[TFP] Entitled Part Four
Sep. 22nd, 2016 02:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Entitled
Universe: TFP AU
Characters: Knock Out/Sunstreaker, Vehicons/Sunstreaker, Megatron, Breakdown
Rated: NC-17
Warnings: NonCon/Rape, Gangbang, Noncon use of toys and bondage, torture, humiliation
Description: Sunstreaker crash-lands on Earth, but the Decepticons find him first, and quite a few hold a grudge. All that's left is to suffer.
Time passed.
His self-repair worked fervently. Leaks were patched up so he no longer bled energon everywhere. But his reserves were dry; he was down to thirteen percent.
Thoughts were hazy.
He'd tugged on his chains to no avail. They were strong and he was weak. It had to be more than the energon loss. Megatron must have done something to him. Or more likely, had his pet spy do it. Infected him with some kind of virus. Or sedation program. On top of the stasis cuffs.
Sunstreaker sagged.
He had one consolation. If Megatron was here, then Prime had to be somewhere nearby. If he even cared.
He'd care if it was Sideswipe.
Sunstreaker made a noise of derision.
It didn't matter. He'd been in a Decepticon spacecraft. The Autobots wouldn't have known him to be inside it.
There was no rescue.
He was on his own. But how was that any different from the usual? The Autobots seemed content to let him wreak havoc on his own, too.
A sound pierced the silence. Someone was coming. Megatron again?
Sunstreaker lifted his helm, staring as the lights flicked on. Not just emergency lights this time, but the whole cell lighting up. His optics cycled down at the sudden influx of brightness.
“Well, well. If it isn't my favorite gladiator.”
That was definitely not Megatron.
A red and silver mech cut off the energy bars to the cell and stepped inside. He was smaller than Sunstreaker, and tires indicated a vehicle mode. Sunstreaker didn't recognize him and couldn't see a Decepticon symbol anywhere on the mech.
“Who the frag are you?” Sunstreaker demanded, entire frame tensing with unease. He was overly aware of his current vulnerability.
“There's no need to be afraid, Sunstreaker,” the mech said, coming close enough that Sunstreaker's olfactory sensor picked up the sweet scent of his expensive wax. “I'm a medic.”
His words were careful, soothing, but his tone was smarmy. Sunstreaker's plating crawled.
“Hmm, this field patch looks like Breakdown's work.” The self-proclaimed medic shook his helm, examining the half-sparked weld. “Sloppy as always.”
Sunstreaker jerked in his chains, not that it helped. He was thoroughly fastened to the wall, and he didn't have the energy to spare. “You didn't answer my question.”
The medic looked up at him, red optics gleaming with less than reassuring intent. “You're hardly in a position to be making demands, Sunstreaker,” he all-but-purred. “But I am a mech of impeccable manners.”
He took a step back, gesturing grandly to his own expertly polished chassis. “I am Knock Out, Lord Megatron's personal medic.”
“Never heard of you,” Sunstreaker said.
The mech didn't so much as skip a pulse. “No, you wouldn't have. I don't have quite the same reputation as a mech of your stature.”
“What the frag do you want?”
Knock Out grinned, the lecherous look spreading across his facial features. “To take advantage of an opportunity that has presented itself. One that was stolen from me so many vorns ago.”
Sunstreaker's optics spiraled down. “What?”
Knock Out moved closer. One hand pressed to Sunstreaker's chassis, and a single taloned digit tapped over the coarse weld. “You once had the gall to deny me. Me. A member of Cybertron's elite and you, a lowly gladiator. I never forgot that humiliation.”
Sunstreaker shuddered, each light tap causing a spark of pain to trickle across his sensornet. “So you're going to what? Talk me to termination?”
Knock Out laughed, his talon dragging down with an audial-cringing shriek of metal on metal. “Not quite.”
Sunstreaker pressed against the wall, but there was nowhere to go. He glared down at the Decepticon. “Is that supposed to scare me?”
“I don't want your fear.” Knock Out's talon scraped through dried energon, making it fleck to the floor. His hand then splayed across Sunstreaker's ventral plating, tapping a nonsense rhythm. “I want your humiliation. So let me tell you a story.”
Sunstreaker's HUD flashed with warning. His energon levels reached a critical point. He would need to refuel soon or he'd slip into stasis lock. The last thing he wanted was to be offline around this glitch.
“I don't want to hear it,” Sunstreaker growled, tugging at his bonds. They rattled, but didn't budge, firmly latched to the wall.
Knock Out ignored him, pressing closer, but not enough for their plating to make contact. In fact, the only part of him that touched Sunstreaker was the one hand. Taloned fingers continued downward, ghosting over the armor at the apex of Sunstreaker's thighs before finally cupping his pelvic array.
“Once upon an orn there was a gladiator named Spinout. And not a very good one either,” Knock Out said, his optics burning bright and crimson as he watched Sunstreaker, the sound of a high-performance engine revving loud in the silence. “He won a few battles, but he lost many, many more.”
Sunstreaker's ventilations hitched. How had Knock Out known his previous designation? No one alive knew that designation anymore!
Knock Out grinned, cocking his helm to the side. “How many times did they get you on your knees? How many times did they pin you down and take you?”
His hand dipped lower, bypassing the panel concealing Sunstreaker's spike and tapping the one over his port. “How many times did you need your valve replaced, I wonder?” Knock Out asked, tracing the rim of the valve over and over with the tip of his talon. “How many seals did they break?”
Sunstreaker's tank rolled. “You're sick!” he spat, dread curdling inside of him.
Those memories were vorns and a lifetime ago. He had no interest in dredging them up, and was certainly not going to confirm Knock Out's accusations.
Knock Out ignored him, his voice growing eager and thick with arousal. His energy field pulsed with it, rising up and falling over Sunstreaker in a heavy wave.
“The last one,” Knock Out continued, cooling fans kicking on with a loud whirr. “Let's see. His designation was Double Punch, I believe. He tore Spinout to pieces and still took the time to enjoy his reward.”
Knock Out paused, fingers searching. His optics lit up when he found the manual override, forcing Sunstreaker's panel to slide aside with a click that was ominously loud in the quiet of the brig. Apparently, the self-proclaimed medic actually did have some medical training.
“I remember watching,” Knock Out said, one talon dipping slowly into Sunstreaker's valve, as though taking care not to damage, but still interested in exploring. “Watching as Double Punch twisted Spinout's remaining arm behind his back and pressed him to the ground, right into a puddle of his own spilled energon.”
Warnings flashed again. Sunstreaker ruthlessly overrode them, refusing to let himself fall offline. He could feel the weakness in his limbs, however, the way the majority of his systems refused to respond. He felt numb in most places.
But his valve felt as though it were on fire.
Knock Out's digits were skilled, knowledgeable, finding and manipulating every sensor in Sunstreaker's valve. Rubbing them just gently enough to trick Sunstreaker's frame into thinking this was a good thing and producing a thin trickle of lubricant to ease the way.
Knock Out added a second digit, continuing his disturbing narrative.
“Double Punch didn't bother with preparation. He just tore off Spinout's panel, flinging it into the crowd. Crazy mechs they were, fought over it as a souvenir.” Knock Out chuckled, dark and sly. “Spinout was too far gone to even yelp when Double Punch thrust into him. As big as Double Punch was, I'm surprised Spinout survived.”
Three fingers pushed into Sunstreaker's valve, activating sensors, gliding smoothly in and out thanks to the addition of lubrication. Sunstreaker groaned, trying to resist the steady coil of heat in his systems.
“But he did survive,” Knock Out purred, leaning closer, his energy field buzzing against Sunstreaker's own weak ripple, pulsing with desire and satisfaction. “And the next time he showed up in the ring, he wasn't Spinout anymore, he was Sunstreaker.”
Knock Out's fingers stroked in and out, putting pressure on the anterior node, making Sunstreaker's hips jerk as the pleasure sent a jolt through his systems. He seeped lubrication, felt it dribbling down his thighs, heard it drip to the floor. His ventilations were hot and heavy, his spike thumping at its panel.
“Sunstreaker was larger, faster, stronger, and he fought with a cruelty that completely belied his earlier matches as Spinout,” Knock Out said, almost conversational were it not for the subject matter. “He was beautiful, broken like everyone else, but beautiful. He won, again and again. Like he finally understood what he'd been built for. What he was worth.”
Energy levels dipped toward stasis. Sunstreaker hung his helm, unable to spare the effort to keep it up, his systems cycling higher and higher toward overload. How he had the energy to spare, he didn't know.
“Glitch,” Sunstreaker gritted out, his hips lifting to meet each one of Knock Out's thrusts. His frame, betraying him, eager for that overload dancing just out of reach. “I'm going to—nngh!” He arched as far as the chains would let him, Knock Out's fingers pressing against a sensor node and sending a sharp burst of charge along it.
“That's better,” Knock Out murmured. “There's no need to fight it, Sunstreaker. This is, after all, what you were made to do.”
Sunstreaker groaned, ventilations sharp and staggered. He wanted to fight, hated that he was helpless. Knock Out's voice echoed in his audials, hypnotizing him.
Knock Out continued, curling his digits, rubbing incessantly over Sunstreaker's sensors, lubrication dribbling down his hand.
“You were made to serve. To submit. To entertain. So do it.” Knock Out leaned forward, licking a wet stripe up Sunstreaker's right cheek. “Overload.”
Sunstreaker's engine revved weakly, whining in the midst of overheat. Resistance shattered in the wake of his overload, his valve cinching down, tightening around Knock Out's fingers, milking them.
He gritted his denta, locking down his vocalizer, refusing to give Knock Out the pleasure of hearing him shout. His frame betrayed him nonetheless, writhing against the wall, rattling the chains.
“Perfect,” Knock Out said, and the click of an interface hatch opening was too loud in the brig.
Sunstreaker rebooted his optics, looking down to find that Knock Out's spike had pressurized, seeping a pale transfluid.
Knock Out pulled his fingers from Sunstreaker's valve with a wet noise, lubricant glistening on his talons. He curled said fingers around his own spike, a visible shudder dancing over his plating.
A hands planted on Sunstreaker's chestplate, inches from the poorly-welded wound. Knock Out braced himself on Sunstreaker, ex-venting heavily, his taloned fingers stroking his spike, slick with Sunstreaker's own lubrication. Judging by the sound of his engine, the swamping nature of his energy field, the Decepticon was already close to his own overload.
“Next time,” Knock Out said, his vocals spitting static, “I'll bring my energon prod.” His optics darkened to a rust red, digits drawing inward on Sunstreaker's chestplate, scraping off thin curls off paint and metal.
“I'll put you on your knees,” he added, his optics spiraling in and out, as though he wasn't quite focused on the here and now but completely absorbed in his fantasy. “Where you belong.”
Sunstreaker growled, but it lacked force. He felt weak as he hung from the chains, memory core pinging him, exhausted processor trying to tag today with images of the past.
Knock Out chuckled darkly, glossa flicking out over his lips, fingers working faster and faster over his spike. Charge crackled along his talons, the heavy tang of lubricant and transfluid thick in the air.
“You'll probably try to fight me,” Knock Out said, talons kneading constantly on Sunstreaker's chestplate. “And I'll enjoy putting you back in your place.”
He leaned closer, near enough that Sunstreaker could feel the Decepticon's ex-vents against his battered plating.
“Where you were meant to be. At my pedes.”
Knock Out's talons snapped, piercing the outer layer of Sunstreaker's chestplate, one gouging a sensor beneath and making Sunstreaker jerk.
“Because – nngh – you're mine now.”
Knock Out groaned and twitched, digits squeezing down on his spike as he overloaded, transfluid spurting against Sunstreaker's plating. It dribbled on his pelvic array and seeped into tiny gaps in his plating, dampening the circuits beneath.
Disgust coiled in Sunstreaker's tank.
“Mmm. That was good.”
Knock Out unlatched his talons and drew back, only to lift his dripping hand and stare at it with a frown. He slapped his hand against Sunstreaker's chestplate, smearing most of the transfluid across Sunstreaker's chassis.
“Hmm. You've made a mess.”
Sunstreaker's optics spiraled outward. He yanked at the last vestiges of energy in his frame.
“You sick fragger!” he howled, ignoring the red flashing warnings in his HUD, reminding him of imminent shutdown. “I'm going to rip out your spark!”
“An empty threat if I ever heard one.” Knock Out stepped back, his optics lingering on Sunstreaker's frame. “You should clean up nicely. Once you earn it.”
Sunstreaker growled, digits curling into angry fists. His processor spun, circuits misfiring. He watched as a countdown popped up in the corner of his HUD, giving him thirty kliks with no possibility of override.
“I'll be back tomorrow,” Knock Out said, interface panel sliding shut with a loud snick. “Try not to miss me.”
The last thing Sunstreaker saw was Knock Out's smirk before his system crashed and the world went completely dark.
****
a/n: Still more to come!
Universe: TFP AU
Characters: Knock Out/Sunstreaker, Vehicons/Sunstreaker, Megatron, Breakdown
Rated: NC-17
Warnings: NonCon/Rape, Gangbang, Noncon use of toys and bondage, torture, humiliation
Description: Sunstreaker crash-lands on Earth, but the Decepticons find him first, and quite a few hold a grudge. All that's left is to suffer.
Time passed.
His self-repair worked fervently. Leaks were patched up so he no longer bled energon everywhere. But his reserves were dry; he was down to thirteen percent.
Thoughts were hazy.
He'd tugged on his chains to no avail. They were strong and he was weak. It had to be more than the energon loss. Megatron must have done something to him. Or more likely, had his pet spy do it. Infected him with some kind of virus. Or sedation program. On top of the stasis cuffs.
Sunstreaker sagged.
He had one consolation. If Megatron was here, then Prime had to be somewhere nearby. If he even cared.
He'd care if it was Sideswipe.
Sunstreaker made a noise of derision.
It didn't matter. He'd been in a Decepticon spacecraft. The Autobots wouldn't have known him to be inside it.
There was no rescue.
He was on his own. But how was that any different from the usual? The Autobots seemed content to let him wreak havoc on his own, too.
A sound pierced the silence. Someone was coming. Megatron again?
Sunstreaker lifted his helm, staring as the lights flicked on. Not just emergency lights this time, but the whole cell lighting up. His optics cycled down at the sudden influx of brightness.
“Well, well. If it isn't my favorite gladiator.”
That was definitely not Megatron.
A red and silver mech cut off the energy bars to the cell and stepped inside. He was smaller than Sunstreaker, and tires indicated a vehicle mode. Sunstreaker didn't recognize him and couldn't see a Decepticon symbol anywhere on the mech.
“Who the frag are you?” Sunstreaker demanded, entire frame tensing with unease. He was overly aware of his current vulnerability.
“There's no need to be afraid, Sunstreaker,” the mech said, coming close enough that Sunstreaker's olfactory sensor picked up the sweet scent of his expensive wax. “I'm a medic.”
His words were careful, soothing, but his tone was smarmy. Sunstreaker's plating crawled.
“Hmm, this field patch looks like Breakdown's work.” The self-proclaimed medic shook his helm, examining the half-sparked weld. “Sloppy as always.”
Sunstreaker jerked in his chains, not that it helped. He was thoroughly fastened to the wall, and he didn't have the energy to spare. “You didn't answer my question.”
The medic looked up at him, red optics gleaming with less than reassuring intent. “You're hardly in a position to be making demands, Sunstreaker,” he all-but-purred. “But I am a mech of impeccable manners.”
He took a step back, gesturing grandly to his own expertly polished chassis. “I am Knock Out, Lord Megatron's personal medic.”
“Never heard of you,” Sunstreaker said.
The mech didn't so much as skip a pulse. “No, you wouldn't have. I don't have quite the same reputation as a mech of your stature.”
“What the frag do you want?”
Knock Out grinned, the lecherous look spreading across his facial features. “To take advantage of an opportunity that has presented itself. One that was stolen from me so many vorns ago.”
Sunstreaker's optics spiraled down. “What?”
Knock Out moved closer. One hand pressed to Sunstreaker's chassis, and a single taloned digit tapped over the coarse weld. “You once had the gall to deny me. Me. A member of Cybertron's elite and you, a lowly gladiator. I never forgot that humiliation.”
Sunstreaker shuddered, each light tap causing a spark of pain to trickle across his sensornet. “So you're going to what? Talk me to termination?”
Knock Out laughed, his talon dragging down with an audial-cringing shriek of metal on metal. “Not quite.”
Sunstreaker pressed against the wall, but there was nowhere to go. He glared down at the Decepticon. “Is that supposed to scare me?”
“I don't want your fear.” Knock Out's talon scraped through dried energon, making it fleck to the floor. His hand then splayed across Sunstreaker's ventral plating, tapping a nonsense rhythm. “I want your humiliation. So let me tell you a story.”
Sunstreaker's HUD flashed with warning. His energon levels reached a critical point. He would need to refuel soon or he'd slip into stasis lock. The last thing he wanted was to be offline around this glitch.
“I don't want to hear it,” Sunstreaker growled, tugging at his bonds. They rattled, but didn't budge, firmly latched to the wall.
Knock Out ignored him, pressing closer, but not enough for their plating to make contact. In fact, the only part of him that touched Sunstreaker was the one hand. Taloned fingers continued downward, ghosting over the armor at the apex of Sunstreaker's thighs before finally cupping his pelvic array.
“Once upon an orn there was a gladiator named Spinout. And not a very good one either,” Knock Out said, his optics burning bright and crimson as he watched Sunstreaker, the sound of a high-performance engine revving loud in the silence. “He won a few battles, but he lost many, many more.”
Sunstreaker's ventilations hitched. How had Knock Out known his previous designation? No one alive knew that designation anymore!
Knock Out grinned, cocking his helm to the side. “How many times did they get you on your knees? How many times did they pin you down and take you?”
His hand dipped lower, bypassing the panel concealing Sunstreaker's spike and tapping the one over his port. “How many times did you need your valve replaced, I wonder?” Knock Out asked, tracing the rim of the valve over and over with the tip of his talon. “How many seals did they break?”
Sunstreaker's tank rolled. “You're sick!” he spat, dread curdling inside of him.
Those memories were vorns and a lifetime ago. He had no interest in dredging them up, and was certainly not going to confirm Knock Out's accusations.
Knock Out ignored him, his voice growing eager and thick with arousal. His energy field pulsed with it, rising up and falling over Sunstreaker in a heavy wave.
“The last one,” Knock Out continued, cooling fans kicking on with a loud whirr. “Let's see. His designation was Double Punch, I believe. He tore Spinout to pieces and still took the time to enjoy his reward.”
Knock Out paused, fingers searching. His optics lit up when he found the manual override, forcing Sunstreaker's panel to slide aside with a click that was ominously loud in the quiet of the brig. Apparently, the self-proclaimed medic actually did have some medical training.
“I remember watching,” Knock Out said, one talon dipping slowly into Sunstreaker's valve, as though taking care not to damage, but still interested in exploring. “Watching as Double Punch twisted Spinout's remaining arm behind his back and pressed him to the ground, right into a puddle of his own spilled energon.”
Warnings flashed again. Sunstreaker ruthlessly overrode them, refusing to let himself fall offline. He could feel the weakness in his limbs, however, the way the majority of his systems refused to respond. He felt numb in most places.
But his valve felt as though it were on fire.
Knock Out's digits were skilled, knowledgeable, finding and manipulating every sensor in Sunstreaker's valve. Rubbing them just gently enough to trick Sunstreaker's frame into thinking this was a good thing and producing a thin trickle of lubricant to ease the way.
Knock Out added a second digit, continuing his disturbing narrative.
“Double Punch didn't bother with preparation. He just tore off Spinout's panel, flinging it into the crowd. Crazy mechs they were, fought over it as a souvenir.” Knock Out chuckled, dark and sly. “Spinout was too far gone to even yelp when Double Punch thrust into him. As big as Double Punch was, I'm surprised Spinout survived.”
Three fingers pushed into Sunstreaker's valve, activating sensors, gliding smoothly in and out thanks to the addition of lubrication. Sunstreaker groaned, trying to resist the steady coil of heat in his systems.
“But he did survive,” Knock Out purred, leaning closer, his energy field buzzing against Sunstreaker's own weak ripple, pulsing with desire and satisfaction. “And the next time he showed up in the ring, he wasn't Spinout anymore, he was Sunstreaker.”
Knock Out's fingers stroked in and out, putting pressure on the anterior node, making Sunstreaker's hips jerk as the pleasure sent a jolt through his systems. He seeped lubrication, felt it dribbling down his thighs, heard it drip to the floor. His ventilations were hot and heavy, his spike thumping at its panel.
“Sunstreaker was larger, faster, stronger, and he fought with a cruelty that completely belied his earlier matches as Spinout,” Knock Out said, almost conversational were it not for the subject matter. “He was beautiful, broken like everyone else, but beautiful. He won, again and again. Like he finally understood what he'd been built for. What he was worth.”
Energy levels dipped toward stasis. Sunstreaker hung his helm, unable to spare the effort to keep it up, his systems cycling higher and higher toward overload. How he had the energy to spare, he didn't know.
“Glitch,” Sunstreaker gritted out, his hips lifting to meet each one of Knock Out's thrusts. His frame, betraying him, eager for that overload dancing just out of reach. “I'm going to—nngh!” He arched as far as the chains would let him, Knock Out's fingers pressing against a sensor node and sending a sharp burst of charge along it.
“That's better,” Knock Out murmured. “There's no need to fight it, Sunstreaker. This is, after all, what you were made to do.”
Sunstreaker groaned, ventilations sharp and staggered. He wanted to fight, hated that he was helpless. Knock Out's voice echoed in his audials, hypnotizing him.
Knock Out continued, curling his digits, rubbing incessantly over Sunstreaker's sensors, lubrication dribbling down his hand.
“You were made to serve. To submit. To entertain. So do it.” Knock Out leaned forward, licking a wet stripe up Sunstreaker's right cheek. “Overload.”
Sunstreaker's engine revved weakly, whining in the midst of overheat. Resistance shattered in the wake of his overload, his valve cinching down, tightening around Knock Out's fingers, milking them.
He gritted his denta, locking down his vocalizer, refusing to give Knock Out the pleasure of hearing him shout. His frame betrayed him nonetheless, writhing against the wall, rattling the chains.
“Perfect,” Knock Out said, and the click of an interface hatch opening was too loud in the brig.
Sunstreaker rebooted his optics, looking down to find that Knock Out's spike had pressurized, seeping a pale transfluid.
Knock Out pulled his fingers from Sunstreaker's valve with a wet noise, lubricant glistening on his talons. He curled said fingers around his own spike, a visible shudder dancing over his plating.
A hands planted on Sunstreaker's chestplate, inches from the poorly-welded wound. Knock Out braced himself on Sunstreaker, ex-venting heavily, his taloned fingers stroking his spike, slick with Sunstreaker's own lubrication. Judging by the sound of his engine, the swamping nature of his energy field, the Decepticon was already close to his own overload.
“Next time,” Knock Out said, his vocals spitting static, “I'll bring my energon prod.” His optics darkened to a rust red, digits drawing inward on Sunstreaker's chestplate, scraping off thin curls off paint and metal.
“I'll put you on your knees,” he added, his optics spiraling in and out, as though he wasn't quite focused on the here and now but completely absorbed in his fantasy. “Where you belong.”
Sunstreaker growled, but it lacked force. He felt weak as he hung from the chains, memory core pinging him, exhausted processor trying to tag today with images of the past.
Knock Out chuckled darkly, glossa flicking out over his lips, fingers working faster and faster over his spike. Charge crackled along his talons, the heavy tang of lubricant and transfluid thick in the air.
“You'll probably try to fight me,” Knock Out said, talons kneading constantly on Sunstreaker's chestplate. “And I'll enjoy putting you back in your place.”
He leaned closer, near enough that Sunstreaker could feel the Decepticon's ex-vents against his battered plating.
“Where you were meant to be. At my pedes.”
Knock Out's talons snapped, piercing the outer layer of Sunstreaker's chestplate, one gouging a sensor beneath and making Sunstreaker jerk.
“Because – nngh – you're mine now.”
Knock Out groaned and twitched, digits squeezing down on his spike as he overloaded, transfluid spurting against Sunstreaker's plating. It dribbled on his pelvic array and seeped into tiny gaps in his plating, dampening the circuits beneath.
Disgust coiled in Sunstreaker's tank.
“Mmm. That was good.”
Knock Out unlatched his talons and drew back, only to lift his dripping hand and stare at it with a frown. He slapped his hand against Sunstreaker's chestplate, smearing most of the transfluid across Sunstreaker's chassis.
“Hmm. You've made a mess.”
Sunstreaker's optics spiraled outward. He yanked at the last vestiges of energy in his frame.
“You sick fragger!” he howled, ignoring the red flashing warnings in his HUD, reminding him of imminent shutdown. “I'm going to rip out your spark!”
“An empty threat if I ever heard one.” Knock Out stepped back, his optics lingering on Sunstreaker's frame. “You should clean up nicely. Once you earn it.”
Sunstreaker growled, digits curling into angry fists. His processor spun, circuits misfiring. He watched as a countdown popped up in the corner of his HUD, giving him thirty kliks with no possibility of override.
“I'll be back tomorrow,” Knock Out said, interface panel sliding shut with a loud snick. “Try not to miss me.”
The last thing Sunstreaker saw was Knock Out's smirk before his system crashed and the world went completely dark.
a/n: Still more to come!
