Author's Note/Warnings: This story is an explicit telling of enhanced interrogation, rape, and all that sorts of stuff. It is detailed, it is graphic, and it contains gay robots. If you are triggered by this sort of thing, don't read. Seriously, I can't emphasize enough.

Chapter Warning! This chapter contains non-consensual naughties (not sex, but plenty of molestation), psychological torture/abuse, and mild physical torture. It's detailed and graphic! If that's not for you, you probably don't want to read.

... ... ...

"Holy water cannot help you now,
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out
I'm gonna raise the stakes, I'm gonna smoke you out."

-Florence and the Machine, "Seven Devils"

"Designation: Bumblebee, scout, theta2-573-alpha."

The Autobot's words resounded with an echoing static through the surveillance feed. His voice was tired and worn, scratching only a whisper, but even through the holoscreen, Megatron saw his optics flare with a fiery defiance. This one… this one would not break so easily.

Behind him, Starscream paced impatiently, "This is a waste of time!" He sliced the air with a servo and his wings twitched, "Vortex's had his way with that wretched Autobot for a good two orns and all we have to show for it is his designation!"

A high pitched whirring escaped the holoscreen, and Starscream paused to look as a drill began to pierce each of the scout's knuckles. Sparks flew about, and groans of pain fought their way through clenched denta, optics flashing almost white for a split second.

The seeker gave a humorless chuckle, the edges of his mouth tipping, "Though not from any lack of trying," he grumbled. Ruby red optics flicked over to the astute figure watching the screen.

Megatron's servos were clasped behind his back and he all but ignored his first lieutenant.

"My Lord Megatron," Starscream stepped forward and tapped his fingers together. After a moment, the warlord glanced to him, gaze coaxing him to continue. "Far be it from my place to offer advice, but the offensive is mere solar cycles away and I fear time is of the essence. Would it not be wiser to simply offline this one and capture ourselves another Autobot… One who'll most definitely squeal within joors?"

Megatron turned halfway, an enigmatic expression flashing over optics dimmed to a menacing mahogany. "You do not believe this one will talk."

Starscream hunched a little lower, his wings dipping and servos twirling around each other nervously, "Well no – no that is not what I meant. I mean," He flicked a servo to the holoscreen, "This, uh, Bumblebee is merely a scout, as he keeps so generously reminding us. Surely a warrior or a general would have more information to give and," He paused, standing a little straighter, "As you and I both know, some Autobots can be quite… stubborn."

"Is that so?" Megatron raised a brow and turned back to fully facing the holoscreen.

Energon poured profusely from the scout's new wound. His servo lay limp at his side, soaking in its own life liquid. Bumblebee flinched when Vortex stepped closer to him, not a breadth's width away, and his eyes narrowed as he looked straight ahead.

"D-Designation: Bumblebee, scout, theta2-573-alpha."

Starscream let out a quiet noise fringing somewhere between a scoff, a snicker, and a growl of frustration.

"Very well," Megatron glanced sideways at his second, "Notify Vortex that I will be taking his place in the interrogation."

The clicking on the other side of his cell dragged Bumblebee out of recharge. It was time again.

His limbs ached and his fuel lines fluttered in loose exhaustion, but he forced the rest of his systems online. He needed to prepare himself for another round of Vortex's torture, as creative as it was agonizing.

The entry-pad beeped, and light spilt into the dark room as the door whirred open. Bumblebee squinted and brought an arm over his brow, optics ever so slowly adjusting to the sudden brightness. It made his processor sting.

A single figure stood in the doorway, looming and casting a shadow across the floor. Usually, Vortex would come with guards or assistants… But…

The Autobot's spark pulsed cold when he realized. This wasn't Vortex… this one was too large, with eerie vermillion optics that illuminated base features ever so slightly. This one was Megatron himself, leader of the Decepticons.

Bumblebee remembered him like the battle had been yesterday. The fallen buildings of a grayed Tyger Pax, the thin, still air that carried a silent charge of electricity, and the violently majestic figure that stood atop ebony rubble, gazing their way expectantly like he'd been waiting for the Autobots… he remembered it all so translucently, the memories that flew before him seemed almost tangible. He remembered the relentlessness of the mech and the viciousness of his attacks and the optics that burnt with both primal rage and glee.

In a rush of fear, he scurried to put as much space between the two of them, lifting himself slightly off the floor and scooting backwards until his backstruts scraped against the far wall. Why was he here? Why the pit was Megatron here?

But Megatron simply contemplated the scout. His head tilted slightly and his optics flicked over his body as tinges of amusement crossed his face. He withdrew a small cube of energon and stepped into the cell - an empty square of darkness save for Bumblebee's mangled body. The door automatically shut behind him, and the room immediately fell to its former grayness.

Bumblebee eyed the energon cube hungrily. They'd done that for the first few solar cycles – taunted him with fuel, keeping it just out of reach while the torture was carried out and promising that once they got their information, Bumblebee could have as much as he'd like. Even though it hadn't worked, he'd been grateful when they stopped.

Primus, he hadn't refueled in so long. The meals he was given once every two solar cycles were miniscule, simply enough to keep him cognitive to feel the pain and speak.

This time though, Megatron knelt in front of Bumblebee, trapping him, and offered him the cube. And smiled.

Oh, it wasn't a nice smile. It wasn't gentle or reassuring. It was a small smile, sinister and dark, promising things far worse than anything Vortex had done so far.

It chilled Bumblebee to the core. Yet…

There the cube was, even the sight of it caused his most primal systems to hum with satisfaction at the prospect of finally, finally, getting fed. He tried to ignore the base instincts, the ones thrumming to the forefront of his processor, screaming and demanding him to steal it away and drink every last drop.

Instead, he coached himself enough to reach out for it with a slow and shaking hand, only to be stopped as another thought crossed him. What if it was laced, poisoned? A Decepticon wouldn't simply give him extra fuel out of good will, especially not one with a sadistic grin.

Megatron must have noticed him hesitate; he raised a brow and smiled a little more in realization. "It's not poisoned," He said in a low voice, "If I had that intention, there would be much simpler ways to go about it."

Bumblebee drew his hand back, processor protesting at that simple action, and eyed the warlord suspiciously.

Megatron watched him for a moment before bringing the cube to his lips and taking a sip, never breaking eye contact. He held it back out to Bumblebee, not saying a word.

At that, the Autobot snatched the energon away. Somehow, he didn't care now, watching someone else consume even a drop of what would've been his called to the desperate and primal part of him and it was all it needed to finally push past his better reasoning and down all the energon in a nanoklick.

It wasn't quality energon. Even in his starved state, Bumblebee knew this stuff was as bad as it got. But it was a feast. It was the finest of wines that settled every chemical craving in him, and a part of him wanted to thank Megatron for the foul fuel; a part of him that he immediately quelled and shamed.

When he finished, Megatron plucked the cube from his servo and set it aside, his smile completely vanished. He looked down at Bumblebee's body, inspecting the less conspicuous wounds, and the scout bristled under the optics that seemed to peel away armor.

Broken and bent, stained with his own energon and limbs resting at awkward angles, Vortex really had done his best.

Megatron hummed as he picked up Bumblebee's right servo between his forefinger and thumb. The scout flinched and attempted to keep his face from contorting in pain. It was deformed, still leaking energon, and completely limp. Every bit of protoform in the servo had been cracked and broken.

"They did quite a number on you," Megatron mused. He moved each finger, watching as Bumblebee's breath hitched and his body tensed. Each joint bent agonizingly slow with talons that scraped against open sores, "Tell me, scout, what kind of information does your processor possess that is worth this torment?"

Bumblebee shut his optics and fought back cries of pain. He opened his mouth, forcing out that same mantra, "Designation: Bumblebee, scout, theta2-573-alpha."

Megatron chuckled darkly. The silver servo suddenly clenched tightly around the Autobot's hand.

"Nngah!"

Metal creaked under the force. Traces of energon began leaking out between Megatron's digits, dripping to the ground and illuminating immediate surroundings.

"Ah, but physical pain will do nothing to get you talking," Megatron spoke in a lilted and granulated voice, smooth and deep and menacing in its mild humor, "Vortex failed to see as much." He released Bumblebee's crippled servo and slid an energon stained talon under his chin and tilted his helm up, forcing the scout to look at him. "I could tear you limb from limb, rip out your optics and make you scream in agony, and still I would obtain nothing from you. Yet… There is but one thing I need to know, and then I will get all that I want out of you, scout." His mouth tilted ever so slightly, sadistically, reaching his optics in a brightening light that flashed and then dimmed to glow wine red. When the warlord spoke again, it was in a slow voice, enunciating each syllable with a wicked intimacy, "What is it that you most fear?"

Bumblebee couldn't stop himself from shaking, whether in terrifying apprehension or the winding of pain reverberating through his hand, he did not know. But instinctively, he tried to back away, only to claw at the wall behind him, and looked at the Decepticon lord with optics that, no matter how fearful, were burning with defiance.

"Designation: Bumblebee," His voice shook a little, but his words were firm, "Scout, theta2-573-alpha."

Megatron didn't say anything in response. He mused over the little scout, his massive frame all but enveloping Bumblebee, and blinked. The servo fell from the Autobot's chin and Megatron dipped a talon into one of the many gashes that littered his body.

Bumblebee flinched and looked away, eyes narrowing as nerves fired throughout the wound, winding through fuel lines in sharp pangs every time that talon grazed against ripped wiring.

"Flogging," Megatron mused, "Electrocution, the rack, frame breaking, siphoning, sensory deprivation, recharge deprivation, stress positions, sensory overload, processor fragging, starvation, oil-torture, excruciating temperatures, full body paralysis, orifice expansion, even some minor flaying…" He stared straight into Bumblebee's optics, amusement glinting behind a near straight face and sharp denta, "You have more bearings than most, scout. And I am only left to assume that your fears entail not your own suffering, but that of others."

The scout twitched, his eyes widening in an almost unnoticeable amount, and Megatron caught all of it.

His helm tilted and he removed his servo from the wound, leaving a dripping tendril of energon. He leaned closer to Bumblebee and stroked one of the Autobot's door wings in a way he knew was reflexively relaxing - up and down, slow fluid movements – breath barely ghosting over audials.

Bumblebee tensed at first. After what seemed like eons of abuse, of all physical contact ranging from unpleasant to excruciating, the gentle touch was impossibly foreign. And surprising, sudden… nice.

This was simply some tactic, some way to get the prisoner's guard down and make the pain twice as worse; a taste of sugar to make the bitter even more so. He squirmed against the soothing strokes at first, but again his body betrayed his processessor and began to relax. He was just too tired… he couldn't fight this…

And then Megatron spoke, it was more of a purr, a whisper of honey and stone, "I will get the information I desire by any means necessary, be it offered from you or not. If you do not cooperate, I just may be forced to find another Autobot more… willing to do so. Perhaps your friend, what was his designation?" He paused and palmed the door wing before running a finger along its edge and then returning to charting smooth circles, "Ah, yes, Jazz. I wonder if he will be able to endure all that you have."

Bumblebee went rigid. He turned his helm sharply and glared at Megatron, eyes wide and malignant. "No." It was all he said, and though his voice was quiet and raspy, it rang like molten inferno and ice.

Megatron smirked.

The warlord leaned back and stood, fingers tracing lightly over Bumblebee's neck before falling to his side. Without a word or another glance, he turned and left the prison cell.

Starscream turned from the surveillance feed and waved a servo as he took a few aimless steps. "'No'," He repeated in a tone almost, but not quite, of mockery and shifted his weight, "I suppose it's better than the continuous repetition of 'designation: Bumblebee' we've been listening to for the past few orns." The seeker let out a sigh and held his servo up, inspecting it with a raised chin, "If our Lordship can only manage to get one word at a time, well…"

"Mind your tongue, Starscream," Skyquake rumbled from his perch against the wall. His optics narrowed and the beginnings of a snarl wound around his mouth, "Lest you forget who we serve."

"Yes, yes," Starscream let out a breath and gestured grandiosely, "Lord Megatron, master to us all."

"You think you can do better than him?" Skyquake growled - a challenge, ripe and anticipatory as tensions wound through the fliers. It had been cycles since anyone left the ship, and fresh air was becoming more of a necessity as anxieties rose.

"No, I do not think I can do better than your all powerful Megatron," Starscream retorted, "I simply believe we must speed things up if we want any useful intel or else all these efforts will be for nothing. And Megatron seems to be taking his sweet time!"

"Is that so?" The all too familiar voice resounded from the entryway to the bridge.

The first Lieutenant froze as Megatron stepped forward and approached the two.

Skyquake pushed himself from the wall and immediately bowed deeply, "My Liege," He said in a voice smooth like cherry wine.

"Skyquake," Megatron nodded to his warrior, motioning for him to rise, and then turned to look back to Starscream. His face was unreadable and his arms stayed loosely at his sides, optics flaring brightly. "Starscream."

"My – My Lord," Starscream gave a quick bow and his wings drooped, "I did not expect you to return here."

"Obviously." The lord raised a brow and put his hands behind his back, "I take it there's something on your mind."

"Well, uh, simply put," Starscream composed himself and gestured to the holoscreen, still relaying surveillance feed, "I worry that such a delicate process as extracting information in this sort of manner may take too much time."

Megatron gave a single nod, "Ah." He said with a humorous lilt, "Do not fret over such miniscule things. We have eight solar cycles, and rest assured that will be plenty of time." He paused for a moment and thought, before looking back down at the seeker with a small smirk, "Though to error is the downfall of all sentience. If the scout does not talk in four solar cycles, terminate him and find another who will."

"Of course," Starscream bowed, his mouth tilting to a small and sinister smile, "Master."

Bumblebee watched the warlord enter his cell. The lights from outside silhouetted his figure for a moment and then vanished, leaving only the red optics to shine against the Autobot.

This time, Bumblebee was immediately bombarded by Megatron's EM field. It extended to every corner of the room and blanketed sensors with a vibrancy as chaotic as it was aflame.

The scout scooted backwards, searching for even a mild reprieve from the sudden intensity that washed over him, and once again felt himself hit the wall behind him.

Megatron just watched. He leaned against the wall next to the cell door and crossed his arms, unblinking, enigmatic and unreadable.

It was like an increase in gravity – Megatron's field was almost palpable. It thickened the air in heat and crushed Bumblebee's audials like unrelenting, thundering, white noise. Generic intensity, no emotions were revealed, merely a presence, his presence, that encompassed everything. Bumblebee felt a shout rise through him, and only a grunt escaped his ground denta.

He automatically hunched in on himself, but his optics remained unable to leave Megatron's magnetic gaze.

The warlord just stared, optics a crimson color that shone brightly and bled red shades onto silver armor. Unrelenting and patiently waiting for… for something.

This was nothing like how Vortex's EM field would flood over Bumblebee during the interrogations. It had been like a maniac sitting beside him, urging him to scream a little louder with every electrical current or tear of the armor. But this… this was an all consuming entity of no obvious emotion that dripped into his very thoughts.

All Bumblebee knew was that he needed to get away.

Instead, he forced himself to sit a little straighter and breathe a little deeper. "Desig-Deisgnation," He ground out in a hoarse whisper, "Bumblebee, scout, theta2-573-alpha."

Megatron didn't react. He was still as a statue, only moving from slow intakes. His EM field bore down a little harder for a split second, slicing into Bumblebee's throat with a wave of heat.

How could something like an EM field be so agonizingly powerful?

They stayed like that for an innumerous amount of time. It felt like joors, solar cycles even, but for all Bumblebee knew, it could've been klicks. His processor was wearing out, battered down from the energy charges that Megatron continued to exhume.

Endless… Endless…

And then, just as suddenly as it had beared down, the EM field lifted.

Bumblebee gasped and drank the untainted atmosphere as though he'd been drowning. A wave of dizziness washed over him as his sensors were cleansed, and he fell forward onto his hands and knees, his optics finally torn from Megatron.

"Tell me something," Megatron had the smallest inklings of a smile, "Other than your designation."

Bumblebee felt a shudder skitter through his form. But he didn't do anything, a sound didn't escape his voicebox, and though his body and mind were weakened, he remained defiant.

Megatron tsk'd, his helm tilting as he gazed at the broken figure, "Or do I need to coax the words from your mouth?" He pushed himself off the wall and approached the scout.

Pedes stopped right inside Bumblebee's vision, and the Autobot lifted his helm, optics slowly grazing up the looming figure and flashing brilliant shades of pale blue. His brow furrowed and he locked eyes with the warlord, light clashing in a melding of purple between them, feeling his helpless self flood with anger. Bumblebee would not be defeated so easily.

Unchanging, Megatron did not break eye contact as he reached into his subspace. He withdrew a datapad that glowed softly in the dark. Holding it out for a moment, the mech dropped it in front of the scout so it clattered to the ground and glared up at Bumblebee.

And what was on it…

Bumblebee snatched it up with a shaking servo.

Pictures. Pictures of a shackled mech, energon dripping from his mouth and body battered with dents and frame scattered with splotches of gray. Jazz. Unable to stop himself, Bumblebee sifted through all the images; his friend in a dark and empty cell, his friend being strapped to the floor, his servos being dipped in acid…

"You don't want your dearest friend to offline because of you," Megatron tilted his helm when Bumblebee's optics glared up at him in disbelief and clasped his hands behind his back, inquisitive, "Do you?"

Bumblebee pushed himself up, but before he could force his legs to stand, Megatron bent down. Kneeling; a silver knee rested just next to Bumblebee's, a clawed servo placed on the wall behind him, and searing optics leaned close enough to the scout's that they illuminated every corner of his vision in red. He was so close, and Bumblebee once again felt the tinges of Megatron's EM field, but this time, it hummed with dark pleasure.

"Or perhaps I'll shift my attentions to him," Megatron mused. His other servo grazed Bumblebee's abdomen, and the Autobot immediately recoiled away from the touch, only to bump against his arm – completely trapped.

The talons continued to trace a feather path along the stomach plating, so light Bumblebee only registered the touch moments afterwards and it never faded. The Autobot grimaced; it was sickening, primitively pleasant, and in some ways as bad a sensation as a drill piercing through living mesh.

Megatron moved forward slightly, breath ghosting right over Bumblebee's audial and denta so close he could almost feel it against his helm, "Allow him to feel every pain I have to offer." The warlord said in a quietly rolling tone.

Bumblebee stared straight ahead before his optics darted back down at the pictures, chest heaving. If they really had Jazz, he told himself, the scout would've been of no use to the Decepticons. They would've already offlined him, left him for scrap… He opened his mouth, "You're lying," He spoke in a voice brimmed with static, "These are staged."

A deep chuckle reverberated through his audials, and the gentle touch traveled over his hips, dipping lightly into seams before skidding over an upper leg. "Do you really believe that?" And this time, those denta really did graze over Bumblebee's neck.

No.

The scout shuddered in disgust while his nerves sent small tingles of delight. It was all gentle, coaxing, sweeter now that this touch was the only reprieve from continuous agony - when it, in and of itself, was merely another flavor of torture to Bumblebee's mind. He attempted to pull away again, but was completely, helplessly, utterly trapped between the warlord and the wall.

"Is that really a gamble you're willing to take?"

The servo moved up and trailed patterns along Bumblebee's shoulder and neck almost possessively while Megatron began to mouth along his jaw.

In a flash of anger, Bumblebee in-vented and tensed - He would not be broken. In a quick movement, he pulled his helm back and then snapped it forward, hitting Megatron square in the face.

The warlord grunted, his helm snapping back, before his mouth twisted in a wicked grin. He rubbed a servo over his cheek for a moment and let out a singular laugh. His other servo lifted from the wall and grabbed Bumblebee's jaw, thrusting it upwards so that the back of his head hit the wall with a crack, and then surged forward at the newly exposed trachea.

Bumblebee twisted in the grip as a wet glossa dipped into the gaps of thin plating and shot heated electricity through his veins. His denta ground together as he tried to get away, snarls breaking out of his voicebox – noises foreign to his own audials.

But he would not beg. He would not plead or shout, as much as the words beat at his spark and thundered to escape; Bumblebee did not speak a single word of weakness.

The servo moved down again, trailing lightly and igniting sensors, careful not to touch any of the wounds scattering Bumblebee's frame. Denta nipped at sensitive wires and that mouth worked along his neck with wicked promises.

He would not yield. Not to this.

Yet he was helpless.

Bumblebee fought against the servo that pushed against his jaw relentlessly, and the more he twisted, the more he felt dents creak under the force of Megatron's strength; the sensation so at odds with the coaxing and gliding of the warlord's attentions.

Megatron's hand grazed over Bumblebee's pelvis, and the Autobot jerked as far away from the touch as he could. The servo lifted, and instead began to rub along the inside of a thigh. Enticing and gentle, igniting a fire he didn't want ignited…

Then his engines purred.

Bumblebee felt the humiliation twist inside him when his own audials picked up the sound, belatedly realizing he was the one making it. Pathetic, pitiful… completely helpless over his own body. He didn't want this. Primus, Bumblebee had thought the physical torture was the worst that the Decepticons would do. He'd thought the boiling oil and the limbs stretching and dislocating all across his body would've been the excruciating limit.

Megatron chuckled.

He pulled Bumblebee's chin down, their optics meeting for a split second. And Bumblebee knew he saw it, the way optics flashed a near white and the way his EM field flared, Megatron saw the fringes of decay, a single crack, on his defiance.

Talons pierced the scout's faceplates, forcing his mouth open; and then Megatron surged forward, mouths enmeshed and a glossa thrust violently into the small oral cavity, muffling Bumblebee's shout and reverberating Megatron's growl through his throat.

Bumblebee shoved his good servo forward, reflexively trying to push the looming mech away. He clawed helplessly at the silver chassis and doubled his efforts in trying to break away.

This was worse. This was unbearable, so much worse than Vortex's flavor of torture.

And then another thought flashed through him and pierced his spark. He would not allow this to break him. He would endure it, if only to keep this mech away from Jazz.

Sharp denta nipped at Bumblebee's lower lip, prodding and grazing nerves and never once causing physical pain.

He would endure…

The scout felt his servo curl into a fist and the rage flare for a single moment of red and then ebb - washed over by rotting. He flinched when Megatron's thumb dug deeper into the sensitive metal, it drew a drop of energon that warmed the plating under it and fell in a small rivulet down Bumblebee's cheek.

Megatron seemed to relish in all of this. His chest rumbled a deep growl and his other servo dipped to spread Bumblebee's legs.

He would endure this.

With that single resolve, Bumblebee allowed his fist to fall from the silver chassis, thumping on the ground. He closed his eyes and braced himself, suddenly even more acutely aware of the touch so dangerously close to his panel and the mouth that ravished him.

Every fiber within him screamed to fight, ached to attempt to twist away, to show that no matter what, he would never stop fighting. Instead, he felt the wall on his back and forced himself to relax. Oh, it was hard. To shove back every tinge of his mind – it was one of the hardest things Bumblebee had done in the entirety of his young existence.

He would endure this; take every bit of it, because even to this… rape, he would not yield. No, he never would.

And then… and then Megatron pulled away. Relief flooded Bumblebee's body as the figure distanced himself ever so slightly, the servo relinquishing its grasp on Bumblebee's jaw.

The Decepticon lord peered at the prisoner, all traces of a wicked grin diminished.

And then white.

The pain was delayed, but Bumblebee's voicebox immediately short circuited when Megatron thrust his servo into one of the gashes on his chassis. The tender mesh around the wound ripped and deepened into a hole. Molten pain seared through every vein and Bumblebee gagged when he felt energon rise to his mouth.

His servo felt for the wound, scraping at metal until a digit just barely sunk into the gaping hole. It burned and yet, it was painless. His plating seared with the energon he was suddenly profusely leaking, and finally, he forced his optics to look down.

His spark. It was piercing into his very spark chamber, copious amounts of life liquid drowning everything in a silent glow. Static escaped him as the scout looked back up, to stare at the warlord, to ascertain what was happening, but he saw nothing; only his cell.

Before Bumblebee could think, his body gave, and a thud enveloped his audials, vision swimming as he fell to the ground. Energon pooled around him and he clenched his chest in a feeble effort to stop the bleeding.

As his vision began to give way to darkness, the Autobot saw a pool of light flood over the dark prison cell. A muffled whirring came in a second's delay, registering only afterwards that the door had opened. And finally, he saw it. The looming figure of Megatron, only basic features and blurry outlines, stood at the doorway, back turned to him, and he could hear the rumbling thunder of the warlord's voice.

"Soundwave," Bumblebee could hear the words, he could, but somehow, his processor wouldn't translate. It was all noise, merely Megatron's voice. "Our prisoner appears to be bleeding out…"

Before the voice quieted, Bumblebee felt himself deafened. His optics offlined, and any remnants of pain diminished, cleansed by a blissful nothing.

He was dying.

The realization didn't come with horror or terror, he found himself suddenly too tired for such emotions. But Jazz, didn't they have Jazz? The thought left him confused and worried. He would've liked to stay alive longer, would've liked to keep Megatron away from his friend. But that was okay. He was going to die, Jazz would take his place, and he was only sad.

Jazz would be able to endure it, just like he had.

Bumblebee's fingers twitched and scraped lightly against the ground, pulling him slightly from the nothingness.

He was so young, much too young. He would've lived for so much longer, but that was okay, this death was nice. This was so much nicer than the last few orns, a final escape.

No evil would reach him in the afterlife.

A/N: I'll add warnings to the beginning of all the chapters, kay.

Well, uh, welcome to my horrible headcanon!

Kudos to Babymamhu, my partner in crime, beta-reader, and overall wonderful editor. Thank you for enduring my chatter of over-researched torture methods for this fic and encouraged me to actually post it.

Anyhow, please give me feedback! This is my first time writing anything like this.