The idea for this came out of nowhere while I was in the car on the way home from school. I pulled out my laptop, and typed most of it in the car, and finished it at home.
WARNING! THIS FIC IS VERY GRAPHIC AND ANGSTY!
All characters belong to Hasbro.
TFA © Cartoon Network, under license from Hasbro.
Jetstorm lay in a corner of an interrogation room, stasis cuffed and muzzled, his armor covered in dried energon from the gashes inflicted by an energy whip. He trembled involuntarily every few seconds, each one coinciding with phantom pains in different areas of his chassis, and agonizing screams of pain.
The screams of pain were Jetfire's.
Ever since the two had been captured while carrying valuable information, they had been kept as far away from each other as possible; they were kept in cells in different parts of the Decepticon's ship. They were allowed to meet only once every two solar cycles, when they were interrogated.
The way they were interrogated was very brutal: one was beaten, whipped, electrocuted, insulted, and otherwise made to suffer as much physical and emotional pain as possible, while the other was forced to watch and listen.
The twins were trying to remain strong, but they were slowing losing. They were physically drained, and the constant threat of execution by dismemberment and decapitation kept them from even thinking of resisting. Not that they could, because they were always kept in stasis cuffs, and were muzzled at all times except during interrogations.
No amount of training could have ever prepared them for it.
The screams of Jetfire stopped as he slipped into stasis lock from exhaustion. Jetstorm finally dared to look up, and was greeted by a terrific sight.
Jetfire was covered in pink; it was dripping from his chassis and onto the floor, which was caked with dried energon, oil, and waste. His limbs were hanging limp in the thick shackles attaching them to the rack. Shockwave undid the shackles and removed Jetfire from the rack, and, after recuffing and muzzling him, threw him aside like a ragdoll. He then turned his attention to Jetstorm. The menacing sight of Shockwave's optic was enough to paralyze the young flyer's processor in fear. He could barely feel himself being picked up, and being shackled into the rack himself.
"You do not have the right to say anything to me, not after your brother just screamed without saying anything."
Then, the beating with an energy lash began. As much as he wanted to scream, the muzzle and his severely weakened state prevented him from doing so. The pain was searing at his circuits; his processor was overloaded with pain sensory data.
At that point, Jetstorm came to a tragic realization. He and his brother had been seeing the war as a game with high stakes, and not for the truly serious matter it was.
The searing pain stopped unexpectedly. Jetstorm bravely opened his optics, only to see a long rod with two prongs slowly coming toward his chest. Shockwave inserted it into the large gash on his chest, and started the device. Instantly, his circuits were on fire, overwhelmed by a powerful, continuous electric shock. Then, Shockwave started to increase the voltage. When he was done, he removed it. Jetstorm continued to involuntarily tremble for another couple of cycles.
Suddenly, the heavy door to the chamber opened. A booming baritone voice was heard.
"Shockwave, my loyal servant?"
"Yes, Lord Megatron?"
"Since these wannabes didn't give us anything, I authorize you to execute them."
Execute them.
Jetstorm's processor stopped cold.
"If you two aren't going to tell us, there's no point in keeping you two."
Shockwave's voice shook him of his trance.
As Jetstorm watched, Shockwave picked up the battered form of Jetfire; the unconscious mech did nothing. Shockwave took a firm grip around his abdomen and neck, and ripped Jetfire's head off. His graying body fell to the floor; Shockwave threw his head to land in front of Jetstorm.
Jetstorm's own spark flared in intense pain as his brother's vanished forever. Energon tears began to form as he saw his brother's detached head, then he gulped when he realized he would be next.
Shockwave turned to him, optic full of twisted, sadistic glee.
"You saw your brother die; now you shall follow him."
Shockwave grabbed his neck, and started to squeeze it. Jetstorm did not panic, as he was just too weak. The pressure got harder and harder, until a sickening crunch signaled the main nerve line had been crushed.
Just before his spark vanished, a single thought passed through his dying processor.
Were we really meant to be?
