Author's Note:

This chapter is (was) exactly 5000 words. Besides that, this chapter is very special to me. Written while listening to "Fight Inside" by Red

This is one of the poor chapters that had to have its content cut. I don't think the full impact of it will hit when I cut the scene short, so PM me if you want the full impact. Otherwise, enjoy.

"Save him now, Autobot scum."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. This couldn't be true. But by the way her orange optics blazed with heartfelt agony, Optimus slowly began to realize what this was all about. Her cold shoulder to him. Her sometimes barely suppressed anger. An almost forgotten explosion suddenly rocked in his mental processor, and the tiny youngling trapped beneath the beam screamed for help again.

His body tensed as he felt her digging her hands into his neck cables. "Isn't that right, Optimus?" she hissed at him. "Kaon. Do you remember? Who was that poor youngling you left to die?"

Before he could even begin to think of a response, her hand closed and ripped up a handful of his cables. The fire that raced up his shoulder was so unsuspecting that a deep-set groan escaped him before he could stop it, shoulders shuddering. "Do you remember? He was just a kid! He was BEGGING you for help! And what do you do?" She sank her claws into his neck, face twisting into a hideous snarl he had never seen her use.

Unable to move, petrified to helpless, Optimus could only stare into those hateful orange optics as she hissed, "You left him to die."

She savagely pulled up another heap of cables, and feeling his body parts ripped free, Optimus groaned again. He felt bright blue energon begin to trickle down his chest, and his reeling processor tried to understand, to comprehend her sudden brutality.

"Do you remember!" she shouted at him, and Optimus felt that horror clench his chest again when he saw hot tears fill her optics, hate and sorrow raging inside her. She roughly brushed them away, and when she did, Optimus saw his own energon smear across her face in their place.

This was unreal. But he felt his spark contracting in horrific realization that the boy he had turned from to save himself had been HER brother; of any bot it could have been, fate twisted the bends of time so that it was HER brother. Seeing the shadows of brokenness hidden beneath the fire of hate, Optimus felt his spark clench for Nightstalker's sufferings.

I'm sorry! I'm so sorry—!

She lifted her hand, tips of her claws transforming open. "This is for my brother," she snarled, and before Optimus could try to say anything, she slashed down over his right audio receptor.

Agony ripped across his sensors. Like hot acid had been poured over his hot spot, Optimus felt his body tensing, clenching as he tried to throw himself away from the danger, but he was frozen solid by the Immobilizer. He felt himself scream at the sudden onslaught of pain, but it couldn't truly escape his vocals since he was frozen. A high pitched whine shrieked from within his body as Nightstalker clawed him without mercy, hot lava slowly oozing down his neck.

"Isn't it ironic?" she gloted above his pained whines. "You once preached to Arcee that revenge isn't the right way when you should have been preaching to me!" She gave a sick laugh, unlike the shy Nightstalker Optimus had come to know in the base. She was . . . different, and cruel on a level he hadn't expected from her demur personality.

Was this the sadistic side of Nightstalker that left Cliffjumper begging for mercy?

Nightstalker punctured her claws through the same audio receptor, and Optimus couldn't stop the scream that rocked his frame, struggling to move, to stop her from doing something she would regret—

But instead, she merely leaned down to his good audio receptor, whispering maliciously, "Now revenge may not bring me peace . . . but it sure does bring satisfaction."

No . . .

He felt the fear snaking its way through his body as he stared utterly helpless up at Nightstalker's sneer. He couldn't move! He couldn't do anything to protect himself, and his fellow Autobots were just as pinned as he was. He would be tortured to death right in front of them, and there wasn't a thing he could do! By the All Spark, he couldn't even try to talk Nightstalker out of it! He could only try to trust in Nightstalker's better reasoning, but even that faint hope was crushed as she continued to toy with him.

"How does it feel to be so helpless?" she taunted him with a harsh laugh, optics glittering with a touch of hidden insanity he had never seen before. "What does it feel like to be at my MERCY!" Her lava-dripping fingers tore across the middle finial of his helm, and Optimus screamed again, shocked that she somehow guessed exactly where another hot spot was. Agony crippled his senses—warning signals were fast and furious across his optics, but he stared past them, horrified to see Nightstalker ENJOYING his pain.

She was LAUGHING with sick amusement, taking in his sufferings like her greatest triumph. Staring powerlessly as she asked mockingly, "Does it hurt?" he could only groan deeply again when she plunged her hand in his neck cables, fingers digging around deep. Energon pulsed up from the wounds.

His sound of pain only egged her on. "Good," she purred, so sickly-sweet that it nauseated the Prime. She trailed a leisure finger around his wide open optics, and Optimus felt his optics tighten in pain as the lava ate through his metal slowly, like cheese. "Because, trust me, it's going to hurt, a lot, MORE!"

She ripped up more of his neck cables, and Optimus groaned loudly, gears shrieking in protest as he tried so hard to get away and couldn't move! Struggling to bring his arms in, he felt every gear in his body twist with the effort to close them and grab Nightstalker, but nothing happened.

Nothing.

IMMOBILIZED.

She dipped a finger in his optic, slowly scratching the sensitive surface, and Optimus felt optic lubricant begin to leak. "I wonder how much I could exploit from just your eyes," she mused to herself, untroubled by what she was doing to him. Optimus tried to speak again, but it was no use—he couldn't properly speak while his jaw was frozen with the rest of his body. The wordless pleas were trapped inside him.

I'm sorry, Nightstalker! Please, understand—!

He felt his thoughts freeze when a sick grin crossed her features. "Or, since the almighty Primes are supposed to be PURE, I bet you would respond well to me violating your interfacing delicates."

Her disgusting words hit like a punch in the gut, stunning him with so much disbelieving horror that he just COULDN'T begin to comprehend what she was saying. She wouldn't . . .

But, his most shadowed hopes of her good side shattered when she let out a long, triumphant laugh. Optimus's mind closed in on itself. He began to writhe on the inside, vainly struggling against his petrification, eyes widening in horror. She wouldn't, she wouldn't—! A rape to settle the fate of her brother? But he felt her ped slide down to tap at his interface paneling, laughing with pure glee, "I'll save the rape for last," as if it would ease his panicking processor.

No! She couldn't! Nightstalker, please no! Don't do it! He didn't care that he was trying to plead for her to stop. He WANTED to plead for her, because no matter how he tried to think of her as dirty 'Con scum again, he couldn't. He kept thinking to how she had saved Jack, Raf, and Miko despite the hard beating she had taken, he kept remembering her playing and becoming friends with his soldiers, how meek and wretched she had felt after she had tortured Cliffjumper, her cowering with fear in her cuffs, and the peaceful look on her face after she had flown for the first time in weeks. This wasn't Nightstalker! She had to be in there, she had to be there, somewhere—!

But Optimus found himself proved wrong again as she plunged her hand into his exposed shoulder wiring, optics darkening suddenly as she bared her teeth at him. "Then, I'll proceed to rip off said spike." She tore up more wires, and this time Optimus's scream shrieked from within, filled with impending terror of her promises to come. She MEANT them. She was going to DO what she said. "And then I'll take apart your chest proceed to rape your spark of your purity again!" She slashed across his ruined audio receptor, and Optimus howled again, helpless beneath her heel of mercy—

Mercy she didn't possess. Staring up at her orange optics, dancing with the devil inside them, Optimus felt the impossibility of the situation shatter what was left of his hope of her.

"Only then will I tear your spark out with my bare hands and crush it in my grip!"

Slicing through more cables in his shoulders, Optimus felt his body shriek in protest, pleading words caught in his throat. She had to stop this! She had to stop! A growl rose up through his chest, filled with pain and resistance, but Nightstalker merely scowled, dissatisfied.

"If only you could SCREAM," she hissed, forcibly restraining from tearing apart his other audio receptor—he knew why. She wanted him to hear her gloating and her taunting as she tortured him to a slow death. "What would you say, I wonder?" Nightstalker toyed with him more, and he saw movement from the corner of his optic. The sound of dangerous, humming electricity filled his ears, and Optimus felt cold fear grip him fast.

THIS was the true Nightstalker. Why had he believed differently? Why couldn't he have seen it! Drowning in resentfulness, Optimus pulled and jerked and writhed against the invisible force holding him, but he couldn't get free no matter what he did.

"Would you beg for my mercy?"

A hideous leer warped her face beyond what he knew. He saw her electrically charged whip fall, and then, fire raced up his back while the thousands of charged volts unleashed themselves through his system. Optimus screamed in protest, truly fearful of her as he couldn't move himself from his crucified position, arms spread wide for the easy kill.

Nightstalker, no! Please, don't do it! PLEASE!

She continued without pause though, optics dilating extremely tight in fury as she worked her haunted past to her benefit. "Plead forgiveness?" The whip slammed down harder, and another helpless shriek echoed from Optimus's body as he was brought low by someone half his size, and yet so deadly. "Would you want me to stop, or just put you out of your MISERY!" She slashed the electrical whip down with all her might, and Optimus screamed freely again, trying to arch away from the pain that exploded across his back, but he couldn't move! The infuriating thought that he couldn't move even though nothing held him frustrated him to no end as he trembled beneath Nightstalker, optics bright with fear and pain.

"A pity I can't make you beg like Fli-Ni did," she hissed, digging her fingers into his helm. A heavy groan emitted from his chest, straining against the petrification. His thoughts mimicked his weakened body, pleading and pleading for her to stop, but she couldn't hear him.

"Help me, Optimus," she mocked cruelly, "help me. Help me, PLEASE." She slashed roughly across his face, making a cry catch inside him.

His spark howled. I DO want to help you!

"You just turned and ran like a pit-spawned coward! You let that bloody Decepticon waltz right in and kill him! My BROTHER!

I'M SORRY! Optimus felt himself yell at her, but nothing. His mouth was fused, and he couldn't speak no matter what he tried! I'm sorry, Nightstalker! Please, forgive me!

Her blazing orange optics narrowed, as if sensing his unspoken words, and she hissed, "It's too late for forgiveness. You'll die by my hand, Optimus Prime, and you will pay for your sins!"

Nightstalker's lava-dripping fingers clawed into his other audio receptor, and Optimus felt himself scream in utter agony, gears shrieking from within as he tried to move away. Held fast to his cross of Immobilization, Optimus felt his optics dilate tight, staring at the sky above.

Nightstalker? He couldn't see her. Where had—

Panic exploded in his system when he felt her fingers probing at the metal plating that covered his interfacing system. No—NO! This wasn't how it happened! She realized her folly! She didn't—

"Open up," she cajoled up to him. "You wouldn't like it if I opened these up."

He was still Immobilized! Terrified at what would happen next, Optimus thrashed against the invisible force that held him, but he couldn't budge one inch. His spark froze when Nightstalker spoke again.

"Oh well. Don't say I didn't warn you."

There was a beat where he heard it—metal on metal—and then, AGONY.

He screamed, loud and clear, howling in desperation as he felt a sharp blade hack through the paneling, tearing it up and out of the way as she forced her way to his spike that fell free. Primus, help me, please! The exposure made a wall of drenching shame crash over him.

"Nightstalker, don't do this, please!"

She scoffed. "Or what?" She chuckled, and he stiffened, trying vainly to tear himself away from her when her hands closed over his spike. "Afraid not, you wretch. I'm going to frag you so hard you're going to wish you had DIED a virgin!"

*scene truncated*

This was NOT how it happened! This had to be some sick dream of his deepest fears coming to fruition, and he would NOT take it lying down—

LYING DOWN.

He was in recharge! Even as he felt Nightstalker begin the rape earnestly, his focus to escape this nightmare was shattered at the betraying PLEASURE that swamped over him. A deep, grating moan fell from his lips as he felt himself tremble at the sheer pleasure she evoked. Optimus bared his teeth, growling dangerously again as he tried desperately to block out the rising, primal lust that began to build within him. He would not become slave to such primitive feelings!

Struggling to move, to sit up from his prone position, Optimus ignored whatever taunts Nightstalker was throwing cheerfully up to him. As he drove against this unseen force that held him down, he realized that it WASN'T as solid as he was thinking—the weight just pressed down so heavily he couldn't begin to move it. His spark was hammering in his chest with arousal as coolant rushed through his systems, but Optimus forced himself to focus. Straining against the impenetrable weight of this dream, Optimus felt it bending, weakening against his will—

*scene truncated*

He jerked his head back, arching painfully with pleasure, hands clenching so tightly on his berth he felt it splintering beneath his strength—

His berth!

Again he had something anchoring him to reality, but Nightstalker was trying her hardest to distract him. *scene truncated* Optimus gave a primitive growl, teeth baring in sweet, dangerous ecstasy that made him instinctively try to buck his hips into her—but that invisible force held him back, causing his optics to blaze neon white with the urgency for overload.

No! Optimus tried to shake his head, Immobilized still, sheer determination taking over. This was NOT how it happened! Another rocking wave of pleasure shot up through him, and the want, the lust nearly crippled him, but he shook his head, gritting his dentures. By Primus, he would not allow it to happen!

A tiny moan brought his optics to rest on Nightstalker who continued to rape him, but her optics were closed now, complete and devastating bliss etched across her features, but a shadow of longing still marred her features by a pinch of her brow.

She whimpered. "Megatron . . ."

MEGATRON? Uncaring at this point and desperate to get out, Optimus roared with determination, pushing, straining, and clawing his way out of the Immobilization that petrified him. This was NOT how it happened! This did NOT happen! This did NOT happen! THIS WAS NOT HOW IT PLAYED OUT!

Optimus jerked to a sitting position, awake and gasping in horror at the disgusting nightmare. Hot and shaky, Optimus got out of his berth almost frantically, collapsing on hands and knees as he gasped in cycles of air to help clear his system. Trembling on the ground, he squeezed his optics shut in revolution of the dream.

It was disgusting. Worse still, he wasn't sure if it would have worked out the way it had, or if Nightstalker would have done much worse. The betraying feeling of arousal still gripped him even while he was awake, and Optimus growled dangerously, slamming his fists into the floor.

No! That primitive feeling was not acceptable of a disciple of Primus! His fists tightened and his jaw clenched as he struggled to calm down. It was just a nightmare. Just a mere dream, a figment of his imagination conjured up in a moment of weakness—

But why, oh why had it felt so real?

Optimus shivered again, but he began to take careful and deep breaths to control his fear and lust, the twisted dream haunting him as what could have been. He felt his spike pulsing beneath his interfacing panel with the desperate need to overload, and he held perfectly still, controlling that urge to finish himself with every ounce of restraint he possessed.

But by PRIMUS it had felt so good . . .

Optimus thrashed his head clear of his lusty thoughts, trying to forget—Optimus growled again, slamming his fists to the ground when his thoughts betrayed him, bringing him back to a selfish and bodily wish that he had simply LET her ride him to overload . . .

No. He shook his head again, taking meticulous deep breaths to clear his hazy processor of these thoughts. It was WRONG. So wrong, sickeningly so. Still, the doubts whispered in his mind as the heat slowly began to leave him.

Optimus gritted his teeth, squeezing his optics shut tightly. Dear Primus, HOW could it have felt good? It was rape! It was violation in its lowest form, and he, a Prime, had taken pleasure in that? Optimus shuddered in shame, struggling a losing war with himself.

A speck of his old self, Orion, struggled to rise with the simple thoughts of the weak. Lust was normal, and he shouldn't fear it—but the Prime side argued with that side he hadn't relived for millennia, cursing its weakness. Lust was a corrupt feeling, and he had been wiped free of all corrupt feelings when he had been turned into a Prime . . .

Right?

As the dull grips of lust began to ebb away, Orion taunted him with the fact that he was still only a mech, and he was subject to ALL the makings that came with being one—including the base desire for a good frag. His Prime side reacted violently—be it so that he was still mortal, he didn't have to resort to something so degrading! He was better than that, and his will wouldn't allow him to give in to such corrupt desires.

Corrupt? Orion laughed in his mind, somehow seeming to reason with him even as he beckoned him into oblivion. Lust was normal—everyone experienced it. If lust was so corrupt, did that mean every other mech and femme out there was corrupt?

A pained whine caught in the back of Optimus's throat as he struggled with himself. Perhaps they were all corrupt. The Matrix had refused them all, but stopped with him, Orion, the one it had deemed worthy—uncorrupt. Pure.

Orion laughed back at the Prime inside. No. That was just his insufferable pride speaking. How low for a Prime to fall for his arrogance to be all that can protect himself from the disgusting truth! The Matrix had chosen ORION PAX to become a Prime, and Orion Pax was a mere mech as low as the rest of them, and just as easily corrupted with overpowering lust. Just because the Matrix had chosen him for great things did not mean he was not just as earthly as the rest of the mechs and femmes. You, too, are corrupt!

The Matrix is merely a vessel, and when bestowed upon someone, all its knowledge and power came with it. Anyone can be shaped into a Prime. Orion's bitter hiss was drowned out as the Prime inside struggled to raise his head.

What was needed was a mech that was willing for self-sacrifice. The Matrix had to choose someone who was willing to endure being stripped of every ounce of personal freedom that shaped a leader. He was that mech—the Matrix had chosen him for that reason alone!

Orion Pax is your humanity, Prime. Without him, you would have become an unfeeling robot millennia ago. Transformed into a leader and swept of all thoughts of his former self.

Optimus gritted his dentures, feeling a part of himself falling apart as he struggled his inner fight. Had he truly lost himself? Lost who he was . . . in the duty of leadership?

Orion continued to mock him. When was the last time you truly laughed, Prime? What do your friends really know of your personality, Prime? You're something beyond them, not even worth the trivialities of everyday friendship. Go talk to Bumblebee! Just a friendly chat! See the confusion on his face when he realizes you're just trying to make small talk, Prime! Are you really just a glorified object in their eyes, a legendary hero, when really you wallow in self-pity in a wretched state that wasn't even sure of his own identity, Prime!

And what of that vile question, Prime? "Is something wrong?" Oh, a simple question, innocent on all levels by Bumblebee, curious by Cliffjumper and Bulkhead, deathly accurate by Arcee and Ratchet. And what is that lie you always spew out? Come on, tell me, you wretch! What do you always answer?

"It's nothing."

IT'S EVERYTHING!

The words cut as easily as Nightstalker's claws had cut through his body. Trembling, Optimus bent over himself in the floor, hands clutching his helm as he inwardly howled for help.

It's breaking me . . .

The Prime lashed back at Orion with anger. Orion Pax had DIED when the Matrix bestowed its great power to him! In his place, a stronger, smarter, more worthy mech had been replaced, the great Optimus PRIME! Orion was no more! A shadowy figment of the past! His weak miasma could control him no longer. His selfish desires had died to make room for the perfect leader of today—

If you are so perfect, why have your perfect ways not ended this war millennia ago? A dark laugh mocked him, and Optimus felt his spark shiver—that voice was his own. Your "perfect" ways must not work, oh WORTHY Prime!

A scornful laugh interrupted his raging Prime. Oh, but Orion could certainly haunt him, couldn't he? A constant and painful reminder of the innocence he had left behind for something greater. The Prime couldn't be like the others—he couldn't afford deep attachments to others for fear it would impend with his leadership. He couldn't spark bond with any femme, no matter how deep he loved her because his leadership would stand in the way. He could never have a sparkling to call his own to carry on his heritage—he would live alone, and he would die alone!

I'm falling apart . . .

This time, wiped of his fury and left empty and naked, the Prime could only answer that it was his duty. He owed it to everyone as the disciple chosen by Primus. He had a role to fulfill—someone had to be there to protect the weak. Someone had to be there to lead against the tyranny of the Decepticons. Someone had to bear this burden, and it was not one he would want to shove onto any other. For, if he did, they would suffer as much as he did.

Orion retreated, but not without a last parting word.

You would give up so much for others when they take you for granted . . . and in the process, lose your own soul?

Optimus shuddered, unaware that he had been leaking optic lubricant until he finally managed to prop himself up on his hands again. The little puddles mocked his weakness, and Optimus shook his head, trying to clear it of the dark haze that had clouded him.

It was just repercussions of the torture he had endured, and his fear taking reign without a leash. This would pass—and he couldn't let the others see him this low. His spark writhed as he remembered the sight of their horrified faces when he had been unable to muffle his sounds of pain when freed from the Immobilizer's grip. Those worried, unsure faces plagued him—when he was shaken, they were all shaken. They relied on him, and he pushed Orion further away, vowing to himself that he couldn't break again. He had to be strong for them.

But, he couldn't shake the thought that both Orion and Prime were a part of him . . . and he, Optimus would have to choose.

Shaking his head of these grim thoughts, Optimus retreated away from his desolate musings only to slam into the hateful wall of his recent predicament. Nightstalker—she had tortured him, had scarred him with things he would never forget—

Another pained whine filled his recharge room. Could he never escape this misery?

He groaned to himself, but took only minor comfort in the fact that Nightstalker had stopped short of what his nightmare had so vividly illustrated to him. That wasn't how it happened. None of that had truly happened, it was all in his mind. Nightstalker realized her error, and she had—

Optimus felt himself tremble, but this time, it wasn't out of fear or lust. The sight of the slow revelation in her optics had been so painful . . . He squeezed his optics shut, unconsciously empathizing with her pain, the shadows over her spark. Sitting up, Optimus pressed a hand to his helm.

By Primus, the way she had WEPT over his ped! It humbled him to the point of guilt that she could be brought to that point. His emotions raged angrily in his chest. He still found himself scared of her—how could he manage to even look at her straight anymore, much less after this wretched dream! Could he ever truly forgive her for what she had done? Surely his compassion extended that far!

Standing shakily, Optimus looked down on his berth. His fingers had left deep groove marks on the bed, evidence of the sick dream he had before. Sinking heavily on the edge of his berth, Optimus rested his elbows on his knees and leaned his face into his hands.

He had to forgive her. No matter how much it hurt himself. It was his duty as a Prime to reach out to the fallen, the hurt, the weak, the haunted . . . and Nightstalker was a prime example of where his compassion should extend to. Orion cried out in agony again, but Optimus once again put others above himself.

He was not worth it. Her tears and horrified, guilt-ridden optics plagued him until he freely moaned for her pain. He had to do this for Nightstalker. She needed it more than Optimus needed relief for his own selfish weakness.

He had to be stronger than himself . . .

Optimus took a shuddering breath. And what of her brother, Fli-Ni? He had wrestled with the guilt of leaving him for years after he had left Kaon, and it had actually been Ratchet to finally wrestle him free of his own blame. He felt himself sinking into doubt again, and Optimus pressed his lips together. No. He couldn't fall back into the ceaseless ring of hating himself, trying to find reasons why he wasn't guilty, relief, and then burning guilt again. Nightstalker herself had realized it—it was the Decepticon who placed the bomb, and it was the Decepticon who had killed her brother.

Optimus's spark tightened in remembrance of the Decepticon. Once Nightstalker realized, she would want revenge on that Decepticon. Optimus knew who he was, but . . . he couldn't tell her. He wouldn't. She couldn't become obsessed over the past—

Decepticon. Optimus's mind slowed, and though a part of him cringed at the thought of even THINKING back on that dream, he did, the very end.

Megatron? Why would she have been calling Megatron's name when she had known she was on Optimus? The great Prime struggled, wondering at the flaw in the dream, but soon chose he couldn't trust it. Everything after the point where she spoke of him letting the Decepticon kill her brother was false. It was just his mind playing cruel tricks on him, and he couldn't give in again.

Keep pretending, Optimus Prime. You will surely devour yourself one day . . .