The fallen Titan:
Shaking, pathetic, worthless, wretch, garbage, weak, waist, diseased, filth, lazy, toy,
undeserving, ungrateful, scrap, piece of slag, fragger.
All his titles. All his names….all that he was or had ever been. It didn't matter who you were or where you came from…you learned it soon enough. That when you saw the seeker sitting by himself. His paint peeling, his wings low and loose on the connections, as if they could fall off at a simple touch. His frame shaking, optics wide and wild with fear, claws twitching around a rare cube of energon or simply digging into his own palms. His pedes trying to stay put on the floor. You left him alone.
The said mech hadn't ever been one to talk anyway. If you tried to get to know him he would shy away and obviously be awaiting some kind of punishment, bellow or physical blow.
The worst had already been done to the poor youngling, and that was all he had come to expect from anyone. His wings would shake to the very tips, his eyes would become wider and he would try and shrink away, back to his corner of a home.
He didn't have a room, had never been granted one. In fact, the only rooms he saw the insides of were those of a lab, the medbay which he avoided at all cost to himself and the rooms of others who had taken him to pleasure themselves.
And he never said no, because no meant more pain…if he disobeyed whatever orders were given to him it only meant more names, more sorrow, more shunning and lack of a general humanity to it all.
But when had things ever been humane for him? There was one cruel word for the poor mech. Never.
He didn't know how long it would take before the words got to him, the sayings of worthlessness and knowing for a fact they were right. Because no one would miss him when he was gone, no one was going to remember anything he did for this cause, and he had no escape. There was no way out for him in his helm, he was a prisoner to himself as much as he was these mechs and femmes.
He didn't know when he would finally give in, let one mech go the extra mile. To kill him…to maybe take the pain a final step higher so maybe he would feel some kind of bliss. A bliss he could only imagine as death, no longer feeling pain. Being the only one. And if he did not go to the well of all-sparks…then he was already well prepared for the pit.