1 • The Prisoner Heir

                                    

                                          
T h e P r i s o n e r H e i r
2 n d P O V
1 2 / 3 / 1 8
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The Autobots had you right where they wanted you. You, the heir to the Decepticon throne. It wasn't as if you were actual royalty, yet the Cons insisted on using titles like "your majesty" and treating you like a noble. The Autobots treated you like a terrorist, despite the only thing you'd done to them was enter the land of the living. In your life, living was a crime, and the people that surrounded you (especially the annoying Prime that was currently mech-handling you) made their livings off of reminding you of it. 
"Keep it moving, your Royal Decepti-scum! You're lucky we haven't offlined you, as much as I that's a better idea," Sentinel growled, shoving you forwards. The blaster in his excited servo was pressed against your back, pointed at your spark. 
Your helm was down, vision focused solely on the metal tiles that lay out the path to your cell. Your denta toyed with the inside mesh of your intake cavity. Your derma quivered. Despite your best efforts, you were pretty sure the mech could hear the sniffles that escaped you as you tried to keep tears from falling. The last thing you needed was for him to clearly see your heavily emotional self; he'd already made fun of your looks and lost dignity and everything else. You didn't want to appear any weaker than you did at the moment. 
Your servos fidgeted anxiously with every aspect of themselves. The metal snapped around your wrists made them ache as you clutched them over your interface panel. You released a shaky sigh. Your steps were slow, but fast enough that he only jabbed you in the back a few additional times. You were certain you could feel a bruise forming. As they both of you walked, flanked by the boisterous jet twins, you let his threats and narcissistic flexes go in one audio receptor and right out the other. 
Sentinel had to enter a special password into a door that lead to the cell's separate wing. You noticed just how sectioned off it really was. It was reinforced to the point where Unicron himself wouldn't be able to escape. 
It told you just how dangerous they thought you were, despite you never having actually done anything remotely impressive on the battlefield, or so Starscream told you. Rumors featured the tactical terrorist actions of others with your designation slapped onto it. Despite being the heir, your sire didn't find you ready to be a leader, much less command. You simply trained and studied and worked alongside lesser commanders, taking credit for their actions in hopes of building up a reputation that rivaled your parent's. 
You regretted all of it.
Sentinel came to another door and repeated the previous process. Finally, he reached your cell door and released you, allowing Jetfire and Jetstorm to forcefully grab your arms to hold you in place. He took a badge scan, followed by an optical scan, which then made him type in a password that made the laser bars disappear. You gasped as you were shoved in and crashed on onto the floor, as well as your faceplates. This earned a laugh from the mechs. The laser bars reappeared behind you. 
"Get ready, Decepti-slag. Ultra Magnus is coming along in a few cycles to interrogate you. As much as I'd like to do it by myself, you're gonna have to face him and us," Sentinel informed you arrogantly. A sickening grin was plastered across his faceplates. 
"Yeah, you vill regret the day you were ever born vhen you zee 'im!" Jetstorm laughed, earning an approving look from his superior. You would've shaken you helm, but knowing they could still see you kept you from doing or emoting anything.