A/N: After being away for a while, I hope this is worthy or a 'return'. Enjoy.
Exhausted.
It had been a simple patrolling mission: move along your designated route, call for back-up if you spotted trouble. It had been a simple patrolling mission… so why had it gone so wrong?
"Stop it! You're killing him!"
"That's entirely the point!" Motormaster swung his blade in circles through the air, dramatizing his movements as he shoved the blade deep into Bluestreak's chassis. The crunching sound was sickening – but what was even more worrying to Smokescreen was the cracking. Bluestreak's entire body throttled with spasms under the pain. A scream ripped out – more from the wound than from Bluestreak's vocaliser. Suddenly his voice cut off, and as Motormaster withdrew his sword from Bluestreak's sparking chest, many broken parts of vital components fell out as well. Bluestreak heaved with the effort of cycling air that he could not find. Smokescreen flailed in Deadend's and Breakdown's grips, unable to do anything but yell and plead with the Stunticon leader. Smokescreen was no medic, but he could tell if Bluestreak did not get medical attention within half an Earth hour… Primus, he felt so helpless!
"Please stop it! He's too young! Take me instead!" All such clichéd phrases; he wondered if he actually meant them… but he had to say something.
"Too young?" Deadend snorted. "He's older than us! Besides, wait your turn; we'll get to you. Everything must die eventually…" The dark grey Stunticon faded off morosely.
"And today it's you, not us!" Wildrider cackled, kicking and scattering what had once been Bluestreaks internals. He then grabbed Bluestreak's legs and dragged him across the old river bed, propping him up astro-inches in front of Smokescreen, faceplate-to-faceplate. The gunner's optics were unfocussed and pale. His head rolled back and forth, completely unaware of his surroundings or his torturers. Gargling noises came from within Bluestreak's throat as a steady stream of fuel and fluids escaped from his mouth and broken chest. This was where he was going to die.
"Look at your friend, Autobot. He's gonna die and it's gonna be all your fault, 'cause there's nothin' you can do to save him!" Dragstrip pointed and laughed mockingly.
"Please, if you help him I'll do anything you want!"
"We want you both to suffer!" Motormaster stabbed his sword back through the void of what had once been Bluestreak's chest and pierced through to the other Datsun's. Smokescreen called shrilly as he felt the tip of the blade touch his spark. He dared not move. He dared not speak. All the time the Stunticons were grinning at him. All the time, Bluestreak was dying. He knew Motormaster would not kill him there and then – he would want him to watch Bluestreak die, and once the younger Datsun had finished suffering and he had given up all hope, they would start the process again on him. The blade withdrew.
"Release him," Motormaster commanded. The others looked confused.
"But boss, why-"
"Do as I say!" Motormaster's fist smashed Wildrider into the nearby rock face, scraping his paintwork and taking off some of Smokescreen's earlier smoke, but not doing much further damage because of his protective force-field. Breakdown and Deadend immediately recoiled from Smokescreen. In a moment that no one could have predicted, Motormaster offered Smokescreen his sword. "Take it." He grinned. "And end the suffering of your comrade. Or would you prefer to wait a little longer for a false hope that'll never come? At least we'll get the chance to hurt him some more." Wildrider burst into laughter again. Smokescreen could end Bluestreak's life and end his suffering… but that would be admitting defeat and the Stunticons would have won. But if he did not do anything, Bluestreak would die unless help came within the next cycle. Either way, they would kill him once he was through.
The Stunticons stood there in silence a moment longer, surrounding him as Bluestreak quaked on the floor, his mind no longer there. The gunner would never be the same again after this – it would haunt them both. Smokescreen squeezed his hands tight, suddenly realising that the sword was in his hands. When had he taken it? Breakdown began stomping his foot in a slow beat.
"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!" Dragstrip whispered in primal ferocity. The others quickly joined in.
"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!" Smokescreen tried to listen over their shouts for the approach of tyres. He could hear nothing. His optics went from Motormaster's sword in his hand to Bluestreak and back to the exit from the riverbed. He could run – he could leave Bluestreak to die anyway. But the Stunticons would catch up with him eventually. Smokescreen knelt down beside Bluestreak and took his hand.
"Don't worry, Blue Boy," he squeezed. "I'm here. I won't let you down." Smokescreen stood up again. He did not look away from Bluestreak. His actions had to lead to the greatest good.
He raised the sword.
To be continued.