[AU] Oubliette - Chapter Five

[dracoqueen22]

a/n: I'm going to say this at every chapter until it gets better. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. Because even with the warnings for this particular chapter, it's still not the worst chapter. NSFW.

Universe: G1/IDW AU
Characters this chapter: Megatron, Optimus, Barricade, Shockwave, Soundwave
Rating: NC-17
Warnings this chapter: Interrogation, Torture, Bondage, Energon Rod, Forced pleasure, genital harm, acid torture, mental invasion, physical abuse
Commission fic for NK

Mood Music: "Forsaken," Disturbed

Oubliette
Chapter Five

To Optimus' surprise, Megatron actually had a prison. He'd repurposed the lowest level of the command building into a brig. Half a dozen cells were enclosed with energy bars, but thankfully, all of them were empty. No doubt their residents had all been either executed or distributed as prizes to Decepticon soldiers.

Optimus' tank churned.

Apart from the cells, however, Megatron also had what he grandly referred to as an interrogation room. It was, to Optimus, what the humans would have called a horror house. Not because it was luridly splashed with energon and bits and pieces of random mechs, but because it was clean and tidy. Instruments of torture, half of which Optimus couldn't even recognize, hung from the walls, some gleaming, others worn with use but still functional.

The platform in the middle of the room was liberally draped with chains and manacles, complete with a control box that no doubt allowed it to be lifted or lowered or tilted. Chains also dangled from the ceiling and it was to these that Megatron dragged Optimus. With Barricade and Shockwave behind him, there was little point in digging in his heels. He would be taken to those chains regardless.

“You think pain is enough to motivate him?” Barricade asked as Megatron chained Optimus by his wrists, high above his helm.

Brackets in the floor pinned Optimus' pedes in place, his legs braced apart, and his thigh cables protesting the strain. It was just far enough to be uncomfortable, an irritation that would blossom into pain later, he was sure. Though it would probably fade to the background once they started using those... things on him.

“I don't know anything,” Optimus repeated. He gave a testing tug to the restraints. They didn't budge, and had probably been constructed for mechs much larger and stronger than himself.

“I think that we will find something that does,” Megatron said, standing in front of Optimus with his arms crossed. His gaze was unforgiving. “Barring that, however, seeing him in pain is satisfying.”

Barricade laughed, his multiple optics blinking in complicated patterns. “That's not how torture works, boss. You're supposed to promise that the pain will end if they talk.” He circled around Optimus, poking at the manacles and checking them for integrity.

“It would be better to scan his processor,” Shockwave said, sounding bored from where he stood near the door. “It is the only way to be sure.”

“You informed me during the last attempt that you couldn't break his firewalls.”

“I have reason to believe that I've found the key.”

Megatron half-turned toward the one-opticked mech. “Then I'll keep that in reserve. It's too easy, however.” His engine whined. “He has yet to learn what it means to obey.”

There was a rattle and a squeal of unoiled gears before Optimus felt the chains pull harder at his wrists, until he stood on the tips of his pedes. It had the added discomfort of stretching out his substructure, widening the gaps in his armor and his plating, leaving him further defenseless.

“As you wish, my lord.” Shockwave lapsed into silence, but his optic stared balefully in Optimus' direction, his fingers twitching as though he longed to rifle through Optimus' circuitry again.

Optimus shuddered.

Megatron's gaze flicked to Barricade. “Well?”

A finger poked into Optimus' back, through a gap in his plating, the talon scraping a segment of his backstrut. Optimus jerked forward, hissing through his vents. That had been particularly sharp, fire blooming in its wake.

“You want him alive when I'm done, yeah?” Barricade asked.

“Yes. Even if it means I must leave him temporarily in Hook's care.”

Barricade grinned with a mouthful of denta, far sharper than Megatron's own. “Okay then.” He paced in front of the table, talons dragging lightly across the gathered instruments. “You want a show, too?”

Megatron folded his arms, his optics glittering with menace. “Yes.”

“Mmmm. My pleasure.” Barricade selected a long, slender rod, the tip fitted with a hook-shaped metal piece.

He moved back in front of Optimus, idly tapping the rod against his hand. “Do you know what this is, Prime?”

“I do not.”

“Bet your spec ops pet does.” Barricade's grin widened. He held up the rod, thumb flicking across a switch. The end lit up with blue electricity. “It's an energon rod. Handy little device. Narrow enough to slide through all those crevices. Variable settings for that perfect jolt.” He smacked his lips together. “Not quite enough to kill though.”

Optimus cycled a ventilation. He was no stranger to pain. The knowledge that he could spill everything and the torture would still continue made him even more determined not to speak. He would guard what few secrets he carried with his spark.

“I grow bored, Barricade,” Megatron said.

Barricade clucked his glossa, leaning in close, though Optimus towered over him in his current position. “Has no sense of anticipation, does he?” He laughed darkly, the prod crackling at his side. “But I gotta do what the boss says.” He shrugged his shoulders and then whipped the rod up, jamming in between the armor plates on Optimus side.

He went rigid, charge crackling through him, too sharp and hot to be anything but pain. His frame screamed at him. His vocalizer spat static. His vents seized. It was different than the shock collar, more localized.

Then it was gone, Barricade jerking the rod free. He took a sliding step, scooting just to the limits of Optimus' visual feed. The rod nudged closer, the crackling edges of it biting at Optimus' armor, prickling the sensors beneath. It was an irritation, like an itch he couldn't scratch, the gnawing of a scraplet.

“We all know how this is going to play,” Barricade said as he circled around to Optimus back, dragging the tip of the rod against his armor. “But for the sake of the game, let's pretend otherwise.”

The rod lifted away, allowing Optimus to pull in a vent.

“Now,” Barricade said with a growl. “Which Autobots are in hiding?”

Optimus stared at Megatron, whose optics glittered with menace. “I don't know,” he answered, half-truth and half-lie. He had guesses, but not a single one he could give with any certainty. Not that he would.

“Wrong answer.”

The rod crackled as it slipped between his back plates and pressed right against his spinal strut. Chains rattled as Optimus arched away from it, fire racing up and down his back. His legs twitched. He swore he smelled smoke, as though something had burnt out.

It ended.

“Shall I be more clear?” Barricade asked, his tone condescending. “We know there are least six Autobots still cowering on Cybertron. Who are they?”

Six? So few!

Optimus' spark drew into itself.

“I do not know.”

“Lies again.” The energy rod skipped down Optimus' back, little jolts popping into his substructure. Barricade clucked his glossa once more. “I'm so disappointed in you, Prime. I thought you weren't supposed to lie.”

“Not a lie,” Optimus gritted out. “We scattered. No communications. I do not know which of my Autobots survived.”

Barricade entered his peripheral feed from the opposite side, still dragging that rod along Optimus armor. “And on Earth?”

Optimus shook his helm. “I don't know.” This was the full truth. As far as he knew, none had survived on Earth. Granted he'd only left the Protectobots and the Dinobots behind with the intention of returning for them.

Grimlock was hard to kill, but the Dinobots were hardly subtle and they were outnumbered. Optimus did not hold much hope. Especially given the sudden unfriendliness of the humans.

“Hmm. You might actually be telling the truth about that,” Barricade said. “Oh, well.”

Optimus had a moment to brace himself before Barricade shoved the energy prod into his side, sliding easily between two armor plates and right against his substructure. Optimus seized, fire licking through his protoform. The empty place where his T-cog had been ached.

And then it was gone and Barricade circled back to Optimus' front. The stench of charred circuits filled the air. Optimus tasted smoke, the bitterness of it thick on his glossa. A low clatter split the silence. Optimus was shaking. He couldn't make himself stop. His shoulders whined, protesting his weight.

The knowledge that Barricade had barely begun rang through his processor.

Barricade rested the charged tip of the prod against Optimus' windshield, the charge crackling across the glass. It bit down through his seams, another unavoidable itch.

“Should I ask again?”

“Lord Megatron, if I might interrupt?” Shockwave proposed and Barricade withdrew the shock rod, half-turning to slant his multiple optics toward Shockwave.

Megatron looked annoyed. “What is it, Shockwave?”

“If you don't have need of my services, I was in the middle of some delicate calculations and--”

Megatron waved a dismissive hand. “Fine, fine. Whatever. Go back to your laboratory. I'll summon you if I need you.”

“Thank you, Lord Megatron.” Shockwave tilted his helm in a bow and made himself scarce.

Megatron gestured toward Barricade. “Continue.”

“With pleasure,” Barricade purred, and he returned his attention to Optimus, flicking the prod in front of him with practiced motions. “Now where were we? Ah. I remember. You were lying to me.”

Optimus set his jaw.

The prod tapped lightly against his chestplate, more a jolt than a shock. It then dragged lightly down, making Optimus squirm, buzzing across his grill, his ventrum, his pelvis, only to tap on his interfacing panel.

“Gonna open for me, sweetspark?” Barricade purred, a snap of electricity hitting Optimus' panel with another jolt. “Or do I get to have some fun?”

“Just rip it off,” Megatron said. “It's become a hindrance anyway.”

Optimus snapped his panel open. He had little dignity left to lose but at least let him keep that. Rather than be forced to follow Megatron around Cybertron with his equipment exposed as if to advertise.

“Guess he didn't like that idea,” the interrogator said with a laugh.

The tip of the prod nosed Optimus' recessed spike. Tiny drips of charge spilled down against the sensitive component. Optimus gritted his denta, hips jerking in a vain attempt to escape it. The prod felt like the prickle-scrape of talons.

“All I want is a name,” Barricade murmured, his gaze locked on Optimus' face as the charge biting at Optimus' spike increased a notch in intensity. “Well, several of them. But we can start with one.”

Optimus gnawed on his bottom lip, his hands clenching into fists. His hips twitched restlessly, the itch shifting to a burn. His frame poked him with warnings. All of the lessons Jazz had given him abandoned Optimus. He told himself to endure. That Megatron didn't want him dead.

The prod lifted and Optimus gasped in a ventilation.

“Don't want to ruin it,” Barricade said, off hand. “May want to play with that later.”

He tapped Optimus' array with the rod and then traced it along the inside of Optimus' thighs, up and down the left and then repeating on the right. Each sweep brought him perilously close to Optimus' valve.

The urge to clamp his panel shut and keep it there almost overwhelmed him. Only the knowledge that they would remove it if he did kept Optimus from canceling the requests. The chains on his ankles rattled as he unconsciously tried to draw his legs together and failed. His pedes ached. His shoulders groaned.

“Have you ever played with toys, Prime?” Barricade asked, conversational now. “A little something here in this valve? Teasing your nodes? Making you overload again and again?” The interrogator chuckled. “This is not one of those toys.”

The tip of the prod thrust between Optimus' legs, the sharp bite of it nipping at the rim of his valve before it gnawed on his anterior node. A whimper tore itself from Optimus' throat, his vents stalling. His visual feed went white. He wasn't even sure if he could call it pain, the agony too sharp, too piercing.

Warnings shrieked across his processor, redlined. Optimus spat out something, a plea perhaps, noise rushing through his audials.

It ended and Optimus gasped for a ventilation, his processor spinning. He tried to online his optics and had to reboot them. His anterior node throbbed and if it was possible, his spike retreated deeper into its housing.

“Now that was a pretty reaction,” Barricade mused.

The prod nosed between Optimus' thighs again, teasing against his valve rim with a lighter charge. It buzzed and snapped. Optimus groaned.

The tip rubbed over his outer rim several times and then tipped upward, pushing inside his valve. Optimus made a choked noise, helm tossing as the little pricks and nips of the charge stung at the walls of his valve.

“Don't damage him more than I can use him,” Megatron warned.

“Nothing that can't be fixed,” Barricade agreed and he pushed the prod deeper.

The chains rattled. The tip of Optimus' pedes scraped the floor as he tried to push himself away, his calipers squeezing and clenching, an attempt to force the prod out. Both failed. The prod nudged deeper, the charge pecking at his deepest nodes.

Barricade tilted his helm to the side, wriggled the prod around, and poked at Optimus' spike with two talon tips. He pinched the head of it, making Optimus' hips jerk.

“Hmm. Not interested in playing yet? I can fix that.” He grinned, denta flashing in the overhead light, and his thumb flicked a switch on the energon prod.

Just as quick, the biting prickle of the rod changed to a warm, buzzing. Optimus' valve fluttered, confused, until the soft sensation soothed away the sting. His array warmed, lubricant gathering at the back of his valve.

Optimus wheezed a ventilation. “Don't--”

“What? Make you enjoy it?” Barricade's optics blinked out of succession. “Don't you want to see how nice I am?” The pad of his thumb gently circled the tip of Optimus' spike, encouraging it to pressurize.

“Nothing about this is nice,” Optimus hissed, his engine whining. The prod vibrated away, drawing forth pearls of lubricant.

Megatron chuckled, his optics visibly glittering from over Barricade's shoulder. Optimus ignored him.

“I'm not allowed to kill you,” Barricade retorted, his hand lifting from Optimus' spike to drag a talon down the center of his chestplate, tracing the seam. “Otherwise you would see how not nice I am.”

He grinned and dropped his hand again, encircling the tip of Optimus' spike as it peeked from its sheath. “Ah, there you are.” He gave Optimus' spike a light stroke, the soft pleasure encouraging it to fully pressurize.

Lubricant seeped from Optimus' valve, dripping onto his thighs and the floor.

“Even better.” Barricade hummed his approval. “Now we can really have some fun.”

Optimus seized as the pleasure in his valve abruptly switched to agony, blazing hot fire in the wake of the purring softness. His mouth opened but his vocalizer only spat static. He thrashed in the chains, desperate to get away. He swore that all he could smell was that of his own systems frying, smoke and char.

His vocalizer abruptly started working, spilling out desperate whimpers. He gritted his denta so hard he heard the metal shearing together.

Fire stripped down his spike as Barricade dragged the edge of his claws down the delicate metal, drawing energon and peeling away thin curls of dermal plating. Optimus gasped, his vents stalling once more. Overheat warnings popped up, over and over, faster than he could acknowledge them.

Barricade gripped his spike and squeezed. He shoved the prod deeper, pinned it right against Optimus' deepest node, and smirked.

Optimus screamed.

He thrashed in the chains, heard something creak and groan. What felt like blaster fire erupted in his valve, his sensors screaming for mercy as Barricade must have turned the prod to its highest setting.

His visual feed completely fritzed. His processor flared crimson. His spark swelled, filling every nook and cranny of his chamber. The world became a kaleidoscope of excruciating fire.

Then it was over, it was over and he panted desperately, overheating, his valve throbbing with agony and every tense cable fraught with pain.

His vents itched. He didn't even try to reboot his optics. The sound of his screams seemed to echo in his audials. His valve burned and Optimus moaned as he felt Barricade withdraw it, the slide of the smooth metal almost a relief compared to the consuming bite of the charge.

“That,” Barricade purred, “was beautiful.”

Optimus shivered. His optics weren't working, but he heard the shuffle of Barricade's pedesteps as he walked away.

He feared that if he'd looked down, he'd see nothing but a burnt husk where his valve had been. Surely the whole array would need to be replaced.

“Tell me, Prime,” Barricade's vocals sounded as if they came from a distance, “do you feel like giving me the truth now?”

Optimus rebooted his vocalizer twice. It took him two tries to produce the words. “I have not lied.”

“I expected as much.” He heard the rustle and rattle of small objects before Barricade's voice got closer. “Good thing I'm not done having fun yet.”

Optimus' optics finally onlined to find that Barricade was back in front of him again, juggling five small vials amid his fingers. They danced across his joints, glass glinting in the overhead light.

“I probably should have lead with these,” Barricade said conversationally, his optics watching the dance of the vials. “But I really wanted to try out my new toy. Do you know what this is?”

The liquid was thin and almost clear. Optimus did not recognize it, though he suspected he should have. Jazz would have known.

“I do not.”

“This...” Barricade flicked one up and caught it with his other hand, pinching it between his claws, “is what your pet tactician put in his favorite blaster.”

Acid.

Optimus worked his intake and his optics cut to Megatron. “You wish to debilitate me?”

Megatron smirked, leaning casually against the wall. “I'm sure Barricade knows how to keep from permanent damage.”

“Of course I do. Nothing that can't be repaired by Hook,” he parroted, and stepped closer, flicking the cap off the vial. “This is a milder form. Hurts like the Pit though.”

There was no odor, at least none that Optimus could detect, but his internals went icy with fear. His chains rattled. His spike was still exposed.

“Now don't move,” Barricade said, stepping close, into the nearest edge of Optimus' withdrawn field. “Wouldn't want me to spill somewhere I don't intend, would you?”

Optimus froze, even his vents stalling. He tilted his gaze at Barricade, watching with a growing horror as Barricade rolled the capped vials over his knuckles. His multiple optics raked over Optimus' frame as though trying to decide the best path to pain.

“Too bad I can't reach your fingers,” he mused aloud. “Maybe next time.”

He nudged a knee between Optimus' legs and the one hand rested on Optimus' right hip, two fingers dipping into a seam and nudging apart the armor plates. He heard the soft tap of glass against metal and then the trickle of something cold against his cables. It dripped behind his plating, splashing over lines.

His hip began to warm and then it heated, as though someone had started a fire under his armor. Optimus trembled from the effort of holding himself still, there was an overwhelming urge to try and get away from the discomfort.

He shuttered his optics and felt Barricade withdraw. His sensors tracked Barricade moving around him, stalking slowly. The empty vial was tossed to the ground where it shattered.

Clink. Clink. Clink. The remaining vials danced around Barricade's fingers. Optimus' hip burned, a flush of fire spreading through the entire assembly.

There was a touch on his right knee. Optimus jerked it away, but Barricade tightened his grip, clicking his glossa.

“Remember,” he said with a dark chuckle. “You have to be still.”

Talons prickled at his seams. Glass tapped on his armor. Liquid dripped down into the workings of his joint, soaking into cables and hydraulics. The chill was chased away with a warm glow that soon turned into a blazing heat to match his hip.

A strangled noise caught itself in Optimus' vocalizers. His systems sent overheat warnings and his cooling fans whirred to life, vibrating his frame.

Barricade moved around him. Clink. Clink. Clink.

Talons scraped down Optimus' back, skipping over the plates, catching in the seams. He felt paint as it scraped away, flaking to the ground. The edge of one claw dipped into his shoulder, teasing the complicated mechanism beneath.

Optimus tensed. His shoulder flexed at Barricade's touch.

“I want to hear another one of those lovely screams,” Barricade murmured.

Tink went glass against metal as cold drizzled into Optimus' shoulder, slithering over his cables, dripping against his substructure.

Heat crackled and blazed through Optimus' hip, his knee, his shoulder. He felt himself growing tense, ruffling all the cables and igniting a fresh flush of agony. It wasn't as sharp and cutting as the energon prod had been, but a resonating ache that made his spark flutter. He couldn't ignore it, couldn't run away from it, and couldn't dismiss the warnings fast enough.

It left him wanting to squirm and knowing he shouldn't, forcing himself to hold still as Barricade moved again and Optimus felt the interrogator's touch on his right ankle joint. His engine puttered a weak protest, still throttled, and Optimus didn't dare online his optics. He didn't want Megatron to read the panic in them.

Talons prickled over the tire on his lower leg, preceding the drip, drip, drip of more acid into the complicated and tiny joints of Optimus' ankle. He felt his armor trembling, his entire frame vibrating from the effort of keeping his weight from shifting. Every minute flex of his cables worked the acid deeper, a maddening itch that he couldn't scratch. Bearing his weight upon that pede was a special kind of agony, worse that by shifting his weight to his left leg put more pull on his left shoulder. There was nowhere to adjust.

Tink.

One more vial.

Hydraulics hissed as Barricade stood and circled back to Optimus' front. One long finger dragged down the side of Optimus' face with a scrape of a single talon.

“You're shaking,” Barricade observed.

Optimus onlined his optics, forcing himself to only look at Barricade, though he felt the weight of Megatron's stare. Those dark optics hungered.

It took two tries before Optimus could engage his vocalizer. “Unavoidable,” he managed.

Barricade chuckled. “Oh, I know.” His talon hooked on Optimus' bottom lip, pulling it and his jaw down, forcing his mouth open. “Give me your glossa.”

Optimus made a low noise of refusal.

“Stubborn, I see,” Barricade said, and his mouth curled into a slow, fanged smirk. His other hand pressed against Optimus' bare array, the taloned tip of his thumb poking at Optimus' recessed spike as his fingers curled on the inside of his valve rim. The cold vial pressed against Optimus' anterior node. He jolted.

“Then I'll give you a choice,” Barricade purred. “Your glossa or your spike? Because I suspect Lord Megatron doesn't intend to use the latter much anyway. Pit, he might not even bother to have it repaired.”

A choice.

Optimus cringed.

“Tick, tock, Prime,” Barricade said, the tip of his claw digging into the curve of Optimus' lip, drawing a bead of energon. The other pushed into the transfluid split of his spike, causing a lance of pain.

Optimus' plating rattled. He made his choice.

He lapped at the tip of Barricade's finger and let his glossa emerge, offering it to the interrogator. The alternative, he reasoned, was worse.

“Smart mech,” Barricade said and withdrew his talon from Optimus' array, using the same hand to pinch the tip of Optimus' glossa between two claws. He pulled on it, straining the limits of the connector, and Optimus gagged. His intake flexed.

“Now don't get used to hearing this, but don't swallow. Or I can't be held responsible for the damage to your tank,” Barricade said.

Optimus trembled, oral fluid gathering in his mouth and dribbling out. It dripped onto his chestplate, on the floor, and trickled down the sides of his intake.

Don't swallow.

Barricade kept his grip on Optimus' glossa, but he released Optimus' bottom lip, grabbing the vial and flicking it open with one hand. There was no odor to serve as warning, nothing but the long scrape of a claw down the center of Optimus' glossa, digging a furrow into the thin, dermal metal. And then a glint of light over the glass as Barricade tipped the vial up and let it drip on to Optimus' glossa, drop by anxious drop.

Optimus watched. He counted. He cringed as it started as a tingle, an itch, and then turned into a heat. An itchy heat. It crackled and spat when mixed with his oral lubricant. It pooled in the furrow, digging deeper into his glossa. The heat became a burn, a blaze of agony.

Optimus' chains rattled. His pede slipped and he struggled to regain his balance with his aching pede and hip and shoulder. He tried to retract his glossa, but Barricade's grip was firm, his talons all but puncturing the dermal metal.

A helpless sound broke from his vocalizer. He didn't care how pathetic it sounded. There was still half a vial to go and his glossa was already scorched. Sensors popped and fizzled out, damage reports streaming through his processor.

“What would I have to do,” Barricade murmured, “to get another one of those lovely screams?” His talon scraped at Optimus' glossa, scratching the areas where the acid had not touched.

Optimus shuddered.

Barricade tilted his helm and then abruptly capped the vial, dancing it across his fingers before it vanished, perhaps into subspace. He gripped Optimus' jaw, keeping his helm tilted down, but he let go of Optimus' glossa. He clamped down on the immediate reaction to draw it back, instead tilting it down, hoping that the last of the acid would drip off. Oral lubricant trickled free.

“I think I have an idea,” Barricade said, and his multiple optics lit up with glee. “I even think you'll like it.”

Barricade let go of his face and Optimus sagged. His glossa ached. The last of the acid fizzled out, though the blazing heat remained. He smelled scorched energon, felt it welling from the scores on his dermal metal.

He reluctantly drew his singed glossa back into his mouth. The simple act of moving it sent fresh shards of agony over his sensors. Half of them were now deemed useless. Self-repair swarmed toward the burns, but with so much else to do, it was overwhelmed.

Optimus closed his mouth and stared at the floor. He couldn't stop shaking. He could hear his plating as it clattered, the chains above him rattling from every minute movement. He shifted his weight, trying to ease the pressure on his knee and his ankle, but nothing helped. He couldn't stop shaking and his vents were hiccuping and the Decepticons had stopped asking him questions a long time ago.

It was never about the answers.

Barricade was not gone for long. He returned quickly, as though he'd already known which of his instruments of torture he preferred next. He carried a crowbar, a crude instrument, but effective.

Optimus braced himself for a beating. That, at least, would be more tolerable. How many times had he engaged in physical combat with Megatron? How many times had he been beaten down and only saved by the timely intervention of his Autobots?

Barricade tilted his helm, one finger running down the length of the crowbar. “I wonder what you're thinking, Prime,” he said as he paced back and forth in front of Optimus, small steps that set up a rhythm. “Are you relieved? Do you think a few blows with this are easier to take? It has other uses, you know.”

Barricade paused. The crowbar swung in a low arc in front of him. He tapped his own chestplate, the metal ringing hollowly.

“What's in a name?” he mused and then a wicked smirk took over his lips. “They also call this a prybar.”

Panic strobed through Optimus' spark. No.

He leaned back, as far as the chains would allow, the tip of his pedes scratching at the floor.

Barricade snagged a claw on his windshield, dragging him back close. “This is the most fight you've given me.” The crowbar tapped against the glass and Optimus heard a small crack ripple through it.

“How precious is this?” Barricade asked, his vocals hissing, as though anticipation threaded it's way through him.

He jabbed the pointed end of the crowbar into the seam of Optimus' chestplates, wriggling it about. Pain lanced through Optimus' chassis and he tensed, a cry catching in his intake.

“Would you fight harder if I threatened your spark?” Barricade leaned his weight upon the bar, digging it deeper, metal scraping on metal. The blunt tip of it scraped Optimus' secondary plate. “Would you give me the truth then?”

“Enough!”

The pain stopped. Optimus swallowed down another sob, sagging in his chains. He stared through a fuzzy visual feed as Megatron strode forward and all but knocked Barricade aside. He grabbed Optimus' jaw and turned Optimus' helm to the left and right as though examining him.

“There are things that are not for you to take,” Megatron said and he sounded almost jealous.

“My apologies, boss. I'll leave that particular pleasure for you then,” Barricade said, far too cheerfully for Optimus' comfort. He stepped back with a flourish, offering the crowbar to Megatron. “By your leave.”

Megatron snorted and dismissed the offer as he continued to examine Optimus, his touch almost gentle. “Not now. I do at least want some information out of this. Bring me Soundwave.”

Barricade dipped his helm in a bow. “If you insist.” He tossed the instrument onto the table and left the cell. Comms didn't work down here, Optimus assumed.

He sucked in a rattling ventilation. There wasn't a strut on him, a cable, that did not hurt. He felt flayed, split open, and he almost wondered, which was worse. This pain, or the humiliation Megatron forced upon him.

Megatron kept his grip on Optimus' jaw, but his other hand rested on Optimus' chestplate. Fingers dragged down, over his windshield, through the seeping energon, until they found and lightly encircled his bruised spike. Optimus made a helpless noise as Megatron took his spike in hand with an almost distant curiosity.

“You are made of sterner metal than I would have thought, Prime,” he mused.

Optimus had to reboot his vocalizer three times before he could speak, and even then, what emerged was laced with static. “I stood against you for millennia.”

Megatron chuckled. “That you did.” He squeezed Optimus' spike and Optimus jerked, helm rolling on his shoulders as his frame writhed. “Though your defeat was inevitable.”

He let go of Optimus' spike and reached further down, two taloned fingers pushing up into Optimus' sore valve. A strangled noise escaped him and his thighs trembled, once again wishing he could draw them closed.

“Barricade does good work,” Megatron mused aloud. “I imagine you can withstand more.”

Optimus' engine whined without his consent.

Megatron chuckled. “Or maybe not.” He swirled his fingers within Optimus' valve and withdrew them, holding them up to Optimus' mouth. “Open.”

Stained as they were with his own lubricant and energon. Optimus shuddered. Megatron's grip on his jaw tightened to the tune of creaking metal. And Optimus obeyed, his lips parting.

“Stick out your glossa.”

He shuttered his optics. His glossa emerged and Megatron wiped his fingers off on it. He barely felt the touch as anything more than a longer scrape of pain. Optimus felt more than saw the grin on Megatron's lips.

“I still want answers, Prime,” Megatron said, his fingers putting pressure on Optimus' glossa, ignoring the thin stream of oral lubricant that gathered at the corners of Optimus' mouth. “Even if I have to rip them from your processor.”

The door to the cell slid open and Optimus onlined his optics to find Soundwave stepping inside. He drew to a halt at the sight of the two of them. His visor dimming.

“Soundwave is needed?”

“Yes. Come here.” Megatron dragged his fingers off Optimus' glossa, though he kept his grip on Optimus' jaw. “I am in need of your expertise.”

The communications officer approached Optimus, his plating drawn tight against his frame. “Shockwave's scan--”

“--can't get past his firewalls. Or so he told me once. They recode themselves faster than he can decode them and I don't want to waste the time to let him try again,” Megatron said and released Optimus, stepping back. “Your turn.”

Soundwave's visor dimmed. “Uncertain of success.”

“I don't care.” Megatron frowned, his optics narrowing as he stared at Soundwave. “I want you to see what you can find even if it is nothing.”

Soundwave dipped his helm. “Understood. Proximity necessary.”

“I know. I know.” Megatron waved him off, taking another step back. “I'll be by the door.” He turned on a heel and took up his position by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

Soundwave took his place, standing directly in front of Optimus. With both mask and visor, it was impossible to read his expression, but the tight clamping of his armor suggested this wasn't a pleasant task.

He lifted a hand and pressed it to Optimus' face. Two fingers rested on Optimus' forehelm, the others hovered just above the thin, flexible dermal plate.

“Relax,” Soundwave monotoned. “It will be gentler.”

Somehow, Optimus doubted it. But he shuttered his optics, if only so he wouldn't have to look at Soundwave while the mech ripped apart his processor.

At first, he felt nothing, and then there was a sudden sharp and piercing pain that made Optimus flinch, his vents catch. It was over as fast as it had begun, but the dizziness followed. A sense of vertigo despite his optics being offline. His frame felt as though he were spinning without solid ground beneath him.

Optimus' tanks flipped.

There was a not-sensation in his processor. Like a tickle of fingers or a trickle of water across his thoughts, his data. It was both different and the same as when Ratchet plugged into him. An awareness of another presence, an intangible touch that could nonetheless be felt.

There was no point in firewalls. Soundwave's touch didn't even register to them. He hadn't hacked into Optimus because they hadn't crossed cables. His system didn’t register a foreign presence.

If Optimus had not known Soundwave was in his mind, he wouldn't have been able to sense it. Did it only work by touch? Because otherwise how had Soundwave not been probing their thoughts for years?

But Soundwave only ghosted through Optimus' processor. He didn't linger. He opened no files. He brushed Optimus' surface thoughts.

Optimus onlined his optics, world still spinning, but in front of him, Soundwave was stock still. His visor was dark. A shiver fluttered down the carrier's plating.

There was another brief, sharp pinch. Optimus flinched, hissing air through his intake, and then Soundwave withdrew his touch, stepping back. He wobbled, but was quick to catch himself. The light returned to his visor.

“Well?” Megatron demanded, storming forward.

“Prime does not lie,” Soundwave answered, visor flicking fitfully. “Number of Autobot survivors and their location is unknown.”

Megatron growled, optics narrowing. “What about identities?”

“Suspected but not confirmed.”

Triumph gleamed in the warlord's optics. “Give me names.”

Dread thudded into Optimus' tanks. But he thanked Primus he did not have many to give.

“Trailbreaker. Jazz.”

Megatron went rigid with anger. His hands snapped into fists. “Jazz,” he hissed, and Optimus did not like the way Megatron snarled his third's name.

“Likely the culprit,” Soundwave said.

“I should have guessed.” Megatron swung toward Optimus, grabbing his jaw once more and yanking him forward, straining the give of the chains. “No wonder you resist. You think your little spy is going to rescue you.”

“I think nothing,” Optimus said, his vocalizer strained as the cables in his intake tightened around it. If Megatron pulled much further, something would snap. “But for every Autobot that escapes you, I am grateful.”

“Every Autobot? How many do you really think are left?” Megatron demanded. “I have caught or killed the majority of your army. I have crushed your resistance beneath my heels, and you dare think that escape is an option.”

Optimus worked his intake. “Every tyrant falls eventually. So, too, will you.”

Rage, like such he'd never felt before, lashed at Optimus. Megatron released him, but only to slam a fist into his face, rocking his helm to the side. He felt his dermal plating give, his cheek ridge crack, his optic shatter. His visual feed was cut in half. He bit his glossa, tasting energon.

Another blow slammed into his ventrum and Optimus would have curled into himself if he could. As it was, his ventilations stalled. He heard his plating give, heard and felt the splash of energon. Something ground within him, wet and sticky.

Megatron rained upon him a series of blows that Optimus could not avoid, no matter how he twisted his frame. He could only lock down the screams, register the pain, count the punches.

He thought, as his processor spun and his energon levels dipped down below twenty percent again and his shoulder dislocated with a loud and painful snap, that Megatron might truly kill him this time.

Maybe that was the mercy.

Until there was a roar and abruptly, the punches ceased. Optimus stared through one optic, weakly flickering, as Megatron staggered backward and a boxy blue frame stepped between them.

The fusion cannon powered up with an ominous roar. It aimed their direction. “Get out of the way, Soundwave!”

“Intention: to kill Optimus Prime?”

Megatron cycled his optics. “You would stop me?”

“Recommend caution only.” Soundwave's monotone betrayed nothing, but Optimus could see the minute flickers of his back plating. He was terrified. “Prime's worth higher if left functioning.”

The warlord's frame twitched. He visibly performed a systems check before the cannon powered down. “You may be right,” he said, leashed rage still coiled about his frame. “Move aside, Soundwave. That's an order.”

Soundwave dipped his helm in a bow and obeyed, though he turned to watch.

Optimus dragged in a shaky ventilation, preparing himself for anything. But all Megatron did was press the burning barrel of his cannon to Optimus' chest, searing the places where his plating had been fractured, giving way to his protoform.

“Even in defeat you taunt me, Prime,” Megatron said in a low tone, his vents heaving. “It's clear I haven't taught you your place.”

Optimus' vocalizer clicked but wouldn't engage. His fuel readings were a baleful seventeen percent. Much lower and he would drop into stasis lock.

When Megatron's hand touched his face, it was almost gentle the way his fingers curled around Optimus' jaw, his thumb stroking over Optimus' split lip.

“And it occurs to me, Soundwave, that I have been a selfish leader. I have hoarded Prime to myself.” Megatron's optics darkened, and the smile on his lips was far from amused. “It's time that I change that, don't you think?”

Soundwave dipped his helm, his visor nearly impossible to see. “Understood, Lord Megatron. Arrangements will be made.”

“Good,” Megatron purred. He leaned in, glossa sweeping over Optimus' mouth, curling away with a drop of his energon. “It's past time I learned to share, don't you think?” His denta gleamed with Optimus' energon.

Optimus had no prayers left to give.

***
a/n: You can probably guess where chapter six is going. It really doesn't get very pretty from here. Not that it was pretty before. *wince*

I'm going to try and update this every Thursday. Don't know how well that's going to work, but I'm going to try.

As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated. Hope you enjoyed!