Chapter Text
The Autobots had lost.
The searing realization struck Optimus as he was pushed to his knees. His battle mask did him a favor in covering up the pure panic on his face, as he watched his Autobots be dragged and thrown down beside him, protesting and feebly fighting back. The Autobot base was nothing but a burning heap of rubble; fire surrounded them, crackling and snapping. When the blast hit, none of them had been expecting a thing. None of them were prepared.
All of the Autobots had been rounded up and forced to their knees, in a row, so the Decepticon leader could observe them. He did so with a silent grin, red optics reflecting the fire, and burning just as hot. The warlord looked down upon the fallen team, sparing each one a glance, before gesturing to Soundwave.
Execution.
Optimus was absolutely certain that that was what Megatron would do- slaughter each member of Team Prime. He pulled his field in tight to his plating to hide the fear flowing through it. There had to be something he could do. . . Negotiate, distract him while his Autobots ran, something. . . The weight of protecting his team was suddenly heavier than ever, enough to snap his backstrut in half. He had to save them.
His mouth opened, but before anything could escape his lips, Megatron approached him.
“Tell me, Optimus. What do you think I’m going to do?” The question came out in a sweet voice, an innocent, mocking look crossing the warlord’s features.
Anger pulsed beneath Optimus’ armor. It swelled in his throat, and he found himself unable to speak through his rage. He was unsure where it had come from, it had appeared so suddenly. All he could do was glare at his enemy.
“Do you think I’m going to terminate you? Slit the throat of each Autobot here before your very optics, make you watch as I tear your team apart, and then give you the death you deserve?”
The thought of it stung. It stung in his spark and in his stomach, it made his energon run cold. The only answer he could muster came out in a hoarse voice: “Don’t. . .”
A cruel laugh answered him. “Rest assured, Prime. I’m not going to kill any of you.” Behind Megatron, Soundwave stepped forward. In his servos were several pairs of cuffs. “Now, I do not wish to inflict harm on any of your Autobots. I need them. It would be such a waste if I had to dismember one of them, because you were disobedient. So, I will give you a choice. Come with me, without resistance, and Team Prime will not be harmed.”
“Forget it, Buckethead!” Bulkhead spat.
A scream came next. Optimus yelped in horror as Breakdown brought a blade down upon the wrecker’s shoulder, slicing into the thick armor, severing fragile wires and circuits. “No!” Optimus shouted helplessly.
“Anyone else?” Megatron threatened. No one answered. “Good.”
Breakdown pulled the weapon from Bulkhead’s plating, letting energon run freely across the dark armor. Bulkhead whined and groaned in pain, his arm useless now- the blow had nearly severed the limb. Ratchet, who had been beside Bulkhead, shifted closer and rested his servos on the wound, whispering in a quiet, soothing voice.
Each autobot was cuffed, and marched unceremoniously onto the Decepticon warship. As each one passed, Megatron silently decided the fate of each one. Bumblebee and Bulkhead would work in the mines, they were strong. Arcee was small and had deft servos, she would work with Knockout, be it surgery, repairs. . . and if he needed a test subject, well, she’d be whatever he needed. Ratchet was a gifted mech. Megatron wanted him working with Shockwave, science was oh so fitting for him. And Optimus. . . Megatron needed some time to decide just what he wanted to do with him. Either way, he knew he would work each Autobot until they dropped dead.
Getting them to comply would be quite the show.
Soundwave directed the vehicons in putting them in cells- Bulkhead, Bumblebee and Arcee were all put in one cell together. Megatron wanted Optimus alone, and he wanted Ratchet unable to tend to his wounded comrades. Both the Prime and the medic were put in their own private cells.
From there, they were starved.
Megatron sat in his throne proudly, watching the days pass so patiently. The day that marked the second week, he had them collected into one large room- an interrogation room, but he didn’t intend on drawing information from them. They remained cuffed, and they all stood along a wall, optics faded and tired. Their systems were weak. They needed energon.
Megatron, Soundwave, and Starscream, backed by a handful of vehicons, stood regarding their prisoners, smug and gloating.
Megatron was satisfied with the panic they expressed towards Bulkhead. He had lost a lot of energon, and being deprived of energon had certainly drained the life out of him. He was barely able to stand, being held up by Bumblebee and Optimus. Ratchet was checking the wound and fretting over it, until Starscream snapped at him for it.
“He needs fuel,” the medic protested, glaring at Megatron. “Starve us all you want, but he needs medical attention.”
“That will come in time, Doctor.” The warlord replied patiently. “Worry not.”
That didn’t bring any ease.
“You are captives now. If you want energon, you earn it. You will work for me. You will forget whatever you were before, that is in the past. Now, you belong to me. You serve a new purpose now.” Megatron began confidently. “If you resist, you will be punished. Consider yourselves slaves. It is all you are good for.”
“Absolutely not!” Arcee hissed.
“How fragging dare you,” Ratchet spat.
Such fire. Megatron grinned. He liked this. “Optimus, tell your Autobots to stand down and comply.”
Optimus regarded him cooly. “I can not force them to obey their enemy, Megatron. My command means nothing to them now, we are on equal footing. If they do not wish to be slaves, I can not change that.” This was partially true; he knew that even if he did order them to serve Megatron, they would resist and argue and protest every step of the way. He also knew how much they listened to him.
“Tell your Autobots to comply, now.”
The Prime’s voice rose. “I will not order my team to be your slaves, Megatron. Regardless of what you plan to do, I will not take part in it. I refuse to use my power to hurt them.” His voice echoed through the room, and he felt Arcee and Ratchet bristle with pride and confidence.
“Wrong answer.” The warlord flashed his pointed denta in a sickening smile. He turned to Ratchet then. “I have a proposition for you, Medic.”
The small mech scoffed. “And what would that be?” He sneered.
“If you do what I ask, I will allow you to treat the wrecker’s wounds. I will give you the supplies you need, and I will provide both him and you with energon.” The answer was simple.
Ratchet thought for a moment, looking at Bulkhead worriedly. “What exactly do you want me to do?” He asked hesitantly.
“It doesn’t matter. Yes or no, Doctor.” Megatron pushed.
Optimus wanted to tell his medic to ignore the offer, but as he held the weak wrecker up, felt the faint pulse and the ragged breathing, he kept his mouth shut.
“Fine.” Ratchet narrowed his optics.
“Come here.” Megatron beckoned, smiling at him, almost kindly. Ratchet timidly approached. Megatron took him by his cuffed wrists and put him in the center of the room, in front of all his comrades, and gently pushed him to his knees. “Very good.” The warlord grinned at the medic’s tense obedience; Ratchet gritted his denta and tried to swallow his pride. He very much disliked being on his knees, submitting to Megatron, especially before an audience.
Optimus watched nervously as Megatron knelt and whispered something to his medic. Ratchet’s optics widened and he shook his helm, but whatever was said, was repeated, firmer than before. Ratchet hissed in frustration as Megatron rose back up, and beckoned for the Prime.
“Come join us, Prime.” He chuckled.
Optimus let Arcee take over for him in supporting Bulkhead, and walked over stiffly. He was surprised when Megatron unlocked his cuffs, setting them aside. Soundwave placed something in his master’s hand.
“Prime, you need to be punished for your reluctance.” The silver mech stated firmly. “I could beat you, burn you, torture you. . . I could tear you apart for disobeying me, but I don’t think that your resolve would break one bit. You are made of stone, Old Friend.” Optimus stared into his optics coldly. “But you do have a soft spot, Dearest Prime. I have seen it over and over again. You care so much about your comrades. . . But you care about your medic even more.” Optimus’ tanks churned, and fear bled into his optics. “I’ve watched you stare at him with such benevolence and such warmth. And perhaps,” he lowered his voice so that only Optimus could hear, “Perhaps even some lust, wouldn’t you say, Prime? Do you desire your medic?”
Optimus didn’t answer.
“Regardless, the way to break you is through your pathetic Autobots. I want you to understand that your resistance results in their suffering.” Megatron held up the object that Soundwave had given to him- a whip, long, and laced with shards of dark energon. Optimus stared at it fearfully. “How many, Starscream?” Megatron asked teasingly.
“I would say a hundred and fifty. If he can take that much.” The seeker responded gleefully.
“He’ll take it.” The warlord chuckled.
“No.” Optimus shook is helm. “I won’t allow you to do any such thing-”
“Very well, I do not intend on doing it.” Megatron leaned close to him. “ You will.”
No.
No fragging way.
Optimus gritted his denta. “I will not-”
He was cut off by Soundwave slipping past him and pressing a blaster to Bumblebee’s helm. The scout whirred in surprise, watching the silent mech with his round optics.
The panic surging through Optimus was suffocating. “Megatron, I can’t. I won’t. I won’t hurt him.”
“Very well. Soundwave, go ahead.”
Arcee and Ratchet cried out in unison as Soundwave ripped Bumblebee away- causing Bulkhead to collapse, and pushed the blaster flush against his helm, it hissing to life as it activated.
“NO! No, don’t, I’ll do it!” Optimus frantically shouted. Soundwave hesitated.
“Good choice. Stand down, Soundwave.”
Optimus’ servos shook as Megatron put the whip into them, and shoved him forward. He found himself looking at Ratchet’s tense back, the medic not bothering to look back. He swallowed, trying to calm his spark. A moment passed, and Ratchet’s field brushed his, reassurance and forgiveness caressing him. He frowned sadly. His medic was giving him permission. He unraveled the whip, and pulled his arm back. He brought it down lightly, barely cutting Ratchet’s back, but the sudden sting causing him to flinch.
“Harder.” Megatron ordered.
A little harder. Ratchet jumped and gasped.
“HARDER! Make him bleed, Prime!”
Optimus buried a whimper, as he brought the whip down as hard as he could. Ratchet screamed. The sharp edges of dark energon ripped through his plating and scratched him hard, his energon finally splattering. Optimus hesitated for a moment, before he did it again. And again. And again.
Each time, Ratchet screamed. He sat on his servos and knees, shaking and bleeding, crying out in pain.
“Medic, we made a deal.” Megatron reminded him. “You know what to do.”
Ratchet shook his helm as the whip struck again. “N-No!”
“ Ratchet.” Megatron snarled. “If you want the wrecker to live. . .”
The whip came down again. Ratchet’s resolve finally broke. “Stop! Please, stop!” He cried out, his voice shaking.
Optimus stopped immediately, but Megatron hissed at him. “Keep going, Prime.”
Optimus’ knees shook as he resumed. Each time, a string of pleas escaped his medic.
“Stop, please stop, please. . . It hurts. . .” Ratchet shrieked, trembling and screaming. “Optimus, please! You’re hurting me, Primus, please stop!”
His words sunk into Optimus’ spark deeply. He made a noise of pain as he struck again. Megatron’s laughter made him realize just what was going on-
Megatron had ordered Ratchet to beg Optimus for mercy.
Megatron was forcing him to hurt Ratchet while he begged him to stop.
It was all a game to break him.
“AAUGH! Optimus! Optimus, please, I’m begging you, stop. . .” Ratchet keened, his energon dripping to the floor. . . “Optimus, please stop hurting me!”
The lashes didn’t stop. They reached one hundred and fifty, but Megatron urged him onward. Ratchet was sobbing in pain when they reached two hundred, reduced to a pleading, bleeding heap.
Optimus dropped the whip and made to run to him, but Megatron forced him back. “Tell your Autobots to obey me.” He ordered.
The Prime didn’t hesitate. Ratchet’s screams were still echoing in his mind as he spoke, “Autobots, stand down, and follow the orders you are given.” They nodded in understanding, silent and in shock from the torture they had just witnessed.
“Let me help him,” Optimus said, turning to Megatron.
“Do you think he wants to speak to you after what you just did to him?” The warlord sneered, slapping the cuffs back onto him. “You will be returning to your cell.”
As he was pushed towards the door, he called to his medic desperately, “Ratchet, I’m sorry!”
He didn’t hear his medic’s hoarse, weak reply over the vehicons ordering his team about:
“I forgive you, Optimus.”