applecrumble: (G1 Blades)
[personal profile] applecrumble
Title: Façade
Characters: SG!Blades, SG!First Aid, unnamed SG!Decepticons.
Genre: Drama
Summary: First Aid goes through the regular 'interrogation' routine, while Blades silently broods.
Rating: T
Warnings: Slightly graphic torture, unnamed character death.

Note: The idea of secretly pacifistic/coward SG!Blades and interrogator SG!First Aid came from somewhere on DA... Can't seem to root out the source right now =S I'll be sure to add a link if I manage to find it again!

Blades stood impassively at the entrance to the hangar, a deliberate amount distance put between himself and the group of captured Decepticons. His rifle rested in his hand, lowered for the moment. He effortlessly cancelled out the happenings at the far end of the hangar, all anguished cries filtered out through his processor – the area was sealed off by a couple of stacked crates, blocking the spectacle off from the others. Though not the sounds.

His gaze remained trained on the ground by the Decepticons’ feet like it always did. Never to meet their optics or faceplates.

Blades looked up on instinct when the screams finally cut out. First Aid emerged from behind the crates, absently wiping his energon-soaked scalpel clean with a white cloth. He meandered over to the group, circling slowly before stopping just in front of them. A few beads of energon dribbled from the cloth and onto the floor, as his sickly yellow visor bored down on them. Most cringed under the gaze, few met it, one glared back defiantly.

First Aid canted his helm to the side slightly, focus settling.

“Ah. I was wondering when one of you were finally going to develop some bearings.”

Blades optics automatically snapped downwards. A brief silence fell, only to be shattered a second later by the mech’s piercing scream. First Aid’s sickeningly endless knowledge on neural pathways and pain receptors made it so a single precise strike could feel like a thousand plasma drills boring into the area.

He wasn’t surprised First Aid didn’t drag this one behind the crates for questioning. The medic-turned-interrogator always made certain to break the more spirited ones in front of the rest – partly to soften them up, partly for the entertainment value. What did surprise Blades was what he said after only two kliks of the torment.

“You want a shot?”

His optics lifted to meet his teammates, surprise and any possible panic deftly veiled behind a mask of cold indifference.

“I’m not the interrogator here” he blankly stated. First Aid snorted and shook his helm, jerking the scalpel free from the ‘Cons neck tubing (doubtlessly slicing several more pain receptors on the way, judging by the fresh scream the action prompted).

“You’re such a stiff. Eh, whatever. Pretty much done here anyway” he shrugged, pede making solid contact with the ‘Cons faceplates and knocking him onto his back with another agonised wail. He casually rested down on his haunches and prodded the mech’s helm with the blunt end of the scalpel. “Think I’d be right to assume you aren’t a talker eh?”

If the Decepticon replied, Blades didn’t hear it. First Aid vented an audible sigh and stood back upright, dusting himself off and flopping an idle hand in Blades’ direction.

“Finish him off for me would you? I need energon” he almost absently brought the scalpel through one of the ‘Cons faceplates along the way, ignoring the yelp and bringing out another fresh cloth to clean the tool once again. “And have that one prepped for interrogation when I get back.”

Blades watched him leave the hangar. Then looked back to the ‘Cons. A small puddle of energon had started to form around the one First Aid had just treated. He was twitching and emitting the odd gurgle – still online, surprisingly. Blades vented a silent sigh out through his nose and trudged over.

He felt the others’ on him, but ignored them. In one smooth motion he levelled the barrel of his rifle with the ‘Cons spark and fired, not once meeting his optics. The shot was aimed to be fatal on impact. All his shots were. A brief, swift, painless death. A small mercy.

He almost vented a snort at that. Mercy. Yeah right. The word mercy has no place in this Primuse forsaken Pit. He wasn’t merciful – he was a coward. He couldn’t even look the damn fraggers in the optics.


Blades wordlessly approached the next Decepticon for integration, almost smiling at the irony when he shrunk back in fear. If he knew, if they all knew, Blades feared them as much as they feared him…

He nudged the bot forwards with the barrel of his rifle. A braver bot would have ended him already. Spare him the suffering. But Blades didn’t. Because above all else, Blades held the greatest fear for his teammates. And no amount of guilt would change that.

Pleads, cries, whimpers, they all fell on deaf audios. So long as he was connected to his team, Blades true nature would remain sealed off and hidden beneath the façade of a cold, composed, killer.
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