Maverick knew he should've done something to close up the wound he'd inflicted on the Decepticon emblem that marred one of his hands, but noooo, he had to be impulsive and not give a damn about the consequences.
Had becoming a mech make him stupid or something? Had something gone wrong when he was forced of his human body? A slight shudder ran through his frame as the ghosting feelings of electricity and pain flashed in his mind.
If so though, the only thing he could feel good about (besides finally punching Drag Strip in the faceplate. That felt pretty good actually) was that he'd deprived them of their 'stress relief' and had taken away whatever secrets his body held.
Like how the hell they had been able to turn a human into a robot in the first place.
Since he had no human body to go back to though, he could kiss normalcy goodbye. He wanted to blame it all on bad luck and horrible timing, but seeing that glided cage he was put in implied that it took time and effort to make it. Once he saw his nickname plastered on the thing, it also became terrifyingly clear to him that Drag Strip had specifically picked him apart from any other human.
It was also a sad thing to admit that he had forgotten his 'real' name after being called 'Maverick' by everyone, even when he still had been a human. He knew it either started with 'E' or 'A', and that it was synonymous with 'everlasting.'
That he was absolutely sure of since the irony was not lost on him. He was now 'everlasting.'
Maverick was brought out of his dark reverie by a soft thud and it took him a moment to realize that he had fallen to his knees due to energon loss. 'Heh, didn't know it was possible for a mech to die like this.' He though cynically as his optics offlined.
Maverick could barely remember what it felt like to be held so gently, but it was enough to make him believe that he could almost be safe.
Almost.
He peeked through his optics only a little bit at the arms holding him, but were mercifully not yellow. Because of Drag Strip he'd pretty much come to hate the color yellow. Ironic that a color that was supposed to be cheerful could make him so angry.
He felt someone patching his hand and his optics blearily open wider to stare into a blue visor and his optics closed.
He could distinguish 'Bots from 'Cons mostly by their optic color and he's never seen a 'Con with blue optics, let alone a visor.
'I just hope they don't think I'm a 'Con.'
Why would they? That logical part of his mind whispered. Your optics are blue. A very light blue at that.
'My human eyes.' He thought.
The arms holding him stiffened as he heard whoever was holding him speak. "'Aid, his legs."
"I see it." A sympathetic voice said softly.
It took all Maverick had not to recoil and react at the hands gently pulling his knees apart. It was ironic; this was the first time he'd ever had his gently forced apart, not counting the one and only willing time he'd spread his legs for Dead End. He also had to remind himself that the 'Bots wouldn't do anything like that to him.
He heard a shocked gasp from the second mech. "This mech has no proper panel!"
"You mean he's someone's…?" The first mech trailed off darkly.
"It seems that way." The second voice answered sadly.
Even when weakened and hapless, Maverick hated pity.
The second voice continued on. "Though if he's here, he must have been escaping…or he was dumped here. Now, we're gonna need help transporting him back to base…"
Maverick couldn't hold onto consciousness anymore as he slipped into the first peaceful oblivion that wouldn't end up with him wanting to die.