AN: On deviantART, I created a challenge for myself: Write something every week for a set of challenges for an entire year. This is the second week's challenge: Asylum.
I suggest listening to Anthrax's "Madhouse" for this~
.~.~.
.~.~.
"It's time for your procedure, Mister B—"
"Ahhahahaha!"
Crash! "Jou…jou can't touch me! I…s-schtay avay! Ahhahahaha! I'll kill jou all!"
Thud! "No! No! Un-unhand us! Let me go! No!"
Thump! "Ve said let me go! No, please!"
Zap! Thud!
~.~.~
It was always ,voices', he said. He claimed he could hear them in the back of his processor. They told him what to do, and how to do things. They told him who to offline and let live. They forced him to remain with the DeceptiCons.
Oh, he was once a semi-sane mech—but, that was long before he had been taken to this place. What had they called it again? Ahh, yes: The ,correctional facility for the criminally insane'. No. This was a prison. They kept convicts here who had once kept a hold on their fragged-up heads—but now…
"Begin Upload."
"Yes, Sir."
Long digits begin tapping at a screen, a whirring sound can be heard, and shallow vents from a single ,patient' grow heavy and forced. A single crimson optic opens wide and the mech cries out. His digits flex, arms straining against his bonds as he tries to pull free. His back arches as he attempts to pull himself away from the berth to get away from the pain now coursing through his frame.
Rrrrrip!
"Frag! Hold him down! These bonds aren't meant for his kind!"
"Sir, I ca— Aaarrgh!"
"Get me the sedation—now!"
Crash!
~.~.~
"Ngh…vhat..?"
He sits up, slowly, venting heavily as his systems come online. His gaze drifts around the room, slowly; it takes in the stains upon the walls, the scrapes upon the floor. This was new…
He growls when he finds himself unable to move his arms, a faded jacket holding them against his frame. The jacket seems to have multiple belts upon it, forcing him to wear it with no means of escape unless another was to remove it for him.
~Vhere are ve?~ His question is directed to the other ,voices'—but, there is no reply. Where were the angry screams? Where was the mocking laughter? Where were his brothers' voices?!
A door slides open upon the eastern wall. He backs up a bit, growling like a caged animal as the figure enters. When his back meets the wall, he uses it to aid in moving to his pedes, his single optic bright—the artificial one having been removed, as it could have been a ,safety hazard' to other ,patients'.
"How's our most stubborn patient doing, huh?"
"J-jou took zem avay from me! I'll tear jou apart!"
"Clearly, you need more work…"
The mech steps out of the room as the other rushes him, the door closing in front of him just as the larger mech's shoulder slams against it.
"Rot in Pit, fragging psycho."
~.~.~
He sits cross-legged upon the floor, helm hanging limply, and vents uneven. It was procedure-after-procedure here—and they truly were not doing anything to repair his damaged psyche. And it certainly did not help his sanity any to see…their…faceplates within the operation room every time he was taken in, their faces smeared with neon pink Energon and offline—never to be heard from again. His…others…they had been parts of him. Without them—there for him whenever they were needed, never letting him down like every-fragging-one else in his life—he felt empty, a hollow shell of what he had once been. Who he had once been.
What was he now? Did the AutoBots in charge of this facility even care?
No! They never would, either! They wanted a perfect society! They did not want freaks among them! Even if the mech had remained with them for the war, he would still be here now that it was over. At least he was accepted with the DeceptiCons!
His faceplate is streaked with coolant from the corner of his optic, and grime from never being able to clean his frame. His wings that once were proudly displayed upon his back had been removed so long ago, as were his turrets once mounted just behind his shoulders.
A slot in the bottom of the door opens, bringing the mech to slowly lift his helm and watch as his untouched morning ration of Energon is taken, only to be replaced by his slightly larger afternoon ration. After a moment, he simply drops his head once more, not moving toward his fuel in the slightest.
"Fine, starve yourself, idiot! That's just one less burden on our shoulders."
~.~.~
He was done. He could not take this any longer…
He keeps his optic offline and frame completely still from beneath his wall-mounted berth, audio receptors metaphorically pricked as he listens for that door to open. Hopefully, the mech would be on schedule…
That door slides open with its usual, grating screech that could make your protoform crawl, and the all-too-familiar shape steps in for his scheduled performance review. The patient goes completely unseen in the shadows cast over him by the berth above—he can only image the dumbfounded face of the other mech he had come to loathe within the war that had ended seemingly so long ago, now…
"No! Codes Yellow and White! Missing patient with severely violent tendencies! SC-1183 has escaped! I repeat: SC-1183 has escaped!" The mech's fist meets the wall in a fierce blow after speaking into his communications link, one ped crashing over the floor.
Using the straightjacket preventing him from harming himself—or, the major reason, others—to his own advantage, the larger mech rolls out from under his berth, using the jacket to silence what would otherwise be scraping sounds. Standing, and tensing his arms as the other mech keeps his back to him, attempting to get leads on the ,missing' patient, he charges the blue-plated AutoBot, throwing him against the wall hard enough to disable his communications.
When the AutoBot turns to face his attacker after recovering from initial surprise, the patient stands with pedes slightly parted, helm low, and his optic dark with hatred. He had been here for too long—everything that had happened to him here was because of this mech. The shorter mech's own optics narrow, and a low growl begins rumbling from his engine.
The former DeceptiCon's lip-plates slowly pull into a manic grin, chipped denta becoming visible. He throws his helm forward—and, though it sprouts a small trickle of his own Energon and a crack in his right ,goggle', the action knocks the other right off his pedes. The broken mech moves to stand over the now-grounded AutoBot much like a starving predator over its prey. His helm tilts slightly, and then he finally speaks, voice cracking with overuse. "Don't vorry, leetle AutoVot—I alvays make goot on my promises. Alzough I don't really haff time to tear jou apart…ve can schtill offline jou…"
The patient lifts one ped over his captor's helm, then stomps down with a grunt before the other can make so much as a yelp. "Ooh, look at zat…I've stepped in somesing…" He takes a step back as the other mech's frame fades to gunmetal gray, dragging his ped over the ground to get as much of the neon pink Energon off of it as possible. Then, within moments, he runs—out the open door, down stained corridors, past both empty and occupied rooms.
He…he would be free if he could reach the exit!
Hearing pedesteps, the mech slips, crashing to the floor, before struggling back to his stabilizing servos with the aid of a wall. His optic is wide and bright, now; had he still held his wings, they would have been flared with alarm at every sound.
But in the same, though he fears being dragged back to his room once more, he holds a crazed grin and his optic glints with an insane glee. When the others had been removed, there was simply nothing to hold back the insanity within his processor—they had been formed for its self-defense. With them gone, nothing held it back.
One—two—three—four. He counts the doors he passes, the sounds his pedes make when they strike the floor.
And then, he stops, skidding and falling back on his aft with no means of catching himself with arms still forced to ,hug' his frame. He growls low at the femme who now presses two digits to the side of her helm. "Missing patient has been spotted on the southern end of the facility!" Wait…he is on the northern end…
He looks up at the femme as she moves behind him, undoing the sleeves of his jacket allow free movement of his arms. "Go!" she hisses, pushing him, urging him back to his pedes.
"Vhy..?"
"No time! Just go!"
"S-sank jou…"
When he begins his sprint once more, he does not look back for even a moment.
And then, he sees those doors… Freedom! He slams his shoulder against the one on the right, falling down on the other side of it as it is thrown open. His arms move to cover his faceplate as the sunlight shines down brilliantly. Moving back to his pedes, he runs as far from the facility as he can, taking alleyways when possible.
When he finally stops, he collapses from exhaustion and thirst—only to be caught in the arms of a bulky blue mech and small feminine Seeker—both proudly wearing the DeceptiCon insignias upon their chest or wings.
The femme is the first to speak, her wings perked high upon her back. "Soundwave, isn't this..?"
"Affirmative."
"…Blitzwing..?"
.~.~.
.~.~.
AN: Barely any names used, leaving it to the reader to imagine who they think some characters are.