was sitting against the far wall with his hands cuffed behind his back. Frenzy could see that his optics where flickering occasionally and he was wavering imperceptibly from side to side. It was the telltale sign of mecha with severely low energon levels, and the young cassette hoped wistfully that whoever had been assigned to feed the prisoner had forgotten so the bot would offline already.

Frenzy then swung around to look at his boss and marveled on how deceptive appearances could be. He knew the bigger mech was drained and stressed out of his mind due to having to listen to that freak all day, but the exterior betrayed almost nothing as he supervised various screens, tapping away. Still, to the expert eye, his frame looked more rigid than usual and the young 'Con had noticed Soundwave becoming increasingly irritable, even towards them. Frenzy asked himself, not for the first time, if this wasn't affecting his boss more than he was letting on.

"Boss..." He trailed off, letting his worry zip gently through the bond. Soundwave ceased typing and looked at him, head slightly cocked to one side. "I think you need a bit of a rest"

The larger mech stiffened and directed his attention again to the consoles. "Soundwave, capable of functioning efficiently. No defragmentation needed yet"

"Awww, c'mon, don't get mad at me. You are gonna blow a gasket if you don't get away from that glitch for a while... Just have a quick recharge, and I'll keep an eye on him for you." The smile that punctuated the words was honest for a change, and Soundwave realized his symbiont was probably right: a quick nap would enhance his performance and mood. Also, he trusted his cassettes to crunch the data properly. He wouldn't have to review the feed afterwards if it was Frenzy overseeing it.

Soundwave looked at the cassette and nodded his helm a fraction, then patched the audio feed back into the external console. He could hear the murmured jabber returning to the room as he stood and went to his private quarters next door, where he laid down without preamble. Recharge came swiftly without him even noticing.

0

The recharge was not long enough for a deep core defragmentation but enough to defrag some sub-routines. They were mostly a sensory collage, a copy-paste of experiences and randomly-generated scenarios that popped up while his processor defragmented the files from the past couple of solar cycles. Soundwave hardly ever had any recollection of them and didn't pay any attention to them when he did, but this time was different.

His systems booted up with a start, fans whirring furiously, and it took him a full klik to realize he was cycling air through his vents in harsh pants. He felt his spark compress tightly with irrational panic, provoking an instant burst of chaos among his cassettes. This led him to do a system check to calm himself and to ping each of them to let them know nothing was wrong. Once the ruckus on the internal comm died, he sat up on the berth and began browsing urgently through the sub-routine logs

There wasn't really much to it, just random logs from sensory arrays: a fragment of an argument between Megatron and Starscream, some flashes of what he recognized as parts of his HUD during a recent battle, the distant noise of an unidentified cetacean beyond the building's walls. The last entry was simply a recording from his external audio sensors of the last couple of kliks before he had powered down. He felt the energon roil in his tank.

He opened the whole sequence of the last file that had been cropped and placed in the sub-routine. There was his exchange with Frenzy, then the soft burst of the Autobot's chatter as he returned the audio feeds to the consoles, the bass-pitched thumping of his pedes as he made his way to his current location, some shifting as he laid in the berth, and nothing else. The recoding stretched on a little while after he went into recharge, and he found with unease that it perturbed him greatly.

He couldn't quite explain why (something that greatly increased his anxiety), but those instants after the last sound threatened to kick his fans on again.

The recording was so low pitched it could have translated as white noise to the sensors, but Soundwave recognized the subtle purr of his own engines and the clicks and taps of automatic realignments, along with the almost imperceptible gurgle of his vital fluids. It wasn't empty quiet, but rather filled with the little sounds a living organism produces when it's idle. It was a living silence.

The objective of analyzing what he had experienced had been to calm him, but it did nothing of the sort. Soundwave felt his restlessness increase exponentially. He clamped down hard on the bond, not wanting to disturb his symbionts once again, and stood up to return to his post.

He wasn't about to let irrational emotions take ahold of him like a youngling. He assured himself that whatever had happened to him was of little consequence. It was most likely a sensory driver bug or a conflicting redundancy that would be purged away in his next full core defragmentation. Unless it prevented him from performing his duties on schedule he wasn't about to pay it any more attention than it was worth, which was none.

Soundwave returned to his workstation with tension still gripping his frame. Ravage had arrived while he had been recharging. He had made himself comfortable on a couch and slipped into recharge himself. Frenzy was still monitoring the screens. The other symbionts where still out working, and Soundwave could feel them pinging back in acknowledgment when he prodded the bond in their direction.

There was the ever-present murmuring coming from the cam showing the Autobot prisoner and the warm and tingly smell of a mid-grade cube by Frenzy's hand. The light was dimmed, and Soundwave could see a sliver of the ocean floor through the narrow window on the opposite wall.

It was a normal and utterly familiar scene, and as he took it in, his worry evaporated just as swiftly as it had arrived. He let his pleasure at this fact brush the edges of the bond. The red cassette glanced up for a second with a small smile, content with the improvement in his mood, even though he didn't quite get what had caused it. Frenzy jumped up from the chair and returned to his work at the table.

Soundwave wordlessly relieved him at the multi-screened consoles and told himself it must have been the grounding effect of his bond that had cleared his thoughts. His trusted cassettes had unknowingly pulled him out of his dark musings merely with their presence in the room. It had to have been that.

It most certainly hadn't been that eternally annoying background noise that scorched his audio feeds.

Of course not.

0


As it seems to be the case with a lot of people, FFNet is giving me tons of formatting headache. The paragraphs are supposed to be fragmented differently but I just can't seem to be able to make it right =_=

If you rather read the competently spaced version, it will be posted in my LJ and AO3 account.

Well, that's it for now. Crit and reviews are always appreciated =3

Shibara