A quick little chapter... with a big development...

He was there. He had to be. Tension lined the whole of her chassis as she prepared for something, anything to happen. It didn't matter that she'd been alert now for several cycles without the trace of a sound, she knew he was there, biding his time, waiting for her to let her guard down before he struck. She would not be caught unawares again.

Arcee tilted her helm, deciphering sounds as they filtered into her audio receptors. Soldiers patrolling, right on schedule. The ever present whir of DarkMount's force field generator. The wavering thrum of her own spark as it flickered anxiously.

When she'd come back online, the first thing the two-wheeler had noted was the uncomfortable sensation of cooled lubricant along the insides of her tibulen, and with that came the awful memories of what had transpired. Embarrassment coiled hot inside of her at the thought of being left so exposed for Primus knows how long.

But the waiting was worse. The uncertainty. She had never been known for her patience, and laying here, waiting for Megatron to do something was gnawing away at her sanity. She just wanted it to be over with already so she could slip back into recharge, her only reprieve from his torment.

So she waited... and waited... and waited... still nothing.

Gritting her denta, she snarled lowly, "I know you're there... just... get on with it."

No reply.

"What's the point of this?" the femme pressed, but again, was met with only silence.

Arcee lay there, trembling in anger for another handful of kliks, before finally thrashing against her restraints. "Do something, you disgusting piece of slag! Curse you to the Pit!"

When the cavernous echo of her demands bred no reaction, she screamed until her vocal processor crackled, hating the deafening silence, hating him, hating every fragging Con on every fragging planet and all the places in between. How perfectly he had laid it all out, making her live in this state of perpetual fear, making her hate even the moments when she was alone, because she knew she was never truly alone. So long as she was here, there was never a moment she could feel at ease. He was always there, even when he wasn't... watching... waiting.

...

The smile never left his scarred faceplate as he turned from the monitors, savouring the sounds of his captive's desperate frenzy as he departed. He could hear her shouting even after the doors had closed behind him, his pace unhurried and even.

Changing his approach had been the right call, it would seem. He should have caught on sooner. Arcee was a soldier, one who had trained under and served his greatest foe for millennia. Physical torment was something that could be withstood with relative ease, when one was trained for it. The internal kind, however... few could overcome that. It was a game he had not played in some time, but bots who required such measures were few and far between. Megatron was delighted to have the opportunity to sharpen his skills at psychological warfare once again.

He was in such a delightful mood... perhaps now might be the perfect opportunity to visit his other guest. The silver mech's long strides carried him to his destination in good time, red optics slithering over the prone form that hung so splendidly from tubes and chains alike as he stepped into the room. His approving glance moved to the console on his left, noting the status of various vital signs displayed on each screen.

The soldiers and medics that occupied the space filed out in quick succession, knowing their Lord preferred to be alone when he came here. They dared not linger.

The tyrants steps were measured as he approached, a raspy laugh escaping him as he took in the sorry state of the once fearsome warrior. Brilliant paint was chipped and scuffed, dimmed to a pale shadow of its former glory. Armour was dented, fractured, mesh and plating mangled and split. Barely held together.

"You're in a sad state, my old friend. But it's time to wake up... Optimus."