Here's a short story that ties in with my other, Better Left Unsaid. I was going to make it a part of it later on, but I can't tie it in smoothly. So here you go!

Arcee approached the 'Con, who was still being held captive in the brig. As she approached, he sensed her coming and hissed, his wings straining against their restraints. In their cuffs, his long thin claws flexed menacingly. How he was able to move at all in the stasis cuffs, she didn't know. But the thing that made her so agitated around him wasn't the fact that he could move in stasis cuffs, it was his strangeness. How was a Cybertronian so much like an animal, so feral and violent? This Decepticon, designated Deathstrike, was one of the strangest 'Cons she had ever met. She didn't know his past, except that he had brutally murdered Wheeljack's brother.

"Enough," she ordered as she shut the door behind her. "You're not an animal."

He narrowed his optics. "How do you know?"

She glared back, still put off by his voice. He had a strange accent; it was unnatural, and something you wouldn't want to hear in the dark.

"You're not," she stated sharply, crossing her servos. "I have some questions I need you to answer."

A low growl rumbled through him. "'Need'?"

"Let me rephrase that." Arcee moved closer, glaring directly at him despite that he was twice her size. "You will answer my questions. You have no choice, seeing as though you're our prisoner."

Deathstrike scoffed at 'prisoner'. "I would do this for what reason?" His glare became cold.

"I could bring in Wheeljack and have him question you, if you like."

"Wheeljack cannot harm me." His accent suddenly became thicker, making her even more curious. She had heard plenty of accents from tons of places—Praxus, Simfur, Kalis, Kaon, Iacon, and even the Towers—but his was unique.

"It confuses you, does it not?" His deep voice startled her.

"What?" she snapped.

"It startles you." At her look of annoyed confusion, he snarled quietly. "My accent."

"You're a telepath?" As if he didn't have enough strange abilities.

"Believe it if you will—" He cut off abruptly, turning and leaning against the nearest wall as a bout of harsh coughing shook his lean frame. Arcee could the Energon he brought up and made a mental note to tell Ratchet. Deathstrike was too valuable a prisoner to die in the brigs from internal bleeding or a severe sickness. She waited until he was finished to continue.

"Why did you do it?" She was surprised at how gentle her voice sounded. This was the mech who had brutally murdered Wheeljack's brother and enjoyed it.

Deathstrike shuttered his optics, his claws flexing once more. After a moment, he opened them and did not meet her eyes. "I was different back then," the strange mech murmured as he sat on the outstretched berth near him. "Things have changed." His wings strained against their restraints, and they creaked ominously. If he was strong enough to break his bonds, they would have to make new ones. Not even Starscream was that strong.

"Different how?" she pressed.

He looked up at her and she resisted from internally shuddering. His optics were completely black, save for dark red rings serving as pupils. They were cold and held no emotion, and in the dim lighting they blazed. They stared at each other for a moment, and his wings pushed at his restraints.

"Stop doing that." The noise was driving her insane, but it would also be bad if he got loose.

"My wings move of their own accord, I have not flown for centuries, and I do not do well in confined spaces." His voice became raspy, and as another fit hit him, she thought about his words. She knew and had known many Seekers, and their wings moved with their moods, but many would go stir-crazy if they hadn't flown for a few days, let alone centuries. Maybe it explained his insanity.

"Ratchet." She the medic as she exited the brig. "The captive is either bleeding internally or is severely ill. He's coughing up a lot of Energon."

"If he was bleeding internally, he could choke on or cough up Energon, but it would depend on the amount expelled as well as the thickness and rate it was expelled. But I can't tell how you would know this, but—" The Autobot CMO cut off from his voiced musings, realization hitting him. "Arcee, you didn't go in there alone, did you? Deathstrike is far too dangerous for you to be alone with him."

"Relax, Ratchet. He didn't do anything and I wouldn't have let him if he tried."

"As stubborn as always, you are." His gruff voice softened a bit, but still held its familiar severity and harshness. The line disconnected as she entered med-bay.

"He's a creepy one, isn't he?" Smokescreen said, watching the femme as she entered. A curious glint sparked in his optics, and it was obvious that he wanted to know more about their captive.

"One of the creepiest," Bulkhead stated. "The 'Con's best assassin, unless they recruit Soundwave as one. He's known for his insanity, and how beastly he is."

"That's probably what he wants others to think," Arcee retorted. "He didn't seem insane to me, unless his sickness hides it."

"He's sick?" Smokescreen questioned, his doorwings flicking the air. "He wasn't when we captured him. He was more… resistant than sick."

"You mean when Optimus shot him repeatedly," Ratchet added. He now had more work to do and was not pleased when the others had told him of the way the Prime had taken him down. They needed a healthy prisoner, not one who was coughing up their own life-blood.

"If he hadn't, Deathstrike would have killed us all," Arcee snapped. "He has a knack for it, and seems to have a grudge against Bulkhead."

"Well, he is as clumsy as Primus knows what," Smokescreen muttered. When the Wrecker turned to glare at him, he raised his servos and backed away, his doorwings shuddering. "I'm just saying—you are."

"Ratchet." The Prime entered, his baritone voice rumbling like thunder and his steps shaking the ground.

The medic didn't turn, but looked over his shoulder panel. "Yes?"

"I have heard the others speaking about the fact that our prisoner may be unwell."

"I'm not so sure yet. I have much to do and have yet to visit him. Arcee says he was coughing up Energon."

"Investigate the problem." When Ratchet turned to glare in disbelief, the Prime's gaze hardened, but glowed with the familiarity and warmth of an old friendship. "The computers will not vanish, and I will be sure that Bulkhead will not break your tools." He watched the medic leave.

Yeah, well...there's that! Hope you liked! If you do not understand who Deathstrike is, his bio is on my profile and he is the main character in my other story Better Left Unsaid. Feel free to check them out! :)

Bye!