"Go recycle yourself."
Bluestreak stutters the words out in a low voice, his throat sore and aching from all the words which won't stop-can't stop coming- from his vocaliser. The whine from his cooling fans almost drowns them out but the Decepticon who has been riding him, forcing an interface where it isn't wanted, rears back in anger and Bluestreak knows he's been heard. Had he any doubt, the punch to his midsection would have overridden it.
The Decepticon is yelling at him now and despite the weary lethargy running through him Bluestreak forces his optics to come online to look at him: Thrust… right, appropriate name given that's all his done for the last breem. Bluestreak's body aches in remembrance of it, his knee joints creaking ominously given the numbness of his legs. He staggers a little but manages to focus: Thrust, appropriate name…pain, hurt, pleading-Primus he wants to plead for them to stop-no, focus on the name and let the words come. Don't think; don't waste time on it, just talk.
Bluestreak isn't sure what exactly he's saying but the words 'sloppy' and 'slagging technique' are within the chatter that gushes from his vocal chords. He's not sure if half of them actually make any sense and won't reign himself in to stop and think about them for a moment because the words are working. He's not pleading, not begging them to stop, and not calling for help though he knows the others can hear him. Knows Ratchet and Prowl and Mirage and Optimus certainly will be listening to everything; the medic wanting to try and catalogue Blue's injuries to prepare for his rescue, Prowl and Mirage to coordinate said rescue-if the latter Autobot isn't already skulking around the Nemesis hunting for him that is- and Optimus…because he had a heavy dose of guilt complex already and wouldn't be able to draw himself away.
He's ignoring what Thrust spits at him, having no problems with tuning out his audios to the threats the Conehead is sure to be making. True to form, Thrust shoves Bluestreak back against the wall behind him, metal groaning and creaking as pain flares up Bluestreak's back and over his body. Primus, it feels like he's being slowly torn apart. Every movement, whether his own conscious one or a consequence of the Decepticon's treatment, causes the chains to dig in deeply to his arms, legs and chassis. It's his chassis that hurts the most, the chains making it compress as Bluestreak struggles for breath. He can feel his spark fluttering as the chamber squashes that little bit closer each time.
He can't talk when it's like this, when he feels this constricted, and it panics him. It leaves him open to actually thinking about what's happening and what could happen. He unmutes his audios quickly, focusing on Thrust's jeers as the mech describes exactly what he plans to do to Bluestreak during his 'next turn'.
Bluestreak can't help the shudder that races through him at the words; the idea of more pain, more humiliation, is almost too much to bear but the words do also give him a disturbing comfort. They fill the silence and make Bluestreak's panic abates. Silence is his enemy. In many respects it always has been. He's always felt the need to talk above it, to fill it; inane chatter or actual conversation has always flowed without thought whenever he's felt silence drawing in. He know he overwhelms people sometimes but he just can't help himself; he envies them knowing they don't feel the trepidation that comes over him when silence begins to creep in, they don't feel the need to fill the silence instead they can sit comfortably within it, taking comfort from it sometimes. Bluestreak can't.
Thrust's finally finished now, finished forcing both himself and his noxious personality on Bluestreak. As the Seeker turns his back on Bluestreak, the Autobot allows himself to sag into the chains that bind and now support him, despite how painfully they cut in. Bluestreak cringes as the chains noticeably strain and Thrust glances back, a scornful laugh on his lips as he catches Bluestreak sagging, believing he has somehow 'won' something over the Autobot.
But it's not defeat that has Bluestreak sagging; he's dangerously low on energon now, flashing warnings constantly pinging to remind him. If he could bring himself to admit it part of Bluestreak would want his energon reserves to run so low that he offlines. Although the idea of offlining temporarily in the presence of the Decepticons and what he would come online too is terrifying, the relief he would feel at knowing the others couldn't hear what is happening, couldn't hear him if he did break, is starting to overwhelm him.
Although Bluestreak has to admit that knowing the other Autobots are still there, silently supporting, is something he has no wish to lose- however horrifying and humiliating the circumstances.
That tiny part of him he doesn't dare acknowledge wants to shut down, wants to sob and rage and plead. He can't help but wonder how many other Autobots could have been 'punished' in such a fashion as he is. Prowl, Jazz, Bumblebee, Ratchet…so many of them had been caught and held while negotiations and rescue attempts simultaneously occurred. How many of them had had this forced on them. Bluestreak has to assume he's not the first, he also doubts he'll be the last. Bluestreak's stopped counting just how many Deceptions and which ones have forced and abused him, he's noticed more which ones haven't.
Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave …so far they haven't made an appearance and whether they would Bluestreak isn't sure. He can't see Megatron or Starscream wanting to be second in anything, they both had far too much pride and ego. And Hook…Hook he's seen and the bot had made it clear he wasn't inclined to force interfaces when he could get them from willing partners. The engineer, medic-wannabe as Bluestreak's often heard Ratchet refer to him, had been 'considerate' enough to lock Bluestreak's pain receptors so he's unable to dial them down and dull the pain even a little.
Bluestreak's glad for a moment of respite, although the chilling realization is making itself known just how quickly his mind will entrap him and be far more punishing then the Decepticon's ever could.
Soundwave...Bluestreak doesn't want to consider if he'll see that mech or his creations anytime soon, he's just grateful that he hasn't been hacked yet. The rape of his mind alongside body is too chilling to consider.
"Well what have we here?"
Bluestreak jumps at the familiar drawl, smug and mocking as it hits his audios.
Skywarp…He hisses the word involuntarily.
Bluestreak's glad for the distraction but equally as scared of the mech before him. This is the first time he's had one of the command Trine this close, usually he's aiming his gun at them from a distance.
Skywarp's pleased and makes it obvious as he preens in front of Bluestreak who gathers himself enough to glare at the Seeker.
"What the frag do *you* want." It's short and succinct given the ramblings of his mind, rantings that wish to escape his vocaliser to protect him, but the contempt he emphasizes hits Skywarp just as Bluestreak intends it to.
He mutes a groan as Skywarp backhands him and allows the words to start stuttering out as pain shoots through him. Skywarp is striking him randomly, not giving Bluestreak a moment to adjust to the pain in one spot before he hits another. And Bluestreak lets the words fly; confusing as they must be to the Seeker, he doesn't stop to process them though they shudder as Skywarp reaches for his interface unit, the panel torn off from his first forced interface.
Bluestreak dims his optics, though not through choice, as pain lashes through him. Familiar, humiliating, agonizing pain that makes him wish he could purge his, sadly empty, tanks over the grunting, thrusting Skywarp. Frag…the pain doesn't get any easier, no matter how many times this happens though Bluestreak is thankful it doesn't get any worse either. Given time he expects it to ease, chilling as the thought is, his sensors can only take so much before they short out. He can only hope for a rescue quickly, since the negotiation route obviously isn't working.
Skywarp howls slamming hard against Bluestreak, shuddering against him and sighing quietly in satisfaction as he reaches overload. For a moment there's silence, dreaded and dangerous it creeps in and Bluestreak fights to find words to fill it but his processor is sluggish, swimming in thoughts and flashing warnings alike.
Ironically Skywarp saves him by flopping over; the chains bite in suddenly as a sharp burn flushes through him, sudden, sharp and grating. It stills Bluestreak's processor, brings a clarity that he eagerly seizes at as he onlines his optics to stare at Skywarp. Drawing in a shaky breath Bluestreak lets the words come, the familiar relief racing through him as they come and Skywarp jerks back in shock.
"-but maybe you'll slow down when you're older learn how to take your time-""
His helm snaps back into the wall, the ache and clang registering simultaneously before he even realizes Skywarp's struck him. Then it's the whip, that slagging energon whip, that's biting into him again and again. But Bluestreak doesn't stop; if his energon levels were even slightly higher the words would have been a shouted monologue, instead they're quieter but rapid enough. Confounding as they must be, Bluestreak finds his processor can catch up with enough of them to identify and assure him that they're rude, scathing and aimed at Skywarp.
His spark stutters as Skywarp pauses, Bluestreak stilling as the Seeker seems to wait for something. And then Skywarp speaks and Bluestreak dims his optics in humiliation and disgust as he realizes someone has to be watching what is happening, overseeing the torture and checking that their 'pet Autobot' isn't being abused to the point where he became unuseful.
"I don't see why we don't just rip out his vocal processor." The words are chilling enough but as SKywarp caresses his throat, Bluestreak feels his spark jolt. He freezes in terror, the idea of being unable to stop the silences anymore is more terrifying then anything they've done to him or threatened him with so far.
Without his voice, he's nothing, without his voice he's got no protection. Nothing to stop the painful thoughts and fears creeping in, nothing to shield him from himself.
"Negative: Skywarp return to duty."
Soundwave's voice, commanding and warning at the same time, has never filled Bluestreak with such relief but the Autobot doesn't have the chance to appreciate the feeling as Skywarp strokes his throat again, head cocked to one side like he's considering and weighing up his options.
He wouldn't go against Soundawave, no one goes against Soundwave. Soundwave scares everyone even Megatron. Skywarp wouldn't would he-Bluestreak doesn't dare move, locks his body tightly in fearful anticipation.
"Fine" Bluestreak nearly collapses in relief as Skywarp turns away, though it's short lived as the Seeker adds, "Though I plan to share my idea with Starscream when he returns from his mission. I'm sure by now the damage has been done and I know I'm not the only one who'd enjoy a quiet interface."
Primus be thanked Skywarp has already left the room when his vocaliser unmutes itself and a juddering whine escapes Bluestreak's lips. He's trembling now and violently so, unable to hold himself back or the clicks and stuttered whimpers that don't seem to want to stop. He can't remember the last time he let himself go in this manner; everything was neatly pushed and filled, locked down tight in his processor. The last time this involuntarily happened, the last time Bluestreak clicked and whimpered like a frightened sparkling was when he had been a frightened sparkling. One who'd learned the best way to keep the monsters away was to talk rather then sputter and cry, to shield with words and chatter.