"Wow- you made this?" Smokescreen swirled the Visco in his glass, visiting Tapper for official reasons but the friendly mech had offered a taste of one of his own brews.
"Strictly experimental," the younger bot admitted with a bashful smile, taking a sip from his own glass, the liquid a glowing yellow, "Predaking was kind enough to bring me a lemon from Earth some time back and I attempted to recreate a Visco form of lemon-like alcohol. Apparently humans do the same but unfortunately I can't recreate the taste very well without including the corroding properties with it."
Smokescreen coughed when Tapper mentioned the metal corroding ability of his experimenting, to which the shorter mech brought him a glass of energon, thinking he just had a hiccup in his systems. The Scout simply thanked him, not voicing his worry.
Instead he spoke of what business had brought him, which in truth, wasn't overly important. Smokescreen just wanted to get away from the current meeting with Predaking. He needed to speak with Tapper either way but the initial topic had forced him to actually do his job. Smokescreen had become a little lazy after the war ended, though these new developments had piqued his young adventurous interest again. His original rookie recklessness had come back but only by a fraction. Mostly he was patrolling the cities and speaking with friends and acquaintances (or strangers about recent happenings), which brought out his boredom if there was nothing else to do and he craved the crazy adventure he felt during the war.
"Well- it's interesting," he admitted to the orange bot who was now cleaning. "I do need to talk to you about a few things, though."
"Shoot." The Liquor Specialist shrugged, "Over all I'm an open book, but visit when I'm drunk and I'll lay out the entire history of every bar I know. And that's all of them."
This caused the both of them to chuckle.
"Okay then-"
And so simple questions were asked. Mostly about the bodies that were found and if he knew them, the place they were found or if the closest bar was known for ruffians and such, or Predacon sightings. Of course most of these had been carefully scrutinized already. Talking with Tapper was only an attempt to find gossip he might have heard recently. A rather fruitless venture because the poor bar keep only shrugged at his questions, and he wasn't very good at keeping his cool if shown the pictures of the charred or torn apart Cybertronians in an attempt to recognize them (he had purged his tanks twice despite saying he was 'okay'). In short, Tapper knew as much as everyone else.
"You sure you don't need anything?" Smokescreen asked after downing the last of the sweet Visco in the flask. He hadn't had much to refuel with for a while and Tapper made sure he only had enough to gain back his strength (Visco is naturally energon just at a higher potency and some being flavored. Properly administered it could be a quicker substitute to refuel with but can be addictive and easy too consume too much of).
"Perfectly sure," the polite Liquor Specialist nodded, cleaning his last glass, "No one suspects me in the outside world, I'm not very trust worthy with secrets as the occasional drunkard."
"Yet you've kept this one?" Smokescreen raised an optic brow.
"Of course." Tapper smiled as he held the clean glass into the light, "Predaking is my friend, and (Y/D) is to precious to let slip through our digits and gawked at like some zoo animal. Not only that but if I did let it slip then I'd be dead within the few minutes those three Predacons knew about it." He shivered at the thought of stirring three Predacon's wrath at the same time-
"Yeah-" Smokescreen cringed at the thought.
The two parted. Smokescreen left Tapper to his own devices, planning on treading back to the meeting hall, wondering if they had finished the conversation with Predaking. If not he'd at least play with (Y/D), just to distract her. She was adorable despite her slightly alarming appearance and unblinking optics. He didn't get very far, however.
"Smokescreen, you don't have to knock when you just left," Tapper rolled his optics, but he jumped when the knock only came again, louder than the first. He hurried to his door, lugging the heavy metal barrier open to peer out. "Hello?"
"Tapper the Liquor Specialist?"
"Naturally-"
He never was able to ask 'who are you?' after being shocked from behind.
Some time passed, or maybe it was no time at all. All Tapper knew at that moment was immense pain in his processor as he refused over and over again to let these heathens win what information they wanted. He had no clue he was engineered to fight against a Cortical Psychic Patch, but now he did, and frag it was painful. A continuous, torturous pattern of having the cable shoved into the base of his helm only to be ripped out once he reversed the current and invaded the invader's own mind and consciousness. Even in his defeated looking state his pained processor continued to reverse the current as easily as the first time. Tapper certainly didn't feel like it was easy, though. His optics had gone dull and his frame limp on the raised medical table, old and rusted. He heard murmurs around him, and felt the vibrations of steps bigger than him.
"You betrayed him?" Was the tortured mech's question to this Predacon, whom he had not seen but definitely heard.
"Sacrifices must be made for our betterment." Came the low answer. This Predacon certainly sounded like he could speak to a crowd and be listened to, according to his smooth and unperturbed voice alone at the atrocity he was committing against a fellow lifeform. "Predaking refuses to make those sacrifices. We will have control of this youngling, as he calls it, and raise her to have the same distaste for your kind as the majority of ours does."
"How-" Tapper bit his derma, but it didn't halt the involuntary scream from his voice box as the crazed mech tried once more to invade his processor. But once again, the connection was reversed, and he caught glimpses of memories from the other volunteer on the other end. She had friends, and a very prestigious career as a nurse. Why was she doing this so willingly if she was so well off?
"Simple," the Predacon answered his interrupted question as he ripped the device from his current patient's helm once more, wrenching another scream and pained cry from the smaller mech. He just wanted to be back home, talking with Predaking, playing with (Y/D) or simply passed out on his floor after testing one of the brews given to him to inspect. "While you are equipped with advanced firewalls and security, the Autobot Smokescreen is not, and his frame had endured the Cortical Psychic Patch in the past. Why a Liquor Specialist was given such advanced internal offensive devices, I am more than willing to find out."
Tapper feared another onslaught of punctured pain may occur, but instead he heard something being put away. Perhaps this crazed Predacon was done? The opening of a crate from behind snuffed this hope out, and soon Tapper was able to see this beast's faceplate. By some uncharacteristic show of defiance, the Liquor Specialist growled, though it was choppy and broken from his screams of agony.
"I see Predaking has been wearing off on you," the winged Predacon noted nonchalantly, "it's amusing, I must admit, but you're helpless, so any show of defiance is quite illogical."
Tapper didn't understand why, but the one simple word made his backstrut shiver, and a feeling of dread wash over his spark.
He remembered nothing past watching this horrid beast shove the femme on the other table to the floor, a rude awakening, and connecting himself to a modified cord that glowed a dangerous green. Then continuous pain.
----------~----------
I'm sorry Tapper. I love you and it's for story development T-T
I've never felt so bad for torturing one of my characters, good gravy-