DEFY ME

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Quick Warning: Phsyical Torture

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"The sky is switching with the ground,
my world is turning upside-down."

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Jack tried to ignore the growling of his stomach, silently ridiculing his body. Lunchtime was most likely two or three hours ago, cringe-worthy gurgles filling the silence of the cell. If Ratchet was bothered by them he made no mention, the Cybertronian running through a hundred scenarios in his helm and wondering what he would do in each one. Fighting seemed like a good option, but he would easily be overpowered; and Jack could be squished.

    He hated the idea of asking Jack to attempt an escape - knowing full well that Soundwave could easily sniff him out - however it might be their only hope. If the human could find a way to contact the Autobots, then they could triangulate coordinates and Groundbridge them out. Again, it hinged on the fact that Soundwave was an idiot, something that was far from the truth.

    When the doors finally open Jack surged to his feet, clenching his fists and waiting for Megatron to start throwing punches. Ratchet shifted and rolled to his pedes as well, albeit with a little less dexterity than the younger human.

    Dreadwing stepped into the room, energon cuffs in his servos. His expression was relaxed, almost regretful, though his optics were naturally narrowed by his sleek ridges above them, making him look permanently angry. Ratchet glared at him, nothing being said between them for some time before he let out an ex-vent. While he was not as cruel as his master or fellow Decepticons, Dreadwing also was not one to be trifled with. He was passive because the medic would comply; otherwise Ratchet would cause himself unnecessary suffering.

    Jack's heart hammered in his chest as Ratchet presented his wrists to the second in command without protest, flinching as they clicked into place with a sense of finality. It seemed their time to sit around was up.

    Ratchet just stared straight ahead as Dreadwing moved and pulled the chains from above downward, cringing with each clank and jolt of the metal while he was clipped into place. Jack moved to stand closer but the medic made a noise of warning, telling him with his optics to move back. Taking several steps back the human attempted to calm the chills which swept up his arms when Dreadwing looked at him. The Decepticon said nothing, instead making his way to the side of the room and turning on the LED screen on the all, his sharp digit pressing a button.

    "Ah!" Ratchet yowled as his arms were suddenly jerked from his sides and twisted almost painfully, his old joints protesting as they held him in the air. Dreadwing only brought him up high enough to keep his pedes from scraping the ground, ignoring his cry of pain.

    "Ratchet!" Jack shouted his name, watching the medic grit his denta and squeeze his optics shut.

    "Don't," he seethed, "come any closer. Stay in the corner, Jack. Don't move, make a sound, or otherwise make yourself obvious."

    Dreadwing ignored the organic as it squawked and protested, testing each chain to ensure none had weak links or would otherwise inhibit lord Megatron's work. He was indifferent to the Autobot's pain, as he found no satisfaction in it nor enjoyed the aspect of torture; but it was an unfortunate necessity. The significance of the organic was lost to him, however Dreadwing would not test Megatron's patience with him. It was already humiliating to admit defeat to Starscream. The last thing he wanted was to look like an idiot.

    Jack felt helpless to do anything, doing as Ratchet instructed with a growing sense of anger in his heart. He was frustrated that he could do nothing to stop what was to come, or help Ratchet endure the pain he would suffer. He kicked himself - the stupid drive had not been worth it. More than likely the Decepticons had all of the relics, and Megatron was going to test them all on the Autobot medic.

    It took only a few minutes for Dreadwing to ping to his lord that the prisoner was ready before Megatron arrived. Ratchet bit his glossa on the comment of the warlord having clearly polished up not more than a few Earth hours ago, likely in preparation for this moment. His armor shined brightly, reflecting off of the lights in an almost dazzling display. Megatron did not preen by any means, yet he had most certainly cleaned up in order to instill as much fear and intimidation as possible into his enemies.

    Ratchet was hardly intimidated.

    "Comfortable, doctor?" Megatron rasped to his guest, his shark denta glimmering in the dim light of the cell. When all he received was a look he laughed, the sound grating against Jack's eardrums like sandpaper. "Excellent. Then we may begin."

    Jack nearly felt insulted by the exclusion, but decided it was for the better that Megatron did not deign to give him any attention by speaking in English. And he supposed it would be easier all around if he did not understand what was going to happen - though the prospect did not make him feel any more at ease.

    "Why don't we skip the formalities," Ratchet snapped, once again remaining in the human dialect. "You know I will not give anything up - no information, no services, no energon, for your cause. I will not betray my faction."

    "But you will, with time," the confidence in Megatron's words sent chills down Jack's spine. "Even if it means I have to rip out your voice box in order to obtain what I desire."

    What? Jack stared at the warlord. Why does it sound like . . . he's done it before?

    Ratchet hissed and spat something in Cybertronian, only making the sterling titan laugh cruelly as he circled his prey.

    "I will break you, dearest Ratchet. And I will make him watch."

    Jack flinched as the first blow was dealt across Ratchet's face, beads of energon budding along the hairline cracks on his faceplate. Stunningly Ratchet did not make a single sound, instead shuttering his optics and taking a deep ventilation to cool his systems as his fans kicked into overdrive.

The first blow, Megatron believed, was the most important. It established who was in charge; and something as demeaning as a slap to the face was one of the better ways to start. His claws were built to inflict as much pain as possible, as satisfactorily demonstrated by the growing energon droplets on the medic's face.

"If that is all you've got," Ratchet spat at him. "Then I can do this all day."

The look on Megatron's face was enough to tell Jack that Ratchet had said exactly what he wanted him to.

Jack flinched as the warlord's claws scrapped against Ratchet's armor, the resulting screech threatening to destroy his eardrums. Against his initial will the human covered his sensitive ears, Megatron's muffled laughter vibrating against his hands.

Ratchet cringed and grunted in pain, venting heavily and looking down at his chest. Deep claw marks marred his thick armor, energon that matched his optics beginning to drip down his front. He shuddered, servos clenching into tight fists as he tried to resist making noise. The last thing he wanted was to give Megatron any sort of satisfaction. The resulting ventilation seemed to light his energon veins on fire where the open wounds were, his denta grounding against one another. Frag, it hurt.

The punch came next, hard and unrelenting, right into the middle of the smooth armor around his abdomen. A gasp glitched in his vocalizers when the air in his vents was forcefully exuded, pain radiating across the damaged protoform and forcing his body to tense up. He sucked in a long ventilation, refusing to look at Jack to check on his condition or see what the human was doing. He did not want him to interpret it as a cry for help, or a sign of weakness for Megatron to exploit. If the Decepticon truly wanted Ratchet revealing everything he would have skipped straight to Jack; but he was relishing this small victory.

"I doubt you have had enough," Megatron sneered. "Unless you wish to say otherwise?"

"Get . . . fragged," Ratchet grimaced, glaring up at him.

Megatron took the defiance in stride, chuckling in twisted amusement. Jack watched him as he continued to make circles around the Autobot, continuously reminding him of a shark, the apex predator of the sea. His optics trailed across Ratchet's armor as he considered his next move carefully, Dreadwing silently watching from the darkness.

Ratchet's shoulder plating was attacked the third time, this time from behind, Megatron burying his digits into the seams and ripping it off in one clean motion. The unexpected savagery finally ripped a scream of agony from Ratchet's throat, Jack's stomach rolling as sensitive wires were exposed to the air and the delicate energon lines which led to the armor and kept it alive were severed, causing an immediate outpouring of the life-giving substance. Jack finally closed his eyes and looked away as the second one was ripped off as well, leaving Ratchet's already strained shoulder joints vulnerable.

Megatron dropped the pieces to the ground with an unceremonious crash, the cruel glint of his optics reflecting the increasing energon loss. He circled back around and assessed his prisoner, noting with satisfaction that Ratchet now hung his helm low, and his vents were shuddering with pain. Reaching out, the delicate points of his digits traveled along a particular wire.

"Nnngh . . ." Ratchet groaned, his frame shuddering as the touch sent fire racing up his sensors, the wires never meant to meet the outside environment. When Megatron had ripped off his armor he had also taken the protoform with it, the delicate organ shredded in places where it had sealed against the armor.

"That will be enough, for now," Megatron decided, taking his servo away from the medic. "As I am sure you would like to take some time to reconsider your refusal."

It was then that his optics finally settled on Jack. The human had long turned his gaze away, the silence forcing him to look back. Predictably, he froze in headlights when he realized the warlord was watching him, the pair locking gazes for longer than what should have been necessary. Then, like someone that had discovered a bug but then decided it was not worth their time, Megatron looked away.

"Knock Out will arrive shortly to assess the damage," Megatron told the Autobot. "Do not expect any energon, or food for your organic pet."

Ratchet said nothing to that, taking deep ventilations as pain flooded his systems and shock slowly settled in. Megatron only glanced at Dreadwing and gave the smallest of nods before he left, leaving his second in command to lower the Autobot to the ground.

Dreadwing did so with a very unceremonious crash, Ratchet barely having the energy to grunt in protest. At the very least his shoulder joints were no longer aching, but it gave way to the fresh waves of sensitivity scurrying across his wires.

"Ratchet!" Jack finally broke his silent spell and darted over to the medic, Dreadwing ignoring him as he too exited the prison. "Talk to me."

"Stay . . . back," the medic rasped. "Energon  . . . could poison you."

Jack hesitated as the radioactive substance began to pool, creating a stark contrast against the medic. It was unnerving to see a part of him ripped off and exposed; without his shoulder pads Ratchet looked rather small and frail. The sight - and prospect of it - was disturbing.

He wanted to scream and hit something. Why was he so helpless?

"Knock, knock," Knock Out drawled as he sauntered into the room, a medical kit in his servos. "The doctor is in the house."

Ratchet glanced up with wavering optics to shoot the Decepticon a glare. When he moved to sit up the searing pain shot across his shoulder connectors proved too much and induced collapse, the medic once again falling to the ground with a grunt. Jack wisely scampered out of the way as Knock Out approached and set his medical kit down.

"It seems we will most likely be seeing a lot of one another," Knock Out grinned maliciously. "I wonder how long your old model will hold up?"

He was not given the benefit of a verbal answer, the scarlet medic shrugging his shoulders and beginning to work. Due to his vanity and overall lack of common sense, Knock Out was not given much credit for his work like his Autobot counterpart. Yet as he focused on mending Ratchet his incredible optic for detail and ability to work delicately shined through, his skilled servos just as good as any other mech of his status. Ratchet watched him suspiciously, but he did have to admit that Knock Out knew what he was doing.

The procedure, consequently, was mostly painless, the Decepticon's red optics dancing across each wire as he sealed it back into place, covering them with synthetic protoform until Ratchet's nanites could build their own. He did not hum while he worked and pulled various tools from his medical kit, allowing an awkward silence to fall. Jack watched, unable to help his curiosity but wise enough to keep his mouth shut. The last thing Ratchet needed was an annoyed Knock Out treating him.

"Unfortunately, replacing your armor would require much more time and effort on my part," Knock Out waved a dismissive servo as he began putting his tools away. "However, considering those pieces were attached to your protoform, I am almost certain they will grow back. It might take another hundred or so Earth years, but they will grow."

"I suppose it was too  much to assume you had any surgical skills," Ratchet seethed back in return, finally able to help himself into an upright position without collapsing.

Knock Out glowered at him. "Watch it, medic, or I might not do such a great job next time."

The Autobot wanted to quip that the job was horrible to begin with, but that would have been a lie. Despite the lack of standard medical equipment in the room Knock Out did an impressive job. It was a pity, really, that he did not have any brains in his sleek helm.

With a huff Knock Out strode back out of the room, Ratchet leaning against the wall again next to his discarded shoulder pads. He rested his helm back and closed his optics, wondering what other parts the sadist would begin to rip off next.

"Hey . . . you okay?"

He glanced down at Jack, a little startled. He had nearly forgotten about him.

"I will be fine," he said dismissively, not letting on to the fact that now his energon reserves were significantly reduced. Healing was going to take time, and that would only further burn his fuel. He glanced down at his aching chest to see that his nanites had already stopped the leaking, yet Knock Out had not even touched the claw marks. Oh well, it was superficial regardless.

Jack nodded, unconvinced, grimacing when his stomach growled again. He had not even noticed its protests during the intense interrogation - which maybe only lasted thirty minutes. Now, it only served to remind him that he had yet to eat.

Ratchet returned his gaze to the young man when the noise reached his audio receptors, his faceplates shifting into a frown.

"When was the last time you refueled?"

The question looked like it physically pained Jack to think about, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut. He tried to put a timestamp on it, however he had no real idea of when they had boarded the Nemesis, drained it of dark energon, and then was captured.

"I dunno . . . I ate before I got to base," he said sheepishly, wishing he could lie and say it was a little later, but Ratchet had been there the entire time. He would have caught on to the deception.

The medic swore softly in Cybertronian. "Nine hours, then. If my internal chronometer is to be trusted."

Considering Cybertronians were literal beings made of living metal, with highly-advanced technology and evolutionary adaptations, Jack did not doubt his accuracy. Nine hours. And I probably slept for six or seven of them.

Soon the days would begin to blur together, and without a surefire way to know when it was morning or night, it was only a matter of time before Jack's sleep-cycle flew off the rails. He heard a rumor that blind humans could adapt to 48-hour days, or developed a sleeping disorder, because they were unable to see light and stabilize their circadian rhythms. He wondered if the same would happen to him.

There were several unforseen problems that were starting to arise, and Megatron would certainly figure it out and use them to his advantage. The delicacy of his humanness would be their ultimate downfall. He had to keep himself strong.

"Perhaps I can exchange some information for human resources," Ratchet mused, immediately pulling him from his reverie.

"No!" Jack shot to his feet, unable to help but shout. "No, Ratchet, don't do that. I'll be fine, I can go without food for weeks -"

"And water for three days," the medic interrupted. "And it has already been approximately six hours since you . . . boarded the Nemesis. Half a day without fluids will begin to take its toll if you are not careful."

His raven hair swished and bobbed as Jack shook his head vigorously. "Giving him something to bargain with will only seal our fates."

Ratchet gave Jack a hard, almost glare-like expression. "Your survival is my perogative," he stated, no room for argument. "I will not allow you to suffer as I have, Jack. This is not your war."

"Megatron thinks it is."

As much as he hated to admit it, Ratchet knew the human was right. The Decepticon tyrant would not see the three fleshlings - five, including Agent Fowler and Nurse Darby - as noncombatants, especially the children. He would find a twisted delusion to convince himself that they were soldiers just like the rest of them, made of flesh and blood instead of armor and energon.

"Regardless, Jack, I am not going to allow any harm to befall you. Be it from starvation or Megatron's schemes." The medic was firm and his words were final, leaving no room for argument. Jack wanted to protest, yet it was futile.

We have sealed our fates.