The bright red Autobot logo on the small, yellow scout's chassis seems to be taunting you, a constant reminder of who he is, and why you hate him.

He said his name was Bumblebee when you first met, before you managed to overpower him. He also said that you can just call him Bee, but you're pretty sure that you've lost that right by now.

It's all the fault of the Autobots that all your friends are gone, the Autobots and the Decepticons, but you don't have a squirming, writhing Decepticon strapped onto your examination table.

Not long ago, you and your friends were neutrals who happened to get caught in the crossfire of an Autobot vs Decepticon skirmish. You were the only survivor, and the grief very nearly drove you insane.

So, when an Autobot scout just showed up at your doorstep, taking him in for torture was only the most logical option.

"Ple-e-e-e-eas-s-se..." Bumblebee's broken vocaliser crackles, the pleas coming out as barely coherent, pained, glitchy static. "St-st-st-o-op-op-op!"

What's really funny, though, is that you didn't break his vocaliser. You've broken the rest of Bumblebee's frame but not his vocaliser. He did that himself, the delicate machinery in his throat having cracked under the stress of all of his screaming.

As a medic, you know exactly how far you can push a frame before it ceases to work and the spark inside fizzles out. And, unfortunately for Bumblebee, he's nowhere near that point.

He's not been in your servos for long, but you've already managed to shatter one of those stupid blue optics of his, remove his T-Cog, and mangle his legs so badly that if he ever wants to walk again, he'll need them to be replaced.

Not that you'd ever replace them.

But you've kept the shiny red Autobot logo untouched and pristine, for the sole reason of reminding you why you're doing this. A reminder for when the screams and pleas for mercy get uncomfortably loud, when you think you can hear your friends' voices telling you to just let go.