Chapter Text
The heart of the Decepticon Victory battleship was not designed to display hostages or prisoners. Warning panels covered the walls that everyone ignored, the air vents rattled ominously, and everything smelled of ozone and poor ergonomic design choices. This was a place for improvisation and questionable leadership decisions.
Megatron had commandeered Storage Bay C, a room meant for spare energon containers and broken machinery. He insisted on rearranging it for aesthetic purposes. Villainy required ambiance.
Tonight would be the pinnacle of his humiliation campaign.
Or so he thought.
Megatron stepped back, admiring his work.
Thick, segmented cables looped elegantly over Optimus Prime’s broad shoulders, pinning his powerful arms behind his back. Another tether supported his weight from above, keeping him suspended just off the ground—legs drawn slightly apart in a stance that robbed him of balance and authority. His plating, normally a symbol of righteous might, looked bared and vulnerable beneath the harsh violet lighting.
Prime’s frame—scarred from countless battles—was stretched to its full imposing height. His chestplate rose and fell with controlled vents, bright optics burning in fierce defiance. Even captured, even restrained… he was magnificent.
Optimus glared at him, optics narrowed into searing slits. Fury—yes, it must be fury—wrapped around every line of his faceplate. Good. Let the Prime simmer. Let him feel the sting of helplessness.
How exquisite, Megatron thought, that the greatest symbol of Autobot strength hung helplessly and displayed in the darkest heart of a Decepticon warship.
Utterly humiliated and gloriously conquered.
He folded his arms, venting a satisfied hum.
Yes… like this, Optimus could no longer look down on him. There were no grand speeches, no noble sacrifices, and no purity to hide behind. There were only chains and cables that Megatron had put there and only Megatron’s power was holding him aloft.
Megatron nodded to himself. Being trussed up like this at the heart of his enemy’s stronghold could only be the worst thing—
“Megatron…” Optimus began, trying for the umpteenth time to scold him for some reason.
“Unless you plan on begging, you might as well save your breath,” Megatron said, tilting his helm. He frowned when he noticed the cables slip off his shoulder again, carving into Prime’s armor.
With a sigh, Megatron stepped forward to adjust the bindings once more. They kept sliding out of position, ruining his carefully crafted scene of degradation. He smirked at the thought again of how mortifying this experience must be.
Optimus, for his part, only looked… sullen.
“Prime,” Megatron said, grabbing Prime’s chin and turning his face toward him. “I expected you to be a little more… spirited.”
Optimus blinked. “What is the purpose of this… charade? Why am I hanging from the ceiling?”
“It demonstrates your helplessness and weakness,” Megatron replied, as if it were obvious. “Voice any of these feelings you have as they come upon you.”
Optimus sighed flatly. “Stop, please, no, don’t tie me up. How terrifying.”
Megatron growled and shoved his chin away. “You just need more time. I can wait.”
It had been barely a solar cycle since triumph had finally tilted in Megatron’s favor.
A brutal skirmish in the industrial outskirts—all smoke, screaming metal, and collapsing buildings—had scattered the Autobots into a panicked retreat. For once, they did not hold the ground. For once, they fled.
In the aftermath, Decepticons sifted through the wreckage for trophies and spoils. And beneath a crushed support beam, half-buried in soot and silence, they found their greatest prize: Optimus Prime—unconscious and vulnerable, his armor cracked and his iconic mask dented.
Megatron had stood over that still form, battle-wounds still smoking, and felt a shiver of victory surge through him. It didn’t feel like glory. It was something deeper and far more dangerous.
Now, in the warship’s dim storage bay, the weight of that victory hung thick in the air. The low hum of the ship’s engines vibrated through the metal underfoot. The ceiling spotlights carved Prime’s suspended figure into stark relief—a captured king in enemy territory.
Megatron allowed himself a rare, indulgent moment just to look at him. How seldom such opportunities presented themselves.
And then—a chime at the door sliced the quiet.
Megatron did not turn. He did not need to. The sharp, impatient clicking of thruster-heels was as recognizable as an incoming headache.
“Megatron, I came to inquire when we might be execut—” Starscream’s voice strangled into a shocked croak. “By the AllSpark.”
Optimus glared up at him.
“I’ll—I’ll return later,” Starscream stammered, glancing wildly between the two of them.
“Nonsense,” Megatron said, settling into a chair beside the suspended Prime. “Execute what, exactly?”
Starscream hesitated, searching Megatron’s expression. “…Why—Optimus Prime, of course? When do we plan to execute him?”
Megatron stared. “Why would we do that?”
Starscream’s optics narrowed as he slowly raised a hand in incredulous confusion, waving towards the prisoner. “Because he is our mortal enemy? Leader of the opposing faction? The reason we’ve been stuck on this miserable planet for years? Ringing any bells?”
Megatron waved a dismissive servo. “Yes, yes, all of that. But look at him!” He gestured proudly at Optimus, still dangling like an angry wind chime. “This is far more satisfying than execution.”
Optimus stared, deadpan. “You are deriving enjoyment from… improper prisoner confinement.”
Megatron snarled. “It is not improper!”
“It is incredibly improper,” Optimus said. “And inefficient. Also uncomfortable.”
“That is the point,” Megatron barked.
Starscream stared between them like he had walked into the wrong genre. “You’ve been doing… this to torture him for an entire day? He doesn’t even look more beat up than when we dragged him in here!”
Megatron huffed. “It’s a building kind of humiliation. You wouldn’t understand.”
Starscream’s wings flicked. “Clearly not. Traditionally, we shoot him. Or… stab him? Push him down a pit? Something with an explosion. We are Decepticons.”
Megatron clapped a hand on Starscream’s shoulder, overly sincere. “Starscream… my favorite soldier—”
Starscream perked up. “Truly?”
“No,” Megatron said. “But listen anyway. Sometimes victory isn’t simply defeating your opponent… it’s shredding their dignity.”
Optimus nodded thoughtfully. “Currently intact.”
“Why is he not muted?” Starscream said through gritted denta.
“Again, so I might hear his humiliation if he ever gets on with it,” Megatron growled back, shooting Optimus a look.
Starscream raised a digit to ask a question. “Permission to suggest another dignity shredding method?”
Megatron raised a brow ridge. “Fine. Go on.”
Starscream straightened. “We gather all the Autobots for a public spectacle—”
“They would shoot you immediately,” Optimus cut in.
“—but before that,” Starscream powered on, “we show them how helpless their noble leader is! Bound! Powerless! Ridiculed!”
Optimus exhaled. “I am literally just… hanging here.”
Megatron grinned. “Exactly!”
Starscream gestured wildly. “Then we execute him!”
Megatron paused, confused why this part kept returning. “And then we—no! Execution is off the table!”
Starscream groaned, optics rolling. “Then what is the end goal here?!”
Megatron opened his mouth to speak… and froze.
He looked up at Optimus. Then at the cables. Then back at Starscream.
“…I haven’t decided yet.”
Optimus cleared his throat, attempting diplomacy despite being strung up like holiday décor. “Perhaps we could talk like two leaders of an enemy faction trying to come to a peaceful resolution?”
Megatron turned and pointed at him. “That is not helpful.”
Starscream slapped his own faceplate. “We are so doomed.”
The door chimed again, indicating someone else wanted to join this spectacle. The door hissed open and Soundwave walked in silently. He paused, clearly observing all parties present and deciding on how to react to what he saw.
Starscream whispered, “Please say something.”
Soundwave brought up his hands to clap a few times.
Megatron, basking in Soundwave’s approval, folded his arms triumphantly. “See, Starscream? Even Soundwave appreciates the artistry of my technique.”
Starscream nodded slowly, taking another look at Optimus and then smirked. “Oh, undoubtedly. The way you’ve… accentuated Prime’s physique is truly… bold.”
Megatron frowned slightly. “Accentuated?”
“Yes, yes,” Starscream continued, voice syrupy sweet. “The cables really highlight his shoulders. And the way you positioned his legs makes him quite the… display piece.”
Optimus made a strangled noise of protest. “Excuse me?”
Megatron puffed up. "Of course his broad frame is on display. Showing how the powerful fall enhances the humiliation!”
Starscream’s wings twitched as he barely held back a smirk. “And humiliation is the primary goal… even if the result is that the Prime looks like some… alluring war trophy.”
Optimus blinked, optics going wide. “War trophy?”
Megatron scoffed. “Yes! Captured and presented as proof of my triumph! Totally devoid of any… strength to resist. He looks wretched!”
Starscream put a hand to his chin thoughtfully. “Oh yes, totally. It’s not like he looks… powerful and enticing even while restrained. Ridiculous idea.”
Megatron nodded. “Exactly!”
Optimus stared at Starscream in horror.
Starscream leaned close to Megatron. “One might even say you’ve made him look… desirable.”
Megatron stared blankly. “Desirable how? Like… I desire to crush him?”
Starscream opened his mouth to push further—but Soundwave elbowed him sharply in the side. Starscream recoiled, glaring. Soundwave merely stared back, visor unreadable.
“I was complimenting his villainous… creativity,” Starscream groused.
Megatron, still pleased despite the patent infighting between his officers, waved a grand gesture at Optimus. “I’m transforming the torture of our enemies! No one will ever look at bondage—” He choked on the word. “—confinement the same way again!”
Optimus spoke, voice flat. “I would like to go home now.”
Starscream rolled his optics. “I bet you would.”
Soundwave’s visor flicked to Starscream in warning again.
Megatron clapped once, proud. “Now, who’s going to help me tighten the cables around his… massive torso? They keep slipping.”
Starscream stared at him. Stared at Optimus. Back at Megatron. “I’m not taking part in this—fetish!”
Megatron rolled his optics. “Why do you always throw that word at me like it has any bearing on the current situation?” Megatron frowned and ran his hand over the cable. “Maybe it is the smooth coating of the cables? No friction to keep them in place.”
Optimus hung his head. “Megatron, can we please dispense with this?”
Why was everyone undermining him? Only Soundwave seemed to understand what he wanted and endeavored to help him get it.
Though some part of him realized he wasn’t sure what he wanted right now. The thoughts were just out of reach, on the tip of his glossa, about to form, but they never materialized. He was so close! Perhaps if he just adjusted another cable—Megatron stepped close again, determined to finally secure the ridiculous cables that refused to cooperate. He reached up, trying to loop one more line over Prime’s shoulder—but his servo brushed along the seam of Optimus’s collar plating.
A tiny, involuntary vent of air escaped Prime. A stuttering intake, almost like a sharp gasp.
Optimus’s optics widened just a fraction.
Megatron froze.
He stared at his own hand like it had betrayed him. His EM field was a mess, staggering and pulsing as he realized that had been quite an intimate touch and the Prime had… responded.
Starscream’s wings shot straight up.
Optimus’s faceplate flushed.
Oh no.
Megatron slowly stepped backward, hands raised like he were backing away from a bomb. “I—I was merely—adjusting.”
Optimus nodded stiffly. “Understood.”
Megatron spun away. “I think we have humiliated him enough. I think we’re done,” he said frantically, rubbing his hands together.
“‘We?’” Starscream quoted. Soundwave elbowed Starscream again, harder.
Megatron accessed his comm unit with frantic urgency. “Autobot command—respond immediately!”
On his HUD, there was a red alert displaying “NO SIGNAL.”
Megatron’s optics widened further. He tried again. “Autobot command! Open communications! Invitation to parley!”
His HUD proudly displayed, “Communication error. Channel unavailable. NO SIGNAL.”
Starscream snorted. “Perhaps their systems are down.”
Optimus blinked, dangling helplessly. “We have far too many redundant systems in case the humans want to contact us. I do not think the issue is on the Autobot end.”
Megatron nearly screamed. “Then why won’t the transmission go through?!”
“Lord Megatron: All communications are locked down.”
Megatron whipped toward him. “Why?!”
Soundwave tilted his helm. “Standard protocol for base security, per your orders.” He looked pointedly at Starscream.
Starscream shrugged like he did not know what Soundwave was talking about.
Megatron hissed in frustration. “Disable it! Disable EVERYTHING! I want the Autobots here IMMEDIATELY! They need to collect their leader at once!”
Starscream stared, aghast. “You want them to invade us?”
Megatron gesticulated wildly. “If it gets Optimus out of here—YES!”
Optimus frowned. “Megatron…”
Megatron pointed accusingly. “No! Don’t say my name like that!”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re grateful!”
Starscream whispered to Soundwave behind his hand. “He has lost his mind.”
Soundwave rolled his optics under his visor and then released the communication jammer, sending the frequency to Megatron.
“Autobots!” Megatron shouted, his voice cracking. “Come claim your leader before I—I—TRIP AND KILL HIM ACCIDENTALLY!”
Optimus blinked, confused.
Megatron was spiraling. “This entire endeavor is ruined! I want him GONE!”
He marched toward Prime, his hands twitching to undo the restraints, then stopped short, remembering the touch of the collar and the sound it elicited. He recoiled like the cables might bite him.
Optimus sighed. “…I just can walk out.”
“NO!” Megatron waved his hands. “NO! DON’T—move weirdly! Just—stay! Stay… still! And UNSENSUAL!”
Starscream buried his face in his hands.
Soundwave, in a rare moment of kindness, patted Megatron’s shoulder.
Megatron stiffened and then staggered back, shaking his helm. He decided that a hasty retreat would be the best course of action. “Soundwave. Release the prisoner unharmed. I will be on the bridge.”
He exited the room despite Starscream’s incredulous screech.