Megatron paced up and down the room, his heavy pedesteps making the floor shake and the few picture frames on the wall rattle with the force. Soundwave and Shockwave were missing. They were gone and the warlord didn't know what to believe, whether they escaped on their own volition or if they were put down by the council and their executions covered up. Judging by how things were now, he wouldn't put it past the autobots to do the latter. Of course, there was also the fact that the medic, Ratchet, had been injured, quite seriously in fact, in what was said to be a struggle before the two slaves escaped, but could he believe that? Or was it just a lie? Slag it, he was becoming as paranoid as Starscream.
Heaving a deep vent, he came to stand before the window, dim red optics watching the bustling city below. Megatron knew he would be violated. If not today, then soon. The ultimate punishment, the council's final show of power to everyone who opposed them. He wasn't ignorant to the true nature of the tests that had been run on all of them. The people of Iacon were becoming restless, he'd even heard of several protests against decepticon slavery. Granted, some, if not most, demanded their execution as punishment for their sins, but at this point he would prefer death to what he was currently being subjected to.
So focused was he on his own internal musings that he almost missed the soft hiss of an opening door. Megatron didn't bother turning around, he already knew who it was. When several minutes passed in silence, he tilted his helm, just enough to look over his no longer spiked shoulder. Optimus was watching him, mouthplate pressed into a thin line and optics grim. Megatron's own widened slightly at the implications, before dropping to the floor in silent dejection. His frame tensed when the larger mech approached, but he did not fight when a black servo grasped his upper arm firmly and he was led to the berthroom.
Knock Out watched as the familiar form of his former leader disappeared from view and let his gaze fall to the ground, a servo coming up to rub his aching neck from looking upwards for too long. Softly, he fiddled with the chain fastened around his neck, detesting the fact that he had to be dragged around on a leash like an Earth animal. As a carrying mech, he needed exercise and since Smokescreen was far too 'busy', a servant was tasked with taking the medic outside.
The red mech ignored the looks the passerby sent him. It was rare to see a decepticon slave out in the streets and a carrying decepticon at that. Sensing the growing hostility, Knock Out turned away, heading back to the complex Smokescreen lived in, the skittish servant sprinting after him, holding the leash in shaking servos. The medic knew he had to get out of here and preferably keep away from the dark corners of the city. He wouldn't be surprised if someone tried to jump a 'Con like him. Tempers were running high and it would be best for his little one's and his own well-beings if he were extra vigilant. Now that he was entering the last stages of carriage he was especially vulnerable and Smokescreen was not a bot you could rely on for protection.
It was in moments like these that he especially missed Breakdown. For as long as they knew each other, the blue mech had always been there, a soothing and solid presence that Knock Out could always lean on, someone he could trust. And now, in his greatest moment of need, that presence was torn away from him, never to be felt again. A familiar weight settled over his chest and he vented heavily, willing away the emotions that threatened to overtake him. He was not going to cry, he was not going to show them his pain.
But it became increasingly hard to hold himself back when all he could think about was his mate. His touch, his voice, the gentle brush of his E.M field before it enveloped him whole like a soothing blanket, the way the larger mech would simply listen to him, hanging on to every word and offering any advice or comfort he could give.. His servo pressed gently against his abdomen, seeking the weak brush of his child's field against his, suddenly desperate to feel it, as if to reassure himself that he wasn't alone.
It wouldn't be long now, seeing as he had been sparked before the end of the war. Knock Out knew he should be excited, joyful, but could not bring himself to feel that way. If anything, he feared his sparkling's inevitable birth, wanted to keep the little one with him for as long as possible. Because he knew what would happen once he was born. Sure, he would stay with his carrier for a few deca-cycles after birth, just until he could drink regular grade energon and more or less walk on his own two pedes. But then he would be taken away, forever, if Megatron's plan didn't work. And seeing as how things were getting bleaker and bleaker for the Decepticons he began to fear failure. Just the thought of spending his whole life as Smokescreen's slave, his child and mate used as free labor for construction, made him want to purge.
The red medic kept his helm down as he entered the unfortunately familiar building, allowing his current 'caretaker' to take the lead and ignoring the jeering and occasional catcalls directed at him. Ironically, him being officially Smokescreen's possession protected him from most attempts of assault. Now it wasn't unheard of for a 'Con slave to be found in some dingy alley way dead, tortured or raped. Most of the assailants were mechs who hadn't fought in the war and felt like torturing what was left of the enemy forces would somehow prove that they had done something for the cause. And the council wasn't doing anything to stop it.
Fighting to keep the disgusted sneer off his faceplate, Knock Out entered the elevator which would take him to the rookie's fancy suite. At this point he'd rather live in the slums than be forced to spend one moment more in the same living quarters as the Autobot. Thankfully, with him being so close to term, Smokescreen had given him a separate room that would temporarily serve as his and the child's until the mechling could be sold off to Bulkhead. And though the room was completely devoid of anything but a plain berth and a few sheets, Knock Out had been confused by the sudden generosity. Up until he realized that the blue racer most likely didn't want to be bothered by the sparkling. And though that kind of behavior was to be expected, Knock Out couldn't help but be insulted on his child's behalf. The rookie may think that he had stripped the 'con of everything, but the medic still had pride.
Even so, the moment he was left alone in the empty apartment, Knock Out made a beeline for the empty room, slamming the door behind him, finding himself in a desperate need to be alone. He stood there, leaning against the closed door, chestplate heaving, before slowly sinking to his knees, his frame curling protectively around his abdomen. He could feel the lubricant building up, no longer held back by sheer will now that nobody was there to witness his anguish.
As if sensing his darkening mood, there was a low rumble and heavy drops began coming down from the sky, sizzling softly when they made contact with the smooth metal of the building. Through bleary optics Knock Out looked up, watching the acid pour down outside the window. How long had it been since he'd last experienced acid rain? Hadn't it been during their last days on Cybertron before they were forced to abandon their home? He could still remember that day as clearly as if it happened yesterday.
Knock Out remembered looking out the window just like he was doing now, except then he hadn't been in an elite apartment. He had been standing in a small, dark room, looking out in the direction from which the gunfire and explosions were coming from as the battle never ceased even when the acid was pouring down furiously upon the ground. He remembered listening to the reports in horror, slowly coming to the realization that his home was dying. He remembered boarding the ships, Breakdown's servo squeezing his shoulder in some attempt at comfort as they prepared to leave forever with no idea where they were going and what was going to become of them.
The rain didn't stop for a long time as he reminisced, instead, it seemed to pour down even harder, causing the few mecha still outside to flee for cover. Knock Out stood and approached the window, looking out at the ground below, red optics dim. Was this his life now? Slave to a monster, robbed of everything including his family? His ideals, his plans - all gone? The lubricant glistened softly in the weak light as it trickled down a pale faceplate.
Somewhere a door hissed, announcing the arrival of the mech he hated and at the same time feared so much. Thankfully, Smokescreen did not seem to be in the mood to seek his company. Knock Out could only guess that seeing him carrying another mech's child revolted the rookie to the point that he couldn't even look at the slave, much less interface with him. And for that, Knock Out was grateful.
The almost furious pounding of the rain was gradually replaced by a soft pitter patter and the medic looked up, noticing the sunlight that was beginning to filter through the dark mass of clouds overhead. They'd find a way out, they had fought the Autobots for millennia and almost won. If anyone could get them out of this, Megatron could. The first thing they would probably do is find a safe planet to hide and regroup. Most likely that planet would be Earth with it's more than sufficient energon deposits. But on the other hand, staying on Earth would be risky. That would be the first place the Autobots would look when they learned of their escape. Not to mention that if the Earth governments were informed, the United States government in particular as they had had the most contact with the Cybertronian race, they would have humans breathing down their necks. Knock Out knew Breakdown still got nightmares from his time spent in the hands of M.E.C.H. But, maybe, if they tried explaining, they would help? Oh, who was he kidding, of course they wouldn't. The 'Con's hadn't done anything to warrant their sympathy. And they would never believe that their precious 'saviors' would ever be capable of doing something like this.
Knock Out hadn't. When they'd imprisoned, they had all expected a quick execution or life imprisonment. But not this. They should've read the signs, even before they were captured the alarm bells should've gone off. The Autobots changed. They had become more violent, their interrogations began to include physical force and after they had the information they wanted the captured 'Con would be killed immediately. It was as if they just.. snapped. As if they suddenly stopped pretending.
And then, the Autobots won and they were thrown into prison. Knock Out remembered trying to join them, for his and Breakdown's sake, for their family, but it didn't work, they were imprisoned anyway. And then... the torture came. His memories became blurry after that, but he remembered screaming.. and pain, a lot of it. His optics closed and he choked out a sob, turning away from the gray world outside.
He suddenly felt the urge to escape the barren room, the smooth gray walls towering over him, closing in. He could've sworn they held the same cracks and stains that his cell walls had. But the door wouldn't open. Dimly, he could hear music and loud voices coming from beyond the wall and recognized the sounds as those belonging to a party. Smokescreen must've locked him in to keep him out of sight. Obviously he couldn't let his 'friends' see his slave heavy with another's sparkling. Knock Out would've sneered if he weren't so distraught.
He just wanted to get out of here, he wanted his mate and his fellow decepticons. He wanted to be back on the Nemesis, listening to Starscream's endless monologues, watching Megatron and Soundwave work on yet another plan against the Autobots. Slag, he wouldn't mind working with Shockwave again and that said a lot.
Knock Out just wanted to go home.