Pain and Servitude

Chapter 13

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.