#transvormers

Whether it was confusion or social conditioning, Sunder blindly obeyed. No sooner did his port covers opened, Wing plugged himself in. Quick zaps of energy flared, but the Autobot’s questioning stare never faltered. Even the sudden pull of silent demands through the connection didn’t distract his questions. “What’s about to happen to Cybertron?”

“Our kind is being led down a dark, dismal path,” Wing sighed and clasped a gentle servo against chubby cheeks. “Like cyberpigs being led to slaughter.”

“What... what’s he here for?” Sunder bit his lip. “Is he gonna help... or-“

“I need answers. And he will provide.”

“Then why is he tied up?”

“Sunder.” Wing snapped, then cleared his throat. “Sunder baby. Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes...” Wing proved time and time again to be his rock, his biggest supporter, and to give him the strength needed to change. Everything done here was for everyone’s best interest, and no hint of malice was ever present. Of course, Sunder trusted him- but why did this feel so wrong?

“Then I need you to start acting like it and stop questioning me.”

Sometimes words hurt like a slap across the face. Sunder flinched at the mental blow.

“You see, he is part of the problem. His kind thinks they know best. He thinks their elite circle is all high and mighty.” Facial expressions grew angry. “Thinks themselves mightier than Primus himself.” A snort rang out. “Imagine that. Booting our Lord and Savior off his throne only to destroy His beautiful creation. Pity.”

Gone were the warm tingles of love; what radiated through the cables stung with bitter coldness. All softness vanished, and Wing’s frame grew rough as if chiseled crudely out of stone. His wings violently flicked as he stood, unraveling more cable to loom over the gaged and whimpering mech.

“They are up to something. Something big. But I cannot quite put my finger on it.” His fingertips gently ghosted over the senator’s helm. “And mechs like him won’t reveal their secrets. Not willingly anyway.” The Leader reached behind his back and clasped the Great Sword, unsheathing it swiftly. “But I have a way to loosen those lips of his.”

“Wing...” Sunder stuttered, optics wide as he watched the other bow his helm, whispering a prayer to his sword before placing a kiss to the large gem adorning the center of the hilt. Once those optics opened and a deep breath was sucked in, that sword slid under a bound wrist and swiftly sliced through the energon lines.

The bound mech’s garbled screams rang out as Wing mockingly cooed, "Don't worry; everything will be okay in the end." The swordsmech tended to the mech, then returned to the berth carrying a glass full of pink energon.

Fresh from the cut.

“Drink.” The chalice was held out, but Sunder only stared at it as if it were poison. “Really?”

“Wing... I ...I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” The disappointing tone was laid on thick.

“Both...digesting energon like that... from another bot... can wreak havoc on one’s systems if suddenly introduced.”

“You hadn’t had any problems prior.”

That moment of silence hit hard. The frightening glint in the other’s optics was laced with seething hatred and malice. Sunder’s spark clenched, and his jaw dropped at the implications of what was revealed. “You mean...”

“Love wasn’t the only special ingredient in those feasts you readily devoured.”

Suddenly, his safe haven of bliss crumbled as everything clicked into place. Those hinted colors were no coincidence. The gnawing hunger was fueled by the cravings of mnemosurgery. This appetite, driven by addiction, was insatiable no matter how much he consumed. The cold sweats and cravings of withdrawal had been more tolerable in this complex thanks to low doses of his abused drug being slipped down his throat. How could he be so oblivious?

Wing’s love blinded him.

“I... I don’t want to do this...”

“I’ve asked so little, yet you deny my one and only request?” Wing frowned. “After all I have done for you?”

Sunder’s entire core was pained: the mental anguish of performing this vile deed ripped at his essence. He wanted to be good, to follow the righteous path and leave his past sins forgotten. But his greatest fear was held out in a decorative chalice, waiting to be consumed.

“I gave you everything.” The Spiritualist's tone cut deep. “I took you in at your lowest. Cared for you. Cleansed your soul. Tended to your lusty desires even.” His optic winked knowingly. “And you could have everything here, Sunder.”

“I just have to eat another mech...” The Autobot snorted.

“It’s what Primus wants. Our gracious Lord spoke to me, showing how to shine his guiding light back to save his strayed followers. We can save them. You can save them. Just consume this offering- take Primus’s offering.... show me his secrets so Cybertron can be saved so Primus can lead us once again.”

Blue optics clenched shut as the mnemosurgeon's helm slammed back on the pillow. This song and dance wasn’t new; Froid was only interested in what Sunder could do for him, not caring for who he truly was. Wing sought power and knowledge just like Froid, and both had no qualms in feeding his addiction to obtain it.

Did no one care about what he wanted?

“Drink for me, baby.” The false sweetness returned as the cup was pressed to unyielding lips.

But Sunder only yanked the connecting cables from his chest. Both mechs flinched at the uncomfortable jolt of being disconnected so fast, but enough was enough! “No!”

Wing growled out as fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’d hope it wouldn’t come to this.” His helm solemnly shook side to side. “I’d hope you’d obey the words of Primus-“

“Primus’s words, or your deranged words?” Sunder snapped, rocking himself on the berth to swing his trunk-like legs over the side.

Wing chuckled. “Just where do you think you are going, sweet-cheeks?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“And just how far do you think you’ll make it? Out of the village? Out of the building?” An all-knowing smirk flourished on the Leader’s face. “When was the last time you could leave the room without being on the verge of passing out?”

Sunder stopped dead in his tracks. Even attempting to get out of the berth left him winded. And his pedes swelled the last time he traveled the short distance to look out the window. Just standing now, the jabbing aches crept into his knees and hips. The other was right. He was stuck. His frame collapsed back on the berth, and a sigh of disappointment exhaled.

“That’s using your processor.” Wing set the glass down and retrieved stasis cuffs from the rolling table. “While this seems a bit uncultured, you leave me no choice.” Wing approached, overpowering the other back to a supine position and cuffing one servo at a time to the berth frame. “It pains me to have to do this, my love. But you really left me no choice.”