He only just managed to keep himself upright as the sharp jab almost caused him to keel over in pain. Soundwave glared up at the guard standing over him, the visor once again absent from his face. Bumblebee had regretfully removed it just before he was to be led away, telling him that he would return it as soon as possible in hushed tones. Soundwave understood why. The council forbade them from providing the slaves any sort of comfort beyond the necessary. Despite the several deca-cycles he'd spent without it he still felt naked at that moment. The guard seemed unperturbed, jabbing him again with the barrel of the blaster to get him going. Reluctantly, the spy complied.
Soundwave didn't want to go. Didn't want to put up with the invasive tests of the Autobot medics. True, one of them seemed to be sympathetic to their situation, but the memory of Soundwave electrocuting him and taking him prisoner was still fresh in both of their processors. But invasive tests aside, the real thing he was truly dreading was what would no doubt follow after that. The spy knew that Bumblebee wouldn't hurt him, not willingly anyway. Would he be forced to interface with the scout? The idea made his tanks churn almost painfully.
The streets were crowded, as to be expected in the middle of the day. But at that moment all Soundwave wished for was for them to be empty. The crowd parted as they walked, clearing up a wide lane. The spy felt their stares on his plating, heard the scathing and mocking remarks sent his way and begged Primus to just let him disappear, to let the metal beneath his pedes swallow him whole so he would not have to bear it.
Something wet landed against his arm and he shrank away from the ice cold liquid seeping into his joints. Someone had thrown energon at him! Purple optics blazed in fury and he spun around, scanning the multitude of mechs for the perpetrator. Almost immediately the guard reacted, swiping Soundwave's pedes from underneath him while he was distracted and pining the furious slave to the ground, twisting his right arm painfully behind his back while immobilizing the other with his knee. The spy knew several ways of how to get out of the hold even without the help of his cables, which had long since been placed under specially designed locks. But, however much Bumblebee was sympathetic to him, the scout could not find a way to provide Soundwave the nourishment he needed and even though he was not exactly starving, he was still no match for the strong and healthy mech above him. Out of spite, he considered biting, but decided against it. Although the pained cry he would no doubt illicit from his attacker would be music to his audials, the spy would not stoop so low. The decepticons were already viewed as animals, he did not want to prove them right.
He was roughly hauled to his feet, the crowd jeering in delight until the sharp bark of the assigned guard sent them scurrying away. For that, Soundwave was grateful. They continued to walk in silence, the large mech holding the slave's now cuffed servos threateningly. Not that Soundwave cared. All he wanted was to get the the tests over with.
The spy could not exactly tell when he had started feeling safe around the scout, when the glimpses of that yellow armor and large blue optics became comforting. He knew he was being foolish. Bumblebee was a means to an end, probably the 'Con's only ticket of getting out of here. And he was an Autobot. Soundwave knew he should be hating him, gloating on the inside every time the young mech slipped a sliver of useful information, so why was tricking Bumblebee suddenly so painful? Why did he feel, dare he say it, guilt?
He shook his helm, facing forward again, his faceplate unreadable. Whatever it was that made him feel this way, he would figure it out later. Lord Megatron was counting on him and the spy would be damned if he let his master down. The grip on his plating tightened as he was steered to the left and into a narrow alley. As Soundwave looked around, he noticed with some surprise that the buildings were becoming much poorer and rundown as they walked. They were entering the poor districts, but why? Didn't Ratchet work in the Central Clinic? That was where the spy expected him to work, after all, Ratchet was a member of Team Prime and one of the most gifted surgeons, so why were they here?
They finally came to a stop in front of a small, unattractive building. Soundwave eyes it warily, growing increasingly more confused by the minute. The door creaked lowly as it reluctantly slid aside to grant them entry, causing the 'Con to cringe slightly from the noise. Being a spy, he had more sensitive audials than the average mecha. Seeing his momentary hesitance, the guard grasped him roughly above the elbow to drag him inside. Soundwave opted not to resist, he would need the energy later on, there was no point in wasting it now.
Ratchet met them at the entrance, curtly telling the guard that he could take it from here and huffing an irritated vent when the large mech promptly replied that his orders required him to keep the slave in his sights at all times. The medic didn't argue, turning away and leading them down the dark yet clean and modernized hallway. Soundwave supposed that Ratchet couldn't be bothered to further fight on his behalf, but however much he tried, he couldn't blame him. The old medic may pity them enough to offer some assistance, but he will not compromise his life for them.
Ratchet opened a door at the very end of the hall and walked through it without looking back to check whether they were following or not. Soundwave received another sharp jab into his already aching backstrut and was forced to hurry his pace despite his reluctance. He didn't want to go in, didn't want to be examined, didn't want the medic's digits anywhere near him. But he did not have a choice. Tough slag. Optics flashing a deep amethyst color, he raised his chin, setting his frame into a posture of proud defiance. He vowed that at the very least they would never rob him of his dignity.
What he did not expect was to be grabbed by silver digits upon taking a single step into the room. A servo pressed over his intake to muffle any noise of surprise that could possibly escape him, though Soundwave later thought that that was quite unnecessary. He was forced against the wall, pinned firmly against the smooth surface by the smaller, but infinitely stronger frame of the autobot medic.
The guard's startled shout was cut short as a familiar purple cannon collided with his helm, knocking him offline instantly. A single shot followed shortly after that and when Soundwave looked down all he could see was the gray corpse of the large mech that had been very much alive just a few astroseconds ago. Shockwave heaved a vent as he leaned against the doorframe, the attack taking more out of him than he expected. Suddenly the spy was released and he stumbled slightly before finally regaining his balance, turning to stare at the two mechs in poorly concealed shock. What in the Pit was going on?
Ratchet seemed to sense his confusion, for he spoke up, voice clipped. "This is an escape, Soundwave. You and Shockwave are getting out today, this instant." The medic hurried to the nearby drawers, hastily rummaging through them until finally he fished out a small remote. Soundwave felt the thick band around his throat loosen before detaching suddenly with a soft hiss. Bewildered, he stared down at the black collar now laying at his pedes, digits shakily coming up to trace his freed neck. He had no time to recover from shock as Ratchet pushed an emergency intercom urgently into his servos.
"You will exit through the back door and head to Blurr's pub, Shockwave knows the way." Ratchet spoke quickly and to the point. Silently, the old medic thanked Primus that the clinic was closed for public whenever one of the slaves were over for their tests. "You will go ahead and contact this comm," he said as he quickly typed it into the intercom. "Shockwave will be right behind you. You will be met at the pub by a small blue racer, his name is Blurr as you've probably already guessed, if it's anyone else however, hide."
Soundwave opened his intake, about ready to question the mech's motives (not to mention sanity), but was rudely shoved out of the room before he could. "Go, Soundwave." It was not Ratchet's voice that sounded this time, it was Shockwave's. The scientist had pulled himself upright while the medic had been hastily explaining the plan to the shocked spy. Contrary to Ratchet, Shockwave was as calm and composed as ever, fixing Soundwave with that familiar unyielding stare. Without a single word, Soundwave spun around and ran.
Now left alone with the old medic, Shockwave turned to his autobot counterpart, regarding him silently. "I assume it would be better to knock you offline first?" He asked as he turned to fully address the red and white mech.
Ratchet let out a grim chuckle, leaning back against the counter with his servos crossed tightly over his chest plate. Shockwave could see his digits denting the pristine white arm plates. Silently, he approached the medic, stepping over the gray husk of the guard as he did so. Ratchet flinched as he got closer, knowing what was about to come and desperately telling himself that it was necessary. Shockwave lifted his cannon, ready to strike, but his arm felt heavy, uncooperative. Red optic met turquoise ones and suddenly Shockwave saw fear in those bright pools of light. In that very moment, the scientist realized that Ratchet was just as afraid as he was, just as desperate for this plan to work for all of their sakes. His cannon shook where it was positioned above the medic's helm. He couldn't hit him, couldn't hurt him, but why?
Shockwave has never been one to be sentimental, it was illogical after all, so what was this feeling in his spark, this strange reluctance to hurt an autobot? Even if he was helping them escape, he was still the enemy. If anything, Shockwave ought to take the chance to finish him off. One less autobot to deal with. So why didn't he? Why couldn't he force himself to do so?
"Do it." Ratchet's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, his helm bowed to stare at the floor beneath him, concealing his expression in a shadow. Despite his obvious distress, his voice didn't waver. "Do it, slag it." And Shockwave did. The medic's frame crumpled and the scientist caught it before it could hit the floor. With unusual gentleness he did not expect from himself the 'Con settled Ratchet on the floor, crouching down beside him.
He knew he should run, that there was no time to be wasted, but he could not move just yet. His servo moved before he even realized it, beginning to trace the sharp contours of Ratchet's faceplate. Shockwave drew away almost instantly, recoiling as if he'd been slapped. Slowly, he rose to his pedes, looking down at the still frame on the floor. His cannon rose, taking aim carefully at the medic's abdomen. He had to be precise, had to make it seem like a hasty shot that though wounded the medic, but missed the vital organs. As he readied to shoot, the memories of the past few cycles in Ratchet's presence flashed before his optics. During the time he'd spent here, working with him, talking to him, refueling with him and just plain enjoying his very presence, Shockwave realized that he'd been content, for the first time in many, many years, he'd truly been happy.
He almost didn't hear the shot, all he could focus on was the energon pooling underneath that familiar frame. Shockwave forcefully tore his gaze away, spinning on his heel and dashing away in the same direction Soundwave had just minutes ago, leaving the bleeding medic behind. Though Shockwave would never admit it, he hoped that the authorities would arrive in time to save him.
Swiftly, he turned the corner, speeding up when he caught sight of the waiting Soundwave. Together, they sped through the streets, the evening shadows soon concealing them from sight.
