The Seeker was exhausted, dehydrated, and out of it in every way. His optics were dull and blurry, cracked and marred with tiny, tiny scratches. The skinny frame was dented and damaged so that if his family saw him, it would take several sparkbeats to recognize him. In fact, whenever he was wheeled by something reflective, he could barely recognize himself staring back in the reflection. He would scare himself, his spark-rate ratchetting up several beats per minute. He would dig his claws into the wheel chair's armrest, clutching the battered leather until more padding fell out onto the floor. His optics would squeeze shut and his breath would hitch, and then he would relax, slowly and gradually with every breath he took.

He would pray every morning that the Autobots would find him, and then cry every night because they didn't. He wasn't sure why the Autobots would come for him, though. He very clearly bore the opposite faction's insignia, the one that probably got him into the whole mess. He hated it now, hated the face that marked him a Decepticon. He was learning to hate his faction, too. Only his faction would turn on its own members, invite insane bots into their ranks, namely Tarn and his DJD...

The mech was watching him now, his face blank and serious. His optics were molten-metal red, burning with rage. He had somehow angered the mech enough that he survived on nothing for three days and then was rewarded with purge from another mech. Only the Decepticons would treat innocent mechs this way...

"Tell me your...secrets..." Tarn tilted his helm slowly one way, then changed direction and tilted it the other way. He shifted once in his chair, slightly. It was hardly noticeable. Then it was quiet again. The Seeker wondered if Tarn could hear his spark throbbing painfully in his chamber. He prayed not. His spark-rate would give his fear away if his scent did not. Thankfully, he had been near water for years now, so his scent was probably masked. Tarn would only smell grime and dirt on his armor.

"Speak. I spared your vocalizer from damage. Speak. I need your secrets." Tarn got up quietly, and floated across the floor like a ghost, though the mech was huge and bulky. "Speak up!"

The Seeker watched him, his optics glazing over. His mind retreated into a far corner and he was only there mentally. The slap did not reach him. His sensors were dulled, fried from too much stimulation. The constant pain dulled his pain recognition and he was fading. Every time he went into the "box", it took longer for him to return.

The "box" was the back corner of his processor, where he would escape to when Tarn or his minions came to him to drag secrets he didn't have out of him. It was a small dark place the Seeker came to enjoy, and sometimes he would retreat to it whenever he remembered Tarn's voice, the pain, Tarn in general, pain...

"When are they coming for you? Surely you must be missed..." Tarn grabbed the Seeker's throat and lifted him high, right out of the wheel chair. Useless legs dangled feet off the floor.

Was he missed? No, he doubted that. Megatron had probably already replaced him, no doubt. He always seemed to, whenever he slipped up in the most minor of ways, but kept him around whenever he tried to gut the warlord. The Seeker often wondered what made his leader tick...

"No? What about the others, the opposite faction. You dealt with them often, yes? Doesn't the Prime notice your absense? Come on...I do not waste resources for cannon fodder! SPEAK!" Tarn shook him so hard, the Seeker worried for his spinal strut only minorly. He heard the cracks of his spinal vertebrae snapping and grinding off each other, but if his spinal cord was snapped, he didn't know. He didn't suppose he would know if it had snapped. His legs were useless, his wings were down, his arms might as well not be his own...

Did the Autobots notice his absense? He had helped the Autobots on occasion, in defiance. He wanted to give Megatron a message, but what that message was, he couldn't remember anymore...

Tarn threw him down and kicked him in the abdominal plating. The Seeker only made a weak gasp for breath, then laid still. "I need a medic," Tarn snapped into his comm.

Life-blood, something the Seeker had held onto for so long, seeped steadily out of him and further stained the floor. He didn't know a mech could bleed so much, but he supposed it was possible. When the medic arrived, all gentle and soft servos and words, he felt he had died. No medic was so soft, so tender...he fell asleep, or rather, passed out from Energon loss. Tarn snorted and walked out, but the medic remained, touching and patching where the wounds were worse.

This happened every week. Tarn would forget about his captive, remember him again and go to him. He would interrogate, accusing him of various things before beating him into oblivion for no reason other than to vent. And then a kind medic would come in and patch him up to the best of her ability before he was set back down on his little wheeled chair and stored back into his room, waiting for the cycle to begin again.

The medic bent over him, stroking his face. "Not many remember you..." She kept him updated, pressing him if he remembered how much time had passed. "People think you are dead..."

He came around slowly, thanking the AllSpark for the medic and her handy little IV drip of Energon. He gurgled gently.

"There's no one you know anymore, save me, but I guess my designation has slipped your mind."

He stared at her barely recognizable face. Did he recognize her? Not through all the haze, no...but somewhere, deep in his processor, a memory was tickled, all soft and warm...who was she?

"Come on..." She lifted him, surprisingly strong for her size, or he was so thin a tiny sparkling could balance him on a digit. "You're so heavy..." She sat him square on the chair and touched his helm, rubbing gently. He slumped into her servo, gurgling again. "Sounds like you have Energon in your throat..."

He almost always did. Somewhere along his time with Tarn, the mech ruptured something that caused internal bleeding, and resulted in the funny gurgling in his throat that burned and ached like the Pits...but the medic would always take care of that. A friendly tube would suck the Energon out of his throat and he would be fine for a couple days before the Energon leaked back in. If he ever got out, the Seeker reasoned as he looked fondly at the medic, he would need to escape with her.

"Open wide now," she whispered, the tube in her servo. The Seeker watched her face, trying to remember her. "Starscream, are you listening?"

With a jolt, he remembered his designation: Starscream, Prince of Vos, second in command, but no longer. Now he was Starscream, King of Nothing, or rather, just Starscream...he cried out, tears leaking down his cheeks and burning his optics. He lifted his arms and kneaded his face with his long claws, trying to get rid of the burning. The medic patted him gently, cooing and purring gentle words, but all Starscream could focus on was the pain and the burning. He wailed and that made room for the tube. He gagged on that, squirming and fussing until she removed it and patted him still.

"It's okay..it's okay. What hurt you, Starscream?"

He looked at her. The haze had gotten no better with his tears and he blinked, his lower lip uncertain of itself. He bit down into it and it bled.

The medic tutted and touched his face. "This is the most activity you have made since you went into your box...how do you feel? Can you speak?"

He looked at her dumbly. Speak? Did he remember the words? Did he remember his own language, when spoken? Would his vocalizer and glossa work together as a team, as good as they had before Tarn? Perhaps... "My..."

She leaned closer, her audio inches above his mouth. He had whispered, barely above audible. "What?" she rasped.

"My name..."

She made a strange sighing noise.

"Starscream..."

"Yes, your name is Starscream," she said and she lifted her helm. A smile cracked her faceplates in two, all her denta visible and shining in the dull light. Starscream felt another strange jolt in his spark. He knew this medic...he knew her...but who was she?

"Oh, Starscream," she sighed and she knelt by his helm, grabbing his servo. "This is good news..." She kissed his helm and helped him sit in his wheel chair again. "I..I have to tell someone. Don't worry. I'll be back, I promise." She hugged his neck and left before he could form his next question. The door swung in.

"Who..."

The door swung out again. It was one of those funny doors that never knew where closed was.

"Are..."

The door swung inward.

"You...?"

The door stilled, and Starscream was plunged into silence. Tears rolled down his faceplates and dangled at his chin. He dug his claws into the arm rests and tilted his helm back, but no sound was made. His vocalizer failed him in his grief.