Alright so here's chapter two. Hope you all enjoyed chapter one, and a huge thank you to all the followers/favoriters.


"Starscream! You are not listening!" Knock Out yelled, enraged, "we have to do something!"

The commander shrugged, "dear doctor...the Autobots have Switchblade. There's nothing to be done. But why don't you put that mind of yours to good use?"

Once the commander had stepped out of the medbay, Knock Out slammed a fist down on the table. This was exactly what he was afraid of! The day she asked for that insignia he knew this would happen, and guess what? He was right...he could imagine it now: Switchblade cuffed to a table with wires and prods sticking out of her while those sadistic glitches dicked around with her internals. Breakdown came up behind him and put his hands on the CMO's shoulders. Knock Out gave a long sigh and turned around in the bruiser's arms—resting his head on Breakdown's chestplate.

"Switchblade is a strong femme. She can take care of herself for a couple days. The Autobots are a lot of things, but they don't just murder bots for no reason," when the red mech stayed silent, he continued, "we'll figure something out. Maybe we'll try one of those old comm tricks and lure 'em out somewhere."

Knock Out squeezed his arms lightly around Breakdown's middle—burying his face against the familiar blue chassis, "I hope she's alright. If something happens to her, if they hurt her or do anything to her...Breakdown, I—"

"Hey," the bruiser looked down and took Knock Out's helm in his hands, "we'll get her back. I promise," he laid a light, comforting kiss on the top of the red mech's helm, "we'll get her back."

...

"Switchblade? Can you hear me?"

She didn't recognize the voice, and the flashlight shining directly into her optics wasn't exactly helping. Where even was she? This wasn't the mines, nor the Nemesis. In the near distance, she could hear more voices. The patterned beeping she knew was familiar, though from where she couldn't place. She opened her optics, gingerly at first—wincing at bright flood from the darting flashlight—then she bolted them open. She remembered now: getting taken by the Autobots. She was sitting in the corner of (what was presumably) a prison cell, though it looked more like a reinforced garage port, with (who was presumably) Ratchet standing over her. The "cell" was barren; the concrete floor and walls, and the menacing presence of the heavy, barred steel door. All the other Autobots, and the three humans, stood around the doorway. When her wings tried calibrating, she found the restraint removed, but her hands were still cuffed in front of her.

"Switchblade?" the red and white medic asked again.

Her frightened gaze locked onto a syringe poorly hidden in the nearby medical kit. She could see its contents: thick, syrupy, blue-grey liquid filled to the halfway line. Her father was the Chief Medical Officer aboard the Nemesis warship, she had practically been raised in a medbay...and she knew a sedative when she saw one. Okay, think...its blue-grey like all the other sedatives...no bubbling, Switchblade angled her head so the liquid caught the light, green tint went lit...scrap! She recognized the drug as one of the heavier sedatives the medbay stocked; only used for extreme sedation, if even used at all.

"Get away from me!" she panicked and kicked him away. There was the sharp sound of readying blasters, and she threw her arms in front of her face, "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! Please don't kill me. I'll do whatever you want just..." her voice cracked and she felt ashamed for showing vulnerability (if Strscream found out, he'd never let her live it down), "...just don't...don't kill me..."

"We are not going to kill you," Optimus stepped into the cell, while Ratchet stood and backed out quietly, "but there are some questions I'd like to ask of you."

Switchblade lowered her arms, but still tried to avoid eye contact with the Prime and found looking down at her cuffs seemed to work. She knew she was being interrogated. Of course she knew, she had been interrogated hundreds of times by her fathers if she wanted to do anything or go anywhere (or really any other type of standard parental questioning); by Starscream when he would quiz her on when she was ready to "fully join the Decepticon cause"; and the few times she had met Megatron and he wanted to know her. From experience, she had figured out that the question that was almost always asked first was "What do you know/What can you tell us about..."

"I don't know anything," Switchblade prompted first, "at least not anything useful. Starscream doesn't like me going on missions after what happened on the last one. He doesnt tell me anything either...'fraid I'll get myself captured. Guess he was right," she gave a small chuckle at the irony in that statement.

She overheard the human girl talking to the older of the human boys, "I thought the 'Cons were supposed to be all tough and scary and grrr. She's like a scared little kitten."

"Miko," he elbowed her shoulder, "she's probably terrified out of her mind, give her a break. God, she looks so young."

Optimus must've heard them to, "I apologize if we are frightening you. Perhaps some time alone might help. Arcee, you are in charge of guarding our guest," the way he phrased it was a paradox. Usually that strain of words was condescending, cold, unwelcoming; but the way the Prime said it made the situation ease down. His tone was calm, collected, and earnest...regardless, it did nothing to comfort her nerves.

Optimus, followed by the rest of the Autobots and humans departed. The door closed and the cell was painted in the rectangular shadows of the door. Switchblade curled up in the corner to the best of her abilities and mulled in her mind over how her fathers were probably fifty shades of worried and just general anger. She could see Knock Out pacing the lab, fretting like always. And then she thought of Starscream. How he'd yell at her, call her a "useless waste of a Seeker", or maybe this was the time he slapped her. And she cringed at that thought. She couldn't do anything about it now, and it didn't seem like she was going anywhere soon. Switchblade leaned against the wall and tried for some decent recharge.

...

When Switchblade woke up, she was greeted by the harsh cacophony of grinding gears as the barred door pulled up. Arcee was standing in the middle of the doorframe, blasters down at her hips—thought no doubt ready to use them if the opportunity presented itself. Ratchet stepped forward from behind the blue femme, the syringe from before in hand. He knelt down by the young Seeker curled up in the corner of her cell and tried to be as gentle as possible when he reached for her arm. She watched, paralyzed by the fact that this Autobot medic was about to inject her with such a large dose of such a heavy sedative.

"Wait, what are you doing?!" she protested, thought it sounded more like a strained plea.

The needle was already in her vein—the thick liquid creeping its way up her arm into her system. The immediate wave of drowsiness was coming quicker than she anticipated.

"I'm giving you a dose of traichiogon," he said, quietly, matter-of-factly...and with the tiniest note of apology.

"I know...that," Switchblade slurred against the drug, trying to get as much said as she could while the sleepy pitch began to wrap itself around her processor, "but...why...not that much of it—"

She sagged against the wall as the syringe was plucked from her arm. Ratchet, sighed to himself before standing and walking out of the cell. So young. She doesn't deserve any of this.

...

The closing of the ground bridge woke her up. Followed by piercing silence. Silence that didn't belong. She opened her optics and the first thing she noticed what how dark her cell was. There was a second, thicker door over the bars from before. Her red optics panned around the room and she tried to stand up—despite the protesting from her sore limbs; the vein in her arm was still prickling and the whole arm itself felt heavy and tight. There was an awkward yet familiar weight around her wings. Not again, Switchblade looked over her shoulder at the previously acquainted restraint. She took a step forward towards the door, but not without the clinking of chains being pulled taught that ricochetted throughout the concrete room. She looked down at the cuffs on her wrist: a thick iron chain ran from the center of the cuffs to a bracket on the wall. The Seeker pulled herself up the her feet—trying to steady herself against the sudden wave of dizziness that flushed over her. The dosage of that sedative was way to high for someone of her frame. It wasn't enough to overdose...but it was enough to keep her under for a good while. She stood on the tips of her pedes and craned her neck to look out the small slits along the top of the second door; pulling as far away as the chains allowed her. The base was empty. Lonely.

"Hello?" she called, praying inside that someone would answer instead of the silence she had received. Being left alone was one thing she didn't want. Her voice began to crack over the lump that formed in her throat, "somebody?...Anybody?"

When there was no answer, she couldn't help herself. Switchblade's knees hit the floor, and she cupped a hand over her mouth—trying to quiet the sobs that no one was around to hear. Never in her life had she ever wanted her fathers more. Here she was, bound and chained to a wall in the dark. If Breakdown were here, he'd tell her to break out. To pull against the chains until they snapped, to squirm out of her restraints, and to smash through the doors. Breaking out..., Switchblade wiped the coolant tears from her eyes and brought herself to her feet. She was a Decepticon...not some little sparkling. She could break out of here no problem. And if breaking a few chains was all it took so be it. She faced the wall the chains were bolted to, wrapped the links around her wrists once or twice, and pulled. Beneath her heels, she felt the concrete crack and the metal groan. If she couldn't break the chain, she might as well pull it from the wall. Switchblade wrapped the chain once more around her forearm and yanked back as hard as she could. The links gave one final creak before giving way. In a cloud of concrete dust, one of the chain links snapped—sending Switchblade sprawling backwards into the ground. She sat up in the rubble, holding her breath waiting for one of the Autobots to storm in and shoot her. But nothing happened. Switchblade looked down at the half broken chain—a smile gracing over her lips at the small victory. Unfortunately, her real obstacle was those two doors.

"When in doubt, kick it out," she whispered to herself.

She took a step forward and knocked on the outer, solid door with her knuckles. Surprisingly, it wasn't as thick as it looked. The bars, were another story. She out all her weight on her left foot, and just like Breakdown showed her, leaned back on her left her and brought her right leg up—sent her strongest kick at the metal. Her pede resounded with the impact, but she managed to leave a hefty dent in both doors. Switchblade aimed to kick again; all the weight on her back, left foot and raised her right—putting every last ounce of strength into it. Once more, her pede made sharp contact with the metal, and the pressure broke a small hole in the doors. There was most definitely a bruise on her leg, but that didn't matter to her right now. She approached the broken metal, gauging whether of not she could squeeze through or not. With some bending of the edges, it was soon big enough to where she could squeeze through with effort. Switchblade put her arms through first—finding out firsthand how hard it was to crawl with cuffs on. She managed to twist her shoulders through...however, the angle at which she had to pull her wings through warranted a few choice words. But once her wings were free, her legs slid through the opening easy enough and she flopped onto the floor like a fish.

-Dad? Dad, can you guys hear me?-

Static. No signal. Any comm signals were shielded. Switchblade wanted to cry again—but she couldn't now. Not when she could get out of here. She leaned on the wall as she slowly rose to her feet. If she could open the ground bridge, she might have a shot at leaving this place. The controls were archaic compared to what she was used to...and not too easy to work either. Alrighty...bridge log, recent coordinates...the Arctic! Aha! She set it to close automatically and pulled the lever. The green portal opened near her and she ran through the swirling door. Her pedes crunched on the snow, and she shivered slightly while the ground bridge closed behind her. She looked up at the familiar black shape in the sky—thankful it was the Nemesis—the large ray of fire shooting off the bow was something new though. She tried Knock Out's comm channel.

-Dad? Dad, please tell me your picking this up!-

-Switchblade?! Oh thank Primus your alright! Where are you?!-

-I don't know. I used the Autobots' arrival coordinates- she picked up on the sound of clashing metal.

Just then, Breakdown tumbled out from behind one of the glaciers—Bulkhead running after him with his hand-mace ready to swing. Breakdown rolled out of the way, but the green Autobot never struck. Instead he stared in shock and awe at Switchblade, who was standing before them.

"Hey! How'd you—"

"Switchblade!" the blue bruiser was barreling towards his daughter, completely disregarding his rival behind him.

He scooped the young femme in his arms, worried optics darting over the chain, the restraints, and her mildly shivering frame; hugging her to his chest and running towards the warship—yelling through his comm for an emergency ground bridge to the medbay. Behind them, Bulkhead stared in confusion whilst Arcee tried running after the bruiser—blasters armed and firing; unable to make a clear shot as Breakdown wove back and forth

-Knock Out! I got Switchblade. Meet us in the medbay stat!-

The ground bridge opened in front of them and the bruiser almost tripped going through it. Low and behold, the red mech ran in just as they did and when he saw Switchblade in his sparkmate's arms, he ram up and wrapped his arms around her.

"Oh, sweetie, what have they done to you?" his optics caught onto the thin line of dried Energon that had trickled down from the point on her arm where the syringe had been injected, "what did they pump into you?!"

Switchblade eased herself out of Breakdown's arms, standing on the floor with a nauseous stance, "a sedative; a heavy one. Traichiogon, half a vile," her tanks rolled in protest and she held a hand in front of her mouth at the rising bile inching up her throat—pointing with her other hand at a drainpan on a cart.

Without hesitation, Knock Out caught on and passed her the pan just before she heaved up the contents of her tanks into it. Breakdown guided her to sit down on the edge of the table, putting a hand on her shoulder while the smaller mech helped her hold up the pan—seeing as how the cuffs she still wore were no help—and rubbed small circles on her back. It wasn't hard to see the anger swelling up inside him like a storm cloud as he stood up and paced the room...once more.

"Knock Out...I know that look," the bruiser was treading on a minefield, "getting mad won't help anybody. Least of all Switchblade," he added the last part quietly before stroking his thumb along her shoulder.

"Mad is an understatement. Livid...livid is more accurate! Look at her! Half a syringe, Breakdown, do you know how much that is? That's borderline overdose! Another ounce and she'd be comatose, or in shock, or all manner of medically horrid other things! Those scrap-brained Autobots could've killed her! How long was she even out? An hour? A day? The whole time? I don't know—I certainly have no idea! And how do I know they didn't have her on an IV of liquid shrapnel?"

"Dad... stop," Switchblade looked up from the pan—wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand—voice raspy and slightly exasperated, "they didn't do anything like that."

"I'm sorry, sweetie," he came over and wrapped his arms around her, "I'm sorry. Breakdown get me the sharp-welder I've going to cut these restraints off her."

Breakdown took the half-vomit-filled drain pan with him—disposing of its contents in the incinerator—while going off to find the tool. Switchblade sat quietly on the table, to exhausted to do anything but wait patiently. When she heard that welder ignite, she let out the most relieved sigh she had let out in a long time—barely even paying attention when she vaguely heard "...get her wings first...". She felt the brief heat from the thin flame before there was the clash of the restraint dropping off onto the floor and her wings finally relaxed freely. It took a moment for the seeker's wings to calibrate, but eventually they slouched outward of their own will. Her optic lids were drifting closed—blurring everything into one rained-out collage. A familiar red figure stepped into her view and once more she felt the brief heat from the torch before relishing in the clattering of chain and cuff on the floor. Absent-mindedly, she rolled her wrists before welcoming the large blue arms that scooped her up bridal-style and liltingly carried her into her quarters and set her down on the berth. It wasn't even a few seconds before Switchblade gave into the haunting cloud of drowsiness that was trailing her, and she fell asleep almost instantaneously. Knock Out held a hand in front of Breakdown to keep him in the room; the bruiser looked at him confused.

"What is it?"

Knock Out moved a gentle hand to Switchblade's forehead, frowning worriedly, "she's really warm. Like, fever warm. Break—"

"I'm sure she's fine. She just needs to rest for a while. C'mon, lets leave her be," he had to pull the red mech out of the room in order for him to leave before shutting the door quietly.


btw...in case any of you were wondering, I made up the "traichiogon" sedative. I needed a name for it so I made one up on the spot.