Servos were touching him. Tapping his optics, stroking his arms and legs, playing with his limp fingers and prying into the seams of his armour.
Something sharp pricked at the exposed protoform on his neck, and he groaned, energon lines pulsing as they took in whatever was injected.
He attempted to lift a hand, but it felt heavy, and his mind was drifting, straining under whatever weight was keeping him docile.
Anger prickled at his sensor net, and he distantly wondered why he was twitching, why his armour was running hot.
His spark thrummed, and another groan escaped his intake. The thumping against his casing was insistent and hard, like his very spirit was throwing itself against the metal encasing, desperate to be free of the cage that had suddenly become small and suffocating.
It wasn't supposed to be a cage. It was supposed to be a comforting house for an essence not meant touch bare air.
So why was his spark longing to burst out of it's case? Why did it thrum, writhe and scream at him?
Why did it pulse at him with a raw, primal need that ached his circuits, and frazzled his processor, making him forget how to intake a breath.
He wanted his spark to stop pulling away from him. The ache of the strain taunted his processor, and all he could do was lay there and listen to the sound of his spark twittering with an anxiety that felt akin to the unusual feel of been separated from something. His mind fell blank at what that something was, though.
Sideswipe, despite the busyness and the bustling mechs, liked the docks.
He liked the energy it held, and the mechs who ducked in between warehouses, who chatted and traded.
He enjoyed watching the craftier ones blackmail and bribe, conning with manipulative words until they got what they wanted.
He liked the docks.
The docks were a second home to him, his best work was done here, and the mechs who he had settled himself around were all brilliant in their own way. So stunningly themselves it never ceased to amaze him. He prided individuality. He was gregarious by nature, sure, but he liked being independent. Relying only on himself held a thrill he could never get over.
But he still loved walking among them, happily returning nods and cheerful smiles, basking in the attention.
Observing the mechs, catching all their quirks, all the little things that made them who they are, excited him. The entire area was so real, and so familiar to him. He knew every corner and nook there was, he knew the type of people who would come and go.
He abruptly, and without warning, felt detached, struggling as his processors strained, bursting out of place that suddenly did not feel like his.
He slipped through the veil, suddenly aware. Darkness, the stench of a stylized medical facility and the hard, unforgiving berth beneath him.
He sniffed, not wanting to face reality just yet.
The memories felt like him, they felt like his own, familiar and happy. But they were also new, sending an unfamiliar feel with him as he flickered through supposedly well-known occurrences that he had lived through.
Had he?
Red forearms that were not his own reached out to clasp servos with another mech, and a voice that was too high to be his spoke out careful, confident words that had the mech hanging off his sentences. That alone sent alarm bells. He wasn't confident. He was shy with words, awkward and quiet. No one hung off any words he spoke.
The imagines blurred, swirling into a mess of colours that were finally familiar until all he saw was black.
The tapping at his optics renewed, and he desperately wished he could boot them up to see who was causing the discomfort.
The prodding stopped, and the servos travelled down his face, pushing forcibly into his nasal ridge, tugging at his cheekbones and grasping his chin in a firm hold, as If the person was observing him carefully.
He was released roughly, and his body protested as fingers pried into the seams that lead into his spark casing.
His processor froze, stuck in frenzy of panic as his spark spurted different emotions, spewing joy and excitement as the servos pried the metal doors away, slowly revealing the shiny orb inside.
His spark flipped, reaching out of its cage to pulse out.
Something heavy was deposited over him, and he grunted as another mech was arranged on top of him.
He felt annoyed and confused, one of which felt unfamiliar, like a stray thought had intruded his own mind.
Above all his spark was the happiest, reaching out until it brushed up against something.
He froze, internal pump picking up speed as he curled his pedes, the only movement his body allowed.
Whatever was above him was squirming sloppily, and as his spark brushed up again, he realized what it was pushing against.
Another spark, and those little touches gave him the confused feeling of been rekindled, like his spark had lost a little piece of itself and was finally reuniting with it.
Each pulse was comforting, even if his processor was screaming with panic, thrashing in its own cerebral captivity.
The two sparks suddenly clashed together, spinning and merging happily. Screams filled his
Screams filled his audials, and he gasped as the weight disappeared.
He felt relieved, and his servos twitched, whatever injection given to him finally wearing off. He rubbed at the material under him, tiredly embracing the feeling of finally been able to move.
It was hard but smooth. Like armour.
His processor blanched, and he struggled, feeling another body jerk underneath him.
His vocalizer buzzed and clicked, and he blacked out again.
The first thing he was aware of was colours. An abundance of the pastel globs that sat in a dirtied palette. The canvas next to it held the creation, and he gawked at the masterpiece some puddled paint had been turned into.
Instead of the dark sky, night had been captured with light colours, a horizon of blues, pinks and yellow hues. White stars peeked in-between each colour, and he tilted his head at the realism.
His optics whirred in an unknown feeling of content as he observed the picture painted in front of him.
It felt real and lived, but not his own.
His panic felt distant, but it felt real, and it also felt like his own.
The bent fringes of the sky were the last thing he saw as the image faded out and he was left with darkness.
"This has never seen before, I have never seen this before. I can't believe it finally worked."
"Of course it worked!" The red seeker snapped.
Ambulon glanced up at the two scientists, Starscream and Slipstream.
The two were observing the two bodies on the berth, squashed together as their sparks continued to merge.
Ambulon ignored the scientists as he typed hurriedly onto the datapad, recording every word, and taking each medical anomaly into consideration.
His fingers hovered back over to the top of the pad, and he frowned, glancing back up at Starscream and Slipstream.
"What do you want to call them?"
Starscream looked his way, face morphing into a scowl at the interruption, "What?"
Ambulon jerked a thumb in the 'twins' direction, "Those two, what do you want to call them?"
Starscream turned again, dismissing the conversation entirely as he began attending to the matters he deemed more important.
"Their original designations are fine, but they are to be called by the given patient numbers in their presence. Understand?" He muttered eventually.
Ambulon heaved a sigh, "Sideswipe and Sunstreaker it is."
Starscream's optics flickered, and he motioned for the medic, "It's time to put your skills to use Ambulon. Now, strip them to their protoform, and discard the armour."
The medic nodded and stepped close to the now separated twins. The yellow one was twitching, gaze empty as black optics stared forward unseeingly.
His stare flickered to the other one as he started to hyperventilate, squirming futilely as he shuddered and heaved. His whimpers filled the dull laboratory, giving the room something to echo that wasn't white noise.
Ambulon watched in interest as the other twin immediately started to panic at the red mechs anxiety, following him into a hyperventilating, worked up mess.
The medic tsked, and got to work as he made slow work of stripping their armour to the bare protoform, ignoring the sudden jerks, and whimpers that escaped both of their vocalizers.
He shook his head, optics watching the still exposed sparks dance, "Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet."
He couldn't remember.
Mixed memories floated around in his processor, and stray thoughts snuck into his spark, feeding him emotions that weren't his own.
His processor felt dull and heavy, too drowsy to piece things together, to hold a coherent thought. All it could do was panic, and attempt to send his body into a convulsing mess as anxiety surged through his entire being.
He was flicking through memories, sending himself into a panic when he couldn't remember his life before this, laying on a cold berth that made his back ache.
His mind felt muddled.
When his optics finally booted up enough to see through static vision, he watched servos that weren't there touch his body.
They had to sedate him after that, when his screeching vocaliser and drowsy attempts at jerking through the immobilizing drug became too annoying for his captives.
He had to be going insane, he had to be imagining it.
His neutralizer buffers were suddenly brought offline, jerking himself out of muggy thoughts as touch and the feel of everything around him assaulted his sensors.
Something cold worked its way in between the seams of his armour, and he let out a crackling scream as it cut through the protoform that attached the metal to his body. He thrashed, clicking as his vocaliser frizzed and sputtered.
The pain was horrifying, and his audials ached as someone screamed and wailed next to him, sending the berth into a rattling fury as the mech jerked and whimpered with him.
The tool cut through his armour, peeling it off his searing protofrom.
He then heard it been dumped on the ground, and listened sadly as it was discarded. He couldn't even remember the colour of it, and his optics didn't offer enough visual feed to see the colour of his old armour.
Another wail escaped his vocalizer as the sharp tool pried with practiced, but cruel, precision at his chest casing.
He could feel energon welling up at each wound and scratch administered to his body. He felt it trickle down his protoform, mixing with other cuts and tears.
A hand mockingly stroked his cheek as the tool dug in particularly deep, but before he could be sent screaming into unconsciousness, a hand slapped him in the face, groggily keeping him awake as he was shaken by the mech torturing him.
"I'm not granting you the pleasures of falling unconscious."
He groaned, venting in relief as the tool finally stopped digging into his armour.
"Come on," A voice crooned, "Stay awake."
His optics suddenly flickered to life, much clearer than his previous attempts at accessing visual feed.
"Go on," The mech cooed as he came into view, "Take a look."
He hesitantly glanced down, entire body aching as his optics traveled the length of his body.
Mutilated. His entire body lay in ruins. His protoform was torn into and cut viciously deep, deep enough to leave jagged scars in its wake.
He shook, never even realizing that he was tremoring hard enough to rattle the berth. His processor erupted in panic, his vents wheezing as all his emotions enveloped him, tackling him with all their might and turning them into a whirlwind of anxiety. It took a hold of his weak spark and body as his audials roared with white noise.
His processor erupted in panic, his vents wheezing as all his emotions enveloped him, tackling him with all their might and turning them into a whirlwind of anxiety. It took a hold of his weak spark and body as his audials roared with white noise.
The only bit of his armour left was his chassis.
Yellow. He thought, the colour soothing him as he stared down at his body, finding a small bit of relief through finally seeing who he was. Even if who he was, was a mutilated mess of energon and cuts. Would he always look like this now?
The medic was suddenly in his view again, snug at his side as he trailed sharp claws up and down his chassis.
He wanted the slimy mech to stop touching him.
"Pretty, I'll admit." He said absently as his optics flickered up to the immobilized mechs face.
The fingers dug in, claws tearing at the paint as he angled them down, running his fingers through the armour and sending the terrible noise of something sharp been dragged down metal echoing around the room, the sound deafening as he dug his fingers in deeper until the metal screeched and screamed.
The paint was picked away, right in front of his optics, and he was forced to watch in horror as his body was mutilated.
The little strips of paint fluttered to the ground, leaving an ugly grey in its wake as more strips were forced through the cutting edges of the medics claws.
'Disgusting', he thought as he watched his armour slowly turn into a grey, ugly, patchy mess. Only hints of yellow still adorned his armour, and he cringed at the scratches, the sounds of the medic scraping and picking at each bit of paint echoing in his audials.
Disgusting.
"Very pretty indeed." Ambulon murmured condescendingly as he picked up one of the fine paint strip, dangling it in front of the mechs optics. He smirked as rubbed at the thin paint, until it was ground down to nothing between his thumb and forefinger.
He flicked the remaining dust particles in the mech's face, laughing as he twitched and jerked his head.
Disgusting.