( gn!usr; tw: description of severe psychological & physical states; mention of torture; angst )

The monotonous hum of the Nemesis engines was suffocating, seeping into the skin and settling between the joints, never leaving his mind. At some point, Silas began to feel this sound as one with himself.

He could not feel his body—the vile thought that this was permanent tickled his nerves and clung with sharp claws each time, refusing to let go. Silas only felt the heavy grip of cold wires and metal around him; old injuries and burns flared and became inflamed, enveloping every cell of his skin. Everything blurred in his head, and his thoughts were barely connected, resembling a shapeless mass. Silas forgot who he was, where he was, and what was happening.

The only thing that brought him to his senses was the searing pain that spread through his body each time Knockout injected him with something strange, like poison flowing through his veins—and then only darkness and the repulsive blackness of emptiness remained. He felt his body shudder and rage cloud his mind before he was lost in the winding corridors of darkness and woke up in a cold sweat.

He wanted to cheat fate, to merge with these robots that seemed to him the highest stage of evolution—huge, strong, intelligent. They surpassed humans. Could he be blamed for wanting to join the Decepticons after finding himself inside Breakdown following his mysterious death? But it was foolish to think they would accept him: he had hunted them and tried to take them apart alive. The thirst to become something greater than he truly was had clouded his mind.

An insect must be with insects; an insect must remain an insect—how could Silas forget such a simple law of life?

"Please, help me..." his own voice seemed foreign as he slurred the words, struggling to draw air.

Life had turned into an endless hell from which there was no escape. Knockout's voice tore him apart from within with agonizing rage and despair. Silas had become a lab rat, and the awareness of this grew stronger with each day. All that remained for him was to await his own end.

The bright light from the ceiling, hitting his eyes, was blocked by a figure looming over his face, making him hold his breath for a second. But it wasn't Knockout. It was his assistant—you.

Silas was ready to beg anyone and promise anything. At the sight of your face, which he could barely make out, a faint hope for an end to this hell flickered dimly in his chest, where his lungs, ribs, and flesh were intertwined into a solid blend of agony.

"I'll do anything... Just get me out of here..."

He was pitiful and helpless. And this, truth be told, is inherent to all base creatures. Inherent to all insects.