Smokescreen's optics flickered back online slowly. His processor ached liked nothing he had ever felt before. He jerked fully awake with a heavy exvent. Where in the name of Alpha Trion's beard was he?
His optics focused after several failed tries. Oh, yeah. He'd been hit... by the 'Cons... while guarding Alpha Trion... Scrap, his processor hurt. I must be on board a Decepticon transport ship, he mused. But where's Alpha Trion? Smokescreen looked up at his servos, stretched high above his head. He tugged at the stasis cuffs magnetizing his arms to the wall. Agonizing pain shot through his frame, stiff from cycles of forced immobility. With a low intake, the persistent young mech continued to wrench at the restraints. Stasis cuffs were nasty- they paralysed the systems of a prisoner through frequent jolts of electricity.
Several groons later, and the stubborn Elite Guardsmech was no closer to being free than when he awoke. Struggling to his peds, Smokescreen twisted until he was facing the wall. Now at a better angle, he had a bit more success. With a creak, the magnets finally separated from the wall. Now he was free from the wall... But he still had cuffs attached to his wrists, and he was still aboard the 'Con transport ship. Now, to find something to get the bindings off...
A few breems were all that was required to find a chunk of metal to remove the cuffs. Smokescreen would have preferred that he file them off, to avoid damage to his wrists, but beggars couldn't be choosers, as Prowl always preached. Fine motor control would be impossible until some time after the cuffs were removed, so he would just have to make due.
The cuffs disposed of, Smokescreen looked about, searching for an entrance… Which would double as an exit. On the far wall, he saw it. A door, set into the wall and nearly hidden by the heaps of junk in the scrap room. Smokescreen pushed his way through the piles of scrap metal laying everywhere. Grunting, he finally made it to the door. Now, to figure out the access code...
Several groons later, the tired young Elite Guardsmech was still trapped in the scrap room, and very annoyed. Muttering, the young mech paced, racking his processor for anything that might help him out of his predicament. A glint of metal, shinier than the scraps lying about, caught his optic. Maybe... Yes! Darting forward, he snatched at the broken blade, wrenching it from the pile. It had been a portion of a mech's melee weapon, but had snapped off close to the hilt. Now, all that was left to be done was to disable console controlling the door. That was easy; a quick slice from the broken blade, and Smokescreen was heading down the corridor. To his right, down another corridor, almost an exact match to the one his was moving through, came a low moan, stopping abruptly when a heavy thud sounded. Curious but cautious, Smokescreen slid down the hallway, optics narrowed.
A voice, harsh and unfeeling, cut through the near silence. "What's the matter, Autobot scum? Can't take a little hit?" Smokescreen stopped in his tracks. The speaker was obviously not referring to him. Moving forward again quietly, he peered into a doorway. The young Elite Guardsmech barely restrained his anger. Restraints fastened the prisoner to the wall. His Decepticon tormentor was standing nearby, sneering at the helpless mech's position.
Smokescreen cautiously transformed his right servo into a blaster. The other bot, who was very familiar to him, was a Praxian just as he was. As such, the mech registered the sound of an activating weapon far before the guard was alerted by the noise. He fell, a smoking hole through his chassis. Working quickly, the younger mech blasted through the restraints of his Praxian kin. He struggled to support the mech he had rescued. "All right," He grunted. "Just hold on, all right?" The mech nodded weakly, struggling to get his peds beneath him.
Stumbling along, the two went on, searching for an escape route. A sudden beep caught Smokescreen's attention. Pulling the stranger to his side, he ducked behind a support beam. Two guards, on relief duty, passed the support, chatting. One tidbit in particular caught Smokescreen's audio receptor. "Do you really think Commander Dreadwing included enough escape pods for us all? Protocol states the majority of prisoners remain, but guards are usually not given the option of escape, should necessity arise." "Positive," The other replied. "I've seen them myself." The first grunted in disbelief. "You don't believe me?" The second asked indignantly. The other shrugged.
His companion gestured the way they had come... Toward the escaping prisoners. For a spark beat, Smokescreen and the other mech held their intakes and froze. The Decepticon continued. "They're that way. Maybe you should see for yourself." His companion shrugged. "After this shift."
Unanimity restored, the guards went on their way, while the escapees went theirs. Creeping onward, the two Autobots made it to the area containing the escape pods... Which were unguarded. Smokescreen snorted to himself. Idiots. Didn't it occur to them that some prisoners might escape? The other mech looked equally impressed by the Decepticons' collective lack of logic. The two slipped into a pod, and Smokescreen hit the control. They were ejected from the ship... And knocked into stasis, for better or for worse.