This was a mistake.
That was the last thought that crossed Star Saber’s processor before he was engulfed in an intangible pain, and he collapsed to the decking beneath him. His entire frame twitched with lingering agony, and his visual feed fritzed. Stasis called to him, his frame yearning for it.
As he slipped toward the black, shadows bent down over him. One was a Decepticon, the badge his face, one Star Saber had heard rumor of, but did not believe existed. The other was bestial. An abomination.
And then there was darkness.
Though he felt he blinked and onlined to light. Something so bright it was blinding. He tried to turn his helm away and found that he couldn’t move. He’d been shackled down, wrists and ankles and abdomen and even a strap across his helm. He rebooted his sensory suite and his vision clarified.
The faces were still there.
“–can make use of him,” one was saying.
“The question, my dear Deathsaurus, is whether or not we want to,” the other purred, and something in his vocals stirred Star Saber’s spark.
A wave of pleasure cascaded through his frame, his circuits aching at the abrupt shift from agony to pleasure.
“I’m of the mind that we don’t waste a potential resource.”
“Very well.” The Decepticon badge leaned closer, crimson optics gleaming behind it. “Then let me see what I can do.”
The other clapped him on the shoulder and smirked. “I trust your judgment, Tarn.”
Star Saber’s spark throbbed. His entire frame wrenched in his restraints. Bright spots danced in his visual feed.
This was a mistake, he realized, as his vocalizer locked down on him and his backstrut arched against the restraints.
Primus save him.