The cage he was in was at least roomy enough he could pace. Ambus had to give them that. It allowed him to pace, where a larger 'bot would find it harder to move about. Pacing was something he was doing a lot of, nervous tension and fear coursing through his frame like a bad recharge slab was trying to work.
He circled, around and around and around, walking, walking, trying to clear his head, to get the thoughts out of his head. The thoughts, the images, the scenes out of his head. But they were in there tight, eating away at his brain.
He had been put in there a few hours earlier, where he could overlook the…proceedings going on in the room. He wasn't sure why, what the reasoning was. Surely they didn't think he could give them additional information, did they?
No. It was probably just another form of torture they were enacting on him.
Ambus didn't know why they were forcing him to watch as the others were….changed. Shadowplay, in a way, he supposed it was, only this was removing everything…. A changing. An altering.
You are what you do.
Form is Function.
Control. Control is key, and how can they have control with strange 'bots showing up, doing things not allowed, not following the rules, not knowing their place?
They had fought back, when the strange 'bots had appeared. The three heavyweights in the back, the leader, that strange green 'bot with the golden cloak, and what seemed to be the result of empurata. Only this one had power, and you didn't see that in empurata victims.
They had fought back, when they realized they had been taken not only to some alternate universe, but to one where the Functionists had gained power. They had escaped, run….but not even they could fight back against an entire city. They had been rounded up, and arrested.
Some of the others had simply vanished. Megatron, Roller and Terminus. Ambus hadn't seen any sign of them since they were arrested, but considering their size, and the fact Terminus was still technically a miner, he assumed….he hoped, they had been spared. Though it was unlikely they had been spared the…changing.
Because that's what they were doing over there.
Changing them.
In the middle of a stark, barren room, a table with restraints, and a mnemosurgeon. A quick injection….and all memories were taken. A blank slate was being left in it's place, and Ambus was being forced to watch.
Ambus found it hard to imagine poor Terminus and Roller….just having literally awoken what seemed like minutes from their own time, only to end up here, having all memory, all personality taken, stripped.
The smaller bot paced the circle of his cell…his cage again. He had attacked the bars when he had first arrived, but of course it had gotten him no where. He was too small. Too weak.
As he paced, so too did his thoughts.
He didn't want to imagine what had befallen Megatron. While it had been hard to accept him on the Lost Light - who the scrap could have accepted it easily!? - the old warlord had somehow…oddly…fit in with the eclectic crew. And Primus help them, they had all started to like the silver giant. Trying to compare him….the Megatron of now to the Megatron of then was impossible.
But oh, his fear of needles.
Megatron's massive, almost heart-wrenching fear of being changed, altered, forced into something he wasn't. Who knew what was in his past, but the innate terror he had of having his brain pierced with a mnemosurgeon's needles was painful, and now, the thought of what he had endured ate away at Ambus' thoughts like a Turbofox chewing on a toy. Had he fought back? How many had it taken to subdue him enough that they had been able to inject those twisted needles and eat away at his thoughts, his ideals and ideas, his mind?
What had been left?
He saw no sign of Chromedome, but if they had discovered he was a Mnemosurgeon, he would be considered valuable to the Functionists, so he might still have a chance to live. But Rewind….Rewind was small, and unless Chromedome could show the Functionists how important the info on Rewind's drive was, it was unlikely they would keep the small 'bot around.
Which meant Chromedome was probably not around either….
Ratchet….
Ratchet had been brought in. That had been hard.
Ambus stopped pacing, and moved to the side of the cell he was in. He wrapped his hands around the bars, tipping his head forward, eyes closed, thumping his forhead on a bar as the images welled up inside him again.
Ratchet, his tongue always having been sharper than his scalpel, was raining vindictives on his captors as they dragged him forward towards the table. Not a bad fighter, though his calling had obviously been as a medic, Ratchet still managed to strike one of his captors with an elbow in the face to at least draw blood.
Ambus had watched, horrified, as the faceless one had tried to talk "sense" into Ratchet. He was obviously a doctor and would therefore be useful. He would be allowed to remain a doctor, he would just have to have a few…"adjustments" done to him. It would make him happier. He would work better, not having all those other thoughts in his head. The thoughts that went against what the Functionists wanted. Because they were doing what was best for him.
Struggling, the medic had been dragged to the table, and forced to bend at the waist, chest and face down on the table. The mnemosurgeon had walked up, the needles ejecting outward from his fingers with a snk! A slight graze on the back of the neck, and then the needles sank into the back of Ratchet's neck with a soft snk-hisss!
Ambus watched in horror as the medic's body convulsed once, then sagged, as if dead. No motion, just a horrible, vague twitching of the fingers for a moment as memories, and personality were expelled, burned away, deleted, destroyed.
A quiet hiss as the needles were extracted, and Ratchet was pulled back to his feet, and led away. Ambus called his name, but the medic never turned, never looked his way. His own name forgotten, maybe. There was an awful blank look on the medic's face. He would obviously keep his skills, all that, but…it was like he was in an unknown place, unknown world, and had no curiosity about it, willing and content to just be led away to some new place. To a new life.
There was no more personality behind it, not really. No more….no more Ratchet.
Ambus had struggled, trying to tear at the bars, to squeeze through, anything. He cursed himself for not wearing the Magnus armor, where he could have done something instead of just stand there, useless!
Drift had been next.
The swordsman had fought silently, perhaps as a result of his training. Silent and lethal. Only the soft grunts and snarls as he pulled and pushed, rearing back and kicking one of his captors directly in the face. For a moment, he had broken loose, lunging for the door, dodging all attempts to catch him, sliding and twisting like a snake to keep out of their grasp, and Ambus had silently cheered. Drift would get out! One would escape, to get back to the others, in their own world, somehow. Somehow…somehow they would all be rescued! Somehow they would escape this awful fate…
But it had only taken a few more, and some sort of stun weapon to bring down the spiritualist, his hand literally on the door knob - on freedom - taking out his legs so he collapsed to the floor. He still managed to fight back, wounding two with his hands alone before he was finally dragged, now spitting angry words at his captors, as he was finally forced to expose the back of his neck, three guards holding him down.
He managed to give one, furious, outraged, griefstricken scream before the needles sunk into his neck.
Snk-hisss.
A soft shudder swept through the white, black and red body as memories were destroyed, thoughts were erased, things were rearranged in Drift's mind, legs relaxing and his form sinking to rest against the table. The mnemosurgeon took a little longer with Drift….perhaps he was fascinated with the swordman's thoughts and memories of his past…of Deadlock. A world the Mnemosurgeon had no knowledge of.
Drift, too, was led from the room, a vague blank look on his face. The previous minute's battle lost to time, no memory of what had just happened to him. No knowledge of anything before the now. Drift, gone, Deadlock, gone. Crystal City. Everything that meant anything.
Gone.
Ambus had no idea what future Drift would have now. His alt form was a speedster…what use would they have for that?
Ambus squeezed the bars, hard, grinding his teeth, memories biting at his mind.
He had heard Rodimus long before he had seen him.
The struggle had apparently started once he was taken from whatever cell he had been in, and the curses and snarls that sounded outside the door made it sound as if a new war had been launched.
Crashes, yells, oaths, curses, threats. The young captain was not going without a fight, no way in hell was he going down easily.
The door had been flung open, and no more than five guards were struggling with the young hot head. What he lacked in Megatron's strength, or the finesse and skill of Drift, he more than made up for in sheer will and blind determination. Rodimus was almost on fire in hisfury and anger and hatred for what was going on, what had happened to his friends, what was going to happen to him, the air around him literally rippling with heatwaves. He writhed, arching his back and twisting, kicking out, flailing, fists swinging when he could, the whole time, roaring outraged curses and warnings.
His youth powered him, gave him strength. He actually managed to brace both feet on either side of the doorway, making himself unmovable. When one guard leaned forward to try and force a foot back, Rodimus slammed his head into the guard's face, shattering his nose and chin.
He was still one against four now, though, and they managed to drag him into the room, still howling and cursing like a madman, threatening to kill every one of them, to tear them apart, no mercy, no quarter.
Ambus watched, sickened.
Rodimus was young, in heart if not completely in years, and it was that youth that powered his strength, his convictions. It had been his greatest strength; his will. He would not do something he didn't want to, come hell or high water, no way, forget it. He was a force to be reckoned with on that alone, his utter convictions.
But even youth must tire. Even will and determination will falter in time.
Ambus had watched, his stomach churning, as the young, bold hothead was eventually dragged to the table, his head bent forward, the back of his neck exposed.
Ambus watched as Rodimus' furious struggles now changed to outrage and hatred, and yes…even fear. He continued to howl threats and curses, but fear now lined the heat of his voice, as he finally realized the inevitability of what was going to happen.
Ambus had looked away, teeth clenched, as the young captain, now giving up, began to scream the names of his friends out loud, as if by giving them voice, he was somehow writing them on the air before him, that when it was over, he would be able to look up and see them, and remember again. Because it wasn't the fear of what was going to happen to him….it was the fear of losing his friends. Those that had impacted his life, because despite wanting to be important and respected, despite wanting to be a leader and a captain everyone looked up to, Rodimus had always valued his friends over everything else. He was utterly terrified he would forget them….and lose them. Cybertronians often travelled solo for millions of years, but Rodimus often became lonely.
Snk-hisss.
Rodimus was silenced, mid scream, his youthful voice cut off with a staggering silence.
Ambus watched, sickened and heartbroken, as the once -red -and -yellow -body had convulsed, as if physically trying to expell what was happening…then slowly sank down to the table, hands twitching for a moment as huge blank spaces were created in his mind. The utter stillness of his body…of all their bodies….as memories, thoughts, personalities were destroyed…..was sickening.
Ambus had watched as they had led Rodimus away.
As he passed Ambus' cell, the smaller 'bot looked at the captain's face, and saw whatever they had done to him, they had done it badly. They hadn't removed it all as neatly as before.
There was a lost, confused look on the young captain's face as they led him out….a look that said he remembered…something. Blue eyes were searching for something lost….something had happened….something bad, but what was it? He had lost something important, something vital….if he could just….
Rodimus was led away, out of the room, into whatever future was now set for him.
Hearing voices, the past drifted away from Ambus, and he looked up to see the strange faceless 'bot enter the room with a guard. The Guard, after a nod from the faceless 'bot, walked to his cell, and opened it up, reaching in and taking Ambus by the arm.
One guard. Ambus laughed bitterly. In his armor…oh if he had had his armor….
He was half dragged over to the table, where the others were waiting.
The strange faceless 'bot spoke.
"You are the last."
Ambus nodded, "I thought so, yes."
"Do you wish to bargain for your life?"
Ambus looked up at the 'bot, and smiled coldly. He walked to the table, and not being tall enough to bend over it, clambered up, lying on his chest and face. He tipped his head down a little, exposing the back of his neck.
"Curious," spoke the faceless 'bot, as the mnemosurgeon approached. Ambus felt the cold needle tips graze the back of his neck.
"You walk willingly to this?"
Ambus spoke, his voice thick with hate and contempt.
"There is nothing you can do to me now that is worse than what you made me watch over the last four hours. I am done. I have no reason to remain. I welcome forgetting."
The faceless bot leaned back, thinking for a minute. After a second, he turned to the Mnemosurgeon, and nodded.
"Proceed."
Snk-hiss.
Oblivion.
END