This is just a quickie I made when I was listening to Dark Woods Circus. I thought about the fact that Blitzwing didn't have much of a back story and I was a bit unhappy at his capture. It was a bit bland; he deserved something a little better. So now with that in mind, I came up with this. This is my first time writing an oneshot, especially one that's this emotional and dark.
But please do not hesitate to give me a critique.
Note that I've taken a few creative liberties.
Edit: I've tone down Blitzwing's accent after a nice critique from the wonderful Tr3adst0ne, thank you!
Recommendation!!! You should really listen to the song, before/while/after you/you're read(ing).
URL: http://www. youtube. com/watch?v=AU6PL0LH4_Y (without the spaces)
dA URL: http://brianchi. deviantart. com/art/Deformity-137442154 (again, without the spaces)
Summary: Alone in the Stockade; Blitzwing sings a song to comfort himself. Inspired by the VOCALOID song, Dark Woods Circus.
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers Animated or VOCALOID.

Deformity
The Autobots, they always said they were opposite of the Decepticons. They were honorable, merciful and benevolent; so unlike the barbaric, savage and immoral Decepticons. What a load of slag. It was nothing but lies, an illusion to glorify themselves. A mask of justice to hide the atrocities they committed. It was repulsive, so hypocritical for the Autobots to think such things. Underneath all those heroic deeds, underneath all those proud faces lurked demons and darkness, sins and cruelty.

But what was Blitzwing referring to? Was it the fact that he was to (maybe) live the rest of his life-cycle, rotting in the Stockade? No, Blitzwing could handle that. Was it because he had to enduring the constant jeering of the Autobots that guarded his cell? Not even that, stellar cycles of verbal abuse had given the triple-changer an indifference to the insults. Was it the humiliation of being captured by the enemy? No, he felt nothing about that either. It was… Blitzwing never knew the Autobots could hold such depravity.

In the corner of his cell, Blitzwing sat on the floor in a fetal position. Knees pulled up close to him, arms wrapped around them as he thought back to that day. Even now, it sent shiver to his very Spark. It was when he arrived at Cybertron, captured in the hands of the enemy. Stasis cuffs wrapped around his wrist, there he stood in front of the council of Autobots. They knew about his others, Hothead and Random, his small insanity, his other personas. They, in an act of kindness, decided to… another tremor spread through Blitzwing, kindness the word meant nothing to the Decepticon even when it came out of their vocalizers. No matter what they said; something about how it was the best for him, it was too cruel. It was murder.

And they call him a murderer, a Sparkless killer for offlining Autobots on the battlefield? It was war for Spark's sake! What did they expect, a jolly good time sharing cubes of energon with each other? No, war was the Pit. There was nothing good about it. But nothing that the triple-changer had been through could amount to what they did to him. They decided, unanimously, to rid him of his other personalities.

When he heard it through his audio receptors he was shocked dumb. He looked at them with disbelief. Then, in front of all of them, he went berserk. Insults spewed forth from him, empty threats and curses directed at them. The thought of losing not one, but both of his personalities was unthinkable to him. Hothead and Random, they were a part of him like Icy was to them, a symbiotic bond between the three. Taking them away, it would only break him. But they cared little about his thoughts, not that they wanted to. They didn't want a random nut job, a dysfunctional bot amongst their list of prisoners. And if he were to be paroled, they didn't want his insanity to affect the other Autobots.

He theorized this is what Blackarachnia talked about, why she didn't want to return to the Autobots even though she was one of them. They were too closed-minded to accept others than their own kind back into their society. They would treat her as a scientific discovery; a specimen reserved for dissection, fitting for cutting open and pulling out the soft insides.
A thing.
The same way they saw Hothead and Random; they were not living bots that shared his Spark, they were just a hindrance. They always wanted a perfect society, a society free of glitches and irregularities, free of malfunctions and abnormality, free of difference, all unified into one mass.

And so they proceeded. They dragged him, kicking and screaming into a med bay. They lifted him on to the berth and strapped him down. When he continued to resist; with sadistic pleasure they sedated him. But if was not true sedation, they merely put him in stasis. Blitzwing would have preferred to welcome the darkness of stasis lock with open arms. At least it would have been a refugee away from the reality. But it never came. With paralyzed horror, they began the operation. They violated him and he could do nothing but watch and feel as they probed into his processor.

To them it was a simple procedure, a poke here, a twist there. A few shocks and tinkering and he was fixed, a crazy Decepticon finally normal. But to Blitzwing it was like nothing he had ever experienced. Inside he could hear as Hothead and Random screamed; their very essence tampered with. They pleaded and cried, their voices echoed tenfold in his processor. Icy did his best to comfort them, hoping to make their passing more painless. But sorrow and hurt wracked his Spark, feelings that he rarely felt. It was new to him, and so strong. Their torturous cries, he could still remember. It drove him mad as he heard it over and over again in recharge. Hothead was the first to silence. His cries went long and loud, and just suddenly stopped. What was left was Random's stammering sobs as they echoed. The usually merry personality's child-like voice, so full of happiness and manic, was reduced to anguish. Then he too went silent.

~xXx~

Orbital cycles passed in muteness. Blitzwing had no motivation to move, except when his bowl of energon came. No longer could Icy hear Hothead's gruff militaristic voice ranting. No longer could he hear Random breaking out jokes, laughing at them whether they were funny or not.
Just pure silence.
What was so special about silence? What was so comforting about it? To him it was smothering, suffocating. He wanted someone to talk to, someone to share his thoughts. Yet there was no one. Blitzwing needed noise. At least the Autobots let him keep his stash of Earth music in his processor. He picked out a random song; anyone of them would do just fine, he just needed something to distract him. Inspecting it he knew this song well. Although it was originally in Japanese, he worked around with it and was able to sing it in English. The tune would be quite fitting; he played the song and stood up. His stabilizing servos ached from the lack of use, but he hardly felt it.

The sound of tapping metal rang, ticking like a clock.
"Oh, you're here, you're here!" Blitzwing said to no one particular.

The sound of those Earth creatures, horses, their hooves clomping on a stone path mixed with the tapping as they echoed through the Stockade, before fading away.
"Tonight, ve'll be showing," Blitzwing announced, still to no one.

An accordion played a lame tune.
"Ze sad fate zat some of zis vorld carry. Children zat God has abandoned, restlessly creeping out," memories of his Sparkling years reawakened. "Children who can't even carry ze trembling limbs zey vere born vith,"

He remembered how they would stare at him.
"Zeir shaking tongues even accidentally cry out. Ze crowns of zeir head zat caress ze dark clouds,"

Only his Creators accepted him and nurtured him without prejudice.
"Zey smile as zey dream of zeir mother's embrace,"

The twisted giggling of human Sparklings and the wheezing notes of an unknown instrument came forth as Blitzwing remembered.
"Oh ze deformity!"
The jeers, the taunts, the teasing.
"DEFORMITY!" Blitzwing screamed out, servos clenched.

Fellow inmates shouted for him to quiet, but he cared little.
"Drop by and see him! Drop by and see him!"

Prisoners turned their heads to his singing, audio receptors perked to listen. Blitzwing sang, his voice hollow as it reverb through the halls, a servo placed over his chassis.
Far… far in ze back zat vay…
Zere is… a circus…
Ze chairman… vith ze big eyes…
And ten meters tall…
All of ze cast… is jolly…
Zeir forms are… rather strange…
But it's so fun…
Ze Dark Voods Circus…

For a moment, Blitzwing's pitch perfect vocalizers faltered, buzzing with static. An unharmonious crowd of humans laughed shrilly from the song like blocks of Styrofoam rubbing together, screeching and bone-chilling.
One vith two heads…

The triple-changer's voice broke out into an echo, as if he was singing from a ruined chapel.
A deformed diva…

His voice distorted back into a mix of static, still hearable, but the once melodious voice turned numb.
A blue beast zat loves… to eat things cold…

Unknown to him, his fellow inmates shivered in slight horror as they imagine the monstrosities Blitzwing spouted out of his ballad. Blitzwing's voice rose in pitch, he began to convulse as memories flooded him.
Does anyone… vish that I vere alive
So undesirable… I am in zis body?
Vhy do you… look at me like zat?
Zis face zat is rotting?

How they laughed at him. How the other Sparklings and Younglings demanded him to change his face. How they stared at him… like a freak. He was nothing but a display, a tool of their amusement. Blitzwing's voice rose again in pitch. For a second, it was if someone else was with the triple-changer, a duet connected by grievous remembrance.
It's painful…
It's painful, and it can't be helped…
She said it…
But still, ve continue zis circus…

His voice ascended to a screeching level, but it was still beautiful to hear, haunting but beautiful. His inmates yelled at him to stop, others called for the Autotroopers. Blitzwing raised his servos high into the air as he sang for the heavens to hear.
It's fun, so fun!
Zis circus is so fun!
Rotten fruit, to dissolve my eyes
My skin festers, reflected on my eyes

Blitzwing sang out as he remembered how the Autobots tampered with his processor, leaving behind a broken bot.
I vant to die, vant to die!
Get me out of here, please!
It is impossible… for anyone to… say and feel!

The singing stopped, but the music went on. It blared forth, traveling throughout the Stockades. A violin played its melancholic lament; sad and empty, the notes were flat and unappealing. Alone, Blitzwing did a little waltz. Something he had learned from Earth.

"Ze body is distorted in order to bend to zat twisted figure," Blitzwing narrated, as he continued to twirl. "To crawl on ze illuminated street with paper lanterns,"

The abuses he went through in the past, both verbal and physical, sent stabs of misery in his Spark as they resurfaced.
"Everyone knows ze feeling of valking down ze street," Blitzwing continued to dance, a maniacal smile stretched on his face. "Zis child has to cower. I guess ze shadows reach long,"

He remembered his fellow Decepticons, the ones that were like him, ones who couldn't put up with the Autobots, the ones that welcomed him with open arms, the ones who tolerated his nature.
"But ze friends zat talk have zeir vaists aligned. You are later and before and by yourself,"

The memories of his time with Hothead and Random played through him. The fights they had, the laughs they shared, the battles they survived through.
"Oh, you're here, you're here! Drop by and see him! Drop by and see him… drop by, to ze Dark Voods," the song faded away as horses clopped away.

Blitzwing slowed his dance to a standstill, arms slowly relaxed to his side. He looked up, not surprised to see that a group of Autotroopers had gathered in front of his cell. Each one of them held a pistol, loaded with paralyzing ammunition, or a stasis cuff. Those accursed silencing sheets of metal were kept in their subspace container, eager to muffle the triple-changer. Blitzwing glared at them, hate and fury burned. Hothead would have taken control and spout jeers and taunts; if they came he would have brushed them away like ragdolls. But he was not here and so was Random.
Not anymore…

Sorrow flashed through his optics, his face melted into a look of defeat. The Stockade guards looked at Blitzwing in confusion. Their optics widen in surprise as he opened his chassis, revealing his glowing Spark. Blitzwing looked down, seeing only a small portion of it as it softly illuminated his frame, the only sacred thing Blitzwing held in the ugliness of the world. But even it was tainted, perverted.

Blitzwing looked up; once again a deranged smile crossed his face as he regarded the Autobots with coldness and madness.
"Meet you, in the Vell of ze All Spark!" Blitzwing let out a peal of laughter, so similar to Random, as he trusted a servo in his Spark Chamber.

The Autobots yelled out in a mix of horror and disgust as Blitzwing ripped out his Spark and crushed it. A strange sensation of relief and freedom washed of the Decepticon. It was like all senses of reality broke, their chains no longer held him down. Instantly Blitzwing fell backwards with a crash, his frame drained of color as glowing energon trickled from his glossa and chassis. They pooled around him, giving him an unearthly glow. The Autobots managed to enter and milled around the offline triple-changer. Even in death he still held a smile on his face, but it wasn't the same crazed smile. It was a clam smile, a soft smile. Despite how violently he offlined himself; his optics were closed and unwrinkled, showing no signs of agony. It almost appeared that the triple-changer had offlined peacefully, without pain, happy to pass on, a truly serene face.

~xXx~

The council of Autobots got word of Blitzwing's offlining. They too were shocked by his actions. They decided to keep the whole event hushed, but eventually news traveled fast to every Cybertronian, both Autobot and Decepticon. Optimus and his crew even got word about Blitzwing. It both shocked and confused them. The triple-changer always appeared so festive when he fought against them (Random never failed to appear to crack a morbid joke). What had caused him to fall so far into misery?
Only few knew.

~xXx~

Cycles have passed since Blitzwing's passing. Life goes on as it had since the beginning, except in the Stockade. Both Autobots and Decepticons would tell you that when things got too quiet, you could hear the twisted giggling of Humans and a maddening melody echoing through the halls. An orchestra of Earth instruments playing withering tunes of bitterness and corrupted merriment. And sometimes the triple-changer himself would sing for those to hear, not in one voice, but three.

Fin