Author's Note: I really love the design Starscream was given in Prime, but I found it strange how his Decepticon insignia was on his chest, rather than his wings (as in so many earlier incarnations). So, I was inspired to write this little fic.

Takes place in the Prime-verse, as sort of an alternate take on Starscream's punishment following "Out of His Head".

Warnings: Torture/violence, possibly disturbing content.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or its characters. I'm just a fan who enjoys writing dark, depressing fanfiction. =D

As a hazy awareness returned to him, Starscream let out a weak moan.

Every inch of his frame was in some degree of pain. His sensitive wings hurt most, and he was fairly certain he detected a recent soldering job on the tip of the right. His abdomen ached dully where Megatron had delivered more than a few well-aimed kicks. He could feel his right ankle twisted at an unnatural angle.

Onlining his flickering optics, he observed some exposed and broken wiring at his shoulders. Several damaged fuel lines in his torso were bared as well...They had been hurriedly sealed; an emergency procedure usually seen on the battlefield. Glancing up, he saw a tangle of life support cables, each extending down beneath the seams of his armor. Suppressing another groan, he weakly twisted his neck to take in his surroundings. His vision was dim and blurry, but he was able to tell that he was in the main med bay aboard the Nemesis. He knew the place well, after all.

Where else would I be? The bitter thought sprang to his meta.

His last conscious memories were of choking on his own energon as he attempted to plead with his master. His master, who smirked faintly as he lowered a hulking pede to his throat and shifted the bulk of his weight to press down on it. Starscream's throat still felt constricted, but it had obviously been repaired; if it hadn't, he wouldn't have been functioning, let alone able to move his head.

With as much strength as he could muster, the seeker turned his optics to the right, where a familiar red mech stood fingering a comm unit.

"Yes, my liege, he's been stabilized and should be coming around any time now...," Knock Out droned with obvious disinterest. He half-glanced at a nearby monitor and suddenly took notice of Starscream's weakly glowing optics. "Oh, ah... Scratch that, he's just woken up."

Oh, wonderful, the injured mech thought bitterly. A check-in from the great Lord Megatron himself. Probably wants to make sure he didn't leave any of my vitals in stable condition.

He pondered the near-impossibility of the ex-gladiator's return to power. If only the wretched Autobots hadn't performed the mind-link, Megatron would have been dead and buried cycles ago... His own leadership would have been cemented and indisputable. Instead...

Feeling a small amount of strength returning, Starscream attempted to raise a hand to examine the damage to his neck, but found that he was held back by a stiff restraint at his wrist. He brushed this off as standard procedure; they wouldn't want him waking and panicking, possibly damaging himself further in his delirium. He tried lifting his head to glance down at himself, but was again halted, this time by a metal band collaring him and holding him flat against the berth. An attempt to twitch his wings in agitation revealed that even those had been pinned flat beneath him by some type of bonds. He began to feel an instinctual panic fluttering in his spark. His venting grew shallow, and he struggled feebly

Seekers, as well as most flyers, reacted strongly to any restraint of their wings. Obviously, it was sometimes necessary to keep them still for repairs, but Knock Out had never left the bonds in place after a procedure.

"Oh, give it a rest, Screamy," Knock Out said flatly, rolling his optics.

"Knock Out...," the seeker rasped hoarsely. "What... are you...-"

The mechanical sound of the med bay entrance sliding open cut him short.

"Resting comfortably?" a mocking voice asked, unable to mask the amusement in its tone.

"Mega-," Starscream choked fearfully, but was interrupted by a coughing fit, fresh energon splattering his frame, as well as the surface of the berth he was bound to.

Megatron chuckled darkly. He was holding something... the seeker couldn't tell what it was from his angle.

"You are the perpetual source of your own misery, Starscream. Your motives are self-serving, and your methods beyond transparent," the Decepticon leader hissed, moving to stand beside his second-in-command's berth and leaning closely over him, until the warlord could feel the heat radiating from the terrified mech's faceplates against his own. "Whatever loyalty you once bore for the Decepticon cause, millennia ago, has long since run dry."

The seeker involuntarily sneered, indignant at his current situation. His strong sense of self-preservation soon made him regret the show of rebellion, however; he was prone and helpless, with absolutely no bargaining chips to work with. He flinched, waiting for the larger mech to strike his faceplates or reopen one of his still-fresh wounds, but nothing came. He looked cautiously, almost questioningly, up at his master. In response, Megatron brushed his fingers against the seeker's right wing, wiping away a bit of dried energon that had gathered there.

"I'm going to help you remember where your allegiance lies, Starscream," the words promised misery.

The warlord lifted the item he held so that the incapacitated jet could see it. It was a short pole, fixed at the end of which was a Decepticon insignia. Starscream's addled mind couldn't immediately decipher the meaning of the object. A high humming sound filled the air, a sound Starscream recognized far too well as his master's fusion cannon readying to fire. Fear coursed through him. Had Megatron been waiting for him to wake simply to terminate him? But then why wouldn't he have just done it earlier, rather than beating him into unconsciousness?

The Decepticon leader did not fire, however. Instead, he raised the pole to the brim of his arm-mounted weapon, insignia first. The metal grew white hot; it must have been an incredibly resilient alloy if it could withstand the energy of the cannon without breaking down... Understanding suddenly dawned on the seeker, and he squirmed weakly in his restraints.

"Master, please! This... No... No, no, no," the smaller mech groveled, voice descending into a pitiful whimper.

The insignia on Starscream's chest had been made with a small, precise, chiseling tool that had left only shallow grooves in his armor. The pain had been minimal, and he hadn't been restrained. Decepticons had not been marked with branding irons since near the beginning of the war. It was an outdated and excruciatingly painful method. Megatron had either had the tool he held crafted for just this occasion, or else pulled it from some ancient history archive.

Starscream, panicking, glanced at Knock Out as if silently pleading for help (though what aid he expected the small, cowardly grounder to provide, he didn't know himself).The medic's optics were wide, and he looked uncomfortable, but he said nothing.

With a bitter smirk, Megatron stabbed the white-hot insignia into the surface of the seeker's right wing. The prone mech screeched in anguish, pain coursing through his hypersensitive wing. His wing-which could detect minute shifts in the air currents and react accordingly- was burning. The metal seared and boiled and scarred. No amount of repair would return the plating to its original state. The iron maintained pressure, and Starscream dared not squirm beneath it, lest the pain worsen. He was shaking, whimpering, sobbing, and begging his master incoherently for mercy. From the corner of his vision, he saw Knock Out watching him in a stunned silence, traces of disgust and perhaps fear detectible in his expression. The medic met his gaze, and Starscream thought he could see pity in his optics. Then his own optics offlined from the shock, thrusting him into sudden blackness.

Finally, he felt the brand leave his frame and shrieked once more at the fresh agony. He continued to whimper, unaware of whether he was still forming words or what they might have been. The only thing he was aware of was the unrelenting pain. He felt almost unsure of whether the iron had left him or not. He could still feel its bite, lessened only slightly.

"There... That wasn't so terrible, was it?" the warlord taunted in mock sympathy, clearly enjoying the torture of his helpless SiC.

Starscream only sobbed softly in reply.

"Now, let's finish this," the larger mech spat coldly.

A new sense of panic filled the trembling seeker, and he struggled to online his optics once more. He managed to do so just in time to see his master force the still-searing brand onto his opposite wing. He screamed again, his vocalizer crackling from strain. Knock Out was still standing to his right, resting his face in one hand. The gesture might have suggested exhaustion or boredom, but there was a great amount of tension in his fingers, and it was clear he couldn't bring himself to watch any more.

The seeker continued to shift between screaming and sobbing, his thin fingers gripping the flat surface of the berth.

Fly... It will hurt to fly... He thought with a delirious sense of horror. How could it not? The sharp wind chafing against the raw wounds, his sensors now more exposed and susceptible... Even when he healed, it would sting. He had always loved the sensation of flight... would he now grow to dread it?

At last, the pressure of the brand lifted. The seeker continued to shake and spasm. His ventilation was ragged and seemed to come with some difficulty.

Megatron reached for a panel near the berth and input several commands. The bonds holding Starscream withdrew, and the injured mech promptly curled on himself, burying his face in his hands, his wings wilting at his back into their lowest position. The life support cables strained at the shifting of his body, inflicting further pain upon the weakened flyer.

The warlord loomed over him, savoring his revenge. He reached a clawed finger towards the quivering seeker and dug the point into the ridges of one of the fresh brands, enjoying the yelp of pain it incited. He continued to trace the outline of the insignia, watching Starscream grind his denta and squirm, too weak or afraid, or perhaps both, to resist him. When at last his amusement in torturing the traitorous mech faded, he removed his hand and turned for the door. As he was about to exit the med bay, he halted, turning his helm to give the pitiful form on the berth a final glare.

"Even you would be pressed to forget where your allegiance lies now," Megatron whispered coldly, before the med bay door shuttered to a close behind him.

Author's Note: Please R&R, I appreciate it! First time writing fanfiction in a long while, so I may be a bit rusty. :/ Hope you enjoyed it! =D

(Regarding a continuation: I've decided to call this a one-shot for now, as I find that I'm satisfied with how this fic wraps up, and I can't seem to write an additional chapter that "flows" well with it... At least by my standards. XD THAT SAID, I may write a "sequel" one-shot in the future, as I do have ideas of where to carry the story... it's just that they don't seem to fit here without the fic feeling "cluttered". If that makes any sense. XD

Thank you for all of the support, everyone! :) )