Disclaimer: Nothing you see is mine.
A/N: TF Prime; one-shot. Takes place directly after "The Human Factor".
Knockout scowled down at the subject currently strapped to his dissection table. He was torn. On the one hand, he couldn't wait to exact vengeance upon the one who had cut into Breakdown when he'd still been alive. But on the other, he didn't want to cut into the corpse of someone who had once been important to him.
So he felt stuck. He would do the dissection, of course, but he knew he would not enjoy cutting through Breakdown's armor to get to the insect situated within. Once he'd gotten through the detestable part of it though, he had no doubt he would find the whole experience largely enjoyable.
The thing calling himself Cylas struggled under the straps that held him down. Knockout could have sedated him, which would make the dissection go a little smoother, but he didn't want to give what was left of the human any sort of relief. He wanted to hear the wretched creature scream, hear him beg and plead for mercy that he had never once considered giving to Breakdown.
He turned away from the table, grabbing a few things from a metal tray that rested nearby. He intended to take his time, to show the fleshling that he was entirely in control of the situation.
He prepped his tools slowly, angling his body in such a way that if Cylas were looking in his direction – which he was – he would see all the sharp, horrible tools that Knockout intended to use.
"Please," the fleshling's voice was strained with self control that was at it's limit, "I just want to serve Megatron. I'm still useful. I still have more to offer!"
"Do you honestly believe Lord Megatron would have kept you around even if Project Damocles had been successful?" Knockout spoke with his back to the dissection table, too focused on preparing everything he needed to bother looking over his shoulder. He didn't wait for the creature to reply before he continued, "I think you underestimate just how much Lord Megatron despises your kind. And for you to have come aboard this ship, wearing one of our kind as a suit, did you honestly think there wouldn't be dire ramifications for you?" He hissed that last part, anger bleeding into his words.
"What does he care if one of his soldiers is dead? He and I are alike, you see. One soldier doesn't matter."
Knockout turned. He strode over to the table, optics narrowed and a slightly deranged smile stretched across his face. He reached into the abomination's open optic socket with a sharp finger and moved it around, tugging at delicate wires and scratching sensor nodes. Cylas bucked against his restraints, screaming.
The medic withdrew the digit, satisfied that the thing wearing Breakdown like a second skin would keep it's mouth shut. Knockout didn't want to have to sedate the fleshling. He really didn't. But he wasn't sure how well he could stay in control if Cylas continued to mouth off. Apparently, he didn't yet realize that everything he did or said had terrible consequences. He could tell that the human, despite being kliks away from being cut into, still thought he was untouchable – that he believed something would spare him at the last possible moment. Knockout would enjoy proving him wrong.
He would prove him wrong about something else, too.
Breakdown wasn't just a soldier. He mattered. And Knockout was going to be sure that that was the last thing Cylas knew before he finally allowed him to die.