Cybertronian time measurements according to 'The AllSpark Almanac':
nanoklik ~ a second
cycle ~ 1,5 minutes
megacycle ~ 2,6 hours
solar cycle ~ a day
orbital cycle ~ a month
stellar cycle ~ a year
Blurr onlined with a startle. Primus, he had been experiencing the most dreadful nightmare… No; it wasn't just a nightmare. It happened.
It happened…? Did it really happen?
He tried to roll onto his side, but the stinging agony between his legs reminded him of his predicament in an instant. Actually, his entire frame hurt - joints and backstrut burned from being manhandled far beyond his limits. His gaze dropped, optics widening at the sight. His plating covered in dents, his paint job chipping off and scratched all over, or dotted with paint transfers. His intimacy screamed in agony, scraped raw, still mildly leaking from the wounds.
Yet nothing hurt him more than his spark - broken and aching. His entire being humiliated to the core. Primus, this had been what a nightmare felt like. It was worse than any nightmare he could remember.
Self-disgust curled low in his tank. Defiled by a Decepticon, disgraced by one of those... monsters. A fate worse than death. Some guardsman he was; he couldn't protect himself, let alone others. Not only was he the last surviving member of the Elite Guard, but a miserable, filthy disgrace to its name.
Wincing, he lifted himself with caution, his gaze sweeping around.
Interface fluids, Energon from the wounds, stained the bedding shamelessly. His spark sank into its chamber.
Bumblebee and Prowl lied over there exactly as they had been thrown, discarded like dolls after playtime was over. The sickening wetness seeping from him reminded him he himself had been such a toy.
Defeated and broken, he collapsed back onto his backplates.
After some time of shallow recharge, constantly waking up with a racing spark and falling back into recharging, he forced himself to just stay awake. He sat up and glanced at his companions. Then he looked at them again, this time more closely. Primus, their frames were an unsettling image. The more he peered at them, the sicker he grew. He turned his helm away.
Even their inner mechanisms hummed eerily silently.
Wait.
They weren't recharging.
They were in a stasis lock.
A wave of panic rolled over him, acute, debilitating. Without medical attention, these two would not regain consciousness. And since their internal mechanisms were offline, the mechanisms processing and transporting Energon from the tank to the circuits weren't working either. Even if he poured fuel into their mouths, it wouldn't do anything.
Without help, they were doomed to die.
And he would be left here, alone. Perhaps all the way to his own demise. Panic seized his intake and his optics went hot with tears.
So, his sick luck was his rapist wasn't as brutal as the two other cons. Swiftsteel wasn't gentle by any means, but at least he hadn't inflicted enough damage on him to cause him to enter a stasis lock; so much for his good fortune.
The dreaded sound of the main door being unlocked broke into his frantic thoughts. His engine stalled.
Please... not again...
He could barely move, let alone hide! Coolant welled up in his optics against his will. Energon pounded madly in his audials, making it almost impossible to listen to the approaching pedefalls.
And then, here he was.
A single red optic fixed him with an icy stare. "You are a laughable sight," Shockwave said, casual as anything.
He lurched on the berth, his spark clenching. "W-why?"
"Oh, this? Believe it or not, it wasn't personal. Well, maybe it was a little personal." The Decepticon paused, studying him. "I haven't watched the footage yet, but judging by your state, it'll be very convincing."
What footage?
Blurr couldn't come up with any explanation for his words. For the love of Primus, what footage? Maybe Shockwave wanted to toy with him a little, saying what he said.
Not dwelling on his attempt to confuse him any longer, he raised his optics to the large mech. "We worked together for so long. We knew each other for so long. How could you not grow fond of the Autobots after all this time? L-longarm, please."
Shockwave took a moment before responding. "How can you be so convinced the Autobots are good after working for the Elite Guard for so long?"
He gasped and frowned. "How dare you-"
"I certainly do! You deserve a lifetime of this for what the Autobots did to my kind. But, there are other uses for you. All of you. The Decepticons need every servo for labour, you know. So much needs to be built or re-built..."
His helm was shaking of its own accord. What sort of... nonsense was this? What was Shockwave talking about?
Perhaps his processor started glitching. From the damage, from the pain, from the madness of it all. It was the only explanation.
Shockwave leaned in, drawing level with him. His frightful faceplate was inches from his optics.
"Speechless, I see." Shockwave stared at him unblinking, a glint of cruelty in his red optic. "But I hope you'll find your voice because I'm curious who got their time with you? Was it their leader? Hmm, Grindwar, or what was his name? Or-"
Anger shot through him like electricity, and the next thing he knew, he was spitting at the faceless mug.
The Decepticon froze, oral lubricant trailing down his faceplate. He didn't flinch when a deafening growl from the con's powerful engine pierced the air.
"Look at them," Shockwave snarled, grasping his helm and forcing him to look at Bumblebee and Prowl. "Used and broken, because your best failed to save their own people. But you know that, don't you? The Elite Guard is dead, your friends are dead. The Autobots have lost. Your life is gone."
Twin blades of grief and guilt stabbed his spark. A single tear streamed down his faceplate.
Shockwave continued in the same voice, "But this wasn't some crude display of brutality, just for the sake of it. Autobot weapons of mass destruction are the only thing more required than free construction workers."
The abrupt shift in the subject had him blinking. What was Shockwave on about now?
Shockwave must have noticed his confusion. "Don't look so clueless, agent. Have you forgotten already about the Omega Sentinels?"
He swallowed around the hard lump in his intake. "O-omega Sentinels? Why-"
"We apprehended one of them. Omega Supreme, to be precise. He is in a stasis lock... and the only physician capable of bringing him back online keeps refusing to do so. Despite our best efforts! And Vortex can be quite persuasive..."
If Omega Sentinels were to fall into the Decepticons' servos... It would set any chance of an Autobot rebirth in the future up for failure. His spark ached at the thought.
He was still trying to decipher Shockwave's words when the con continued, "Do you think Ratchet will change his processor after watching two of his friends used as inanimate fragtoys?"
Ratchet?
His optics widened, Energon going cold in his circuitry, as everything clicked into place...
...put them all around the room. We have to capture every detail.
Not only had they been raped, but their suffering would be used as a bargaining chip. If he had thought before he couldn't feel any worse...
They were merely pawns in plans within other plans. Characters somewhere in the background of a distant, uncaring plot, completely disregarding them.
Cogs in the machine.
Primus...
Was that Shockwave's intention from the start, as soon as he brought the three of them into this blasted apartment, or did he come up with this sick idea somewhere along the way?
He hadn't even noticed when the con let go of his helm.
"No..." he muttered, coolant pooling in his optics.
Shockwave chuckled. "Quite the contrary! You have no idea how long I waited for that moment. To see you broken as you are, a dream come true."
"You're sick," he blurted out, flashing him a disgusted look, ignoring the undignifying coolant trickling down his faceplate.
He could swear the con's faceless expression had become cold.
"You know, I'm free to do whatever I want with you. I could even kill you now. But, no... You will live. But not as an Autobot, not as a guardsman, not as an Intelligence officer, not even as a free mech. Not anymore. You're nobody now. You will wander through this universe knowing how close you came to revealing me but still failed. You'll help build the Decepticon world, fully aware you are building it atop Autobot frames." The con lowered his voice. "There'll never be anything special about you. You're worthless."
Whatever fight he had left in him had now vanished as he slumped on the berth, a broken bot.
Shockwave hadn't been tormenting him any longer with his venomous words. He'd mentioned something about a doctor coming up to fix them before their upcoming journey, and just like that, he left.
So he waited on the berth, like a damaged toy in need of repair before the next game. With a shudder going through his frame, he remembered the look of bitter hatred and contempt in the red optic. He had no idea Longarm despised him with such ferocity.
No, not Longarm. There was never Longarm.
Primus, his frame hurt him to the last bolt, but Shockwave's words... He couldn't stop hearing them again and over. Coolant leaked out of his optics. Soon, he was screaming and bawling his spark out, taking the liberty of his companions not being able to witness him at his lowest.
He swept his teary gaze over them, leading him to wail even harder. How could so much go wrong in such a short amount of time? First, Shockwave humiliated them with his useless drug, apparently just for the hell of it; then, he exploited them to accomplish his goal; and now, when he was done, he simply discarded them. Got rid of them by sending them to some work camp where they would be further utilized favourably. His spark clenched powerlessly.
He squeezed his optics shut, trying not to think how his entire past had crumbled like a house of cards in the wind, and the future... There was no future in front of him.
Blurr hadn't even pried his helm off the berth when the sound of the door unlocking rang out. He listened to the heavy pedefalls as they got louder and louder, his will eroded. He could only pray to Primus for them to belong to the doctor.
The visitor finally arrived at the berthroom, and then the pedefalls stopped abruptly.
In any case, their hesitation lasted for a sparkbeat, and the next thing he knew, the guest was standing by the berth. He scowled at the Decepticon insignia adorning the stranger's chestplates. He didn't look at the rest of the frame until a feminine voice filled the air.
"What's your name?"
She was roughly the same size as Jazz and mostly painted in a dark green colour. He didn't say a word, only glowered at her, trying not to think how undignified he must be looking.
She gave him a pained look. "That's okay," she spoke, unsubspacing medical equipment. "My name is Micelle. I'm a doctor." She took a scanner from her inventory. "I'm going to scan you and your friends' frames so I can assess your situation. Is that okay with you?"
Like it wouldn't take one glance to assess our situation. He nodded, at last, keeping a watchful optic on her servo.
"Look aside for a bit," she said, motioning to the scanner. "Are you ready?"
He nodded again, and nanokliks later, a wall of light flashed in his optics, blinding him for a moment. Blinking his optics, he watched Micelle repeat the process with Bumblebee and Prowl.
When she was done, she read the results on the device, titling her helm and biting her lipplates.
That's what your fellow Decepticons are capable of. Don't act so surprised!
The doctor took something from her medical equipment before returning her attention to him. "See, this is a pain dampener. You'll be put into a medical stasis lock anyway, but it will at least dull your pain until then."
A medical stasis lock? So he wouldn't even know what would be done to him?
"I won't," he mumbled, clenching his fists.
The doctor's optics grew wide and then wider as she balked at him. "You won't... what?" she asked, at last, moving closer with the pain dampener in one servo. "You mean the medical stasis lock?"
His optics narrowed.
"Oh! But you need to be put into one! While I'm here, I can only conduct basic repairs, but they would still be painful if you were aware and conscious! And I have to perform them before taking you to the medical facility."
He growled his engine. "You expect me to believe, after being raped by your colleagues, that you care about my comfort!?"
Her faceplate dropped. "I would never be acquainted with someone who could... do such a thing."
He glowered at her, seething.
"Just... let me help you," she said, barely above a whisper. Her optics were filling with coolant as she reached for his wrist.
He sent her a scathing look, but let her take his servo. "You have no right to feel sorry for me. You are a Decepticon."
Silence stretched between them. Being focused on staring daggers at her, he only snapped back to reality when a stinging pain punctured his wrist plating.
With a hiss, he yanked his servo from her hold. As he rubbed the aching spot, a rush of embarrassment washed over him. What was the pain of the jab of the needle to the agony his frame was going through?
Micelle began working on his companions. Bumblebee and Prowl each had an Energon drip hooked up. A stand with two bags full of blue, life-giving liquid stood right next to the berth.
She looked at him. "They'll be fine as long as they're on a drip. They're not actively losing Energon... I'm putting them into a medical stasis, so they won't online; there's no need for them to online for the time being. How is your pain dampener working?"
Blurr actually... didn't know. He took a moment to sense any changes in his frame and... Oh, sure enough, the pain dampener was working admirably... His frame felt weird, like it was not his own, without pain plaguing it... Or was that how it was supposed to feel? He hardly knew anymore. Yet, the anguish in his spark remained as it was. Constant and never-ending.
"It's working..." he murmured, for lack of better words, his servo landing over his spark of its own accord.
With a practiced servo, Micelle injected something into the drip bags. "Good. How are you feeling?" she asked, spraying some foamy liquid on Bumblebee's plating before wiping it with a cloth.
He did not react at first. A strange, foggy sensation encompassed his entire frame, enveloping him in a cosy warmth. But then came the realization he didn't want this to happen. The sensation intensified like his spark was trying to escape from his frame.
He burst into tears again before he could stop himself. "Why did this happen... Why me? I d-didn't-"
Micelle stopped her work to look at him. Coolant pooled in her optics. "I just want you to know that... whatever happened here... It wasn't your fault. You d-didn't deserve it, and neither did your colleagues."
He watched her unsubspacing a blanket, and the next thing he knew, he was bundled up in it. She wiped his faceplate with a clean cloth, too.
Silence stretched on as she got back to work. The scent of the cleanser teased his olfactory sensor. As the urge to speak took hold of him, he lurched on the berth, prompting Micelle to whip her helm toward him.
He needed to say everything that had been troubling him out loud. To let words tumble out in an unstoppable flow. His optics welled up with fresh coolant.
The doctor moved closer and took his servo in hers. Surprised, he looked up at her, locking his optics with the red ones.
"Let it out. Just... let it all out," she whispered.
So he did, hot tears pouring down his faceplate. "W-why did this have to happen to me!?" His voice was trembling, raspy. "Am I to suffer? How could he do this?! Why does he hate me so much? I've never done anything to him!" An uncontrollable sob racked through his frame. "Primus, I will never be whole again..."
She drew him in closer. He closed his optics, not wanting to see his abused companions.
"Nobody is meant to suffer... And now… I have to put you into a medical stasis lock," she said almost apologetically.
He nodded in agreement, despite his previous reservations. He wouldn't feel his aching spark if he were unconscious, would he?
Micelle carefully placed him on his backplates before preparing her equipment. Another Energon bag was hung on the stand.
"Did they tell you where you're being sent?" she asked, injecting his bag with the medical stasis lock-inducing solution.
He shook his helm.
The doctor took the catheter into her digits. "Have you ever been to Velocitron?"
Oh, there were a few cloak-and-dagger operations on Velocitron during the Asphalt War. His spark swelled at the memories. "Yes, I have," he replied, watching her get closer.
Micelle took his forearm from under the blanket and studied it for a moment. Determination bloomed on her faceplate as her servo with the catheter moved.
His optics opened wide. "Wait!" he cried, yanking his arm. "Where am I being taken? How long will it take? Who will be there when I wake up? Will those two be with me?" His gaze slid over her faceplate, his spark throbbing wildly in his chamber. His thoughts ran wild, each one trying to outdo the last.
"Easy, easy there! You and your colleagues will wake up in an infirmary at a work camp on Velocitron."
Unbidden, Shockwave's words came back to him. He would be building a Decepticon world... like a slave. His confusion morphed into unadulterated fury within nanokliks. The roar of the engine filled the room as he shoved the doctor away, kicking his legs at her.
"Calm down!" Micelle begged. "You're only making your injuries worse!"
He revved up, sure enough, feeling his wounds opening up and leaking. "I don't care! Leave me alone!"
"Primus, you're giving me no choice," she said, before pinning him to the berth.
He fought back, growling like a mech possessed, but the doctor was stronger. "Get off me! GET OFF ME!"
Her hold remained unyielding. "I beg of you, calm down! It-it's the pain dampener! You're not thinking straight!"
His optics stopped on her red ones. How could he be so naïve to let his guard down around that... monster? They were all the same! Killers, rapists, beasts, hell-bent on seeing all Autobots suffer under their collective pedes!
"Leave me, Decepticon! Get the frag away from me! I won't be your slave! LEAVE ME! LEAVE ME ALONE!" he yelled, thrashing around, ignoring the agony blooming anew between his legs.
Micelle let out a tired sigh. "I'm sorry..."
Before her words could fully sink in, a stinging sensation flared in his wrist. She hooked him up to the drip! Screaming, he tried to pull the dreaded thing out of him, but the doctor made sure he couldn't succeed.
"You- you... monster!" he gasped out, giving up. "How could you do this?! You disgust me!"
"I- I'm sorry."
His vision swam, minor systems shutting down one by one. Everything was already growing distant.
Perhaps it had all been for nothing. His entire life, dedicating everything to the Autobot cause, had it all been for nothing? And with that thought echoing in his processor, the darkness claimed him.
Sure enough, Blurr woke up exactly where Micelle had told him he would. The sterile air of an infirmary, no doubt, teased his olfactory sensors. A cold, bright light blinded him as soon as he onlined his optics. He had no idea how much time had passed, but then again, time had recently become an abstract concept for him.
He tried to sit down and failed, medical restraints chaining him down. Despite everything, he felt sluggish and suspiciously calm. More drugs?
With two privacy screens separating his berth from the rest of the room, he couldn't even see if Bumblebee and Prowl were here with him.
At the very least, the area between his legs and the insides of his intimacy were no longer a source of agony. But the stabbing pain in his spark remained as it was, never getting out of his sight. And it never will...
A coolant trail ran down his faceplate. He couldn't even wipe it off.
A deafening shriek broke the silence, sending panic through his frame. His spark sped up within nanokliks, Energon pounding in his audials. What was that?!
More screams rang out in the room, and as if on cue, a familiar feminine voice said, "Easy, easy there... Ventilate..."
It was... that Decepticon doctor, Micelle. What brought her here? He couldn't recollect anything that happened right before his stasis lock.
Another wail. It was Bumblebee's voice, somewhere to his left.
"Shh, easy, easy there, you're safe," Micelle said.
As if! Nothing about those monsters was either safe or promising safety.
Sounds of thrashing and whimpering filled the air. He began trembling despite himself. What were they doing to Bumblebee?
"Take a deep portion of air. You're overheating. Ventilate..."
Bumblebee squealed.
"It will help you calm down a bit."
Bumblebee let out a few more sounds before silence reigned again. Well, at least he knew Bumblebee was indeed here with him. Prowl must be here too then. Was he online already?
Then he saw Micelle's tall, green frame right in front of his berth. "Welcome to my humble medical abode," she greeted him with a scanner in one servo. "Well, not just mine; I'm not the only doctor here. Anyway, how are you?"
His gaze stopped at her Decepticon sign, prompting Energon in his circuitry to boil. "Why am I tied up like a wild creature?" he ground out.
"Oh, I wasn't suggesting anything! It's only for your safety. Well, and mine."
"Untie me at once!"
Micelle frowned. "Hmm, I mean, there are no medical contradictions; your wounds are repaired... But-"
"But?!"
"You're not exactly... stable. And all the medication you've been taking hasn't worn off yet. And the guards around here aren't as forgiving as I am. What if I untie you and you escape and attack one of them? You will end up hurt, and I'll have to repair you again."
An indignant huff left his mouth. "Not stable? Are you trying to insult me?!"
Micelle raised her servos in a placatory gesture. "No! Blurr, I only-"
His optics went wide. "How do you know my name?!"
The doctor cast him a sheepish look. "It was in your files... Everyone has a name, you know."
Files? What files?! "Untie me! Untie me!" he yelled, thrashing in his bounds. "UNTIE ME!"
Micelle recoiled with a gasp. "Please calm down! I know you're unhappy with the situation, I know it sucks! But-"
"You don't know anything! UNTIE ME!"
"Please, Blurr! You'll startle your friends!"
"Don't you dare use my name! You-you Decepticon!"
"Primus, you're giving me no choice..." she said, almost apologetic, as she unsubspaced some injector. Another drug?!
"Get that thing away from me! Stop fragging drugging me!" he screamed, as tears of helpless anger pooled in his optics.
The doctor took a step closer.
He shook his helm vehemently. "No, no, no, no, no!"
"It's just a sedative. It will only calm you down. You will feel better, I promise!"
The last thing he wanted was to be drugged again. He needed a clear processor and the ability to focus! "Please, I don't want it…" He let out a pitiful squeak, not caring about how undignified it sounded as he pressed himself into the berth.
Micelle sighed. "Oh, okay. Why don't I get it out of your sight, then?" she said as she subspaced the drug. "I almost forgot..."
As she scanned him, a flare of light blinded him for a moment. He blinked to clear his vision. He hated this blasted device already.
"Everything normal... Well, except for that stress level... Listen, Blurr, how about I go check on your two-wheeled friend, and then I untie your servos?"
Just servos?
He cast her a pleading look. "Can't you now? I won't go anywhere..."
"I... would rather not. Well?"
"Eh, alright," he mumbled at last. He hadn't expected much else from her, after all.
Micelle came back, and Blurr could see coolant in her optics. Wasn't she already used to seeing the hurt and mistreated patients? Not to mention, why did she pretend to care about Autobot patients? It was a game on her behalf, alright. She wanted to earn his trust, no doubt.
Finally, Micelle removed the restraints from his wrists. He sat with caution as if a sudden move could bring him pain. His gaze stopped on his legs. The paint job there seemed spotless – no dents or dreaded paint transfers. With a leaping spark, he scrutinized his arms. Primus, his finish was impeccable. He couldn't help but rove over his frame, feeling nothing but smoothness under his digits.
But then he froze, his faceplate dropping, arms falling to his sides. His exterior was good as new, and all his internal wounds had healed, but his spark – it would never be whole again. He would stay sparkbroken forever; his rapist saw to that. Shockwave and all the Decepticons saw to that.
He dipped his helm. His engine stalled. A loud bellow escaped from his mouth. Where was his Elite Autobot insignia?!
"No! NO! No, no, no..." His optics welled with coolant as he clawed at his chestplates.
"What's wrong?!" Micelle asked, running over to him.
"My insignia! Where is it?! You-you removed it!" he growled out, pointing an accusatory digit at her.
"I'm a doctor here, not a painter," she joked, only to receive a furious glare from him.
His engine growled. "How could anyone do such a thing? You, you allowed this to happen!"
Micelle rolled her optics. Blurr clenched his jaws, sending her a scathing look.
"Oh, Vector Sigma... Blurr. Do you really believe you'd be walking around the Decepticon world with that insignia of yours? Besides, it's just some stupid brand! Just like mine! What does it matter? It makes no difference in your life."
Her oblivious, ignorant words had him cringing. He clutched his helm. "Some stupid brand? Are you crazy? It was my life!"
How was he supposed to look in the mirror without his spark breaking? How was he supposed to look at his now empty chestplates without his spark falling apart into a million pieces? Was there anything that the Decepticons wouldn't take away from him? Wasn't taking his people, his freedom, and his dignity enough? Would they just take, take, take until there was nothing left of him?
"Your life is your life, not some insignia! And – I don't want this to sound cynical or cold, but – you should be grateful that you're alive. It's only merciful that you live while others with your special insignia do not."
She said that as if it were a good thing - as if he had received the better end of the bargain... "You think it's merciful? Primus," he scoffed, scorching tears in his optics.
Micelle sat on the edge of the berth and smoothed his arm. He startled at the touch.
"I know you're sad. Just know that… you did nothing wrong…"
His gaze dropped, and he just let himself be comforted, too tired to fight the doctor.
A few moments later, a loud slam of the door rang out. The doctor ceased all her movement.
"Micelle?" a deep baritone said.
With one last look at him, she stood and walked away to face the newcomer. He couldn't see any of them, his vision blocked by the privacy screen. So he listened.
"Yes, sir?" He heard Micelle asking politely.
Instead of a response from the mech, loud steps broke the air. Then, Blurr saw him. A large, Shockwave-sized, black and dark purple Decepticon passed by his berth. He tried to scoot away, his frame moving on its own, but the restraints on his pedes stopped him.
That was enough to draw the con's attention, piercing red optics zeroing in on him instantly.
Blurr couldn't exactly call his expression friendly.
"How long until they can be relocated?" the con asked, boring into him. He flinched, despite himself.
Micelle was at the enormous con's side in short order. She looked at him almost apologetically. "I have to run some additional tests..." she replied, fidgeting with her servos. "I wouldn't want any of my patients to be thrown in at the deep end; their wounds have barely been repaired... I-"
Primus, that mech's presence truly intimidated Micelle. Who was he?
"Are you stalling me, Micelle?" the mech asked in a crisp voice. "How long?"
He talked about him as if he wasn't right there. Despite his fear, irritation bloomed in his circuitry. He revved his engine before he could stop himself.
"Three solar cycles?" she spoke, barely keeping the trembling out of her voice.
But the con didn't pay attention to her anymore. His red optics narrowed to tiny slits as he scrutinized him.
He suddenly felt foolish, with all his courage going over the hill. He shrank back a little, but held the con's stare, despite everything in him screaming to look away.
"Three solar cycles..." the con repeated, and this time he sounded almost amused. "That's acceptable. But not even a nanoklik longer. Do you understand, Micelle?"
"Yes, sir."
The big Decepticon pivoted on his heel and left the room, slamming the door on the way out. He let out a sigh of relief.
Micelle also looked more casual with the con gone. "That was the camp's warden, Stormpetrel," she said. "Don't disrespect him; he doesn't like Autobots very much."
Of course, he doesn't! He is a DECEPTICON!
Keeping the retort to himself, he asked, "How long has it been since- I mean, how long was I in a stasis lock?"
"Half an orbital cycle."
That brought him up short. "That long? Why?"
"It takes some time to transport three Cybertronians, even as small as you, to another planet. Good thing we already have space bridges. Without them, it would take even longer." A stabbing pain went through him. "And then, fixing you took a while, too."
He let out a deep, weary sigh and fixed his optics on the ceiling. He was so tired. No, it was deeper than exhaustion. He ached to his very core. As he was lying down, he rubbed his faceplate. "When those three solar cycles are over... What then, exactly?" he asked with resignation.
"You will be transferred to your Autobot living unit, a house, as everyone calls it. They are in a locked, guarded section of this facility. Each house accommodates three Autobots, and there is one left here, so you and your colleagues will fit right in."
He lifted his helm, a frisson of hope in his spark. "There are more Autobots around here?"
"Of course they are! Along with you and your colleagues, there will be twenty-one of you." She smiled sheepishly. "I enjoy fixing small frames. Well, actually, I'd rather not have a reason to fix you, but... Well, accidents happen, I found out."
"What are they doing here?"
"A variety of things - cleaning, maintenance, and the like. Oh, and sometimes helping on a construction site."
Primus, he really was about to become a common labourer. He closed his optics, his mood darkening again.
Micelle's voice dragged him back to reality. "It won't be all that bad, you'll see! You'll meet new mechs and femmes! I'm also pretty sure you have a certain allowance for high grade. But don't drink too much if you have the morning shift on the next solar cycle."
Did she have a screw loose? How could she talk about all of this so casually?
"Would you like to know how your colleagues are doing?" she asked.
Guilt pooled in his tank. Ever since he onlined here, he never once asked about those two... Was he shirking his duty to the Autobots by ignoring them so completely? He couldn't do anything right lately, could he?
Blurr leaped off the berth. His first steps were a little wobbly, standing on his pedes for the first time since-
"Oh, dear Primus!" Micelle giggled. "You're down there!"
He whipped his helm up to scowl at her. The doctor composed herself immediately.
"Do you feel any pain?" she inquired professionally.
Blurr huffed. With no warning, Shockwave's poisonous words replayed in his processor. The memories began flooding his thoughts, and he shook his helm, clenching his fists. Please, he couldn't see them again... He couldn't feel those filthy servos on him, desecrating his frame, he-
"Blurr?" The concern in Micelle's voice was palpable. "Are you alright?"
The question caught him off guard. He drew himself to his full height - which was not very impressive next to her. "I'm okay," he ground out, barely holding his voice in check.
The doctor vented a sigh of relief.
"Could you leave me for a moment?" he asked. "I want to check on them in private."
Micelle nodded. "Alright, but... don't take personally any of their behaviour."
Blurr returned to his berth, his processor filled with images of his companions. If he went through it all so badly, what must those two poor bots, with weaker processors than his (obviously), have felt?
Sure enough, after seeing them, he already knew the answer.
Prowl had this... faraway look in his optics that made him shudder. At his attempt at verbal contact, Prowl simply turned his helm away. At least Bumblebee had been more communicative, well, if mumbling off-the-wall comments could be called communication.
At the very least, they had no idea their friend would witness their suffering.
Energon boiled in him. He, Bumblebee, and Prowl were going through this because of those blasted Decepticons. Were there no limits to their cruelty?
Their rapists had enjoyed their moment of wicked pleasure while he, Bumblebee, and Prowl would struggle with the consequences of that shameful act for the rest of their lives.
The terrifying memories would haunt the three of them, while those monsters would carry on as if nothing had happened!
Swiftsteel, Grindwar, and Harness would recharge peacefully while he, Bumblebee, and Prowl would be tortured with nightmares, dreadful scenes replaying in their poisoned processors over and over again!
Shockwave would be praised by his master while the three of them would be disgraced in this blasted place!
Primus, how unfair it all was!
Notes:
Anyway, finally out of that apartment...
Micelle and Stormpetrel are OCs made up by me.
The Asphalt Wars were a tfa-canon event during the Great War. It wasn't specifically mentioned anywhere that Blurr participated in it, but it sounds plausible, so I headcanon it.
I went absolutely freestyle on Cybertronian physiology and anatomy here. Forgive me.