Authors notes: I hate you, reality. I hate you and your work and your jobs so much. I don't even notice time passing by anymore, I'm so busy. Grrr, I say, GRRR!

..I need more hours in my day. Sigh.

On we go, even though I know no one is reading this. Because I get no reviews. BUT I PERSEVERE. AHAH. YES.

*thud*

..Though, I'll say this to Swindle's Log: Told ya. :D

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Declining, all color fading

Defining, time coming for me

Rescinding, my inspiration

Receding consciousness

Back in the day, I can recall that

My thoughts were unclouded and sage

There was no black staining the walls of

My memories

Now there's a haze

Pushing me sideways

And leaving me nothing to gain

Taking me back, locking me cold

In disparity

Where was I meant to be?

I feel I'm lost in a dream

Long for the day I can be myself

- 'Unleashed', Epica

Souvenir: The Six

Chapter Seven

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Everything hurt.

This wasn't an altogether unusual sensation; especially not in the early morning hour that it was. On a good day, the pain would start up at a tolerable hum that coursed out from his spark chamber, beating in tempo as the day went on; usually, he was able to ignore it. Even as the day would progress, the pain - although constant - would be distant.

However, this was not one of those good days; the night before has begun with the declaration of healed internal circuitry and had ended in gentle touches, moans, and a cataclysm of pain that had knocked him right in to stasis.

In short, Hubcap already knew that the day was going to be a bad one.

It was still far too early; weary blue optics looked up - past the all too sharp claws that held him underneath a heavy, hot chassis - to gaze at the sated, recharging faceplate hovering above. In the near darkness, illuminated only by his own systems and the decorative clock hanging overhead, all that he could see were shadows and the bare reflection of his own optics.

He hated him. He hated the monster more than he had ever hated anyone. Yet, the fear was always there, as well.

With a silent cringe, the minibot averted his gaze and tried to think of anything else. Forcing his processor to think of other things, he had learned, was usually the best way to deal with these early morning reboots. Trying to imagine himself someplace else or digging up a more joyful memory file helped in these miserable times.

There was nothing else he could think to do, at any rate; it was either distraction or depression.

The clock claimed there was less than a fifth of a megacycle until the usual day would begin; the same miserable cleansing that always happened on these mornings followed by the typical cube ration and ending in hours of solitude and the usual useless escape attempts.

Then, it was either horrible pain or the suffocation of being held.

The same schedule each and every day, more or less; he was starting to get used to it all. Hubcap wondered if this adjustment was a bad thing; distantly, he felt as if it had taken a long time to reach such a point. Years or decades, he couldn't say.

He was glad not to know how much time had passed; it was easier not to know.

Soon enough, the clock cried.

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The cubicle walls set up about the washracks, as stout as they were, had mirrors affixed on them. At first, Hubcap couldn't figure out why; the walls surrounding each individual station came up to about chest height on the typical Decepticon. The mirrors were set far too low to be of use to the average bather here.

It didn't really matter the reason, he supposed, and he didn't dare ask; such a question would likely only humiliate him further, and he felt he had enough of that to last him for vorns. However, with the mirrors set where they were, he had a clear reflection of himself on the days that Shockwave would clean him.

It was the first time in a number of days that he had dared to look at himself; the first time since he had been caught underneath piles of trash and covered in grime.

Shockwave had been furious at the time, but had done nothing more than wash off the dirt and repaint the scuff marks and chipped armor. Somehow, the one-eyed Decepticon had even managed to obtain an exact color match.

The repainting itself, much to Hubcaps surprise, had not been terrible; no more so than a paint job from the so-called 'artists' he had been forced to visit in his old life. They had been the sort operating in the poorer parts of Cybertron and who's clientele were often drunken vagrants fresh from a fight. At least, Shockwave had been clinical about the whole affair; angry, yes, glaring at his prisoner the entire time, but there had not been any uncomfortable touches or groping of any sort.

All things considered, it hadn't been that bad.

Still, as he gazed at his own reflection and took in his repainted self - he couldn't even spot what was new paint and what was old, he realized -, he was surprised at what he found. Despite that his armor gleamed with solvent, perfume and who knew what else was in the bottles poured on him so often - despite a recent paint job that had the exact same shade he always had - he couldn't recognize himself. With the slack faceplate, dulled optics and the visible fear staring back that even he found disturbing, it was as if he was staring at a completely different mech.

Hubcap brought a hand up to his own faceplate; the bot in the mirror did the same. What he saw truly was himself. A shudder coursed through him at how much had changed.

Thankfully, Shockwave didn't try to turn him around or to stop his staring until they were finished for the day.

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Searchlight had not been doing well, lately. Hubcap could tell simply by looking at him; even with an entire mess hall between them, he could see the damage that had been done.

In the time that they had been held captive, the Decepticon that had claimed Searchlight - or Decepticons, Hubcap had never been certain if it was one or more that had rights to the once white minibot - had been exceptionally cruel. The part of the the stout Autobots face that had once resembled a nozzle was simply gone; hacked away, as far as Hubcap could figure. Every so often, another piece, jagged in a way that implied a harsh break, would go missing; sometimes, shards that were still holding on were all that was left.

After even the shrapnel went missing, entire pieces of armor began to vanish. The sloped shoulder guards that most of their protoform mold held were the first to go; not long after that, the plating on his arms and legs. His helmet, even, had been torn away; Hubcap had seen that one for himself, shrieking from across the room as a Decepticon covered in spikes and nails ravaged the other minibot right there in the mess hall. The helmet had gone flying; where it had gone, he didn't know.

Eventually, the only protective plating that remained was a single thin piece of metal that covered the minibots' spark chamber; it was the bare minimum to survive with, if even that.

After Hubcap had given up trying to communicate some sort of comfort to the Autobot that he had really only ever really met once, he began to notice that Searchlight wasn't always given his ration. Once he had noticed that the cube wasn't always dropped in front of the other prisoner, he had tried to keep track of how often it was given; granted, there was the slim chance that the fuel was given later in the day, but he somehow doubted it.

It took three weeks of careful counting and time keeping for the yellow Autobot to estimate that Searchlight was, perhaps, fed thrice a week.

As it was, the other minibot was starved, beaten and practically nude; yet, Hubcap had never once seen the mech cry, hiccup, shudder or so much as look upset. Instead, Searchlight always glared, faceplates stone and steel, and always looked as strong as he remembered from that single meeting.

Hubcap wished he could be that brave; instead, he felt that he wept for so much less.

At the moment - like many days before - all that he could do was stare at the mech across the hall. Even as far as he was, the shivers that coursed through the unarmored protoform were as clear as anything else; Hubcap knew there was nothing he could do, but pitied him nonetheless.

No cube was set in front of the shaking minibot; as Hubcap drank his own, feeling a terrible sort of guilt as he did so, the shudders began to slow. It wasn't long before Searchlight began to still; perhaps, Hubcap hoped, he found a way to recover just a little bit.

Slowly, the optics across the room shuttered and closed; for a moment, Hubcap thought that he had simply slipped in to recharge.

It wasn't until the black of the bared protoform began to fade did he realize what had truly happened. The curled frame discolored to a pale gray as the seconds went by, every moment losing further hue. It was all too short a time before Searchlight was gone, offline and deactivated against the wall.

It had been all been sudden enough that even the Decepticons sitting nearby didn't notice; they were ignorant until one tried to get the body to move. The red-eyed mech even had the gall to appear confused as he nudged at the corpse with a foot.

All Hubcap could do was stare, slack jawed and processor blank.

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By the time that he was returned to Shockwaves quarters, Hubcap was shaking. Trembles coursed through his frame as the shock began to fade and realization of what had happened took hold.

Searchlight was dead; he had gone offline and alone, leashed to a wall. No one had noticed; no one had cared. No one had tried to help. If he had been given so much as half a ration, he might have lived longer.

If someone as tough and as strong as Searchlight couldn't survive and couldn't escape, what hope was there for the rest of them? What hope was there for himself?

Hubcap didn't notice that Shockwave had left until he was already gone; the door locking shut - two clicks, ever since his escape attempt; double-bolted, now - snapped him out of his musings. For a long moment, he could only stare at his own hands; his stingers came out mostly out of reflex, ready to begin the usual daily routine of attempted escape.

Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to think of such a thing; his processor swam, self-deprecating in his misery.

There simply was no point to try; in all his attempts, he had only managed to nudge the door open once. Searchlight had likely done that and more, and now he was gone.

Slowly, the stingers retracted.

Hubcap began to make his way to the chaise; he felt that he needed to sit down. He needed to get his thoughts together someplace relatively comfortable.

Five steps away from the ornate lounge, he stopped; the fabric, even from where he stood, reeked of the scented lathers the monster was so fond of using every morning. Although his own plating had the same stench, his mind placed it together; the chaise smelled like Shockwave.

The berth was completely out of the question; a slow glance around the room revealed only one spot he could use. A tiny little place he had never given much thought to before.

The shelf had been built with several decorative features installed; one of which was a curved, ornate arch between the legs. A very small cavern that might have been intended as more storage space; he had even looked inside it once and had only found empty air. It had never crossed his mind since.

Now, as he neared the little cranny, Hubcap noticed that the space was just large enough to crawl in to. If he huddled inside, his small frame could actually fit; he did so now, dropping to his hands and knees to crawl inside.

It was small but strangely comfortable; Hubcap curled up in the small cavern, faceplate buried in the darkness. Even as small as the space was, his backside was only barely exposed to the rest of the room.

For a while, he simply lied there, optics closed in the attempt to settle his thoughts.

He didn't move again until the clock cried again.

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Color declines, all that defines me

Is falling away, far behind

Nothing to keep me with the time

The here and now

Time is just a concept

And always the first thing to fade

Agony and weakness

Nothing we can never evade

Years are cruel, they break us

Bringing on decay and despair

Awareness and perception

Something we can never repair

(Cure me, free me, help me, see me

No more worry, no more losing

Save me, near me, help me, hear me

No more heartache, no misery

Cure me, free me, help me, see me)

When I'm free

When my sun has set

Released my soul forever

I'll have no regret

To be free

- 'Unleashed', Epica