Disclaimer: I haven't and will never own transformers. n_n
Summary: I came up with a good summary! yeah! There are some things that just aren't done, things that would condemn you forever in everyone's eyes. When Starscream is ordered to 'hack' (rape) an autobot prisoner he finds himself confronted with said things... and it doesn't help that his victim is the most desirable thing on wheels. "What's the worst thing you've ever done?" "Me? I've done many things..." If you like Starscream/Bumblebee with more to it than simple smut this is for you. If you haven't really given it much thought I encourage you to try mine.
WARNINGS:
(a) rated M for a reason
(b) violence at times throughout story
(c) extreme prejudice against organics (its Starscream, this should be expected)
(d) suggestive material such as gestures, actions, and things said alluding to interfacing.
(e) debates of faction morality (I guess some people don't deal)
(f) mech relations …...yeah but you expected as much
(g) there is an OC of mine in here and he plays a part, but he's not shipped with anyone, or the main focus
(h) this story has a lot of my ideas that change backgrounds and a few personalities(it's mostly Bumblebee's past and Starscream gets softer but is still pretty badass)
(I) it's been awhile since I've seen Transformers (except for the Michael Bay films) and while I can tell you they look mostly like the characters from G1, some of the stuff might sound like some of the other series.
Side note: There's way more things that I could warn you about but then we'd be here all day. Please understand I mean no offense to the more sensitive part of the people who may be inclined to read this. Please proceed with caution.
PLEASE READ THE CHAPTER NOTE!
Chapter note: The italic sentences in this chapter are conversations of the past held between two bots each time. You'll find out which bots later. (you can propably guess a few accurately. And they are all being remembered during the trial in this chapter and greatly affect the actions of the main bot in this chapter. You won't understand lots of it... that's the point, you'll find out gradually through the fic.
…... I hope you enjoy this. My heart was doing a crazy dance the whole time I wrote it.
Spark Deep ...by: Namekiansgottalovethem
Prologue, Guilty as charged...
'What's the worst thing you've ever done?'
'Me? ..I've done many things...'
Mechs, femmes, bots, Cybertorians, they surrounded him. Metal frames harboring strength, power, sentience, and a piece of Primus himself: a spark. They all had bodily functions with needs, mental faculties they honed for their preferred purposes, and the drive to live, experience, and thrive. Just like him, right? Never! These living beings, crowding him in with no spare room for breath, could never be like him! He wouldn't allow it...
Settling... ..ridiculous..
..pompous..
..sentimental...
..self-appreciative... ..Auto-fools!
Surely condemned for the red design painted onto their chassis', these whelps were Autobots, his benevolent hosts for this horrid evening.
He stood straighter and smirked smugly to his own self. That's right, they are Auto-scum, and he, a Decepticon. Above them, better than.
'Tell me a story.'
'What kind of story?'
'One about you.'
'…...No.'
It wouldn't settle down long enough for him to collect himself. Highly bothered and full of complaints his spark decided the best coarse of action was to fritz out in it's protective casing, signaling the obvious danger of his current whereabouts, and hammering forcefully at the seam that could grant it's freedom. Instantly he became irritated.
He would appear as no less than the cool exterior of indifference while amongst these bots, and with unperceived jolt sent a scolding shock to his spark chamber, stilling the life force inside into passiveness. He was handling this situation processor style this time. If he had listened to his cold logic before instead of yielding to the foreign desires and reasoning's of his spark, he wouldn't be in this mess right now, under this nauseous orange ceiling, chained as a prisoner of infamous caliber, closed off from the exempting blue of his precious sky. The jet shuddered and cringed inwardly. He thought he could have lasted longer than this before he began caving into the morose panic of Seeker-claustrophobia.
'There is brightness bordering on insubordination in your petty optics, my little flyer. It will be my deepest pleasure to snuff it out.'
'I'd never-!'
'One day, pretty bird, you will look up at me with dull, helpless optics, and in that moment I will own all of you. Like the rest of them'.
It seemed like the whole crew of the Ark were at present for his... trial. They were at war for fragging sakes, had been for many a mega-vorn! And in times of war any charges counted against him should be completely nullified. Scrap, they were suppose to have just tossed him in a cold Autobot cell. Such treatment was befitting a prisoner of war, because that's precisely what he was, a P.O.W. This 'trial', as they were adamant to label it, reeked of Pit rot.
The prisoner shifted around in his bonds in agitation. Idiots. This is exactly why a faction of 'rouge' bots had struck out against the senate in the very beginning. If the members of the Autobot council had but kicked the habit of unconstitutionally twisting the rules to their benefit and stuck to the written laws of Cybertron, undoubtfully, thousands of bots could still be accounted for this cycle. No cause for grief and the burdening strife brought by the carnage the Decepticons wrought.
Nope. The Auto-fragers were just the same as they'd always been. Just as sleazy, self serving, and assuming as the day they'd been assembled. They disgusted him with their more-righteous-than-thou antics. That and they refused to just give up... or deactivate, truthfully he'd settle for either. But that was beside the immediate point.
The problem being- what agitated him so, was the fact that they were at war, Autobot vs Decepticon, and yet these imbeciles, who insisted on calling him citizen were about to judge him as though the times were under normal circumstances, as if it they were on a peaceful Cybertron and everything up until this point was mute. It was totally rigged and with the backwards way they were handling his case... he would be deactivated and junked by sundown. Now he could take hits, growled out insults, spittle in his optics, confinement in a rusty brig, and he even wouldn't mind a side order of torture. But, this!?
Hateful crimson optics shifted up to stare at the leading bots behind the stand. Sitting above him wearing their haughty facade like stupidly painted masquerade visors, looking down on him with their knowing sneers and preordained votes. He could just smear their own cycling energon into their face plates.
An uncomfortable weight binding his servos reminded him how impossible such a satisfying feat was. 'Citizen' huh? Then why the shackles?
'Are you scared?'
'Will it hurt? '
'You want me to lie?'
'If it isn't too difficult, some deception would be great right now.'
'I...don't want to lie to you- at least not anymore.'
'Then don't.'
'It's going to hurt.'
'Hold me then.'
The bound mech glared unabashedly at the SIC of the Autobots. The Paraxian stood on a raised platform before him. This bot's designation, Prowl, wasn't it? Yep, it only took three astro-seconds for the chained seeker to confirm that he despised the other bot. His hatred was not warranted because of the glossy red symbol displayed proudly on Prowl's white chest, but for the lofty air in which the slagger carried himself. The despicable bot regarded the Decepticon with mocking optics and sniffed, finding the seeker distasteful. So he lifted his right servo to optic level and gave the prissy aft the finger. Prowl pretended not to notice and motioned for the scattered whispering to cease for the proceedings.
Addressing all in attendance, the SIC opened his mouth and with these words began the trial, "All rise for the respectable Prime."
Mechs from his every side rose to their pedes in unison, giving the jet a flaring feeling of entrapment. If he thought it was bad before it was downright terrifying now. His processors reeled from the near impossible task of trying to scan everybot, their weapons systems and their ranges, their models, and overall perniciousness. His knee joints threatened to give him trouble as the ache to fly above them all and find a safer location took hold and caused him to quake. Their proximity was overwhelmingly too close and an unintentional chirp of distress left his unfaithful lips. He was rooted to the ground by a long chain attached to the metal clamp fastened around his waste. There was no way out of this.
The revolting ground pounders were close enough that by stretching any few inches they would brush against his precious wings.
'What about these, little liar? Shall I take these? Rip them right off.'
'N-no! I mean p-please my lord! I beg you, don't!'
'Why ever not?'
'I need my wings!'
'Not where your going if you screw this up, but just for you, a quick reminder of who runs this boat.'
'Aaaahh!'
He pulled his wings as near each other as possible. There was a faint clink and the tips of his wingspan were pressed together. There, that was the only preventive measure he could take, but it gave him a small thrill of pride. They hadn't been able to offline his lovelies, he could still move them at will.
Somebot behind him chuckled. If they had been anywhere else and at any other Primus forsaken time the Decepticon would have turned around and given the observant fragger a more substantial reason to be making noises at his Pit blessed trail. Instead a menacing growl ripped through his vocalizer, clearly meant for the nameless mech behind him.
"Prime looks nervous." said a voice that could easily be identified as the irritating slighter who had laughed at the seeker's discomfort.
"Well, it's his first time as ruling mech. He has the ultimate say in the final sentencing and he's used to just dishing out consequences. Now he has to tip-pede around a jury." a second voice explained to the first.
"Tip-pede? Cmon' Jackie, we all know how everybot feels for this scrapper," a blunt didgit poked the aerial bot in between his shoulder plates, extracting a low hiss, "Every mech and femme here would gladly lend a servo to drag him to the Pits."
Anger heated the prisoner's circuits and his vents let out a short puff of steam.
Another chuckle.
Dam them, Autobots! With focused effort his composure was regained quickly. He frowned, these bots were beneath him and he would proclaim Soundwave the superior mech before he stooped to their level and dignified that spiteful remark with a response. He figured they wanted a negative reaction out of him, they desired a scene. They could flap their lips in vain all they wanted, for they would receive nothing of the likes from him.
Instead of giving into the bait he looked to the silent semi taking a seat at the focal position as ruling mech in the makeshift courtroom that had, until recently, been a simple training room. The usually vigilant Prime seemed slightly off, his optics glazed over by unseen thoughts, his frame tense, and resting on the very edge of his seat. The seeker scoffed. Dum-aft behind him couldn't read body language for all his energon. Optimus Prime was distracted, not nervous. This did little to assure the accused that the Prime's well known sweet and charitable nature would influence a softer sentence and help him ultimately avoid deactivation. He lost all hope. He wanted to stamp his pedes and wail in frustration. Had it been prudent he would have stuck out his glossa at the daft throng of clueless Auto-scum and curse them, screaming, 'Your sorry excuse for a leader can't even function long enough to oversee my case! They must be scraping the bottom of the gutters for Primes nowadays if this is the best you've got. This bogus trial is overstepping war-time mandates! This. Is. Against. Cybertorian. Code!' He would have said that. If his fate wasn't clutched so securely in their filthy servos he would let them have it!
If... but he was at their mercy, and they could do whatever they pleased with him, lawful or not. And he was more than sure not one of his comrades could care less. His CPU could be offlined permanently and his spark smothered out and the only things that would remember his passing without relief were the stars. The same shining lights that were present at his birth would be there for his death and for all their celestial glory they could not help him. It wouldn't matter if they remembered anyway, who would they tell? Each other? What was the point when they were all there. He felt his throat go utterly dry and his tanks churn. He was expendable. Destined to be forgotten. Meaningless. Nothing.
'Why do you bother?'
'Because, that's who I am. It's what I do, what I've always done. I can't hate anything or anybot. You wouldn't understand.'
'This doesn't change a thing'
'I love you too, big guy.'
'Hold your glossa or I'll rip it from your mouth!'
"You may retake your seats." Prowl said with the tone of one bored out of their sockets. "Please remain quite whilst the charges are read..."
Which of the many atrocities that the flyer had played a direct servo in conducting could they nail him with that hadn't pertained to the limits of the battle field?
"...For the crime of trafficking sparklings: forty counts."
What!? Optics wide and spark racing, he gaped at the intelligence officer. Not true! He'd blast a hole through his chest plates before ever even thinking to consider thinking of committing a wrong so loathsome. The court had barely been in true session for a sec and already things were being blown way out of proportion. He recalled the only time he had ever been involved with sparklings and that was when he had, by sheer happenstance, stumbled upon a sorry bunch of homeless mechlings, cowering together in a dirty heap behind a rundown energon station. Back then he had been more ruthless and uncaring, but he sure as Pit had done right by them because no sooner had he set optics on them had he escorted (sneaked) them onto base, and, in the inclosed safety of his quarters, ensured that they were fueled; from his own pump, Primus dammit! Of course not all of the little sparks survived, and the few that did now had the purple markings of a Decepticon branded on their frames, but he'd helped them, saved them. He knew their designations by spark and two of them he had the honor of sharing a trine bond with. He could not be defined as a goody-goody-Mr.-Honorable by any fabrication, but he most assuredly wasn't a fully fledged, conniving badbot! And forty counts? What a stretch!
"...For the maiming of one, Skyfire, while under a truce of ceasefire: 12 counts."
Holy, Primus... that was low... That whole situation had been- IS -dodgey. The big shuttle had just as much baggage to claim for that flight as he.
"...For minor jumping of one, Ironhide, without a threat of bio-contamination, which is the only exception for such an act (see pg. Forty-five of The Code): forty counts."
The stasis cuffs really started to feel their weight right then and as he listened to the SIC's droning voice the convicted Con's optics dimmed, heavy with despair. The Autobots bore no intentions of letting him drag himself away from this one. They were pulling all the cables and lies in the datapad. ...The jet, orded on a mission to attain any and all information feasible, couldn't plead innocent for this charge... but hadn't saving the weapons specialist in the process earned him any alleviation of counts at all? If it mattered in the slightest the Autobots would be happy to know that the seeker had taken a royal beating for letting the red mech go.
A hundred counts is all that is required to seal a deactivation sentence. And he was up to ninety-two.
"...And finally..."
Only eight more counts and he was a dead mech.
'No! No, stay with me! Don't you dare dim those optics! Don't you fragging dare!'
'…..hmm?.. Wa' you say?'
'I'm taking you home, back to the Ark!'
'…..l-lu...v.. you.'
'NO!'
Prowl's thin metallic lips seemed to take an eternity to form the last words. Every circuited fiber of the doomed mech's being rode on the thin line of fast fading hope. The room spun and his helm swiveled almost drunkenly as he fought to follow every consonant and syllable slithering out out of the curved mouth. Not one thing he could have had the foresight to take precautions for prepared him for the damning confirmation of his guilt.
"...For the malicious hacking of one, Bumbl-"
'What's the worst thing you've ever done?'
The jet's spark cried out in anguish. With shuddering revulsion and self-loathing he crashed to the floor, bowing his helm till it touched the cold tiles. He could no longer pretend and kid with himself. He didn't care what they did with his no good life anymore. He'd hold the cannon to his helm and pull the trigger himself. Dry sobs racked his bent frame as he wept to the stars.
"G-guilty," He managed to choke, agreeing to all the accusations regardless of their actuality, "A-all of it. I did i-it all. I-I-... Do with me as y-you wish."
A startled courtroom of Autobots found themselves staring in shock at the greatly feared Decepticon, renouncing his innocence from his kneeling position on the floor. He held nothing back, all the pent up anger, pain, and hurt from orns of stubborn endurance and self-justification came out in a mindless flood of wails and shrieks.
"B-bumbleb-b-ee-... I-I'm sorry! I'm so s-sorry!... F-forgive m-me.."
'Seeing it now, you wretch? Your nothing now, lower than the organics you squish under your pedes. Lower than dirt, lower than me.'
'Do you see me caving in for a astro-second?'
'He told you different... He said he forgives you.'
'…...'
'He's an Autobot, and you know what Autobots do best?'
'…...'
'They lie.'
His CPU crashed and a tortured scream ripped from his vocalizer, scaring all the bots around him. As he surrendered to forced recharge one of his last coherent thoughts was that Megatron had finally done what he'd promised. What he had been aiming for, for vorns... .. a broken Starscream.
'Doesn't he believe me?'
'It's not a question whether he believes you.'
'Then why won't he look at me?'
'Because he will never forgive himself.'
TBC... (if you want?)
A/N: Yeah the first chapters' a little sad, but the rest- actually the story will range in fluff and angst. But I'm not that cruel. Please review! I'd be ever so grateful and encouraged to continue.