Jazz had been lying on his back, enjoying the rare moment of peace, letting his optics take in the gentle sway of the trees overhead. The warmth of the sun seeped into his armor, and for once, he felt at ease. That was his mistake.

A sudden cramp shot through his leg, making him instinctively pull them up into a chicken position, just for a second—just to stretch. That second was all it took.

Hands—strong, cruel hands—latched onto his legs with a vice-like grip. Before he could process what was happening, thick cables wound around his ankles, cinching them tight. Panic slammed into him, his systems surging with adrenaline as he tried to kick out, to twist free. But then—tape. Cold, sticky, silencing tape was slapped over his mouth, muffling his shocked cry.

He barely had time to thrash before he was wrenched off the ground like he weighed nothing, hoisted into the air. His entire frame jerked violently as he fought, but it was useless.

Then came the first needle.

It pierced deep into his inner thigh, burning like liquid fire through his lines. Then another. And another. His vents stuttered as his vision blurred, his body beginning to feel wrong, like his limbs were unraveling from the inside out.

A servo clamped over his nose, cutting off his air supply. His panicked intakes grew sharp and frantic, his entire frame trembling. His captor waited, patient, until his vision speckled with static and his body begged for air—then, the vile sludge was forced down his throat.

It was thick, bitter, wrong. Worse than anything he had ever tasted, coating his intake valves with a sickly, burning slime that made his entire frame revolt. He gagged, but there was no escape, no way to stop it from sliding down and poisoning him from within.

He fought harder, desperate, his body spasming—until the first hit landed.

It cracked across his aft with a force that sent agony shooting through his entire frame. Not just pain—discipline. The kind meant to break, to remind someone of their place.

The next one came harder.