There have been a couple comments on here about Switchshade's name. Rest assured, it wasn't just something I picked for kicks, there is an reasoning behind it that will be explained in later chapters. Thanks to all who took the time to read/review/follow/favorite/etc! Please enjoy, and don't hesitate to tell me what you think!
On the way to the holding cell, Ratchet pulled up a vidscreen of the cell, the defined image showing the decepticon sitting in the far corner of the room, his dark plating drawn in tight, as close to his frame as possible. His knees were pulled up to his chassis, his faceplates hidden in shaking knee joints. In fact, his shoulderplates were shaking as well, and when the CMO turned on the audio that corresponded with the video feed, they could just make out nearly silent, choked gasps.
"Whoa now. What prompted that? He's been captured before, right Optimus? Why all the-" and here Cliffjumper gestured to the prisoner's defensive posture in the video, "-crying, and whatnot? He didn't do that last time."
"I am not certain, Cliffjumper." The Prime's deep, rumbling voice was troubled. They had taken Decepticon prisoners before, but they had never been treated unjustly, or with anything even close to the torments the Decepticons themselves treated their prisoners to. Switchshade had only been taken once, after a stunning victory against the Decepticons, but Soundwave's drone had located him before he could be questioned, and the Spymaster himself had managed to retrieve him before he had come into direct contact with any of the Autobot officers now stationed on earth.
They reached the cell then, and when Optimus opened the door, the prisoner's frame went eerily still. The immobilizing cuffs were still on his wrists, but he still managed to rise somewhat gracefully, standing on his pedes as terror-filled red optics met the Prime's for the barest instant. Almost immediately, they widened even farther in astonishment and renewed fear, before the prisoner dropped quickly to his knees, bowing his helm until his forehelm nearly brushed the ground, his arms twisted up behind him as the cuffs kept them forced back.
Slag. Scrap. Slagging Pit-Spawn. Pit. Scrap. Fragging… Why? Optimus Prime himself? What knowledge could they possibly think I might have that would warrant my interrogation by the Prime himself?
Switchshade wasted no time in dropping to a familiar pose, one that often managed to mitigate the damage when Megatron had become exceedingly enraged with his SIC, and did not show any signs of ceasing his attacks even after the intelligence officer stepped in. Minute shudders still coursed through his frame, but now, at least, the terrible anticipation was over. Now, the pain would come, and then, perhaps, if they could not be persuaded to keep him, at least they might offline him quickly.
Silence. One klik, then two, and the silence began to make him even more uncomfortable. What were they waiting for? There wasn't much else he could do to show he was willing to comply… Slowly, Switchshade raised his helm a fraction, tilting it up just enough for fearful red optics to meet the shocked blue of the Prime, only to immediately dart away, and he instantly dropped his helm back to the floor. He tried to speak, but his vocalizer glitched, and he had to reset it and try again. "Optimus Prime."
"Switchshade." The Prime's deep voice was oddly gentle, but this was still entirely too much like the times he had stood between Starscream and Megatron, and the captive took no comfort in the false reassurance in the Prime's tone. "Please, get up. There is no need to kneel."
Switchshade pushed himself upright obediently, unsteadily making it to his pedes on the second try. He glanced at the red Autobot, Cliffjumper, that he had taken from Starscream, and wondered if he would be assisting in the interrogation, and then he saw a bulky white and orange frame with distinctive medic markings at the Prime's other side, and his vocalizer glitched static again. His optics flashed nearly white with terror, and his vision went blurry once again.
"Please." It took Switchshade a moment to realize that he was the one who had spoken. As if that single word had been enough to break a dam, suddenly he found pleas pouring from his vocalizer without his permission, desperate and broken. "Please, I beg of you, Lord Prime, I will cooperate. I will obey, I will answer anything and everything you command, I will do all that is asked of me, I will-"
"Primus! Stop, now!" Cliffjumper interrupted, his faceplates and field showing discomfort and mild irritation, as well as something entirely too close to concern for comfort. "We ain't gonna… torture you, or anything. Just take it easy!"
The 'Con didn't look up, clearly skeptical of the racer's promise but not daring to contradict him, instead nodding quickly but keeping his optics locked on the floor.
Optimus narrowed his optics at the prisoner, and then moved closer. Switchshade saw the much larger mech approaching, and another tiny whimper emerged from his vocalizer without his permission, turning quickly into a panicked burst of static when the Prime reached for him. "No, please, no, I beg of you, no, no please!" Switchshade tried to back away, but was quickly stopped by the wall behind him.
A large blue hand that lacked the claws so common to Decepticons but was more than capable of tearing a mech in two with ease landed on the 'Con's shoulderplate, and he flinched violently, immediately offlining his optics, but the pain he anticipated didn't come. Instead, the Prime steadied his trembling frame, and then gently turned Switchshade to the side so he could reach the mag-cuffs and key in the code to release them. The cuffs hit the floor of the cell with a definitive clang, and then the Prime moved back a few paces. Switchshade's optics onlined again, and he stared in mute astonishment at the Prime as he slowly, disbelievingly brought his servos around in front of him again, his right servos' claws gently massaging the sore wrist-joint of his left.
"Cliffjumper is correct. We are not here to harm you, Switchshade. I have a few questions for you regarding your allegiances and recent actions, and then Ratchet will take a look at you to ensure any lingering injuries from the fight are healing properly. You will not be tortured or harmed in any way unless you attempt to fight or harm any of us."
Switchshade reset his optics, nervous gaze flicking from 'bot to 'bot, seeking any hint of a lie, but all three mechs appeared sincere. His spark churned within his chassis at the thought of Ratchet 'taking a look' at him, but he had sworn to obey. Whatever pain was to come his way, at least the medic was skilled enough to cause only the amounts of damage he desired, and not to cause permanent damage unless such was his wish. Resigned, Switchshade quickly bowed his helm. "As you command, Lord Prime." His rough, low voice was still slightly shaky, but steadier than it had been mere kliks ago.
The questions were brief, and easy to answer, to Switchshade's surprise. He had expected twists of speech to trap him, or for the Prime to demand information regarding the location of the Nemesis or Megatron's plans, but he was only a lowly communications officer. He didn't have half the intel Soundwave possessed, and even Knockout or Breakdown were more likely to have more tactical knowledge that might be of use to the Autobots. Unless the Autobots were really, really interested in the mundane, day-to-day lives of the vehicons and the typical scheduled shifts and rations, Switchshade had no useful information to give. The Nemesis was in constant motion due to Megatron's understandable paranoia, and any other intel the communications officer might have possessed would be moot by now, due to Soundwave's skills.
However, instead of questions of a tactical nature, the Prime seemed to only want to know information about Switchshade himself. It made no sense. Regardless of his confusion as to the nature of the questions, Switchshade answered each as honestly as he could, knowing if he was caught in a lie, it would go badly for him. Soon, much sooner than he had expected, the Prime concluded his questioning, and then departed the cell, Cliffjumper accompanying him, the racer having been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the interrogation, his faceplates and field full of conflicted confusion.
Then, it was only Switchshade and Ratchet left in the cell, and when the medic made as if to approach, the 'Con flinched again.
Ratchet resisted the urge to sigh as he watched the Decepticon currently cowering away from him against the far wall of the cell, his field teeking of ill-concealed despair and terror. By the Allspark, what does Megatron do to those under his command? the old medic mused. He raised an eyebrow in question when the other mech made no move to do anything other than plaster his shoulderplates and doorwings to the far wall and shield his helm with shaking servos.
"Didn't you say you'd be cooperative, kid? Get over here and let me check you so I can leave you in peace for a bit. You're gonna have a spark attack, you're so worked up. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm a medic, you know that."
Switchshade nodded shakily, lowering his servos and obediently moving to where the medic directed, though he still couldn't stop shaking. "Yes, sir, it is said you are the best medic Cybertron has ever seen… but that does not mean that you aren't an exceptionally skilled warrior as well, sir."
Ratchet gave in to the urge to sigh.
Switchshade sat against the far wall, staring at the blank gray door of his cell in mute astonishment. The medic hadn't harmed him. Had told him to drop the 'sir', had healed him. Him! An enemy, and a prisoner at that! And then, Ratchet had simply up and left, left Switchshade unharmed. He had been taken captive by the Autobots, interrogated by the Prime himself, and been placed at Ratchet's mercy for a medical examination, and had by some miracle of Primus himself managed to come out the other side less damaged than he had been beforehand.
From the hallway beyond his cell, there was a crashing sound far too quiet to have been made by a Cybertronian, a muffled curse, and suddenly Switchshade found himself staring at a tiny human. The young human, female, if he had to guess, although it could be hard to tell with humans, had somehow managed to lever herself up to the tiny barred window at the top of the door to the holding cell, and was now perched in the opening between the bars, looking behind her in horror. Switchshade rose to his pedes without thinking, moving over towards to the human, and catching a glimpse of a makeshift ladder that had fallen down on the other side of his cell door. The 'Con couldn't repress a grin. It would seem one of the Autobot's pets had become curious about their prisoner, and had decided to try to take a peek at him, before accidentally dropping her only way back down, effectively stranding her in the cell door's barred window.
The human, far from flinching away from the Decepticon, instead straightened to her full height and glared at him, though the effect was dampened somewhat by the fact that she was clinging to one of the bars in the window for dear life. "You don't scare me, 'Con! If you even think about hurting me, Bulkhead will pound you into scrap metal!" She snarled, her high pitched voice and colorful… armor (?) making the overall effect much more adorable than intimidating. Dangerous, sharp black claws gently grasped the human about the waist, and though she tried to struggle and cry for help, she was no match for Switchshade's strength, and it seemed the Autobots had moved out of audial range.
Switchshade gently lowered the human, who was still trying to struggle and spit threats at him at the same time, to the floor, setting her down carefully inside his cell and then retreating a pace or two, a bemused look on his faceplates. She was rather like those tiny earth animals, kittens, in her threats and hissing at a much larger and more dangerous threat. The 'Con repressed another smile, knowing it was likely to only further enrage the little creature.
"I mean you no harm, little one. I know well what your friends would do to me should I cause you to come to harm in any way." He spoke softly, his low voice reassuring as he cut off her tirade of abuse. She paused, her eyes widening and mouth dropping open in surprise at his words. "Oh. Yeah, you better be scared! 'Cause Bulkhead, he's my guardian. And he wouldn't let you hurt me! He'll pound you into scrap metal!" Switchshade offlined his vocalizer to keep from laughing, refraining from pointing out that if he really desired to harm her, the Wrecker would be unable to reach her in time.
He simply nodded, and that seemed to be enough. "I'm Miko, by the way. Who are you? Did you really save Cliffjumper? What's it like with the Decepticons? Is Megatron really as evil as they say? Why did you save Cliffjumper? Why did they capture you? Are you going to keep fighting the 'Bots?"
Switchshade blinked. "I… My designation is Switchshade. Yes, I did do what I could to aid Cliffjumper in his escape. I'm not entirely certain how to answer your other questions, but in regards to the last, if I have any say in the matter, no, I will no longer lift a servo against the Autobots unless I have no other choice.
Miko glanced at him consideringly, and Switchshade wondered if that was enough, but then the human smiled brightly and launched into another round of questions. As he began to try to answer, Switchshade was struck with another wave of amusement at the realization that a human was drawing more information from him than Optimus Prime had.
This second, impromptu interrogation continued for several joors, until the sound of a very large mech running came to Switchshade's audials, and he froze where he sat across from Miko in the middle of answering why, exactly, he had chosen Switchshade as his designation. Moments later, the door to the cell burst open, and Bulkhead stood in the entrance, in full battle mode, his enraged blue optics locked on Switchshade. The 'Con tried to rise to his pedes, to explain, but the Wrecker didn't give him the chance. Bulkhead's fist collided with the black mech's helm, the powerful blow sending him flying back into the wall before his frame collapsed into a heap on the floor, the suddenness of the attack not allowing Switchshade any chance to begin to think of any kind of defense.
"Miko! Are you alright? Did this piece of scrap hurt you at all?" The Wrecker demanded of his human friend, even as he continued to advance on Switchshade, who curled into a ball on the floor, drawing his knees up to protect his chassis as his arms and servos were pulled up in an attempt to protect his helm. That didn't take long for me to earn my first punishment he mused darkly, before curling up even tighter and waiting for the blows to continue as Bulkhead advanced.