The same sight greeted him every time he opened his optics. Four bare walls of a dull grey color surrounding him on all sides, entrapping him, with only a lone window to offer him some comfort, but nowadays he suspected that it was there to torment him, to serve as an illusion that freedom was just there, within his grasp, that maybe if he tried he could reach it. He always failed. It was the perfect prison. 'A prison of my own making,' he thought bitterly, dull red optics watching stray droplets of acid sizzle against the metal windowsill. He looked up, tracing the dark sky. He knew exactly how to navigate it, every twist and turn and dip. His wings twitched in remembrance of flying. How he wished to traverse the sky again, to be free..
He slammed his servo against the barren wall only to grab at it a second later, hissing in pain. There wasn't even anything he could use to distract himself, Ultra Magnus was a practical mech and the entertainment of his slave wasn't necessary. It bothered Starscream, but he assumed that negligence was better than what most of his comrades were being subjected to. Though he didn't show attachment, instead 'throwing them under the bus' as the humans would say, some part of the seeker cared about those mechs. He'd fought alongside them for millennia, knew everything there was too know, probably even more than they knew about themselves. How Soundwave would shift almost imperceptibly from pede to pede before finally resigning to lean against the monitor when he was tired of standing and too proud to find a seat. How Knock Out would imitate Megatron behind the warlord's back when the latter was too lost in another grand speech. How Shockwave would sometimes try to step out of his comfort zone by doing something 'normal' mechs did when nobody was looking, fail miserably, and then bury himself in another project, stewing from embarrassment.
It was true that Megatron and Starscream never quite saw eye to eye. More than that, the seeker had tried on multiple occasions to usurp the warlord's position. The situation worsened after they were forced to abandon his trinemates during battle. While they were somewhat able to work together before, the incident tore a deep rift between them. While Megatron was a strong and able leader, he couldn't see the whole picture like Starscream could. The seeker tended to the people under his command, nurtured them, paid attention to their strengths and weaknesses. Megatron didn't care about those things. Though he was undeniably intelligent, he just didn't possess the level of strategical brilliance his second in command did. Perhaps that's why, despite all his failures, Megatron kept him around. The seeker was a constant reminder for the warlord to always remain sharp and to not get too comfortable with his position. There would always be someone out there who would want to take his place. Perhaps Starscream realized that too and kept playing that role for many, many years.
Venting a heavy sigh, he slid down the wall until he was crouching on the dull gray floor. What did it matter now anyway? All that was gone now, nothing more but a distant memory. His whole life now, his purpose was to serve a new master, one he despised and loathed with every inch of his being. He had no illusions of ever escaping this fate. The Decepticons were no more, they were merely trophies now, just objects to be paraded around, reminding everyone to never go against the Council or the Autobots ever again. The Cybertronian society would never know freedom and after the decepticons's defeat, they would not dare to fight for it. Starscream grit his dentae at the thought.
Red optics fell on his wrist plating and he turned the appendage, the scratched surface glinting slightly in the dim light. Could this be his only ticket out of here? To freedom? It'd be so easy.. His claws, though altered and not as sharp as they were before would be enough to do the job, he was certain of it. Dim red optics widened momentarily in horror and he turned away, rising hastily to his pedes, beginning to almost feverishly pace in the small room. No, this wasn't the answer, it was never the answer! They'd find another way or die honorably fighting for what was right. He would not give in to temptation to take the easy way out, the cowards way out. But then.. wasn't that what he always was? A coward?
The door opened suddenly, almost slamming against the wall with enough force to make the walls and floor faintly vibrate. Ultra Magnus stormed in, blue optics flashing with a ferocious fury that Starscream had never seen before in the collected Autobot. An undignified yelp wrung itself from his vocalizer as a servo clamped over his neck cables, causing the metal to squeal in protest at the tight grip. The seeker cringed back as much as he could, claws scrabbling desperately to alleviate the pressure, vents struggling.
"You planned this, didn't you?" Ultra Magnus's voice was deceptively soft, almost kind even, if his rage wasn't so obvious in the stiffness of his frame and the tight hold around Starscream's neck.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Autobot!" Starscream hissed, red optics flashing as he fought for freedom, violently writhing in hopes of dislodging the larger bots's hold. Ultra Magnus leaned only closer, blue optics flashing with cold fire.
"You convinced the medic, Ratchet to betray our cause and staged the escape of two slaves, the communications officer and the scientist." The seeker's optics widened. Soundwave and Shockwave had.. had escaped? But how?! He'd known Ratchet to be sympathetic to their predicament, but he'd never expected the Prime's lapdog to grow a back strut and actually take initiative! Where were they now, were they safe? For reasons unknown that worried him more than the very real danger he was being currently presented with. Angered by his silence, the Magnus slammed him against the wall, the seeker grunting and coughing in pain at the violent action. "You are the Decepticon Second in Command, one of the best strategists the decepticons had and you're also known for being untruthful, Starscream," The Autobot practically hissed, "But I would strongly discourage lying to me now, this doesn't have to be any more painful for you than it already is."
But Starscream had had enough. He would not be a coward any longer or this would never end. He would no longer submit to these disgusting excuses for Cybertronians. The seeker would prove Megatron, his true master, his allegiance. How long had it been since he'd last fought back? When exactly had he started groveling just to survive? Was it after the loss of his trinemates? The fact that he was being accused of staging the escape of his comrades now seemed strangely flattering to him. The Autobots still saw the brilliant strategist within him, the second in command of the fearsome warlord, Megatron himself. Why not live up to their expectations? His red optics narrowed into slits, clawed hands grabbed onto the offending servos, pulling them away with difficulty from his abused throat. "I staged nothing." He growled, the darkened room flashing red as an angry fire and determination lit up his crimson optics. "And even if I did, I would never betray my comrades or my beliefs.. unlike you."
WHAM!
A silver servo crashed into his jaw, the force sending him flying to the floor. The Autobot was upon him in a nano-second, immobilizing him. There was nothing left of the usually level headed and cold Autobot SIC. Instead there was rage, frightening, terrifying anger that shook the seeker to his core. The Autobot leaned in, one servo holding his wrists high above his helm while the other trailed slowly, threateningly over his quivering flank. "I'd received this order a few mega-cycles ago," the larger mech spoke, his voice suddenly returning to its usual pitch, the words cold and almost professional. "I'm fortunate that I put it off for this long, perhaps it will help loosen your glossa.."
Starscream's optics widened.
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A silver fist slammed into the wall, but the force behind it was too weak to even make a dent. Suddenly the fist uncurled, now grasping at the wall instead of lashing out as a his chassis heaved with suppressed emotions. He would not cry, he would not give the Prime the satisfaction of seeing him broken. He was Megatron, the emperor of destruction. Emotions were irrelevant to him, a nuisance, a sign of weakness and he was anything but weak. But despite how many times he told himself that, the warlord couldn't stop the images from surfacing. They flashed before his optics at every little sound, at any smallest sensation that reminded him of that night. He pushed them back, hate, anger and shame coursing through him and making his empty tank roil. He'd always dreamed of snuffing the Prime's spark, but his dreams had never been this vivid, this brutal. Megatron had planned to give his old rival a warrior's death, partly perhaps because of their history. But now he dreamed of tearing him to shreds, using every dirty trick he knew, pulling him apart piece by piece and watching the energon and inner components spill to the floor and stain his armor an electric blue.
He nurtured those dreams, clung to them, believing that only that way he could survive this and once again rise as the fearsome warlord he once was. But despite his bloodlust, deep down he was terrified. Because he didn't want to experience that again, never. Sometimes Megatron's dreams would turn to nightmares, Optimus Prime prevailing him in battle and once again subjecting him to that torture. The warlord would jolt awake, trembling, his claws ripping into the thin sheet he'd been bestowed upon. It wasn't just in his dreams. He couldn't stop himself from flinching every time the Prime approached to give him his meager share of energon, couldn't stop himself from watching the mech closely, as if afraid that he would drag him away again.
Disgusted, shamed and filled with burning fury, Megatron let his forehelm lean against the wall, a shaky vent escaping him. Is this how Knock Out had felt when that foul Autobot rookie had defiled him? Shame rippled through his spark as he remembered his last interaction with the medic. He should have been able to protect them, all of them! As a leader, he should have been closer to his soldiers, should have known their strengths and weaknesses as intimately as Starscream did. But it was too late for that now.
Slowly, he slid to crouch on the floor, his shaking legs no longer able to support his weight. Sharp claws traced over the silver armor of his forearms, increasing the pressure by increments, the room filling with an unpleasant screeching of metal against metal as energon bubbled and slowly dripped from the shallow cuts. Never before had Megatron felt this.. filthy, disgusting, used. The shower he'd been allowed to use did nothing to alleviate the feeling of the Autobot filth on his frame. Briefly, he wondered if it ever would even if they managed to escape. While he had the utmost confidence in Shockwave and Soundwave, the news of the capture of the Autobot medic put them at a greater disadvantage. If that wasn't enough, every captive decepticon would be subjected to the Cortical Psychic Patch in a vain attempt to locate their missing comrades. Fortunately, they had not yet formulated a plan, nor did they know where the other two former officers were or who was aiding them. But despite that, somewhere deep down Megatron was afraid. For himself and for his people. But most of all, he feared that they would not be successful.
A frustrated yell filled with unbridled fury wrung itself from his throat, red optics set ablaze. He would not be beaten! He'd rebelled once and he would do so again! And this time, for the fate of all of Cybertron, he would win.