Summary: Against his very best judgment, Thundercracker finds himself roped into recording a snuff film. His involvement, and the decisions he makes afterward, set off a cascade of consequences he didn't expect — or want. G1, AUish. Slash, noncon, torture, character death, all-around nastiness.
Disclaimer: The Transformers franchise is the property of Hasbro/Takara.
Warnings: As the summary indicates, this story begins with a snuff film, and contains themes associated with such, namely torture, rape, character death, and general unpleasantness. No sticky. Solid M rating. You have been warned.
Author's Note: This was originally written back in 2008, and was intended to be a one-shot. Not long ago, I rediscovered this story and decided to expand upon its ideas. So, here it is.
Enjoy it, you sick fuck.
Chain Reaction
"D'you remember Kaon?"
"Of course I — " Thundercracker paused in what he was doing — filing some sort of meaningless report — and shot his wingmate a suspicious, sidelong glance. Usually, when Skywarp began a conversation in this manner, or even mentioned the bygone days of Cybertron, the blue jet considered it to be a Bad Thing. With a grunt, Thundercracker set down his datapad and swiveled his chair to face the black-and-purple seeker. "What is it, Skywarp?"
The reply was a nonchalant shrug — but it was obvious that Skywarp was excited about something. There was an unmistakable gleam in his optics that only appeared when he was truly enthusiastic — usually about something unpleasant. Knowing Skywarp's thought processes and antics, it was most likely that the situation boded poorly for Thundercracker.
The seated jet frowned and crossed his arms over his pectoral vents. "Out with it. You obviously want to tell me something, Pit forbid whatever it is."
Skywarp smirked and sidled closer to his irritated wingmate. "Something Blitzwing mentioned earlier brought back a few memories — "
Already, the conversation had taken a sour turn. Thundercracker glared at the other seeker, his expression incredulous, and only managed to stammer, "Blitzwing? What the slag were you doing, associating with him?"
"I wasn't really talking to him — I just kinda overheard him shooting the slag with Astrotrain." The black jet pushed aside the mess on Thundercracker's desk and seated himself down, much to his wingmate's displeasure. "Apparently, we took an Autobot prisoner."
Now this was slightly more interesting. "Who? Is it anyone important?"
"I didn't hear, but it's not one of their big guys. Not Prime or anyone in the chain of command, anyway." Skywarp swung his legs, trying to keep his grin at bay, then added, "And since he ain't special — and since Megatron's in a particularly bad mood today — a hostage situation is outta the question. He just wants the prisoner deactivated within a megacycle, before the rest of the Autobots realize he's gone."
"Okay, but what's this got to do with Kaon?" Thundercracker frowned, then deadpanned, "There's more, isn't there?"
Skywarp nodded. "You remember back home, during the war, how popular and profitable the deactivation holovids were?"
The blue jet narrowed his optics. "Yeah, I recall you enjoying them immensely." Then Thundercracker paused, his CPU processing what Skywarp had just mentioned, about the prisoner —
"So…"
"You want to make a snuff film? Skywarp, why in the Pit —"
"It was actually Blitzwing's idea."
"Oh, so you were talking to him."
"Maybe."
Thundercracker's frown deepened. Yes, he remembered the deactivation film business on Cybertron. During the war, it was an underground, black market industry that the Decepticons had started, not having any use for most of their Autobot hostages. Fellow Decepticons stationed in other bases ate them up eagerly; even the Neutrals seemed to have no problem paying for the gruesome entertainment. And the Autobots — while Thundercracker was certain the more twisted members of their ranks appreciated such nasty diversions — the Autobots often paid top price for the destruction of the films; they were stupid and honorable like that.
Skywarp grinned. "So… you interested? Blitzwing is rigging up the recording equipment in the cell as we speak."
Thundercracker's first reaction was of revulsion, but he bit it back. "I dunno, Skywarp. I was never too fond of this kind of thing, not even back in Kaon."
The black seeker laughed. "Oh, that's a lie! Remember that one holovid — it was a really popular one — slag, I forget who the unfortunate 'bot was. He had his circuits fried by two fliers, at the same time — then he was picked apart, piece-by-piece — " Skywarp tilted his head. "C'mon, you know the one."
"That sounds like just about all of the snuff films we watched —"
"But you actually liked this one, Thundercracker! It totally got you off." Skywarp tapped the side of his helm in realization. "I remember, now! The Autobot — he was a gray groundpounder. The only survivor in his city. Put on a real good show."
"Oh! Oh." Thundercracker knew the film to which his wingmate was referring. But the Autobot — "He didn't die, you know. Still fights alongside Prime. It wasn't a real deactivation. Nasty, but not real."
"Huh, maybe." Skywarp slid off Thundercracker's desk, then yanked the other jet to his feet. "C'mon. It could be fun. And even if you pull a Screamer and find you can't take it, aren't you at least interested to see who it is?"
Thundercracker cycled a puff of air through his vents in a sigh. "Yeah, I guess."
The Decepticon brig was located in a dark sublevel of the Nemesis, in a corridor sectioned off for the specific purpose of detainment, torture, and deactivation. In an effort to conserve energy, light panels were dimmed to their lowest setting, the air had nonexistent circulation, and the last time the hallway had been cleaned was anyone's guess. The Constructicons had their base of operations nearby; unwanted prisoners, more often than not, became scrap metal and Hook was always more than eager to jump on the necessary materials for a new project.
None too happily, Thundercracker followed his wingmate closely through the darkened corridor. It had been ages since he'd last ventured down to this particular deck of the Decepticon ship, and the jet was quickly finding that he really had no interest in repeating the experience. "You could've just teleported us here, you idiot."
Skywarp shrugged. "I could've. But you-know-who probably would've traced the energy signature."
And Thundercracker knew his trinemate was referring to Soundwave, Megatron's third in command, and he shuddered. "Yeah, okay."
"And besides," Skywarp continued, "the whole thing wouldn't be nearly as fun."
"You're getting off on this, aren't you?"
"I think you already know the answer to that," Skywarp purred. "Unlike you, I'm a Decepticon, through-and-through, and I happen to enjoy this sort of stuff."
Thundercracker shook his head in disgust. "You would."
Skywarp just snorted. The two seekers reached the door that led to the brig area, and the black jet keyed an entry request at once. There was pause, a few kliks passed, and the door panel slid aside. Skywarp strode in immediately, then waited as his wingmate followed at a more hesitant gait. They passed cell after empty cell down the grimy hallway; so unkempt was the corridor, the normally-purple sheen of the metal didn't show through. "This place has a good smell to it, huh?"
Thundercracker switched on his olfactory sensors, then grimaced. "It smells like stale energon. And fear — and death."
"As it should," Skywarp responded, sounding all-too-happy about their current situation.
Thundercracker didn't argue. Up ahead, there was a lone cell, violet energy bars crackling with charge. In the gloom, the blue seeker could see the bulk of Blitzwing; the triplechanger was fiddling with some sort of equipment, and he acknowledged the newcomers' presence with a nod before returning to the recording paraphernalia.
"Any bets on who the unfortunate Autobot is?" Skywarp sneered as they drew ever closer.
"No, and I don't care," Thundercracker retorted. "But if it's a minibot, I want nothing to do with it."
Skywarp frowned. "Well, whatever. I wager it's one of their worthless grunts. At the very least, let's hope he's easy on the eyes, huh?"
While his wingmate spoke to Blitzwing, Thundercracker regarded the Autobot prisoner carefully, with an equal amount of interest and pity. The hostage was slumped in the corner of the cell, blue optics glowing dimly — yet there was an immeasurable amount of anger and hatred burning in his feeble glare. The Autobot's weapons had been stripped; his main motor functions had likely been disconnected; his normally well-polished chassis was dented and scuffed.
Their optics met, and Sunstreaker's faceplates twisted into a hauntingly grim smile.
Thundercracker wrenched his gaze away, and decided he'd much rather look at Blitzwing. "What did you do, shake him up a bit before inviting us over?"
The larger Decepticon glanced up from his hushed conversation with Skywarp. "Nah, not intentionally. He put up a slagging good fight. All I did was cut a few relays so that he wouldn't gouge anyone's optics out in — in the middle of things."
Thundercracker grunted at this, not sure whether to be thankful, or —
He wasn't sure what to think, actually. As he'd tried, unsuccessfully, to convince Skywarp, Thundercracker never fully understood the Decepticon obsession with snuff films. Yes, killing was a function of battle, and it was an integral part of the war, but it wasn't a novelty to be recorded and distributed for profit. And besides, deactivation holovids, more often than not, were more than just killing — they usually included content of a more twisted, gruesome nature. A good pornography flick was one thing, but torture and coercion, as a form of entertainment was, well —
Perhaps that was why Thundercracker made such a bad Decepticon.
So lost in his thoughts, the blue seeker wasn't aware that Skywarp and Blitzwing had finished their shady dealings — until his wingmate tapped him on the shoulder. "Cybertron to Thundercracker, come in."
Thundercracker jolted then spun to face Skywarp. "What's up?"
"I've got a proposition for you," the black seeker explained, keeping his volume low. "Blitzwing's offering us a large cut of the profit, if we both agree to double-team — "
"What?" Thundercracker squawked. "No! Absolutely not! Skywarp, I'm just not like that! I'm no exhibitionist — I don't — you can, if you want —"
Disappointment flashed over Skywarp's faceplates before he murmured, "Aww, TC. I thought you'd probably say that. You're a soft piece of slag, but I won't hold it against you."
"I should be so thankful."
"Uh-huh. Then you won't mind working the cameras while me and Blitzwing do the job, right?"
An image of his wingmate and the triplechanger violating the Autobot pinged in Thundercracker's mind, and he grimaced. "Let me get this straight — I'm going to film a forced interface —"
"And a deactivation!"
"— and a deactivation." Thundercracker flicked his gaze back to the captured, crumpled Autobot. How often had Sunstreaker and Sideswipe proven to be a nuisance in battle? Time and time again, the frontliner brothers had bested the Decepticons, most notably Thundercracker and his wingmates; was a little revenge so bad? Though Thundercracker liked to think himself more morally sound than his comrades, the concept of revenge was abstract and universal, and certainly not a Decepticon invention.
In the darkness, Sunstreaker's defiant smirk faltered.
"Yeah, I'm game."
In a crackle of static, the energy bars securing the cell disappeared. While his comrades crowded in to join the Autobot prisoner, Thundercracker eased himself into the chair that was stationed at a nearby control panel. Blitzwing had set up six individual cameras inside the cell; their separate recordings would be processed into a three-dimensional, holographic composite. It was Thundercracker's job to keep the lenses trained on the action, and to make sure nothing went amiss.
Blitzwing's instructions had been such — if anything goes wrong, you know what to do — but Thundercracker knew the triplechanger hadn't been referring to the cameras. Even with the Autobot functioning at only a small percentage of his capacity, it was still a dangerous affair, and a warrior like Sunstreaker was unlikely to give in so easily.
With a nervous sigh, Thundercracker flipped several switches, glanced at the monitor preview of the scene, and adjusted the camera lenses that were slightly misaligned. "Go at it whenever you're ready," the seeker said, trying, unsuccessfully, to sound bored.
Blitzwing and Skywarp didn't waste any time.
The Autobot's motor functions were repaired, but only enough so that he could put up some sort of resistance; it would be boring, otherwise. Blitzwing hauled the prisoner to his feet, then put him into a vicious headlock — Thundercracker could hear Sunstreaker sputtering static under the pressure of the triplechanger's forearm against his throat— then nodded, indicating he wanted Skywarp to join the fray.
Skywarp leered darkly, sauntered forward, and in a deceptively gentle gesture, caressed the side of the struggling Autobot's face, being careful not to let the prisoner bite him. Sunstreaker thrashed weakly in Blitzwing's grasp, though his vocalizer remained curiously silent, leading Thundercracker to wonder if that had been cut, as well. Skywarp brought himself closer to the prisoner, cockpit flush against the scuffed, yellow chassis, pectoral vents already humming with excitement. He murmured something — Thundercracker couldn't hear what — and a moment later, his mouth was clamped over that of the Autobot, hands scraping roughly at the prisoner's shoulder joints.
Like a cornered, caged animal, Sunstreaker bit; Skywarp yelped and pulled away, fluorescent energon dribbling from his ruptured lip components. "Good, Autobot," Thundercracker heard his wingmate hiss.
And Thundercracker knew, from millions of years of experience, that Skywarp loved pain. Not the life-threatening kind — because as a warrior built to fight, that kind of pain was bad — but anything inflicted during a rough interface was fair game, and Sunstreaker had, unknowingly, just fulfilled one of Skywarp's smaller fantasies.
The blue jet watched the scene unfold, only half-paying attention. He could wish he was there, with Skywarp — and if he dimmed his optics just right, Blitzwing was no longer in the picture, and neither was Sunstreaker, and it would be just the two of them — Thundercracker and Skywarp — and there'd be no slagging war, and no slagging prisoners…
Black digits wandered down white pectoral vents, slowly traced the edge of a cockpit, worked their way down a blue thigh — in the cell, armor clanged and grinded — Skywarp was yelling degrading slurs at the prisoner, low voice rumbling with lust and amusement — and Thundercracker tilted his head back, other hand guiding itself to the cables of his neck — a soft moan escaped his lips —
A sharp cry of pain sliced through Thundercracker's fantasies, and he powered his optics back online. Sunstreaker had screamed his vocalizer back into working, and now he was hurling insult after insult at his attackers. That made things decidedly more interesting, and Thundercracker double-checked the microphones to be sure they were functioning properly.
The trio moved to the floor of the cell; the thrashing Autobot was flipped on his back, shoulders restrained by Skywarp while Blitzwing spread the yellow legs and hiked them up, into the air —
Primus, was the triplechanger rough with his prey —
The prisoner writhed pitifully as his pelvic armor was pried open. Metal was stripped and tossed aside, mangled and useless; two large digits were plunged into Sunstreaker's interface ports, curling around the delicate, sensitive circuitry, slowly tearing at the wires and sensory relays. The Autobot's screaming turned to unwanted moans of pain before being reduced to jarring static.
Thundercracker almost gagged. He forced himself to pry his optics away from Blitzwing, but focusing on Skywarp didn't alleviate his disgust. The black seeker leered over the supine form of Sunstreaker, one hand fondling the Autobot's head crests, and the other keeping a tight hold over the prisoner's neck. Skywarp grinned then leaned forward, placing mocking, feather-light kisses over the seams on the captive's face, keeping an optic on Blitzwing's violation of Sunstreaker's interface ports.
The already-stagnant air of the prison block now smelled of spilt energon and hot circuitry — it was an arousing scent — but the scene which Thundercracker found himself recording was not. The blue jet squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, spark still skipping from his earlier, self-inflicted ministrations — and the constant grunting and gasping of his wingmate and the tank-jet wasn't helping. He spared Blitzwing a glance and instantly regretted it; the triplechanger was mutilating the Autobot's pelvic housing — Sunstreaker wheezed with pain, bursts of static issuing from his vocalizer — and Blitzwing smirked.
Thundercracker considered offlining his audials, but thought better of it — without his hearing, he was incredibly vulnerable, and if Starscream discovered what was going on, he would be scrapped; worse, if Soundwave or his blithering cassettes showed up… The blue jet sighed and slumped forward on the console, just wishing the whole thing could be done with already.
The kliks passed by — Thundercracker watched as the prisoner was forced into orally stimulating Skywarp's more sensitive areas — the black jet tossed his head back and made a show of moaning his wingmate's name — Blitzwing sidestepped Sunstreaker and leaned in to capture the seeker's lips in a deep, rough kiss —
— and that was going way too far. Thundercracker failed to hold in a growl. His fists clenched, and anger flooded his systems as Skywarp reciprocated the gesture.
Blitzwing returned his attention to the prisoner, plugging an interface cable into an access port in the Autobot's backside — Skywarp spread his legs wider to give the prisoner better, forced access — Sunstreaker bled energon.
Thundercracker folded his arms on the control panel and leaned forward, burying his face into them. Thank thePit this was almost over; Skywarp and Blitzwing, he knew, were rapidly reaching the point of overload. Sunstreaker's vocalizer fritzed back to life, and the Autobot released a long, pained moan.
That was all it took. Thundercracker heard Blitzwing hit overload first, snarling with release; he was soon followed by Skywarp. Both torturers had put up safeguards on their systems — surge protectors, in a way — as to not become completely debilitated when the electrical loop hit their internals. Offlining, in this situation, was not favorable, especially not when the film being created was intended for public viewing.
And now, Thundercracker knew, came the namesake of the film — the deactivation. He heard the click of a gun being withdrawn from subspace — heard the whine of it charging — heard the Autobot thrash in an attempt to escape — Blitzwing said something that sounded awfully derogatory — one last clatter of armor, and a gurgled "No!" from the prisoner — and then a harsh zot, the unmistakable discharge of the weapon.
Silence.
The stench of burnt metal alloy and freshly-spilt energon worked its way into Thundercracker's olfactory sensors. It took every ounce of willpower the blue jet had to keep himself from purging the liquid energy he had ingested earlier that day; to stay distracted, he pressed a button to cease the recording. In the darkness of the cell, Blitzwing and Skywarp were congratulating one another; the triplechanger brushed the stray droplets of energon from his front while the black seeker investigated the new dings and scuffs on his armor.
"Nice show you put on there, Skywarp."
"Yeah? I've had a little bit of practice. You weren't bad yourself. Can't wait to see the film!"
"Same here, it should be a good one. It'll take me a while to get all the tapes compiled and synched with the sound, and then I'll start distribution, when I have time."
"What do we do with that?"
"I'll let Hook know about it eventually. I'm sure he'll put it to good use."
It. Thundercracker found himself growing sicker by the nanoklik and, no longer capable of listening to the casual, careless banter between his wingmate and the triplechanger, the blue jet rose to his feet and promptly left. Thundercracker ignored their bewildered glances and shuffled down the dark corridor of the Decepticon brig, starting the long walk back to his quarters. For some reason, for some strange and inexplicable reason, the seeker felt incredibly dirty. All he'd done was monitor the cameras — but in doing so, he had allowed everything to happen. The rape, the torture, the murder — it was spilt energon on his hands, and Thundercracker was just as guilty as Skywarp and Blitzwing, even if he hadn't laid a finger on the prisoner. In fact, his involvement insured the film would be processed and distributed and seen.
Whether or not Thundercracker was fully committed to the Decepticon cause didn't matter. What had transpired was disgusting and horrible and had no place in war — not even with their sworn enemies. No one deserved that, not even the Autobot who had seemed so Pit-bent on antagonizing Thundercracker and his wingmates.
Upon reaching his quarters, the blue jet sat on the edge of his berth, his systems feeling like cold stone. Why hadn't he stolen or erased the video recordings when he'd had the chance? It was far too late now; there was little doubt Blitzwing had already gathered them and started to compile their data. There was one thing Thundercracker could still do, however. He rallied his thoughts, then started a scan of his archived radio frequencies. Oh, Skywarp would hate him for this, and Hook would likely be sour about having his latest materials stripped before he could even put them to use — but this was something Thundercracker felt obligated to do. He continued to skip through his directory of wavelengths. Some were encrypted, others open; most were Decepticon frequencies, but every so often an Autobot's signal appeared. And —
There. Thundercracker paused on the wavelength, then, heaving a sigh through his vents, sent the recipient a short encrypted message, accompanied with a time and a set of coordinates.
I have something that belongs to you, Sideswipe.
Author's Note: To be continued.
