The Constructicons don't understand consent, Overlord is still scary, how the D.J.D. work, variations on Starscream and Soundwave's beginnings.
Title: Candy From Strangers, Pt. 23
Warning: Spoilers for RiD and MTMTE, probably. Attempted rape, torture, secondhand embarrassment, BDSM.
Rating: R
Continuity: G1, IDW, Kre-O
Characters: Prowl, Constructicons, Overlord, Fortress Maximus, D.J.D., Megatron, Drift, Rodimus, Starscream, Soundwave.
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors.
Motivation (Prompt): Tumblr mayhem and madness, plus commissions.
[* * * * *]
"When your opponent slips up, you press the advantage as hard as it can go, and far as it can go. And when you're done…you leave them devastated." - Prowl, RiD #29
[* * * * *]
To their credit, they didn't flinch. They leapt after him, fully trusting and ready to follow wherever he led them, and they transformed to combine with him as they fell. There was no hesitation. They trusted what they'd seen in his mind, no matter if he didn't trust them in return.
He would use them despite that. His mind was his greatest weapon, the part of that completed them, and his words stabbed into the raw space that stood between Constructicons and Autobot. Their systems jolted in unpleasant recollection because even now - even now - he turned his words into a weapon. What he said had a double meaning. Even while combining into one being, minds and bodies becoming Devastator in order to fight Galvatron, the acid lash of disapproval burnt through them.
Scavenger's mouth hurt. The awareness of that fact sank under the merge, but it was there. Scavenger's lips were freshly painted, the scuffs around his wrists polished away to barely noticeable marks, but his mouth still hurt. He didn't attempt to hide his shame from Prowl when the gestalt links clicked home. His spark winced back from the merge for a split second, but the Constructicons had fought in the war a long time. A battle was no time for personal drama. If they survived, they'd separate and deal with the taste of ashes and solder left in their mouths.
They'd deal with the shared memory of Prowl backed into the corner, optics wild and one hand still holding one leg of the desk they'd built him. That was a memory all the Constructicons flinched away from. They didn't want to share that, but they had to. That was the price of merging into one.
Scavenger couldn't remember cornering their Autobot, but Prowl flung the memory at them hard enough to sting. He fed his indignant fear into their heads and hammered it into their sparks, forcing them to feel his helplessness and rage as a larger, stronger opponent had backed him into the corner of his own office. What sliced into them deep enough to bleed innermost energon was what Prowl didn't even acknowledge, however: the shattering of a fragile shell of trust.
That hurt to feel. They'd managed to coax its growth in their sixth, and Scavenger had burst it. The broken edges stabbed their sparks like weapons as they lived Prowl's perspective.
He'd cracked the desk over Scavenger's head. Scavenger, whose mouth still hurt, whose wrist joints ached from the hard twist of improvised cuffs. Scavenger couldn't remember what he'd done to scare their Autobot, but he had Prowl's memories to fill in the gap now. What he did remember was bad enough. He remembered the look in Prowl's optics as black-and-white doors went back. The smaller mech took the desk leg in both hands, wound up, and slammed it into the side of his helm.
He remembered that. He hadn't remembered why Prowl had knocked him out, but he'd remembered the feisty mech taking him out. Up until Prowl supplied the other half of the memory, Scavenger had admired the Prowl in his memories. There weren't many mechs who could overpower a Constructicons using nothing but a desk and pure rage.
Shame drowned that admiration.
"You were drunk," murmured through his spark during the endless seconds of falling and merging into one. The other Constructicons knew each other so well.
"I didn't mean to."
"You never mean to when you're drunk."
"I didn't mean to!"
"Too late for that," one of the others sighed.
Regret tore through their sparks, but Prowl blocked them out. His focus choked their access to him into a cold corridor lined by nothing but the mission. "Too late," they agreed.
Too late to take back the threat of going too hard, too fast, something Decepticons understood as normal but Autobots just didn't get. Scavenger put the pressure on, because why not? Why not take a grab at the hot little groundframe etched into their gestalt program files? He was needed, wanted, essential and innovative, a solution to a problem that'd crippled them for too long, and he was right there. Why not take what was already theirs?
Prowl had been there, and availability was half the reason. Scavenger had pushed him over and followed him down, because that's what Decepticons did. Why not? He'd been there, Scavenger had been there, and there hadn't been a reason not to.
There should have been a reason. The Constructicons knew not to take what they wanted, not this time, but the engex had erased it from Scavenger's mind.
"Why not?" Prowl had asked after the makeshift cuffs cut into his attacker's wrists. Prowl's memory, still, because Scavenger didn't remember this part. Scavenger had a trick memory like that, and usually the other Constructicons would have had him under control, but he'd gotten away. They'd been busy, and he'd wanted what was dangled just out of reach. He'd gotten away, gone too far, and discovered that one fendered Constructicon couldn't take on Prowl.
"Why not? You have to provide reasons arguing against taking advantage of someone smaller and weaker than you?" Prowl had stepped back, face twisted in utter disgust. "I shouldn't be surprised. I'm not."
The cuffs had twisted tight enough to cut into Scavenger's wrist joints. It'd made Prowl feel safer. The memory had a tiny hint of satisfaction from knowing Scavenger was in pain from the cuffs and the blow to the head, and the Constructicons cautiously tested that train of thought. Hope tickled through the back of the merge. They could use sadism. If he wanted to tie them up, beat them, savage them - they'd let him. They'd allow him to use them to his satisfaction if it would earn them forgiveness for what Scavenger had almost done.
Hope died. It wasn't useable. The hint of satisfaction had been from defending himself, not for actually causing Scavenger harm.
By then, the other Constructicons had felt their teammate's pain and Prowl's boiling anger. A tentative knock came from the door, and a searing snap of rage had whipped through their united sparks. Even now, it hurt. Falling, combining, becoming one, they cried out inside of Devastator for the sheer cutting hatred of their sixth self.
He hated what Scavenger had tried to do. He hated their warped logic and absent morals that had led to the confused look on Scavenger's face as the Constructicon knelt on the floor, wrists bound. He and the Constructicons were not compatible. They desired him and he could use them, but they were not redeemable. It took a desk to the helm just to get through to the drunken sot who'd invaded his office that throwing him on the floor and slobbering on his neck was repulsive. Shouting refusals hadn't been enough. Kicking and yelling hadn't been enough. Screaming through the gestalt connection hadn't been enough.
Consent just did not process in the Constructicons' stunted ethical system.
This is what Prowl had done in response to that incomprehension.
He kissed the Constructicon: a full, deep kill of teeth and tongue, hard enough to chip paint and dent metal. He'd braced his hands on either side of the mech's face, tipped it back, and gave it his all. The memory of it flooded the gestalt bond, pushing its way into all their minds, and the Constructicons gasped under the assault. Scavenger had moaned as he'd surrendered, but he didn't remember this. This was Prowl's memory.
The memory of what they might have had, what could have been theirs, belonged to Prowl and Prowl only. What he said aloud to Optimus Prime as they combined sliced the Constructicons, because they understood how it was meant for them, too. They'd slipped up, and Prowl had grabbed the advantage. He'd pressed it as hard and far as he could, tongue in Scavenger's mouth, and now he pressed it further. The bond resonated with that kiss, and the Constructicons whimpered under the memory of his mouth.
Because it was his memory. When he was done, when Devastator uncoupled back into his separate components, the Constructicons would be left with nothing but the knowledge that they couldn't ever have him. The kiss, and his memory of it, was beyond their grasp.
[* * * * *]
"Size doesn't matter" - Overlord, Fortress Maximus
[* * * * *]
"Did you really think you could overpower me, Max?" The chuckle was deep, rich with amusement, and devoid of pity. "You are weak. Size means nothing."
Short, sharp gasps jerk out of Fortress Maximus' vents, and he curled in on himself. The way it pushed his face into the floor, it looked like he was bowing to the tiny feet standing before him. He couldn't care. The beating had been brutal enough, but the burning pain of contaminated energon forced into his tank made his body turn on itself. Size didn't matter. Overlord could and had defeated him easily. Again. A handspan tall, and the mech could throw someone Fort Max's size around, pin him down, and make him scream.
Small, absurdly strong arms lifted his face off the floor. "Tsk, tsk. Look at me, Max." Pain made him obey, and his optics blurred as the shrieking feedback from his fuel processing plant unfocused the lenses. Overlord's smile was still easy to pick out of the blur. "One would think you'd learn eventually, but perhaps more training is needed."
An involuntary shudder wracked him. Frame-level horror triggered by those words had his vocalizer skreeking distressed noises through a clenched jaw.
A pink cube was held before his nose. Tiny and pure, it smelled divine and was held by Pitspawn. "I was going to give you this to flush your systems, but..." An artful pause, and the cube smelled absolutely wonderful, like a cure for all the agony. Fort Max discarded the poor remnants of pride and whimpered little needy noises. "Oh, you do want it? From your behavior, I'd have thought you'd defy me to the last."
The tubing in his neck stiffened slowly, lubricant contamination freezing up his joints and fuel lines clogging with the slag this fragger had been force-feeding him. It hurt to move his head, but the downed mech set his chin on the floor and used it to lever himself forward an inch. The pathetic sounds coming out of his mouth turned pleading, apologetic. He was…sorry. Look at him be sorry. So sorry. Now give him the blasted energon!
His tanks clunked heavy and painful in his midriff, and Fortress Maximus' begging turned to a keen that would have been a scream if he could have pried his teeth apart. He curled violently, helm slamming into the floor and leaving scrapes as he writhed and kicked.
Overlord sighed, exaggerating his disappointment. "Max, I really expected better of you." He strolled around the warden's head to stand in front of his face where Fort Max had turned his head. The Autobot tried to turn away further, but he couldn't. Fort Max drew in gulping breaths through his teeth. When Overlord bent to look into his optics, it didn't matter how small he was in comparison. In that moment, he loomed. "Now, I think we can do better than that. Don't you agree?"
Pained optics locked on the tiny cube held out of his reach. There was just enough energon inside to liquefy the solid mass of poisons burning through him. It wouldn't wash the contamination away, but it would dilute the worst of it. Fort Max fought not to spasm again and managed a nod. He'd be good. He'd do better.
"Good. Say 'ahhh'." The catch being, of course, that Fortress Maximus was in the midst of system lockdown, the impurities sending random shocks of electricity firing across his networks. Overlord pet the warden's trembling lips with one small hand and smiled benignly. "Open, there's a dearspark." Still petting, teensy fingers slipped between his lips and smoothed back and forth along the inner surfaces. The backs of knuckles tink-tinked against teeth, hinting. "I said open."
The smile turned on him was still wide and charming, but Overlord was at his ugliest when he smiled the widest. Fort Max wanted to snap his teeth, wanted to bite -
No. Size didn't matter. He'd learned his lesson for the day, and right now, he couldn't take any more. The pain had to stop.
His jaw cracked as he forced the stiff joint to move. It hurt, and not just physically. His body ached, but it was his mind that cringed in humiliated pain.
It was either confidence or cockiness that stuck Overlord's hand into his mouth. Fort Max didn't want to admit that it was likely the former. He just shut off his optics and prayed this would be over quickly, before he lost his mind and bit down. He didn't think he'd be able to tolerate what would happen if he did that.
Prayer didn't work against Overlord. The hand in his mouth found his tongue despite how it drew back, and fingers pinched to pull it forward. The miniature Phase Sixer was terribly strong and impossible to win against. Fort Max squirmed as his tongue was pulled back into place and stroked like a good pet that'd done a trick. The hand ran up and down the center of his tongue, making it curl involuntarily from the pressure and sheer hatred.
Overlord chuckled as he watched Fort Max's face scrunch up in a disgusted grimace, and he palmed the tip of the mech's tongue. It tried to evade him, but he took it in hand and squeezed lightly, warning. Fort Max swallowed hard, mouth working around his arm.
"That's better, yes?" he cooed to the warden. A faint gagging sound came from far back in the mech's throat, and his smile turned cruel. "That's what I thought."
Only once he had Fortress Maximus cringing did he pour out the energon little by little and, slowly, let the far larger mech lap it from his hand.
[* * * * *]
An attempted attack/Siege AU - Overlord, Fortress Maximus
[* * * * *]
Overlord didn't even look up from the gun he was cleaning until he'd cleared the ammo feed. Then stood up and, still holding onto Fortress Maximus' arm, turned to face his prisoner. Rounded optics stared up at him, and despite himself, the warden drew slightly into himself. Half the handful of opened power cells had dripped to the floor to eat into the metal, but the rest oozed slowly down out of his hand toward where Overlord's fist encircled his wrist.
He had almost, almost, managed to slap the opened cells onto the side of Overlord's head. So close, but so far.
Fort Max swallowed hard. This was going to be bad.
Overlord sighed. "Really, slave. This becomes tiresome. Now I'll have to restock those power cells, and you'll be tasked to cycle them out again. That means I'll have to ensure you don't break my property." His hold tightened. Metal creaked. Paint bubbled where the cell fluid burnt in. "Only I may do that."
He had just enough time to see it coming before Overlord began beating him with his own acid-covered hand. Less physically beating than making sure the acid smeared across the widest area, mostly across his face and upper helm. When the massive Decepticon was satisfied, he released the sputtering, flailing Autobot and sat back down to continue his work. "Do tell me when you've learned your lesson, hmm?"
Smoke rose in lazy curls from dissolving paint, and Fort Max backed away, hand held in front of himself helplessly as the cell fluid burnt in. He turned and limped for the washracks, only to find that the shuttle had auto-locked it. He wasn't permitted in there without Overlord accompanying him anymore, not since he'd tried to rewire the temperature gauge. The acid continued to burn, however, and the warden desperately rubbed his face and hand against the wall trying to get as much as he could off.
Too late. His right optic had frosted over, acid-etched and glass steadily weakening. His face hissed and steamed. His helm bleated errors, informing him of compromised areas that would only get worse if the acid didn't finish reacting by the time it got through to his brain module. He...he didn't have a choice, of course. He never had a choice.
Fortress Maximus stumbled back through the shuttle, supporting himself against the wall and blinking rapidly as his damaged optic fed static into his visual feed. Overlord sat right where he'd left him, and the warden's face hurt as his lips peeled back in an enraged snarl. He fought with himself for a moment, but the acid was eating ever-closer to dripping into his helm.
He dropped to his knees and crawled across the floor, composing the words his master wanted to hear.
[* * * * *]
What might happen: Take One
[* * * * *]
"It's an easy choice."
Tarn's hand was huge, and it looked even larger than normal as it slid down the helm of his prisoner. Black sucked the light in, dark against gleaming white armor. It was disturbing, how clean that armor was. The D.J.D. had treated their bargaining chip frighteningly well, because in doing so it emphasized just what they could have done. What they could yet do if their bargain wasn't met. Terror and helpless anger stared out from under the petting hand, well aware of what the stakes were.
"A simple trade. I rather thought you would agree that he deserves more than you gave him." A pointed look toward the camera, and Tarn's hand curled under his prisoner's chine. "Or did that promise to make amends not apply to your scapegoat? You are responsible for this," black tightened on white, a large hand around a too-vulnerable throat, "and now I'm asking you to make a decision that is quite obvious."
Rodimus glared at the screen, breathing hard and fists clenched at his sides, while Ultra Magnus stood frozen beside him.
Behind them, Megatron's silence wanted to be confident but held confusion, a hint of uncertainty. Tarn didn't look at him. He hadn't even said a word to his former leader. This was about him, but a traitor's input was not welcome in bartering for possession of him. The Justice Division had planned this deal out very carefully. One traitor for another, but this one mattered. This one was important. This one might have enough owed him that a crew would turn on their unwanted ex-Decepticon captain.
No, Tarn wasn't speaking to Megatron. This call was about Rodimus and Drift.
[* * * * *]
Soundwave & Starscream - G1
[* * * * *]
Victory came at a cost to everyone. The winners paid the price and still came out on top. The losers, well, they just paid.
Soundwave's feet could barely reach the ground, and his shoulders strained from the way his arms were bound. The statis cuffs behind his back wouldn't have kept him restrained enough, so Starscream had forced his elbows up by a chain from the ceiling. It ran under them and suspended him, putting most of his weight on his shoulders. The rest fell on the tips of his feet.
Anytime he lost his balance or shifted his feet, his weight went against the collar welded around his throat. Wide and thick, it ran from collar faring to his chin, allowing him to turn his head but nothing more. Even that was difficult with how he had to balance some of his weight against the leash attached to collar and ceiling. If he turned his head at the wrong time, the top of the collar pinched off a major fuel line. That made him dizzy and, in turn, meant he lost his balance more easily.
Something that happened more often the longer he was kept in this position. It had hurt to be bound like this, chains and straps forcing his joints at unnatural angles and holding them there for far too long. Sharp pangs jolted from his shoulders and wrists at any twitch, and he stayed as still as he could, bent and awkwardly balancing on tiptoe. He refused to make any noise.
Three days later, and pain had blossomed to a rich agony that permeated his entire upper body. It was almost a living thing. It curled lovingly around his rasped-raw neck, nosing into the sore groove worn under his chin from the slide of the collar's edge. It toyed with his shoulders, sharpening its claws in the joints as if it were pulling his nerve system out in long strings. The pain popped loose across his shoulders in sharp bursts like firecrackers, unraveled the back of his neck until he wanted to scream, then stole his voice through the lengthy, slow draw of his nerve endings coming loose from his backstruts and lighting on fire in the process. His hands were pressed together by the cuffs, but the agony licked short pains up his forearms when he flexed them. His fingers stretched and curled, rolling against the cuffs as best they could, and it hurt.
Everything hurt. After three days, his nerve sensors were firing at random, set off by excess signal strength from their neighbors. The pain had started out sharp and focused, but it had bloomed through his body. It was a simple, effective torture.
Soundwave teetered in the center of the room and suffered. He couldn't relax. He couldn't recharge. The second he lost focus, he had to stagger to regain his balance. His main fuel line pulsed, scored and bruised by the collar constantly taking his weight every time. He was halfway convinced it would split open any moment now and leave him senseless, bleeding vital fluids until he hung dripping. Alone in this room, forgotten, he could drain out and die here.
He wasn't surprised that Starscream waited three days to revisit this quiet cell. Time and suspension had done the work of a torturer on his body. Isolation had worn away at his mind. The Seeker didn't need to do anything but wait, and Soundwave ripened for the picking.
Something he clearly knew. "Comfortable?" Starscream laughed as he entered.
Soundwave knew better than to turn his head at this point. Cruel agony laid down his back in a purring, waiting presence, and he wouldn't rouse it by a foolish reaction.
It was difficult, however. Starscream strolled around him, turbines clicking on the floor, and Soundwave had to stop from automatically turning to keep him within sight. The communication mech breathed deep, ventilation system straining against the agony-creature's legs. They wrapped lovingly around him, claws set and ready to rip into him. He stared straight down at the floor and didn't move. His visor strained to keep Starscream's feet within sight as much as he could.
Nimble fingers danced over the statis cuffs. For a second, Soundwave dared hope they would be taken off, but no. No, the Seeker was merely checking them. Those fingers went on to pet his hands in a peculiarly claiming gesture that infuriated the bound mech, and he repressed a rough sound to warn the unwanted touches away. A warning would only serve to guide Starscream to where Soundwave least wanted him. He kept his hands as relaxed as possible, refusing to acknowledge the petting.
Starscream didn't like being ignored. His hands smoothed up Soundwave's forearms, and the communication mech's tanks screwed into tense knots because he knew what was coming. Despite himself, he drew subtly into a preemptive flinch.
The agony nipped at him for that, but it sank a deep bite into his shoulders as Starscream gently, ruthlessly pressed his elbows inward. The chain clinked, and Soundwave muted a yell. He could ride pain and let it roll by underneath him, but this was agony. It twisted, turned, and tossed him off. He could endure it, but eventually he would reach his tolerance. Agony was like that. It lingered, it festered, and it preyed on his confidence.
Fear had infected agony's clawmarks, grown in the bites. What his body could handle, his mind no longer could. Soundwave swallowed another yell, this one closer to a scream, and trembled from more than pain. Deny it as he might, he was afraid.
Like a beast, Starscream could smell his fear. The Seeker gave the chain winch a turn, and Soundwave's legs went stiff as he rose that much further into the air. His feet barely scraped the ground now, and his visor went incandescent with pain and panic from the creaking groan of shoulder joints taking the extra weight, the collar pressing the main fuel lines of his throat nearly shut.
"That's better, don't you think?" Starscream cooed, returning to press and prod at his prisoner's elbows again. Soundwave swayed, taken completely off his feet by the lightest push, and dignity wasn't enough to keep him from pawing for the ground desperately as Starscream played with him.
Which he did, slowly spinning the captive mech like a top as he pushed him here and there. The muffled sounds of pain were leaking out, and the more he played, the louder Soundwave's involuntary little noises became. The kicking, paddling feet stopped and pointed, but keeping his legs stiff in hopes of reaching the floor was worse. The tips of his feet brushed over the ground in passing like a tease of what he couldn't touch.
By the time Starscream brought him to a stand-still, the trembling had turned into an all-over quiver of pain. Agony had ripped his nerve system to shreds. The weak, uncoordinated kicking had started again, and Starscream couldn't tell if the prisoner was trying to kick him or just couldn't deal with the fire burning his nerve sensors to crisps. The tiny sound of relief Soundwave made when allowed to regain his balance turned Starscream's satisfaction molten and heady. It pooled in his gut.
"So proud, Soundwave. You know how easily this could be stopped," the Seeker said in a disturbingly intimate way, leaning in to whisper against the side of Soundwave's helm. Still shaking, Soundwave glared at the floor. He wouldn't turn his head against the collar and inflict that pain on himself. "Is refusing to surrender worth this?" He gave a tweak of the chains, and a whimper came from somewhere under that stubbornly offlined vocalizer. "I know you, Soundwave. You look out for your own interests first. You'll support the winner to ensure your own place at his side."
The communication mech kept glaring at the floor. Starscream had won, but there were many kinds of victory. Soundwave wouldn't give him the satisfaction of triumphing as planned. He would hold out from pure spite.
Starscream straightened up and looked down at the back of his helm thoughtfully. "Perhaps I've just not given you sufficient motivation to believe you are truly at risk," he said at last. "You might still believe you can get out of here with a compromise instead of surrender. You still think you carry enough influence that you have leverage."
A sharkicon's grin split Starscream's face. "You poor, delusional fool. Let me show you where your place is right now. Mayhaps you'll rethink your bargaining stance."
Starscream dropped and delivered the blow with brutal precision and force, fist flashing up in an uppercut -
- that bypassed Soundwave's wide visor and punched into the glass of his deck.
This time, Soundwave screamed.
This time, Starscream wasn't playing. Paint peeled as he jammed his forearm in after his fist, scraping through the broken glass while Soundwave futilely struggled, kicking and wriggling. His struggles didn't stop the Seeker. The Cassetticons weren't here, but they weren't what he was after. His hand groped, finding and following one of the cassette heads up inside that empty chest.
Empty of Cassetticons, but not completely empty. There, in the back, behind the wide docks for the Cassettes, were the thin archive reels for hard storage.
Pressed up against Soundwave, nearly face to face, Starscream smiled. His arm drew back slightly before punching forward, yet deeper, and Soundwave's outraged, angered, frightened snarls turned into a thin, high shriek. That red visor was wide in horror touched by true fear, and Starscream chuckled as he drew his hand out.
Soundwave's shriek turned into gurgled, garbled binary. Heedless of the pain and light-head from cut-off fuel lines, he craned his head against the collar trying to see. The slippery, stretching sensation of unspooling tape cut into the part of him that cared more about survival than loyalty or pride, and his vocalizer crackled in a shout. "Stop. Stop!"
He wished he couldn't see when Starscream obliged his prisoner's limited mobility by bringing a handful of tape up and out into view. "I wonder how much priceless data I'm holding right this moment," the Seeker mused, studying the glistening loops wound around his knuckles. "Your archived memories of whatever Pit you crawled from? Enough blackmail to topple an empire?" He looked at Soundwave and smiled sweetly. "And this is how much I care."
His fist closed tighter, and he gave a solid yank. Soundwave could feel how the tape sawed against the broken glass, and he thrashed again.
"Enough!" More than enough. His dock heads were spinning, frantically trying to reel the tape in, but this was a fight he couldn't win. Soundwave went limp and panted, agony fighting for control of his voice. He managed to keep his tone level. "Starscream: desist."
Starscream sneered, voice cold. "Do not presume to give me orders." Panic chilled his spark, but before Soundwave could rephrase himself, another yank snapped a score of the tape. An uncounted number of layers sliced apart over broken glass.
The shrill, mechanical protest came again, and Soundwave froze, visor staring down at the mess of tangled tape discarded to the floor. A few, pitifully thin pieces twisted up into his chest, still attached to their reels. He could…he could fix this. The knots could be unpicked and smoothed out. Most of the slices were clean. He could splice them back together. The snapped tape would have stretch damage and might be irreparable, but he could still regain most of the data recorded onto the rest.
A single finger turned his helm to the side, making him look up at his captor. Starscream gave him an arch, expectant look, and Soundwave shuddered as he made the choice that wasn't a choice. This time, he didn't even try to keep the pain and defeat from his voice.
"Soundwave: surrenders."
One optic squinted. "Hmm." A turbine whined as it turned, and Soundwave strained to see flames from the corner of his visor.
No! "Soundwave: will serve!"
The turbine cooled as fast as it'd heated, but Soundwave couldn't see from this angle if the threat had been followed through on. Had his precious tape been reduced to crinkled, melted ruin or not? He didn't know, and he didn't dare fight Starscream's hold in order to look. Obedience was the only option he had.
Self-satisfied arrogance settled around the Seeker's shoulders like a cloak, and he smirked down at his now-cooperative prisoner. "I should give you time to think about your position. No need to be hasty, after all." He stepped back, and Soundwave obediently kept his visor on him. "Take some time to really decide what you want to do, Soundwave. I'll be back."
With that, he strode from the cell, leaving Soundwave to look down upon the price that the losers paid.
[* * * * *]
Alternative punishments
[* * * * *]
It was something of a point of pride for the Decepticon Justice Division that each of them had their specialties, and they used them all to great effect. For instance, the prior Vos had his hooks and drills, obviously put to excellent use during the public execution broadcasts, but he also had quite the way with words. For a while, he did the introductions and the reading of the List for the opening of each broadcast. He had a way of turning a phrase that struck to the spark of the matter.
That incarnation of Vos might be gone, but his work lived on. The D.J.D. relished the opportunity to break out his stash of special works. It required a very peculiar kind of crime to merit that, however, something in obvious need of punishment to discourage repetition among the ranks but without treasonous intent that would make it an actual severe crime necessitating execution. These were Decepticons who weren't traitors but deserved to be punished.
Sometimes the D.J.D. was called on to administer that punishment, to really bring the point home. How narrowly had execution been dodged? So narrowly that the Empire's most fearsome executioners were brought in to punish the criminal.
The Justice Division found these punishments useful. They felt that the faction as a whole learned an important lesson in loyalty whenever this kind of broadcast went out. They intended today's audience to take as much away from the punishment as Turmoil did.
A commander whose subordinate went and switched sides couldn't be allowed off the hook. 'Drift,' as he called himself now, would be dealt with in due time. In the meantime, Turmoil's discipline would serve to demonstrate to the rest of the Decepticons why policing their fellow Decepticons and dealing swiftly with traitors on their own was strongly encouraged. One wouldn't want to fail and be called on by the D.J.D., hmm?
It wasn't a subtle threat, but it was an effective one. Turmoil shifted sullenly in his chair, hating that he was to be the example and refusing to show anxiety over his unknown punishment. He grunted, "Get on with it."
"We will, we will," Kaon hummed as he checked the camera equipment. Broadcasts were tricky things to set up with no buffer time, and he wanted everything to run smoothly. "We're live in two, Tarn."
His boss nodded and continued paging through the datapad. This was cutting it close, but Turmoil had been put on the List Addendum at the last minute. He hadn't had much time to think about the proper punishment. "This one?"
Helex read the first paragraph and laughed. "Yeah. That one works."
"Good. Then we'll start with it and judge whether more should be added on as we go." Turmoil eyed them warily, contemptuous but slightly unnerved by events. He had no idea what was going to happen here, but the D.J.D.'s reputation was enough to make him wonder if he'd survive.
Tarn downloaded Vos' masterpiece to a reader that would present the words line by line instead of by the paragraph. They'd found that it made the experience much more painful that way. Then he paced toward the lone chair set up in the center of the room and presented Turmoil the reader with a flourish.
"Your sentence, Commander Turmoil," his rich voice turned the title into a sneer, "is to read this in its entirety. If you stop, you will be beaten until you continue." The current incarnation of Vos unrolled a frighteningly long sheaf of whips along the side wall. Turmoil refused to flinch. "Every hesitation and delay will be tallied toward further extension of your sentence. I will refrain from repeating how you have earned that sentence." Since Turmoil's sentencing had already been filmed and was broadcasting as the introduction right this minute. "Do you acknowledge your guilt and understand your sentence?"
Not that he had a choice, since the trial had passed. Turmoil had been lucky to escape with his rank intact.
The massive commander glared at the equally massive executioner and grated out, "Yes."
"Very well. Then you may begin momentarily." Tarn turned and gazed into the camera as Kaon counted down on his fingers. 5…4…3…2…1…live! "Loyal Decepticons, greetings."
While Tarn went through a short spiel about loyalty and consequences, Turmoil clicked the reader on. He broke from glaring at the tank's back in order to read the first line he'd be speaking. He suspected this would be some kind of warped Decepticon Story Time. If he had to tell a fable about a captain losing control of his vessel due to lax control, he might just throw this slagging reader at the camera.
Tarn stepped aside with perfect timing, and the camera caught the prisoner's remaining optic popping wide. A single, choked sound of shock got out.
"Begin," Tarn ordered.
Turmoil's head whipped up to stare at him in disbelief. Off to the side, Tesarus gleefully displayed a hand-sized timer and clicked it, counting the delay. Vos selected his favorite of the whips. They weren't joking. They weren't even remotely joking. They were the D.J.D., and they used everything they were and had to punish traitors to the Cause. Some punishments were simply more unique than others, and debatably more painful.
Looking down at the reader, Turmoil sucked in a deep breath and tried to begin. "'Releasing his codpiece, Neutron looked down upon the defeated Secondarious Prime around his - '" He swallowed. "'His mighty' - this is ridiculous," he burst out, and Vos snapped the whip across the back of his neck. A wince, and the commander hunkered down over the reader, trying to fast forward and finding that the reader would only let him push the Advance button so much before stopping. "'He plunged his silvery length into the Prime's - the Prime's hot, tight, dr-dripping - '" Another wince, this one purely from mental pain as his mind squirmed at the trite, badly written but far too detailed image that he was being forced to describe. In front of witnesses. On a live broadcast to the entire Decepticon faction.
He cast a desperate look at the camera. Did he really have to do this?!
Vos cracked the whip again. Tesarus smirked and let the seconds click by on his timer until Turmoil choked out another few words of the universe's most transparently disguised Megatron/Optimus Prime frag scene.
"Ten shanix he begs for death in two minutes," Helex whispered to Tarn.
His leader rumbled amusement. "I have this ready in case he doesn't." He held up the next story. The former Vos had true talent at this kind of thing.
Turmoil might just die of humiliation on camera, no matter what his sentence said.
[* * * * *]
Soundwave/Starscream Kre-O - Commission for Baiku
[* * * * *]
Bitty legs hustled. There was no getting around the fact that running left them scurrying. The shorter the legs, the faster they scampered.
Dignity was a lost cause. Rumble and Frenzy scurried at the smallest scurry of all, and no wonder. Everyone could hear Starscream yelling for their heads.
"Yeah, you better run! When I find you, I will pop your torso off your legs and put your twin's legs on top. See how much you can get into joined up like a mutant toy block!"
Soundwave looked down at his own legs, which were the size of his Cassettes. There was no hustling going on here. He was in absolutely no hurry to deal with whatever mischief had been managed. Unfortunately, the pattering sound of tiny feet rushed his way, and he knew he was in for it.
Twin yelps of "Heeeeeeeeeeeeelp!" came right before Rumble and Frenzy skittered behind the shelter of his legs. Soundwave sighed. Not even a pretense of dignity between the two of them.
At their heels rampaged the Air Commander, arms upraised and somehow managing to storm despite his own stubby legs. "Soundwave! I demand you turn those miscreants over to me immediately! Right this minute! Now! Pronto!"
Four exclamation marks in a row. Dramatic, much? Soundwave tilted his head in inquiry. What exactly had the Cassettes done to earn such ire today?
Long experience interpreted his silence as a question, and Starscream bent back to shake his hands at the sky. "They defiled my privacy! They invaded my space! They have voided the sanctity of my personal property!"
More exclamation marks. Ooo, Soundwave might actually have to take him seriously this time.
"We took his bowling ball," Frenzy whispered from behind Soundwave.
"Hid it in Megatron's room," Rumble added.
Ah. Well, then. Nevermind. False alarm on the seriousness of the situation.
By now, of course, Starscream was pacing back and forth, too into his ranting to notice that the Cassettes had A. admitted to their crime, and B. confessed what they'd done with his stuff. Instead, he was waving his hands in the air as he stomped around yelling. He was well and truly off in diva land. Decepticons were gathering to watch the show.
Soundwave gave the slightest shake of his head at the Cassettes. Shame on them. It'd been such a quiet day, too. They sniggered, unrepentant.
"Decepticons! I have a plan!"
"Those are words to give me nightmares," Starscream muttered, distracted from his own fit by Megatron's announcement. Everybody turned to look.
At the stolen bowling ball being waved above the tiny tyrant's head like it was some sort of prize. "We will take over the local bowling alley and develop a weapon to launch the pins at the Autobots, destroying them once and for all!"
"Yeah!" the crowd cheered.
Then silence fell.
"…wait, what?"
A high-pitched growl startled the nearest Kre-Os, and Soundwave sighed again as Starscream took out his frustration in chasing Rumble and Frenzy around him. The Cassettes shrieked in excitement and kept just ahead of the angry Air Commander. Soundwave silently saluted his commander's bowling alley plan but settled in for the show. His Cassettes were having fun, and it wasn't often he was given a front row seat. The view was incredible.
[* * * * *]
Soundwave/Starscream - G1 'How they met'- Commission for Baiku
[* * * * *]
Occasionally, that brief stint of time between quitting science and entering the War Academy came back to haunt Starscream. The grants from he and Skyfire's work dried up quick, and he'd raised money for the entry tuition any way that he could.
Yes, it sounded as bad as it was. Although it'd been easy enough work for someone like him, who fit a niche not many of his ilk did. Something about being pretty, demanding, and firmly straddling the line between dominant and submissive meant that a certain kind of clientele already lined up to buy his services. Throw in a masochistic streak a mile wide, and the line became an eager crowd. He could afford to choose his clients. He picked them from his breathlessly waiting fans, and they adored him for letting them make the cut.
Some of the customers into humiliation got their thrills from his rejection of them. He was particularly good at that kink.
It wasn't exactly the sort of job one bragged about in polite society, so Starscream had done his best to shed his past going into the War Academy. The reputation stuck, however. Sometimes he got a call from Purring Motors reminding him that although he didn't want to remember his past, they remembered him. They weren't afraid to remind others, either.
Those were the nights he discreetly ducked out the back gates of the War Academy. A mech should never cut profitable ties, especially ones that might retaliate with blackmail. Besides, spending money was nothing to sneer at.
He strode in like he owned the place. "Who's this 'difficult client' and why should I care?"
The flashy grounder in reception knew him well. The attitude just got a sigh. Nobody could tell how much of Starscream's attitude was stage personae and how much was real person, and nobody at Purring Motor was about to interrupt someone's act. Riftrider tossed the Seeker a polishing cloth to buff his plating back to a gleam after the flight. "Newbie. Real interested in bondage scenes, but his reputation got to us before his credits did." He gave Starscream a serious look. Stow the attitude for a moment. "Telepath looking for practice subjects, the Master figures, or maybe he's just into soaking in the pain secondhand. Sadist or masochist or observer. Frag if we know, and none of us are willing to risk it."
Leaving them no choice but to call in the professional mindfrag. Starscream had tied tough customers into knots of intellectual interest by their interface arrays, but never a telepath. That was new.
The Seeker tilted his head to the side and smiled slowly, intrigued already. "He ask for anything in specific?"
Riftrider spun a datapad around on the desk and listed, "Cuffs, collar, gag, spreader bar, and chains for suspension as needed. Node clamps, shockers, and a slicer." Two painful tools, and one that would genuinely leave marks as well as hurt like the Pit. No wonder the offer had gone straight to Starscream. This client promised to be painful and risky, plus the fact that there would be no way to hide what happened tomorrow.
The price of wearing whiplashes to class tomorrow had been met, or the Master wouldn't have called him in. Starscream was top shelf product. He wasn't taken down for handling unless the bidding was serious.
"He knows what he wants?" he asked almost idly.
"Ha! I took the call." The receptionist had an audio for this sort of stuff. "It's more like he's looking for what he likes and is just throwing everything at the problem in hopes he'll find it."
"Interesting." Starscream turned his focus inward, asking himself if he could take it. The low, eager part of him that craved attention immediately agreed. It took smug satisfaction in knowing everyone would be watching him tomorrow, envying whoever had left his wings criss-crossed. The thrumming part of him that craved pain uncoiled and snarled for it. It'd been too long since he'd had a good beating to heat his plating, bring his sensor network fully online, and make him feel alive.
His practical side took a quick look at his finances and passed final approval. It wouldn't be a bad idea to bolster his savings. He was making a tidy profit tweaking other Academy cadets' weaponry, but this looked to be a good chunk of money for a single night of effort.
Telepathy was the wild card. That, and sounding out a newbie to painful desires and needs. If the mech barely knew what he wanted, it might take them half the session to figure out what would get his engine running hot and fast.
Starscream prided himself in his ability to guide his customers, however.
"Safeword's a triple ignition." If he lit his turbines three times, the Master of the establishment would send the bouncers to break down the door if they had to. A flyer's subroutines were far enough into subconscious that he didn't think a telepath could access it without him knowing.
"You'll take the client?"
Starscream smirked. "You doubted?" Oh, please. Like he would have come all this way to turn back now?
Still smirking, he stopped to get geared up before making his lazy way to the appropriate room. Most of the time he'd fling the door open and make an entrance, but the effort would be wasted on a telepath. Instead, he slipped through the door and turned to close it quietly behind himself. Only once it was closed did he pose against the door jamb for maximum display of his, ahem, 'assets.'
Displaying himself also allowed him a good look at the one he was displaying for.
The client was a boxy blue carrier mech. Somehow, he hadn't expected that. It hardly mattered, but he noted the oddity. The Seeker gave him a frankly lascivious up-and-down before deciding boxy and blue met his approval. He let his approval fill his thoughts as he stepped away from the door and to the wall. One of his better talents was the ability to immerse himself in the present. Even if what he was didn't bring his clients running, the fact that he dove sparkdeep into every session would have them throwing money at him. He'd forgotten whom he was outside of this room and become this customer's Starscream, no one but his Starscream, however he was wanted.
He raised his hands and braced them against the wall at a convenient height for tying. 'Well? Get on with it,' he thought as loud as he could. He wanted his surface thoughts to be picked up. Rather than trying to hide anything, he intended to project.
The client probably hadn't been expecting things to go this way. Lurking in the shadowed corner was either shame or an attempt to intimidate. Neither had any hold on someone as shameless and jaded as Starscream. His loud thoughts on what the customer should get on with stabbed into the shadows, and a rattle of plating betrayed a startled jump. He experimented with a few different scenarios, noting the one that drew the client out to stride forward.
The mech had to touch his arms and wrists to loop the cable around his wrists. Starscream let his thoughts delve into filthy ideas of just what they could do from here. He could actually feel heat flush across the circuitry under navy armor.
Starscream fancied he could feel a tingling presence picking at his thoughts, too. He tossed his helm back and smiled. 'As much as I don't mind you spending the extra credits by wasting time on the preliminaries, I'm getting bored. First level safeword's a single snap of my fingers.' He imagined the sharp sound and how he expected the client to back off. 'Second level's a double snap. That means stop. You don't stop, you're in trouble.' Because he'd ignite his turbines, but he wouldn't tell a client that. 'Understood, or do I need to start talking out loud to preserve your little pretense of not combing through my head?'
The cable pulled extra snug around his wrist. "Understood," a toneless voice said at the same time a buzzing, 'Understood,' echoed through his head. "Orders: my turn."
The Seeker rolled his head back against the collar and chuckled. He had a pretty good idea of what turned this client's fans. 'You sure you want to be the one giving orders?'
Soundwave looked at the flyer bound helpless to the wall, and his mind filled with orders Starscream could give him. The difference between being in charge of a weaker person he had power over, versus having all the power yet being under someone's command.
His fans quickened.
'That's what I thought.'
This wasn't what Soundwave had expected at all. His hands shook as he picked up the slicer.
'Right wing first, and make it hard.'
His arm fell. Paint burnt. Metal sheared.
'Is that the best you can do? Harder!'
It wasn't what he'd expected at all. It was better.
[* * * * *]
Soundwave/Starscream - IDW 'How they met' - Commission for Baiku
[* * * * *]
Fast.
Soundwave had adjusted to society more, by now. He didn't automatically lose his focus and center when outside thoughts flickered through him, but this quick torrent took him off guard. He almost staggered from the unexpected burst.
It was entirely out of place. The party was full of the languid ocean of rich and powerful, moving in casual motions over hidden intentions. He was adept at monitoring those. Eddies and whirlpools of power shifted throughout the rooms as people met, parted, exchanged information, and revealed too much. His sensitive audios caught much that those whispering didn't think he could. His mind picked far more out of the scheming.
This, however, he couldn't catch. He could barely stay standing through it.
He'd been a politician's aide for too long to react. He disguised his loss of balance by taking two steps out of the way of a passing VIP as if he'd intended that all along. Only after making a final notation on the senator's schedule and nodding respectfully to a benefactor (notation: also contributing to rival senator, thinking of cutting donations to Senator Ratbat, must investigate further) did Soundwave turn to look around the room. Nothing stood out.
Cautious, he extended his mind outward to search for the source.
Another river of thoughts streamed through him, fast and too disorienting for him to attempt to fish something out to decode. He locked his knees and did his best not to sway. The rush bowled him over, mentally, and washed through his mind in a blast like a cold water pipe bursting deep in the workings of his head. He sputtered. He gasped. He was drowning.
It was oddly exciting.
On the outside, he concentrated on updating his notes. It was a front. He couldn't read the notes he'd already made on his datapad.
Fast. So very fast. Alarmingly quick, reversing course apparently at random and weaving into patterns he couldn't follow. He tried, tracing the weave and digging at the quicksilver, but there were no handholds. This mind was a slippery, glittering waterfall of water flowing over ice. There was a peculiar beauty to grasping at what he couldn't touch, and Soundwave grew more enamored the longer he failed to follow it to the source.
He glanced up, scanning the crowd visually since he didn't dare immerse himself further. Nothing stood out, still. It was the usual gathering of those who gained invitations to such events. If half the city couldn't I.D. a mech on sight and that mech couldn't buy half that same city, then he probably wasn't invited.
Wait. Now, that was different. Who exactly was that flyer in the corner, assembling a court? He wasn't in Soundwave's files, which were extensive yet somehow included no information on him. Red and blue, sleek and charming, with a smile that could stun and a body that had gathered admirers. The small eddy of power around him had become a whirlpool in the time Soundwave had spent looking for other things.
Other things which might be over in that corner. Soundwave was tempted to probe at the flyer's mind, but he couldn't afford to completely lose his focus if his hunch was right.
His senator was idly drifting into the social currents that would eventually take him into that whirlpool. Soundwave narrowed his visor and set out to steer Senator Ratbat into another current. When he encountered that flyer, it would not be accompanied by the senator. He didn't intend to be occupied by playing aide, not with the flicker of thoughts zipping by at dazzling speeds. He wanted to grasp those thoughts, hold onto them, slow them down and conquer their confounding pattern.
Things were moving too fast for business.
[* * * * *]
Soundwave/Starscream - Oops - Commission for Baiku
[* * * * *]
"Boss, we can't do this anymore," Rumble said flatly as he came through the door.
"It ain't right," Frenzy muttered from right behind him.
Soundwave gave them both an inquiring look. "Reason for statements?" He assumed there must be a reason. The twins had never had a problem spying for him before this.
They exchanged a glance and shrugged. "You'll see."
He caught them as they transformed and jumped for his chest, and he settled back in his chair as the playback began.
Iron control kept his ventilation system from sighing. Ah, yes. This was the best one yet. He would have to ask the Cassettes how they'd gotten such a good angle on the washracks, because the Air Commander was a glistening, solitary figure in their combined camera feeds. Wide wings fanned back into the solvent, shining and dripping. Starscream's hand moved the sponge in slow, sensual circles across their broad surfaces. If Soundwave didn't already know the mech moved like a seduction 90% of the time, he'd have thought Starscream was putting on a performance. Those hands moved off the wings, spilling suds and translucent suds down his torso as the Air Commander meticulously washed himself.
Down the front of his body, turning golden glass to liquid sunlight. It gleamed a warm invitation to touch, but the only one smoothing hands over it was Starscream himself. Those lucky hands moved onto the powerful thighs, and Soundwave throttled down his fans as fine fingers teased down the inside of sleek thighs. Powerful but not bulky, something that could sum up Starscream's entire body.
Soundwave fought the urge to lean forward in his chair. He wanted to get closer to the show, even though the show was recorded and played back on his HUD. He couldn't get any closer.
Starscream turned and bent, on hand wiping the sponge on his foot while the other one swept upward, fingers stark against the back of a thigh. When Starscream straightened, his fingers dragged up his body. It was a tease. Soundwave had to open his vents as his internal temperature climbed.
Then coy optics looked over one wing to pin the spying mechs where they hid. "You know, the rule isn't 'look, don't touch.' If you keep spying on me like this, I'm going to change the rule just for you: 'If you look, you must touch.'"
Soundwave's visor went wide. Well, then.
[* * * * *]