Pain and Servitude

Chapter 16

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?