dragonofdispair

Original here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1LGa8aDR7fgKVcNWpYoxZis5J62wvvJGhu8Shyq25Rhc/edit

“Steve isn’t it?”

The eradicon’s visor powered on so fast the influx of visual data produced a dozen error reports. The voice chuckled and the shiver of plating produced more errors. He dismissed the stack and tried to move — not sure where he would move too just that he had to get away — which only triggered a repeat error report, this one accompanied by an irritated blat! from his diagnostic systems. Medical override codes. He couldn’t move.

“It is Steve, right?” Ratchet’s voice set off true panic in his mind. He couldn’t move and there was Ratchet — “It’s difficult to tell the lot of you apart. Blink once for yes and twice for no.”

Steve didn’t blink at all. Ratchet was — was…

Ratchet was the Autobots’ Chief “Medical” Officer and that was really all that needed to be said.

Fear paralyzed him. He had no important information — not that it would do him any good to spill what he had. Ratchet didn’t care about information; he only cared about his experiments and victims’ screams.

The torturer gave an irritated huff. “Yes or no, ‘Con. Not too hard,” he crooned gently.

Wishing he had enough control over his body to at least tremble, he complied. One blink for yes.

The medic smiled brightly. Cheerful. “Good. I’m going to give you your voice back. Do you understand?”

Steve blinked once because yes, he understood. The Autobot wanted to be able to hear his screams.

The medic-torturer reached for a wicked looking tool, edges sharp and still covered in the dried energon of his previous victim, whoever it had been. “Shhh,” Ratchet tried to soothe when Steve’s visor flickered uncontrollably, the only expression of fear he had left. “I’m not going to hurt you. Do you believe me?”

Say yes! he thought. It was what the torturer wanted to hear and it might hold off the pain for another few seconds.

Against his will his visor blinked twice.

Ratchet looked disappointed. “Slag. I thought I had it that time.” He put down the tool and shrugged. “You’re answering honestly at least, which’ll make Jazz happy, but not me.” The wrist-panel that contained his networking equipment clicked open and he began unwinding the cord as Steve’s visor flickered intermittently. “Failure does not make me happy, Steve.” He shrugged again. “But if at first you don’t succeed and all…”

Steve had enough time to think what—? before the Autobot’s cord clicked into the port behind his head and the medic’s override codes sent him into unconsciousness.

“Steve isn’t it?”

The eradicon’s visor powered on so fast the influx of visual data produced a dozen error reports…