NCC Dungeon

     Travelling down the dark, decrepit road, one might wonder if this part of the city was build to look old and disgusting on purpose. The road turns into a tunnel that leads deep into the ground and twists madly in a confusing pattern. The lighting appears to flicker on and off for effect, giving this claustrophobic metal monstrosity the proper look. The tunnel ends with a series of about twenty cells as well as a guardhouse. Most are secluded to keep the prisoners from talking amongst themselves. Extremely thick metal bars keep those in who need keeping in. More traditional electronic measures are available as well. There is no hint of the open air, and no hope for escape.

Sideswipe has arrived.

Scrapper enters the dungeon, a rather sick joy lighting his optic band. Why, he looks just like a kid in a candy store... or was that the kid who pulls wings off flies? The Constructicon has his replacement toolkit in one hand, as he's still unable to find his old one, and a datapad in the other. Scrapper intends to take very good notes on this, indeed. Vaguely, he's aware that Arachnae will probably find the notes about what he gets up to with her test subject useful, but he's not keeping them for her. Scrapper's going to take down records for his own later enjoyment, as this ought to be rather entertaining, and having a good log can help out when memories get fuzzed out and deleted to make space - another engineering problem, that. He glances around in the dungeon, seeking out his victim, er, patient? No, definitely victim, for all that he's going to be checking out the medical status of this one.

Sideswipe has been left to the nominal comforts of the dungeon. Deposited here after his ignomeous capture after a severe beating, the formerly somewhat pristine red autobot lies more or less where he had been dropped. Tencity along with die cast construction has purvailed in keeping him alive. Granted he's not concious, but his systems did the proper things and shut down all but core functions to maintain a state of stasis.

Scrapper spots said victim. Sideswipe's not an Autobot that Scrapper has any particular quarrel with, but an Autobot is an Autobot. It's more that good enough for the Constructicon. He removes a medical scanner from his toolkit to get a better idea of the red one's condition. Obviously, Sideswipe's unconscious, but Scrapper would like some more detail first before he sets about doing anything else. He links the med scanner to his datapad to autolog the results and takes a preliminary set of readings.

You take several moments to run a medical scan on Sideswipe...

Sideswipe has been beaten, blasted, lasered, tossed about and somehow he's still alive. Something about missles point blank and bladed weapons being used to not only ruin his finish, but take an unhealthy chunk out of armor and energy reserves aline.

alike

Scrapper puts away the medical scanner for a moment, and taking his own sweet time, as Sideswipe certainly isn't going anywhere, and there's no need to rush this job. He pokes around some the Autobot's injuries and opens a few panels, trying a get a grasp of Sideswipe's overall wiring system. After a bit of thought, Scrapper fishes out a rather large capacitor from his toolkit, charges it up, and links it into the Autobot's power main. There are a number of safe ways to restart an unconscious Transformer. This is not one of them. That capacitor is going to discharge a lot of current and fast. It shouldn't be lethal, given Sideswipe's sturdy structure and what Scrapper's gathered about the Autobot's electrical system, but it'll probably burn out a few of his more fragile parts. At the very least, if it doesn't burn anything out, it'll be excruciatingly painful for that brief moment of peak discharge and ache for a while after.

Scrapper goes to work on Sideswipe, bringing him back to consciousness.

You successfully revive Sideswipe.

Sideswipe was not asleep.. was unconcious and in that twilight land of non-thinking, the only occasional twitch of mental activity involving flashes of memories that revolve most importantly around his sunshine yellow twin. The last concious memory that was retained prior to his falling down was of extreme personal discomfort and rage.

Unfortunatly, as the capacitor discharges it's painful gift into systems already pressed to extreme limits of resistence, the first thing that fully comes online is, of course, his vocoder. a static hiss-pop as mind gears up, trying to make sense of the sudden influx of stimuli. Pain registers and the red car brother lets out a startled-sluggish yelp of shock and groggy surprise that cuts off into a silent hiss-whiff intake of air into parched systems before erupting into a full fledged (and as of yet, still not fully coherant) yowl of pain. "Wh.. ahh- Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!"

Ah, music to Scrapper's audios, as sure as the brassy of strains of a trumpet. Seeing a wickedly cheerful Construction with a set of dubious-looking medical implements out isn't likely make Sideswipe feel any better, is it? Ah well, Scrapper never was much for beside manner, or chainside manner as the case may be. He takes another set of readings with his medical scanner, for completeness, pacing semi-circles around Sideswipe. One might be inclined to think of a shark that's scented blood in the water or a vulture that has spotted carrion from on high.

You take several moments to run a medical scan on Sideswipe...

Sideswipe twitches as he starts to wake up a bit more now that unconciousness has left vacant her vapid grip. Optics flicker and then kindle with a dullish hue of blue. Tentative strain on joints as he tries to move, finding his orientation and positioning rather uncomfortable. But, with a raspy, yet wryly amued tone, he rasps out, "Did I piss off th' medics this much?" as his head slowly turns, attempting to focus more on ther here and now. "Wh.. wait, when did you get on th' primes payroll, greenie?"

Scrapper chuckles softly and answers ironically, "Oh no, you've rather made this medic's day." He pauses for effect and continues, "But I'm not on your Prime's payroll. Consider this charity work, if you will." The Constructicon raises a hand to his chin, considering where to go from here. He muses aloud, "My normal modus operandi would simply be to take you apart, but the current situation calls for something a bit more...brutal, I'm afraid."

Sideswipe blinks with that groggy apperence of someone who isn't quite fully awake. Or appreciative of the situation, "Lovely." The creaking sound of joints once more being tested as he slowly pulls at one arm, testing the bonds with a languid, slowness. "Just cut to th' chase, greenie, what th' slag do you want?"

Scrapper notes Sideswipe testing the bonds and snorts. He says bluntly and without any particular pride, "I designed this city. You aren't getting out." Scrapper pries open a few more panels on the red Autobot and loosely splices together some of the cables, bringing online some of his previously non-functional pain sensors. If Scrapper's going to inflict pain, he wants Sideswipe to feel it at full capacity. After all, one wouldn't design a magnificent sculpture and then cover it up. Absently, Scrapper answers, "Want? More funding would be nice...oh, of you? I just need you to suffer. That's not too hard for you, is it?"

Sideswipe manages a smirk, "If you designed this place, I'm sure I'll get out sooner or later." Rakish smirk crossing his slightly pained features. Growing still, he tries to see what it is exactly that Scrapper is fiddling with, "Hey now, get your hands out of there!" Indignant tone before he tries to twist in the bonds, "Great, are you one of those sickos who gets laughs making someone hurt?"

Scrapper abruptly jams in a hand, constricting one of Sideswipe's fuel lines. He holds it for a moment, giving the captive a blank stare. Then, he lets go and says quietly, "Laughs? If that's all that there is to be had. If the subject matter is so poor and devoid of content. However, and I don't expect an Autobot philistine like you to understand, I'd rather get something artistic, something beautiful out of your pain." And really, what's lovelier than seeing one of the hated Autobots consumed by spark-wracking pain? Scrapper ungently peels off a bit of the Autobot's armour, leaving the innards exposed. Then, he goes for the servomotors and slowly and deliberately backdrives the complex gearing of the mechanisms, a rather wretched way of ruining the precision motors.

Sideswipe chokes back a snarl-yelp as he can feel that hand stuffing into his frame, then that sense of fuel unable to reach something important. The fingers on one hand spasm, flexing in reaction to the fuel violation. "Not.. seein'. th' funny in this.." words slip out in spastic pulses. Words, his usual means of deflecting the occasional sour mood, abandon him as the sound of gears stripping, his own gears at that, reach his audial systems just after the first tingle-tearing sensation perks it's proverbial head. The tingle shifts into something akin to road rash, long and agonizing, "N..n... Son.. of.. a... riveter..."

Scrapper flicks the shovel on his back disdainfully. That's the best insult Sideswipe can come up with? How disappointing. He finishes with one servomotor, extended overtorquing leading to a final, glorious crunch as it breaks down for good. Then, Scrapper looks at Sideswipe's hands. The Constructicon 'deshells' one - the red, red 'lobster' can't like it much if he's still alive, can he? Then, Scrapper selects a keyhole saw and sets to slowly sawing through the contractile fibres - essentially the robotic tendons and ligaments - in Sideswipe's fingers. First the ones in the distal phalanges; then the medial, slowly working down the fingers. Scrapper continues blithely, "Now, if you were a medic, this," he pauses and gestures to the damage that he's inflicting on Sideswipe's hands, "would truly be torture, but it ought to approximate well enough for now."

Sideswipe is working with limited capacity and major distractions. Setting his jaw with that stubborn expression of someone who's determined not to make any more noise than possible, he seems to steel himself, optics glinting. Still, as the evil green genius crunches that servomotor, an undertoned rasp comes from the red one. Optics dim then narrow as he slowly shifts his head to stare at the degloving of his had. The other hand twitches in wracked sympathy movements as the de-tendoning begins. "N.. Sick... little.. Mech.." spat out, voice rough before another sound, more akin to a rasped wince, or short lived uttering of pain takes over.

Scrapper hacks through that last mechatendon a bit more violently than the last and mutters darkly, "Autobots have no appreciation for the finer things in life." He stares Sideswipe in the optics and selects a fine scalpel. The Constructicon picks up a scrap of tendon, cuts through it neatly, and then looks at the clean cut disapprovingly. "That was much too neat a break, don't you think?" Scrapper retrieves a rusted, dulled, chipped scalpel that looks like it might have seen use in the original war against the Quintessons. He sighs contently, "This is much better," and drags the battered blade lightly across one of Sideswipe's optics, just applying barely enough pressure to leave a thin scratch.

Sideswipe's uncut up hand is twitching in mad sympathy with errant spasms with nowhere else to go now tht motility in the one hand has ended. Every neurofiber in that cut up hadn burns like it's on fire and he's doing his damndest not to make too much noise. But it's wearing him thin, optics dimming. Unconciousness would be a blessing right now and one he would actually welcome. Fight, ssure, he would wade into those without a thought, but this has tresspassed into darker things from ages past. "Doesnt. matter... what I think..." He tries to jerk his head away from the scalpel coming at am optic; the result, still the screech of that thin scratching, eliciting a shudder from the battered red one.

Scrapper mock-scowls and chastises, "Be still!" He lightly drags the scalpel down Sideswipe's cheek. "You wouldn't want me to slip, would you?" Not trusting his victim to comply - how bothersome, that - Scrapper gets out a welder and fuses Sideswipe's neck and head in place, which ought to rather smart on it's own. Then, he delicately pries out Sideswipe's optics, careful to not snap the wiring that keeps them operational. The Constructicon rather wants Sideswipe to see what he has planned next, after all.

Sideswipe wince-snarls with a modicum of a choked intake-gasp of pain as neck and head become one immobile piece. He can't move his head. OPtics widen briefly as the scalpel comes for the taking and he lets out with a string of loosly connected words that could be a sentence, could be a plea to the gods of foul language to let the suffering end. "Gasket blowin, rivet poppin slaggin mismatch-" it fails and the nominally tough, the usually stalwart bravado that most of his existence shown forth with an annoying tendency towards the amusingly absurd cracks with a drawn out 'Aaa-aa-ahhhh!"

The Constructicon's optics burn with dark delight and amusement. Why, he hasn't even got to the best part yet, and Sideswipe is already babbling like a factory-fresh prototype. Scrapper makes a brief mental note to get Arachnae a really, really nice mug sometime soon. He yanks out a small pair of support struts from Sideswipe's mangled hand, affixes them to either side of the red one's head, and attaches the optics to the ends of the struts, pointing back at Sideswipe's own face. Now that his victim has a lovely view of the action, Scrapper, still with that decrepit old scalpel, starts to sliver off the Autobot's facial armour, sectioning it in wire-thin slices.

Sideswipe is oddly quiet for a moment, disoriented, the sense of visual movement not matching any actual body moment. The present damage causes momentary disorientation before a raspy, but wry smart assed comment comes out, "Never knew... I looked.. that good." The sense of disorientation remains, and watching as Scrapper makes proverbial luncheon meat slices out of his own featues adds to the sense of surreal pain induced haze.

Scrapper continues to nonchalantly turn Sideswipe's face into scrap wire. What's underneath could have come out of a medical textbook, and when Scrapper is done - and he takes his own sweet time - he cuts into the connecting fibres that give movement and life to Sideswipe's face, again sawing in jagged little spurts, designed to hurt and mangle, all the while leaving the delicate neural wires that convey pain alone.

Sideswipe watches as the surgeon turns his face into a macabre anatomy lesson. Optics brighten briefly as his un-sliced hand flexes and clenches, the other limp and sending steady agony to his core system monitors. The stripped gears add to the sharp throbbing he's fighting against. And another muffled back sound of pain is choked out of his vocoder, face unable to shift expression in attempt to further choke back the low groan. "Good thing.." voice deeper, thinner and rasped, "I'm more.. than.. a pretty.. face.."

Now, when Scrapper was created (take your pick of the many origins), his makers probably didn't anticipate him putting his vast medical skills to this ghoulish use. Just goes show how things change... cities rise, cities fall, and all the while, people die... The Constructicon says agreeably, "Indeed, you're a most enjoyable diversion. I really ought to look into doing this more often...well, not with you. You only get one shot at all this." As he says 'shot', he leans forward, bringing his weight to bear with deceptive swiftness and drives the scalpel deep in Sideswipe's head, narrowly missing a number of rather vital things - microchips, fuel lines, and the like.

Sideswipe gets a random thought even through the sheer amount of concentration that he has focused on not giving in to the need to scream. He hasn't been asked any questions. "Slag off, y-" His frame stiffens and twitches, pure reaction to seeing a blade being driven into his own head. Optics dim and then flicker eratically, disorientation once more taking over, intermingled and entertwined with the constant ache and pain searing his systems to odd numbness. Surreal disbelief bouys him up for a brief reach for something past this madness, his ravaged face reflected in optics that dim to the thinnest blue hue. Static hisses from his vocoder before another truncated yelp-howl is emited in brief before choked back once more to a lower thrumming static hiss.

Scrapper slowly removes the blade from Sideswipe's head. a) He doesn't want to kill Sideswipe, appearances aside, and b) it's a cruddy old blade and it's jammed in there rather hard. Scrapper places a hand on the mutilated remains of Sideswipe's face, one of his fingers ending up in Sideswipe's now empty optic-socket, to steady the job, and finishes yanking out the scalpel, twisting it to finally remove it. If at all possible, the blade might have caused more pain on the way out than way in, given its awkward removal. The rough entry seems to have snapped off the tip of the blade. Eh, it was a junker, anyway.

Sideswipe has disconnected.