Title: What You Don't Know (Might Just Kill You)

Author: albydarned

Fandom: Transformers G1

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Character deaths, non-con, torture/mutilation, incest … definitely not for the faint of heart!

Summary: De-annon'ed from the kink meme over on LJ and based on the following prompt:

Bluestreak is the cute youngling of Megatron and Starscream (yes, yes... he really is heir of the Decepticons). The Autobot prisoners can't believe it when he comes in to interrogate them (cause he's so happy and innocent... at first). If he can't get answers by pretending to be naive and sweet, then he's more than willing to pull out his electric whip and teach them to obey.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Preface

"Huh, that's not right …" Obviously, these are not the words one wishes to hear from a medic, so Bluestreak's distressed squeaking was completely justified.

"What do you mean, not right?" The young gunner asked, looking over to Ironhide, who simply shrugged; how the slag was he supposed to know what Ratchet was talking about? Obviously it couldn't be that troubling, or he'd be barking out orders and throwing wrenches. Youngling probably just had a few wires loose or something …

"Stop your fidgeting! I'm doing some delicate work here, and you don't want me to sever some of these wires!" Ratchet warned. "You just have a small dent in one of your memory chips; it's blocking a good third of the receptors in your total banks. Probably leftover damage from a battle … nothing to fix, if you'll just hold on!"

Bluestreak relaxed slightly, feeling a slight glimmer of hope and anticipation fill him. Maybe some memories of my creators, of my sparklinghood, he wondered, catching Ironhide's optics once more, smiling at his adoptive creator. All of his memories from before the fall of Praxus, where he was fished out half-deactivated by a troop of Autobot scouts, were missing; his frame had been so damaged that none of the medics could even guess as to what type of mech he had been, although given where he was found, it was almost certain he was a Praxian, and that was the frame he was restored in.

"Just a moment, and … there!" Ratchet remarked triumphantly, watching as long-dim receptor lights brightened as connections which had been dormant for vorns upon vorns reactivated. "How does that feel, Bluestreak? You may experience some disorientation, depending on the size of the files which might have been in that database …"

Bluestreak didn't answer for a long time, his vocalizer uncharacteristically silent. His optics powered off as his whole system did a sudden, and wholly-unexpected reboot. Ratchet looked to Ironhide, alarmed; accessing additional memories should not have prompted a reboot. As the old soldier moved to his gunner's side, Ratchet turned around, reaching for a scanner.

A gray hand caught his wrist, and whirled the medic back around with amazing strength. Furious red optics met Ratchet's for a moment before a curtain of darkness descended over everything.

Author's Note: As of right now, this story has three parts, all of which I will upload tonight. I will continue to work on this story as often as I am able, because (as kind of morbid as this is), I'm enjoying the plot and exploring the twistedness that is evil!Bluestreak! However, I feel the need to warn everyone that, in addition to this story being ridiculously dark and evil, I am also a graduate student, so updates might come faster or slower depending on my schedule.

However, I do have an outline and a tentative plot for where I want this story to go, so at least I'm not floating helplessly here. :)