Chapter: Captive, 2/3 (G1) - R
Title: Captive (2/3)
Rating: R
Warning: Torture, sadism, a certain Combaticon interrogator being off his leash
Characters: Vortex, First Aid
Universe: G1
Summary: First Aid refuses to break.
Pain blazed through his processors, making it hard to focus on anything. Damage reports demanded his attention, but he couldn’t make the words make sense. Automatic processes worked to limit the sensory input and lesson the intensity until it was localized enough for him to process it.
Vortex was humming to himself, bent over First Aid’s hand, scalpel held loosely in his own. The blade flashed light into First Aid’s optics as he watched Vortex turn the scalpel, carefully severing the connections holding the plating of his palm to the rest of the hand.
“Stop,” First Aid whispered hoarsely, before he could stop himself.
“Gotta come off before we can move on to the fun bits,” Vortex said cheerfully, peeling back the plating. The dampened sensory input made the scene more surreal, like watching a grotesque horror movie with himself as the main character.
“It’s very important to take it slowly,” Vortex told him, carefully teasing the last of the thin plating off the sensor connectors, each twitch a stabbing pain through First Aid’s hand. “Do it right the first time, y’know? Interrogation is like surgery like that. Don’t get a second chance if you get hasty and slice right through the important bits.” He flicked the scalpel in front of First Aid’s optics. “Vip. He’s a goner.” Vortex laughed, that off-kilter giggle that made First Aid shrink back despite himself.
“Surgery is about saving lives,” First Aid corrected him. “What you do is butchery.”
Vortex pointed the scalpel at him. “The similarity is in method, not motive, little bot.” He turned his attention back to the hand in front of him. “Medics have to dismantle pieces to make repairs all the time.” He glanced back, waggling a rotor in First Aid’s face. “The difference is that I’m having fun.”
“Because the sheer lack of necessity or concern is just not worth mentioning,” First Aid said through gritted denta as Vortex peeled his fingers back again, reactivating the pain sensors in the exposed circuitry of his palm.
“Exactly!” Vortex beamed at him, either missing or ignoring the sarcasm. “So, my little medical-bot, what’s the next step in dismantling the structure of a hand?”
“Shutting off the sensory input from the affected body part,” First Aid said shortly.
Vortex affected shock. “You would remove the plating before shutting off sensory input? First Aid! That’s just... sadistic.” The last word was purred.
“Go frag yourself,” First Aid snapped. “Just get it over with.”
Vortex tsked. “And here I thought I’d already covered how important it was to take our time. Didn’t Ratchet teach you anything?”
First Aid let his head fall back against the frame and offlined his optics, refusing to rise to Vortex’s bait.
“Optics on,” Vortex said, a harsh note to his normally maniacally cheerful tone.
First Aid didn’t answer, turning his face away from Vortex. If he couldn’t fight back physically, he’d be fragged if he was going to play along with the Combaticon’s sick games.
A hand grabbed his chin roughly and forced his head back around, neck cables popping from the strain. “Optics on,” Vortex growled. “On, or I’ll take them out.”
“Kind of counter productive, don’t you think?” First Aid said, keeping his optics off in a show of passive defiance.
Vortex laughed. “Just remember, I gave you an option.” He lowered his voice, whispering into First Aid’s audios, “Try not to squirm.”
The tip of the scalpel bit into the flexible plating at the edge of his right optic, dragging outward. First Aid tried to jerk back, but the hand on his chin had him pinned tightly against the frame behind him.
“First, outer casing ring,” Vortex said softly, and the scalpel moved, sending pain shooting through his optic and damage reports flashing on his HUD. There was a soft tink as Vortex set something down. First Aid could feel hot fluid running down the side of his face, and it was all he could do to not give Vortex the satisfaction of a whimper. “Forward lens,” Vortex continued, twisting the glass and popping it free.
First Aid made a choked noise. “Shh,” Vortex, said, pressing a fluid-splattered finger to his lips. “We’ve barely started-” The hand moved, gently pulling the facial plating away from the optic to get better access.
First Aid jerked his head, hard, the bleeding fluids slicking Vortex’s fingers and allowing him to pull out of the helicopter’s grasp. Pain flooded through his processors, leaving him limp and gasping.
Vortex was tsking at him when the sensor dampening cleared his processor enough to focus. “See what you did? You ruined it.” The hand grabbed his face again, pulling his chin up for inspection.
First Aid waited through a haze of pain for Vortex to start again, but the helicopter let go and moved away. Reluctantly, he let his good optic come back online. Vortex was carefully cleaning lubricant and energon from a small oval of glass that a numb part of First Aid’s mind recognized as the outer lens of his optic.
“Deciding to behave?” Vortex asked without looking up. He set the oval aside and turned back. “You really should listen when I try to tell you something, First Aid. It’s rude to ignore people when they’re trying to help you.”
“You’re...” First Aid paused, cycling air and regaining control of himself. Frag, sensor dampening or not, his face and hand were points of blazing agony. “You’re not trying to help anyone.”
“Well sure, if you wanna take everything literally,” Vortex said, back to the easy, cheerfully sadistic tone, all traces of anger gone as if they had never been there. He picked up the cleaning cloth and moved back to First Aid’s injured and exposed hand. Humming to himself, he carefully wiped up what fluids had bled out of the hand despite the line clamps, ignoring the strained noises First Aid made as he worked. “There we go. All better.” He deftly snapped more clamps into place, cutting off the flow of lubricant and fluids to First Aid’s fingers. “Let’s get the rest of all this pesky plating off so we can get to the fun parts, eh?”
First Aid couldn’t hold back a whimper as Vortex began to cut.
Rating: R
Warning: Torture, sadism, a certain Combaticon interrogator being off his leash
Characters: Vortex, First Aid
Universe: G1
Summary: First Aid refuses to break.
Pain blazed through his processors, making it hard to focus on anything. Damage reports demanded his attention, but he couldn’t make the words make sense. Automatic processes worked to limit the sensory input and lesson the intensity until it was localized enough for him to process it.
Vortex was humming to himself, bent over First Aid’s hand, scalpel held loosely in his own. The blade flashed light into First Aid’s optics as he watched Vortex turn the scalpel, carefully severing the connections holding the plating of his palm to the rest of the hand.
“Stop,” First Aid whispered hoarsely, before he could stop himself.
“Gotta come off before we can move on to the fun bits,” Vortex said cheerfully, peeling back the plating. The dampened sensory input made the scene more surreal, like watching a grotesque horror movie with himself as the main character.
“It’s very important to take it slowly,” Vortex told him, carefully teasing the last of the thin plating off the sensor connectors, each twitch a stabbing pain through First Aid’s hand. “Do it right the first time, y’know? Interrogation is like surgery like that. Don’t get a second chance if you get hasty and slice right through the important bits.” He flicked the scalpel in front of First Aid’s optics. “Vip. He’s a goner.” Vortex laughed, that off-kilter giggle that made First Aid shrink back despite himself.
“Surgery is about saving lives,” First Aid corrected him. “What you do is butchery.”
Vortex pointed the scalpel at him. “The similarity is in method, not motive, little bot.” He turned his attention back to the hand in front of him. “Medics have to dismantle pieces to make repairs all the time.” He glanced back, waggling a rotor in First Aid’s face. “The difference is that I’m having fun.”
“Because the sheer lack of necessity or concern is just not worth mentioning,” First Aid said through gritted denta as Vortex peeled his fingers back again, reactivating the pain sensors in the exposed circuitry of his palm.
“Exactly!” Vortex beamed at him, either missing or ignoring the sarcasm. “So, my little medical-bot, what’s the next step in dismantling the structure of a hand?”
“Shutting off the sensory input from the affected body part,” First Aid said shortly.
Vortex affected shock. “You would remove the plating before shutting off sensory input? First Aid! That’s just... sadistic.” The last word was purred.
“Go frag yourself,” First Aid snapped. “Just get it over with.”
Vortex tsked. “And here I thought I’d already covered how important it was to take our time. Didn’t Ratchet teach you anything?”
First Aid let his head fall back against the frame and offlined his optics, refusing to rise to Vortex’s bait.
“Optics on,” Vortex said, a harsh note to his normally maniacally cheerful tone.
First Aid didn’t answer, turning his face away from Vortex. If he couldn’t fight back physically, he’d be fragged if he was going to play along with the Combaticon’s sick games.
A hand grabbed his chin roughly and forced his head back around, neck cables popping from the strain. “Optics on,” Vortex growled. “On, or I’ll take them out.”
“Kind of counter productive, don’t you think?” First Aid said, keeping his optics off in a show of passive defiance.
Vortex laughed. “Just remember, I gave you an option.” He lowered his voice, whispering into First Aid’s audios, “Try not to squirm.”
The tip of the scalpel bit into the flexible plating at the edge of his right optic, dragging outward. First Aid tried to jerk back, but the hand on his chin had him pinned tightly against the frame behind him.
“First, outer casing ring,” Vortex said softly, and the scalpel moved, sending pain shooting through his optic and damage reports flashing on his HUD. There was a soft tink as Vortex set something down. First Aid could feel hot fluid running down the side of his face, and it was all he could do to not give Vortex the satisfaction of a whimper. “Forward lens,” Vortex continued, twisting the glass and popping it free.
First Aid made a choked noise. “Shh,” Vortex, said, pressing a fluid-splattered finger to his lips. “We’ve barely started-” The hand moved, gently pulling the facial plating away from the optic to get better access.
First Aid jerked his head, hard, the bleeding fluids slicking Vortex’s fingers and allowing him to pull out of the helicopter’s grasp. Pain flooded through his processors, leaving him limp and gasping.
Vortex was tsking at him when the sensor dampening cleared his processor enough to focus. “See what you did? You ruined it.” The hand grabbed his face again, pulling his chin up for inspection.
First Aid waited through a haze of pain for Vortex to start again, but the helicopter let go and moved away. Reluctantly, he let his good optic come back online. Vortex was carefully cleaning lubricant and energon from a small oval of glass that a numb part of First Aid’s mind recognized as the outer lens of his optic.
“Deciding to behave?” Vortex asked without looking up. He set the oval aside and turned back. “You really should listen when I try to tell you something, First Aid. It’s rude to ignore people when they’re trying to help you.”
“You’re...” First Aid paused, cycling air and regaining control of himself. Frag, sensor dampening or not, his face and hand were points of blazing agony. “You’re not trying to help anyone.”
“Well sure, if you wanna take everything literally,” Vortex said, back to the easy, cheerfully sadistic tone, all traces of anger gone as if they had never been there. He picked up the cleaning cloth and moved back to First Aid’s injured and exposed hand. Humming to himself, he carefully wiped up what fluids had bled out of the hand despite the line clamps, ignoring the strained noises First Aid made as he worked. “There we go. All better.” He deftly snapped more clamps into place, cutting off the flow of lubricant and fluids to First Aid’s fingers. “Let’s get the rest of all this pesky plating off so we can get to the fun parts, eh?”
First Aid couldn’t hold back a whimper as Vortex began to cut.