Everything is too loud. Each little whirr and hum of the machinery in the room sounds like a blasted supernova, and his limbs won't stop shaking no matter how hard he tries. Starscream's chassis feels as though it's tightening around his spark chamber, and won't stop until his spark is crushed, even despite its frantic buzzing that somehow is both overpowering the sound of the machinery and making it louder.

He can't think straight, his processor is running a lightyear a klick and his optics simply refuse to refocus and allow him to see properly, only letting him view the world through a distorted lens that twists everything and makes it all blurry.

The ship's floor is cold, and every little sound makes Starscream jump, flinching in terror and waiting in dread for the object of his terror to walk in the door. Maybe, just maybe, if he makes himself look small enough, Megatron will show a shred of mercy?

Deep down, he knows it is a futile hope, but it's the only thing that quells the feeling like he's overheating one moment and freezing cold the next.

Above it all, however, is the overwhelming urge to just run. To transform into his alt mode and fly off, where Megatron can't find him, can't hurt him anymore. He doesn't care about how cowardly it is, he doesn't care that he has nowhere to go because anywhere has to be better than here.

Flying. The thought of flying eases the thrumming of his spark just a little. Remembering how it feels to cleave through the air at top speed as if the sky itself is making way for him, how his body feels weightless when he flies and how beautiful the clouds look from above.

Trying not to think about how trapped and alone he feels right now, how his senses are clogged with the smell of exhaust and the feeling of grime under his digits. Starscream clenches and unclenches his servos, wriggling each digit slowly and individually, trying to release the pent-up energy in his systems that's making him want to break down and cry.