I'll be just fine, pretending I'm not; I'm far from lonely, and it's all that I've got
Vortex leans against the cold, stone wall of his interrogation room. Twirling the scalpel in his fingers, he offers the prisoner across the room from him a smile.
The Autobot doesn't even twitch.
He can't; he'd lost all motor functions a little while ago, the lacerations to crucial wires playing their part perfectly. The bolts that were drilled through his armor and into the wall hold him steady, even as his head dangles listlessly, chin resting unnaturally against his chest plates. The energon from his cracked helm drips down over his face and onto the floor, the steady splash of it pooling on the floor a melody to Vortex's audio receptors. "You look beautiful like that," Vortex tells him.
Sideswipe can only mumble something incoherent in response.
Vortex pushes off the wall, never taking his gaze off the broken Lambourghini. "Maybe I've been in a team with Swindle too long, because I wouldn't normally do this, but," he pauses, flipping a switch on the scalpel that makes it turn white hot, "I'll cut you a dea," He reaches Sideswipe, letting a hand trail down the still mech's arm, "I'll end the pain, and all you have to give me in return is the resistance's headquarters." To accent his point, he lets the sharp end of the scalpel drag down a fuel line, the miniscule flames turning the now cut edges of metal into molten pieces that slip down the line, spreading throughout his body.
The noise that Sideswipe emits makes Vortex's rotors spin wildly. It cuts out before it's done, though, before it gets to the good part, as Sideswipe's vocalizer hisses static and burns out.
"Still nothing?" Vortex frowns in mock disappointment, and gently raises the Autobot's head to look him in the optics. He knows Sideswipe can see him, and gives him a winning smile – Sideswipe would love that. He also knows that the prisoner in the adjoining room is suffering much worse than the red sports car before him, if the silence is something to go by. The other had been angry and loud and volatile before; now there wasn't so much as a scuffle coming from the room. He hadn't been looking for an answer from Sideswipe anyways.
He opens communication to his teammate, who grunts a low, "What?"
"Bring him in."
"What's the magic word?"
Vortex's optics narrow; how very like him to ruin a good moment. "Please," he hisses.
There is no reply, but he hears thumps behind the door, which suddenly slams open, admitting a tired Brawl dragging a conscious-but-quiet Sunstreaker.
"The guest of honour is here!" Vortex leers, his optics bright behind his visor. "I assume you know by now what we want, and you know what the consequences of a wrong answer are. Think wisely about what you say next, because I won't ask again."
Sunstreaker, adopting his signature sneer, growls, "You didn't ask anything to begin with."
Vortex had never claimed to be a patient mech, but he draws from some reserves as he continues to stare at Sunstreaker. The scalpel in his hand presses into the side of Sideswipe's face, digging in and turning his head so the red 'bot can see his brother. Vortex's other hand lightly caresses the still body, talons dipping in to crevices where armour has been ripped, and he can see Sunstreaker's body tense. "I'm not an idiot; I know that you and your brother have a stronger connection that normal mechs, and I know that the Decepticon sigil you wear is a façade. Tell me what I want to know, or I'll be happy to rid him of his spark slowly."
Sunstreaker shrugs, and while his faceplates before had been scrunched in a look of anguish, they're clear now of any emotion. "Kill him," he says blandly, "he's not my brother anymore."