[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]Captive Audience [Closed]

[Carbine]

Should he have grabbed the chair and acted as though he was going to break the door control? Perhaps. Should he have trusted Prowl was close enough to stop him in time during such a display? Maybe. It likely would have been a safe gamble to take on as no doubt he or another was right around the corner. Yet, was that what Carbine did? No. It was a decision that may not have been the wisest, it possibly better to believe in the strength of his allies rather than think he had to solve it all on his own, yet to Carbine it felt so incredibly right. With this, he could not burden the others with needing to 'fight' him again, and they didn’t have to pretend to catch him if he bolted out of the room. The uncertainty of time and keeping his cover was his inspiration... the desire to play his role and not betray what he was doing with some fearful look of hesitation being a command...

He wanted to try to be a good Autobot. No... he HAD to be a good Autobot! He had promised himself he would do so, and yet... he was scared that like so many promises to others that he had made through his life, it could be one more that he let slip between his fingers. If he couldn’t take his own word, then what could he believe? Who could he trust if he couldn't trust himself?

All he could trust at this moment was the fact that he knew how to temporarily brick himself so that he couldn't make any more choices.

So that he didn’t mess up again.

-

The black and white mech wasn't consciously tuned into the situation, unable to notice or even comprehend that Knock Out was speaking, or that Prowl had even gotten into the room. It simply was an empty frame that was reacting to erratic pulses across its processor, vents heaving out between flared slats, only for said slats to lurch snap closed as though blocking water out while systems tried to churn them in reverse, before opening once again with a spatted pulse. This was paired with the expected lurches that came with any seizure, limbs taking on partial commands that stopped as soon as they started, before trying to recognize some new action or even the same thing again. It made it awkward to angle him, though pushing him onto his side was rather simple given the large ridge that went down his back, and the curved nature of the shoulder shield.

Beneath, the white rings on his spine twisted and lurched, clicking noises made like the locking spokes of a bike being spun around. This was paired with some of the armor along its side starting to peel away, a flex creating a deep fissure of a gap as if a transformation wanted to take place, only for it to get pulled back together with a spasmed motion. A crackled snarl slipped out from this, one that pitched higher in confusion a moment later.

As quickly as it began, things started to taper just as readily, the most violent phase passing in only thirty seconds or so. This did not mean Carbine woke, however, his gaze was still vacant and empty to look upon nothing at all, though it meant that the forceful movements did diminish to lesser equivalents. Hands twitching open and closed... one knee still trying to lift up every few seconds... While his primary mass slowed, the rings on his back still whirred actively, the sharp spins clicking this way and that as the gap between armor formed again before smoothing back together.

[Knock Out]

There was a weird sense of relief upon seeing Prowl arrive. Even if it meant any and all chance of him getting out of this damned cell was officially over for the moment, it did mean that Carbine would hopefully get the help that was needed.

After all, the helicopter mech had proven the impossible could actually be done - and it wasn’t like he was going anywhere in a hurry. There would be other moments of opportunity, he was certain, even if Carbine’s stunt meant they would be few and far between.

Jaw dropping some at the sheer audacity as the first words out of Prowl’s mouth were an order for him, he could only roll his optics, gesturing to the cell door itself.

“Seriously? And just what am I going to do to you from in here?” he grumbled, though would comply - if only to try and remain in the other mech’s good books - a short noise of transformation sounding as his saw shifted back and up into his arm, only to be replaced by his servo a moment later. Once this movement had been done, he would take a few steps back, turning to look at the oh so exciting wall behind him.

From here, he could only listen to what was going on. Why was Prowl the only one who had responded? There were no other footfalls or signs of anyone else arriving in that moment, no others rushing to Carbine’s aid despite the emergency at hand. There was nothing except the sound of the helicopter mech as he seized for what was probably the longest 30 seconds of his life before things seemed to ease back as he finally began to settle.

But then, another noise.

One that… didn’t make any sense, given the context of what just happened. Was that a growl of some kind? This, paired with the obvious noises of attempted transformation were far too much to simply not look, and so, Knock Out would turn to watch what was actually going on.

Orders from Prowl be damned, he was stuck behind a stupid electrical field, and wasn’t stupid enough to try and change that anytime soon.

Despite this disobedience, he kept his distance, staying near the far wall - but something was very wrong here, and it was curious indeed.

At least he was stuck in here and not out there, he supposed.

[Sunstreaker]

::Sunstreaker, get to the cellblock now!!::

Sunstreaker, horizontal, had been rudely roused from what was supposed to be a between-shifts recharge. She had been awkwardly slumped in an unnatural position on her berth, indicative of the fact that she'd simply thrown herself onto it at the first opportunity, with little regard for her own comfort. The drills, the patrols, and finally the scheme they'd been enacting -- the Prowl scheme -- had been occupying a great deal of her time and energy. For once, if only for but a moment, she wanted to take a few minutes or hours of solace before the next crisis.

But now it was time for the next crisis.

The Ex-Cop's optics protested, reluctantly opening back up to full operational status. Had it even been an hour since she'd dropped Carbine off at his new abode? Scratch that, since Carbine had staged a minor unscheduled incident to sell the deception, wounding himself in the process? Time was fuzzy, but Sunny felt that the first fuck-up should have come much later. This had to be some sort of record.

Despite the overwhelming desire to remain a crumpled up heap of a femme, Sunstreaker quickly snapped into action, rolling out of her berth with a grunt. She gracefully transitioned to a mobile, upright stance, starting rapidly on her way to the cellblock for the second time today. Her pedes pounded against the rocky floors of Omega, echoing down the adjacent hallways as she sped along. It didn't help that she'd been on the opposite end of the facility, so greedily indulging in some rest.

Thankfully, there were few obstructions in the halls. Little foot traffic, nobody's bunks being cleared, no supplies being moved. Nobody to stop and question her, either.

::Sunstreaker, grab a medic. Carbine is having a seizure!::

Well that was rich. She ran the words back through her mind in the following microsecond, just to make sure she'd processed it all. Medic. Carbine. Seizure.

Why was Carbine having a seizure? Probably for a reason. Why was Carbine having a seizure in the cellblock? Hopefully a much better reason.

Sunny fired back a reply over the direct comm.

::We don't have a medic, Prowl! We have a Skirmisher!::

This was not to disrespect Skirmisher's skills or to demean the role he now played at Omega, but he was no Ratchet. Sunstreaker didn't even know where he was at the moment. But, hopefully she wouldn't need to. Seizures were miniature crises, without a doubt. But, with the proper care they could be mitigated.

::Just don't restrain him, let it work itself out! We can drag him to medbay after he's settled a bit more!::

Unless Carbine was dying, spitting out his vital fluids and bursting into flames, they could salvage this. Seizures weren't anything new to her. A bad dose of combat stimulants or poorly treated Energon had done the same to an uncountable number of combatants in the war. The absolute worst was when Sunny had watched a green recruit shatter his spinal column from seizing up so badly. Provided that was not happening, they had a chance.

In what felt like no time at all to her, Sunstreaker burst into the cellblock, weapons cold yet still very alert. It was... a scene. Carbine had somehow managed to free himself, while Knock Out had been backed into a corner by a predictably very angry Prowl, who was tending to the mech himself. She hurried over to his side, staying clear just enough to not have Carbine catch on her.

Carbine appeared to have begun to settle, it seemed. Good. Very ideal. Still, they needed a doctor. Luckily, they had one.

Her optics snapped onto Knock Out's form cowering behind the electric field, pointing an accusatory digit in his direction. "How long's the seizure lasted?" She barked, an order as much as it was a request. Prowl hadn't been here the whole time, but a trained and licensed medical professional was. If Knock Out was any bit the medic he claimed to be, he would have been timing it.

[Prowl]

“Just do it Knock Out, or I’m going to cut your energon ration in half for a month!” Prowl barked, fixing Knock Out with a look and pointing at him before turning his attention back on Carbine.

::I don’t care Sunstreaker, just get him in here!::

He didn’t mention that he knew well enough on how to handle a seizure, having dealt with plenty of glitchers in the Dead End with Speed Trap. Something that Sunstreaker had no idea about, patrolling a beat and dealing with crimes as they came up. Special Response Team was only called when a situation had progressed to a point where heavier firepower was ‘needed’, something which was debatable in some cases. Half the times SRT had been called, Prowl could have come up with an assault plan that required half the botpower and a quarter of the firepower, and usually involved less casualties.

Carbine had seemed to settle down by this point, and Prowl let out a small intake he had been holding. It seemed like they wouldn’t need Skirmisher here after all. He turned as he heard someone approach and saw it was Sunstreaker.

“Let Skirmisher know that he doesn’t need to get down here, just have him standing by in the medical bay.” he told her as he stood up and looked at Knock Out, only now seeing that he hadn’t fully complied with his order.

“Answer the question Knock Out. Now!”

[Carbine]

Gradually the erratic movements would continue to slow, hard lurches transitioning to more subtle twitches, which then became sluggish akin to someone who was trapped at the line between sleep and the waking world. This threshold wasn't walked past though, both of Carbine's eyes dulling from a vacant, rounded, and almost fearful look, to a half-lidded state with the one that had an under-ring of orange being closed more than the other. At the closer proximity, the white pinpricks of the projected eyes could potentially be deciphered, the wider optic being more contracted vs the other’s apertures that had spiraled out as if trying to focus in the dark.

This gaze would show no motion tracking or reactions to anything that was going on beyond typical responses to illumination, though his knee did slip up again as though there was an effort made to lift, yet it failed as it did previously.


What was going on? What was happening? It was too early to be waking up... he was just interrupted somehow, which was impressive given his deep sleeping habits. The lighting was off though... Did they get replaced?... Ah, where was he? It didn't matter... He had been asleep so it must have been fine or he wouldn't have put his guard down to begin with... People were yelling though... Outside in the hall? Someone got in trouble and it wasn't him for once...

Heh...


Carbine swallowed, his eyes still hazed over and distant.

[Knock Out]

Keeping his gaze and attention on Carbine, there was a strange sense of relief, almost, at seeing the erratic movements tapering down into gentle twitches, before he eventually settled. The growl-like noises from moments earlier seemed to have stopped - a good thing indeed, considering he hadn’t worked out just what exactly that was - and it seemed that things were finally starting to slow to the point of calm.

While he cared little for the other mech, in that he did not really know him - plus hey, he was sort of an Autobot - it was never fun to see someone going through a medical episode, especially one like this which had come at the absolute worst possible time.

Yet even despite this lack of any real affinity toward Carbine, it was odd as he found himself actually worried for him. He never really gave too much of a slag about these things, acting flippant in his own day to day work, almost to the point it was like he didn’t care about his patients at all at times. But this? Being unable to do much of anything except stand and watch from behind the safety of the electrical field? It made him uncomfortable, and he wasn’t quite sure why, even if there wasn’t really much to be done for seizures as a whole.

The only time his optics shifted was when Sunstreaker moved into the room. His own frame tensed, almost as if ready to defend himself from whatever accusation was to be thrown his way. He may have been a Decepticon, and he may have wanted his freedom from this place - but the act of escaping had been all Carbine, and the seizure that’d followed? Well, he didn’t know why that’d happened, but it certainly wasn’t his fault.

Though instead of any accusation, a question was barked at him - one that thankfully he did know the answer to. The instant he’d seen the other mech show the telltale signs of seizure, he’d been counting, even with Prowl snapping at him to turn around and the subsequent threat (which he hadn’t listened to), he’d been keeping track of just what Carbine was doing - and for how long.

Opening his mouth to reply, he was cut off by Prowl. His optics would shift then to stare down the other mech. He wouldn’t move any closer, keeping his back almost against the wall - continuing to only partially comply with the previous order, threats of half rations be damned - but would scoff quietly as he replied.

“Primus above, I see patience isn’t your forte, hm? You could say please, you know - or save the attitude for if I didn’t reply to whatshername there in a timely manner.” one servo would raise to gesture toward Sunstreaker, if only for dramatic effect.

Prowl was disrespectful, and he didn’t appreciate that. Should it have just been Sunstreaker asking, he would’ve answered accordingly - her own question had been barked, but at least it wasn’t rude. This wasn’t an emergency anymore, given that Carbine’s seizure had ceased, and so he chose to take the petty route.

“Could be five minutes, could be five hours - we’ll never know, until you learn some manners.” he shrugged, turning his attention to Sunstreaker. “While Prowl works out proper etiquette, you-” pointing at the femme, he would continue. “-should see if the patient still remembers his own name or where he even is.”

[Sunstreaker]

Ohohohohoo...

He was practically begging for a skull fracture. If this had been a normal day, one like countless others, she would have rounded up her squad and put the boots to him, heavy style. Sunstreaker's optics were like two little portals to this different reality, both peering right into Knock Out, beaming malicious thoughts into his processor. One day, Sunny buffered herself with. One day.

She did not need to glance down to feel that the festivities had more or less quieted down by now. Carbine had been reduced to a few bursts of synaptic energy, firing oddly and out of sync with one another. By this point, he wasn't in that much danger of hurting himself or breaking something serious. Though, that also led to several new and important questions. What to do with Carbine now?

His cell was clearly compromised, possibly the entire block, though that'd require a more thorough sweep of the footage. She didn't want to throw him back in with Knock Out, though they'd probably have to at some point. In her gut, she felt Prowl wouldn't like terminating his little experiment so suddenly. At the very least, they needed to give poor Carbine a checkup and a debrief; then toss his aft back in.

Sunny rose back up to full height, leering at their sole remaining prisoner. "Guess they don't teach you that you need to time seizures in med school -- or whatever the hell off-market datatape you pulled your 'skills' from." She didn't afford him any chance to fire back a retort. Instead, she made her way to the panel on Carbine's former cell, pressing two digits to her audial comms.

::Medical, stand by::

They would have plenty of time later, but Sunny felt it would be prudent to get a better look at whatever stunt Carbine had pulled to free himself. It was just something she would've had to do anyway, knowing Prowl. She'd let him handle Dr. Screw-up for now while she busied herself with a cursory vulnerability assessment.

[Prowl]

Oh...so it was going to be that way?

Perfect time for Prowl to execute his role in the plan.

“Sunstreaker, standby.” Prowl said simply as he reached down onto his waist and extracted a set of wrist manacles, then marched up to the door of Knock Out’s cell. Carbine could wait for the moment, he seemed well enough for the moment. It would be best if they got Knock Out’s mind off of this and back onto something else. Like spilling whatever secrets he had tucked away in his processor.

“Knock Out, any attempt at resisting will be taken as attempting to escape, and you will subsequently be offlined. Understand?”

Knock Out could be as rude as he wanted. Because Prowl knew that no matter how defiant a prisoner was, it was only a matter of time before they were worn down and eventually started spilling their insides. He’d worn down hardened murderers and substance dealers. One Decepticon medic wouldn’t be much of an issue.

“Knock Out, back away from the door.” Prowl ordered as he placed his servo near the door controls but did not open it.

[Carbine]

Carbine's mind was stuck in a haze.

Talking was still going on... two... no... three voices? It wasn't very clear, though the sound of manacles clicking slightly stood out like a beacon above it all. Such a familiar noise, the faintest of rings in a sea of a storm, bringing the sensation of the concrete floor to the surface, and the continued angry words. There must have been an argument with the guards... whoever stood up was about to be beat down for sport again... such was the game was Garrus! Yet, who was it? Who was going to be nursing a wound in their cell? Maybe the new guy... gray... no... silver? Would have been better off having the other inmates give the lesson instead... it didn't matter... He just wanted to go back to sleep, to ignore the chaos... yet...

"Five͘ ͝m̴inutes ̕-͝ ̀-̧ ̕ho̧ųrs - ̢-̀ r̛em͠emb̢er̴s͟ ̛-̨ - "

"T͠e̷ąc̸h yo̵ù -͝ ̢-́ sc̴hoo͞l ͏-̵ ̸-́ ̸mar͢k͝et da͜tab̵as̢e -͏ - ͞"

"At̵te͢m̷pt ̕at ̡r͏esis͜t͡ing͏ ̧- - ̧esća̛p͠e ̧-̀ - of͜fl̷in͏ed - ̶-"

Oh... Offlined... someone really messed up.

The apertures in Carbine's eyes seemed to focus slightly and show some life returning, trying to look up at the ceiling that most certainly wasn't his cell back in Garrus, and it wasn't the slapdash medical area either he was convinced was used as testing grounds for students. The fact he didn't recognize it was alarming, to say the least, yellow optics dancing across its surface for the familiar pits and scrapes with an almost panic-like alarm. The light fixture above was what he focused upon hard finally, using it as an anchoring point, the white pinpricks in his eyes contracting as he recognized it, though wasn't sure where from... until everything started to trickle back into place.

With a sluggish motion as though the signals going to his arms had a severe lag effect, Carbine slid both of his hands up so that he could shakily place them on his helm across his eyes and forehead, applying some pressure as he tried to piece together what was going on. It was all blotted out under water however, the details muddled beneath a vague sense of JOY that there weren’t faces hovering above him looking down in worry. He hated that. Being looked down upon as weak. Treated like he was broken. He could tell people were around, but they weren’t focused on him and that was great!

Though it didn’t completely remove the deep sense of embarrassment.

While others may not seem to be there judging him, occupied doing who knows what, he was quickly starting to judge himself plenty enough for them all. He felt shame at his medical issues, shame at how he let himself get so carried away, and shame at failing so spectacularly that it was all some rodeo of a show and things fell so out of line. In the drowning of his recovering mind, it compounded ten-fold, distorting into a sort of grief. This resulted in his hands pressing down harder, digging them into the cracked glass plate both to blot the light out from his eyes, as well as block his vision from any looks that may swing over now that he was displaying consciousness. It had a good side effect of also trying to mask his own humiliation that could show as distress in his eyes.

Twisting his legs, Carbine's knee which had been trying to lift up through the entire episode finally crooked properly, digging his heel down against himself as an anchor that could help him move a little. The ring scraped slightly as pressure was applied, starting to push so that he could crook over past the bulk of his shoulder shield. It was a toppling effect, the tipping point passed where he rolled from being slightly on his back to being tilted in favor of his chest and the outward-angled sternum panels that kept him from being able to lie flat.

A dismayed sound bled out, his mind still trying to catch up fully as his entire body ached.

He needed to get up... he didn't want to see them looking down at him... he COULDN'T endure that.

[Knock Out]

Turning his gaze downward to make note of what Carbine was doing, Knock Out seemed genuinely relieved at seeing some sort of cohesive movement - as sluggish as it was. While the helicopter mech appeared to be out of the woods after the episode, he could only hope that one of the two other morons would do the right thing and at least check in on him - y’know, like one probably should in this situation.

Which was why he was stunned, almost, when instead of listening to his earlier advice about speaking to Carbine, Sunstreaker instead took the moment to sass him and walk away before he could even reply.

He’d expected nothing less, and so her words were met with nothing but a roll of his optics as he turned his attention to Prowl and what he was doing. He wouldn’t move any closer, nor were there any motions of his sawblade shifting into place once more - even at seeing the manacles.

Though he would quirk a brow at what was said.

Sunstreaker? That was her name? Good to know. Filing that little detail away for later, he would smile.

“Does that mean Carbine will be offlined for his little escape - given his attempt succeeded? Well, sort of, anyway.” he tsk’d shaking his helm, glancing down to the mech in question, then back to Prowl. “Whatever, though. Understood. See, not moving, nor resisting!” he rose both servos to around shoulder height as if to demonstrate his compliance.

“As for backing away from the door, if I move any further back I will be phasing through the wall - and if I could do that, we wouldn’t be having this discussion now would we?”

Okay, he could probably move a half-step back at the least, but he wasn’t anywhere near the door, and as such? Wouldn’t move.

[Sunstreaker]

Now that was certainly indicative of many things. Sunny's audials flickered at the oh so blithely Decepticon suggestion of murdering an incapacitated prisoner. It gave her enough pause to tilt her head sideways, interrupting her work. Was that a joke? Was that actually what Decepticon protocol outlined in situations such as this? Just waste the poor mech? She couldn't not play Unicron's advocate however. Carbine had managed to escape, somehow. Whether it was intentional or through pure dumb luck was beside the point. Everything, from his current orientation to the crack crawling down his faceplate, had been his own damn fault.

It wouldn't have surprised her if it had all been extremely deep method acting. He could deny it up and down with a gruff façade, but Carbine was capital D Dramatic.

Fair, she thought. Sunstreaker was well versed in theatrics, herself.

Still not worth putting him offline for it, though.

"Wow." She remarked dryly, noticing Prowl whip out the manacles of justice, or whatever the hell he called them internally.

Sunny held back and stood by as requested, though she kept an optic fixed on Carbine, who appeared to be coming around. To a being of her medical expertise, which was very very little, he didn't look all that capable of anything at the moment. Even if he was, would he be stupid enough to keep acting like this was real? Yeah, probably.

"Uh, yeah -- we're not big fans of summary execution, here at Team Autobot."

Three cheers for morality.

"Also, in case you haven't noticed, our mutual friend here isn't really endeared by verbose displays. So maybe shut up a little, yeah?" Helping!

[Prowl]

“Carbine is under arrest on suspicion of desertion. He will be granted a fair trial before any sentence is passed, if any.”

Unlike you, Knock Out. He left that portion unspoken, merely letting the threat hang there in the air.

Despite the traitorous thoughts that some at Omega might entertain, Prowl was under no illusions as to what Knock Out represented. Even though he was a medical officer, he was a medical officer for a terrorist organization that had overthrown a government. In fact, he was THE medical officer for that organization. It was obvious to Prowl that Knock Out didn’t get to where he was by just being good at stitching up Megatron after Prime kicked his skidplate.

Of course there was nothing Prowl could prove in a court of law. At least, not yet anyway.

But that wasn’t the focus for today. Today...Prowl was going to finally get some answers from Knock Out.

Ignoring the medic’s sass, Prowl turned off the cell door and stepped into cell with Knock Out.

“Hold out your servos. Anything funny and you know what happens.”

He held out the manacles ready to lock up the medic so that he could begin the next phase of his plan. 

[Carbine]

Who was talking? Prowl seemed familiar enough, something about that registering rather readily. Perhaps it was the handcuffs, or even the paint job that helped spur that memory to the forefront and the knowledge that he had a mission of some kind. Though, a mission for what? It had something to do with the other two who were talking. Some femme... oh wait, Sunstreaker, yeah. That mission. He was undercover as a deserter. It was as a deserter though in acting, yes? Or did something horrendous happen that he had yet to remember? No... an incident that grandiose would have flashed back already... which meant he was acting a role, though he didn't know if he really had the energy to play it up any longer.

Carbine's roll from his back to chest transitioned readily as his knee pulled up, his weight rocking over to settle upon the outer plating of his upper leg. He seemed to teeter on the rounded panel a moment before the raised limb acted as a brace and he could start to drag his arm to match it. Despite his progress, he was still somewhat wobbly, his forearm pressing down so that his upper torso was lifted away from the flooring below. It was these lurching-wavered motions that ended with him resting on his knees, palms splayed out against the ground while his head hung from its mounting.

Yellow eyes blearily stared down at the concrete below, almost counting the small speckles and pits on the surface, as well as trailing across a faint scuff that must have formed when someone pivoted or who knows what at some point or another. The marks were joined a second later by a couple of drops of the slung runoff from the hole in his makeshift faceplate, its rust-tinged fluid seeping quickly into the dry surface. To others in his position, it could be concerning, yet for Carbine, it was a dash of familiarity atop a cluster of confusion that did not warrant a second thought.

Especially when his mind was already swimming.

Oh boy, he wanted a nap. Not just any nap, he wanted to damn well crash and not get up for a good bit of time. It made the thought of his room seem almost like a safe haven in a way, a little place of familiarity and comfort that he could crawl into until he recovered and could return to the world of the living. This idea spurred him onward, more concerned with getting to that dark hole than he was with trying to play up some role, which possibly had the unfortunate side effect of making him look like he was indeed continuing the game and trying to escape. As concerning as it may seem in concept, in truth it wasn't as though he would get far in any way shape or form.

Leaving Sunstreaker and Prowl to their little chat with the Decepticon whose name eluded him at the moment, Carbine dragged his leg up and planted the side of his wheel down, starting to push against aching joints to lift off the ground. While he could look awkward enough on a good day given his relatively long legs and the fact he had no proper ankle joint, throwing in his disorientation and pained movements made it all the chunkier, his frame hefting off with a determined reel and hiss of air puffing through vents.

No attempt to run was made, no attempt to fight even seemed to be a flicker in his mind. It appeared as though Carbine's only motivation was simply to get up so that he could lean against the wall for stability. To be downed in Garrus was a death sentence should someone see an opportunity for a little revenge or a status-lifting flex of power. For him? Well... such a crash had ended in critical processor trauma. It was almost baked into his systems to stand as soon as possible with as much natural impulse as venting may be for another.

He really... REALLY didn't want to be floored at all.

Settling with seemingly no intention to do anything more, Carbine merely remained braced upright against the wall, his head and arms hanging from their joints with the handcuff dangling off the left as though he was already trying to take a nap. He wasn't completely checked out, groggy eyes trying to look and see what was happening while he basked in the comfort and security brought on by the fact he had the 'high ground' simply due to height advantage alone. It was so uselessly irrelevant in every way other than psychological, though to his embarrassed and frustrated mind that meant everything to soothe a bleeding mental wound.

I'm sorry...

[Knock Out]

A gentle grunt of dismissal was the only response to Sunstreaker’s words - still finding the femme not worth the time nor effort to reply to, if only to not make matters worse. His own thoughts raced as the seriousness of just where he was finally started to set in just a little, along with the realization that he was about to be moved somewhere else.

It didn’t take a genius to work out he was probably about to be taken for interrogation, though a foolish part of him had assumed it’d be done right here in the cell, if only for convenience. He wasn’t even aware the Autobot base was big enough to justify a cute little interrogation slash torture suite - and for the first time since he’d arrived here, he felt nervous, if only because it was jumping into the unknown once more. The cell wasn’t comfortable by any means, but it was relatively safe, all things considered. Now? He didn’t know where he was going, or what would happen to him next.

Would he even hold up against whatever methods they were about to use on him? His normally lustrous finish was dented and scuffed from his little romantic rendezvous in the dirt with Prowl, so threats to scratch him further probably wouldn’t have done much to rattle his psyche. Oh, he’d probably whine about it, of course - his vanity and pride were hard to quell, even at the most inopportune moments - but in terms of seeking answers from him? They’d have to do more.

Which probably wasn’t good. For him, anyway.

What would they even ask? How would he even answer? There was no Decepticon handbook on what to do if you’re ever captured, but he could only assume that rule number one meant giving away whatever information they needed would not end well for him at all.

Prowl’s words briefly pulled him back into the moment, and he wondered what a fair trial even entailed. He probably wasn’t privileged to lay witness to whatever it would be, though a part of him hoped that the helicopter mech somehow managed to leave, if only so he was no longer aligned with these morons.

There would be a place for Carbine among the Decepticons, for certain, not to mention some actual medical care should he want it. The state of his injuries meant he’d been like that for some time, and he could only wonder just how bad everyone else was.

It was certainly telling how they simply left him to pick himself off the floor, too.

But for now, the focus was on himself and making it through whatever was to come. As the cell door came down and Prowl stepped forward, he would tense, optics narrowing as he took in the details of the other mech’s frame, namely the damage that he’d done to him. Even despite the badly patched repair job, it still looked like it hurt quite a bit.

Ah, if only he’d managed to slice just a few inches deeper. Alas.

Maybe next time.

Despite these thoughts, he knew better than to try anything in this moment - and so would comply with the order, holding out both servos as requested, though wouldn't move from where he stood.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Be gentle, mm?”

[Sunstreaker]

Sunstreaker made a little mental grumble. Prowl was, as Prowl was often fond of doing, playing it strictly by the book. Not only that, but he was playing it by the book to a Decepticon who'd given him one hell of a buffing. Nobody who'd given Sunny that sort of wound would have ever received even a hint of the same treatment. Hell, Knock Out hadn't even touched her and she still wanted to put the fear of Primus into him. She wanted to be the one to slap the cuffs on him and march him to his fate, though not before she flashed one of her blades in his smug face -- just to remind him of where he stood.

Speaking of standing, Carbine had joined the club.

She watched passively as the fallen mech drunkenly ambled to his feet, quite familiar with that "I've just been hit by an artillery shell, I would like to leave now" shuffle of his. Even though Carbine was ostensibly free and unrestrained, he was still handicapped by the aftermath of his seizure, something that stayed Sunny from immediately tackling the poor guy.

As with nearly everything that had happened today, it was Carbine's own damn fault. But, this cogently-demonstrated fact did not dissuade Sunny from feeling a swell of pity in her spark. He looked like, and in some respects was, a limping animal. It was a special sort of personal hell she and Prowl had asked him to jump into. A part of her did not hold it against him for wanting to jump right out of it.

But, whatever his rationale, it was time for him to get out.

Sunny eased herself off the wall dividing the cell doors, calmly waltzing toward the stunned mech. She thoughtfully pressed a servo up against his arm, largely to reassure him initially. Sunny fought the instinct to press her hand to his back, however. Even with him dazed, she had no desire to agitate Carbine even further.

She adopted a calmer, gentler, less-snarky tone. "Alllright buddy... let's go and get you checked out at medical before you come back, now..."

Whatever game they'd been playing had been ruined the instant Carbine flipped the table, at least in Sunny's mind. He was done, as far as she was concerned. To throw him back into a cell after this would have been nothing short of complete agony for him. Prowl would hear her rationale at a much higher volume if he tried to reset the board.

But for now, it was time to egress. She slipped a hand into Carbine's grasp, starting to softly lead the taller mech to the door -- and to sanctuary. If nothing else had been earned today, Carbine at least deserved a special reward for his trouble. Screw the extra Energon ration.