Chapter Text
A routine fuel extraction. The Cons had abandoned the mine some time ago but even they were not stupid enough to mine it dry. Old knowledge well maintained from Megatron. And their care bore reward. Energon, it seemed to love earth, to thrive off it. Perhaps due to Unicron or perhaps some unknown factor but what had been an almost barren cavern had only months later returned aglow with plenty of the foreign mineral. Not enough to cause a blip on Decepticon radar but enough to sneak away with a month's rations of fuel and ammunition with enough to put extra into the reserve and enough to process some medgrade for emergencies. A safe spot they could hit up again and again without notice. Or so Ratchet had been sure. Soundwave ever the watchful optic had far too much work to do and even with his minicons he could not in fact see all but as it turned out it was not the Spymaster they had need worry of, but the scavenger.
He’d acted careless when he’d found Bulkhead sprawled on the ground. There’d been energon but not from any wound or Magnus could only assume. The tip of an energon prod barely touched his neck before the telltale buzz sounded, pain bloomed across his circuits, and he was gone. A surprise attack. Magnus did not often indulge fear and yet in his nightmares he feared the worst. He’d feared death of not just him but his starving compatriots, he feared Megatron’s ruthless servo. He feared a slow rusting at a disturbed mech's servos. He’d expected to wake up in chains but not in such nice accommodations if he could give the Con anything.
Birdsong stirred Magnus, sweet and fragile as the creatures it came from, the soft warm light of earth’s rising sun, the cool wind of its turning autumn. A comfortable overly padded berth beneath him. A peaceful morning and not one Magnus was often gifted. Ruined by the aforementioned restraints. Magnus tested fruitlessly against them and when they refused to even squeak with strain, wasted no further energy. Whoever had ambushed him certainly knew what they were doing. They were sturdy and reinforced and his tanks had been drained to just nearly empty. Nerfed. Incompasitated. Useless.
Just shortly awake Magnus was having trouble focusing. Everything was blurry and for the first time in a long while he felt the exhaustion and pain in his frame. Nausea had him running hot and the low fuel warnings had his spark picking up to a panic. Hardened as any soldier could be Magnus stuffed down every worthless thought and vented deep to cool and steady himself. Clean air. Crisp. Whoever had taken him clearly had no thoughts of torture judging from the setting. He was a prisoner at worst and one ordered to be carefully taken care of clearly. Only fitting for an Autobot Commander. With their backs to the wall Optimus would bargain and give too much to save his life but even he had to admit even the release of every Decepticon prisoner they had was on the low end of ludicrous for how Megatron had been acting as of late. If he could deal with his watchman personally a better deal would likely be viable. And yet his warden seemed to be nothing but a small minicon. The beastformer recharging soundly in the corner by a standing lamp.
His facemask had been forcibly engaged to gag him but Magnus still had full use of his internal radio. Clearing his throat a bit he called out to the bot. It took a time but eventually the minicon’s singular red optic blinked to life. They looked around the room as if confused and Magnus took the moment to steel himself to deal with another terrifying nuisance of Soundwave’s. Unlike the spymaster’s trusted subordinates this pudgy fellow simply shook himself awake and plodded over without anything as much as a rude comment.
Struggling to get up, Magnus heard them mumbling softly in self encouragement until a tiny set of peds locked on the ledge of the berth and the rhino pulled themselves to their goal. Calling out to Magnus quite chipper, “Ohayou. Is it time to fight today? I am ready, yes I am.” Magnus had never found the companionship of minicons advantageous. Certainly they were as good of soldiers as any but…the undeniable fact of their smallness made Magnus stress. This fellow however seemed delightful despite the situation. Certainly not violent enough to worry about.
“I am afraid you are going to have to tell me. I think I am your prisoner.” His watchman froze, head tilting back and forth for a moment. “Oh. Well…are you able to escape?”
“No. I am quite restrained. I know this might go against your orders but I am worrying low on fuel. Could I be granted a ration?” The mincon looked down at his peds. Picking up one then another again and again before sighing in defeat.
“I am not dexterous enough to hold cubes. I will call. Yes, sir. I will. Give me one moment.”
“Of course. Whatever you need.” Magnus watched his warden sway back and forth for a spell before leaping off the berth with a dainty thud. No doubt left in his mind that he wasn’t dealing with one of Soundwave’s command. That however left the question, who was he dealing with? Magnus had no choice but to wait, figuring he’d likely get his answer soon. Never the fool to waste an opportunity however Magnus retreated to his internal systems to see if his captor had overlooked any means of escape.
Unavailable. His communicator had been removed. Not just a frequency jam but the whole hardware gone. Magnus hadn’t even noticed he’d been touched and his arm looked perfectly fine, helm no different either. He suppressed a shudder just a bit more worried now. However lax his imprisonment was his captor knew what they were doing and there was only one other mech the Deceptions had that had a preference for odd creatures and enough sense to act as thoroughly as this and if he’d been captured by Shockwave then his odds of coming to any escape agreement had all but gone out the window.
It was night by the time his warden returned. Magnus would have chalked his isolation and denial of fuel as some sort of mental torture if not for the small Con trotting in chanting a soft apology as they pushed a set of small stairs tight to the edge of the berth. “Apology, apology. Shelves are too high. Things fall on me. Nap time. I forget about prisoner.” With ease now the minicon ascended the stairs, the tray on his back tipping this way and that but the scattered fuel pouches staying in place. “Assistance required. May we borrow your servo?”
The minicon had shaken a pouch free and had nudged it over behind Magnus’ back. Bound as well as he was Magnus had been left with little wiggle room for his servos but managed to strain his binds just enough that he could touch the fuel pouch. “This is all I’m capable of, I'm afraid.”
“Fine, fine. I do the rest.” A sudden prick made Magnus jerk but the chains did their job and the next jab sunk deep between his plates. The slight pressure in his fuel lines relieving any fears. A fuel drip, of course. Not the ideal way to consume fuel but perfectly practical. The relief alone that he’d survive the night had Magnus relaxing against the headboard of the berth. His aching cables pounding beneath his metal. His shifting concerned his warden. “Pain still?”
“Ah, no. No complaints. If I may sound ignorant, how does a minicon of your caliber know how to properly administer a fuel drip?” Not that the task was all that hard as long as one could see a viable fuel line but Magnus was sure the task was made infinitely harder when the mech attempting the job had no semblance of articulated digits.
“Basic training. Not so bad, longer needle. Good wide seams. Easy job.” How foolish Magnus was not to assume that the Cons would expect the most from every one of their soldiers.
A warm touch startled Magnus online. He swore he’d heard something coming but he’d convinced himself it was nothing but his nerves getting the better of him and now he’d been ambushed. And yet his captor made no move to harm him, long talons just continuing to caresse the line of his helm from tip to cheek guard. Blindingly bright red optics staring up into dim blue, manic and drunk. Magnus could only vent deeply to calm his spark from pounding out of his chest. The steady glow of his brand casting light on just who his captor was…or at least who had been sent to deal with him by Shockwave’s order. “Knock Out-”
“I can’t believe it.” Knock Out crooned dreamily, clearly quite pleased with himself and his catch. “And he said I was losing my touch. I’d bet big M would lose it if he knew!” Magnus’ thoughts froze. Megatron didn’t know he’d been captured. Perhaps some sort of power play or-
Knock Out’s touches were becoming prominent. Sloppy and pawing. The medic stunk of high-grade. “You still starving, Commander? I have plenty of fuel to go around.”
Seeing as it was just a few hours before dawn and Magnus couldn’t trust Knock Out further than he could throw him, he preferred to deal with the minicon on fuel matters. “I don’t need anything from you except to know why I’m here. Whatever Shockwave has planned-”
“Ugh Shockwave! I don’t want to even hear his name!” Knock Out tore himself off the bed with a whining snarl of his engine. Magnus watched him go, disappearing into the flickering shadows without another word. The mech pulling something from his hip compartment as he swayed.
Stunned, Magnus could say nothing. Perhaps there was no plan for him. Perhaps capture was the only goal. To rid his team of his help. Or more likely, Knock Out was too drunk to care.The work beneath him in his mind. Regardless, the reveal settled Magnus’ spark just a bit. Knock Out was needlessly cruel and certainly deadly when he liked but it was so often for selfish reasons and usually quite theatrical that the medic was low on Magnus’ threat list. As long as the saw stayed away he would live another cycle. Not that that would let Magnus be negligent in his watch. No, the Commander watched the doorway without wavering and only pretended to power back down after another hour passed and despite the trill of human music and a few loud bangs and bumps Knock Out did not return.
It was only as dawn was starting to rise that Knock Out’s frame came swaying back down the hall. He offered no word as he fell into the berth next to Magnus and curled up around a support block. A bold move, turning his back to a wrecker Commander. Perhaps Magnus too had been losing his touch. Moments after the thought a number of sharp legs poked free from the divot in Knock Out’s back and another minicon took form. From flat to fierce a singular red optic glared up at Magnus.
“I’m watching you, Autobot. One wrong move and zap! I’ll get ya’! ” The small crab snapped its claws menacingly. Allowing Magnus to easily see the live energon tips inside.
“Perhaps you should wake your commanding officer and convince him to power down somewhere else then. However irritably I must admit I am quite restrained. I would just like to know the purpose of my capture so I may facilitate my quick release. I have no reason to harm Knock Out should a reasonable agreement be made. It will only be if I decide that my forceful escape becomes necessary that I will no longer promise peaceful exchange. I will warn you that that time is drawing near as you continue to test my patience.” The optic ridge of the crab dipped to irritated.
“You say a lot of fancy slag for a bot who was abducted to be a glorified white noise machine.”
“P-pardon?” Abducted? Certainly the mincon was just kidding!
“You heard me. Nothing but a stinking diesel engine to make the boss rest easy again. He’ll get bored of you in a week or two then scrap ya’ for parts.” The crab’s deep maniacal cackling struck some nervous cord in Magnus and an irritated one. Taken prisoner on Knock Out’s whim? What sort of nonsense was the mech thinking? They were at war, enemies! Magnus wasn’t going to just put that aside…for what? A quick frag? Absolutely not! He needed to set the Con straight immediately.
Magnus flexed against his chains and heard them whine with dull energy. A war on two fronts. With some fuel in his lines though it was one Magnus was willing to wage. "I am no longer entertaining this. Set me free and I will leave peacefully since you've caused me no harm but continue this insanity and I will no longer be lenient!"
"Think you can menace me, heavy duty? Remember what type of ship you're on!" With a well placed jab of the crab’s claw Magnus was jolted painfully. He swallowed his agonized groan but his will was for nothing as he was soon rendered unconscious.
Blurry and glitched Magnus hoped Knock Out was still there and in better condition when he finally forced himself online so they could reason out a simple solution but of course the medic was gone and he was left with his minicon wardens powered down at the end of the berth. With a sigh Magnus cleared his intake. His fuel warning pinging. "Excuse me. I am in need of rations." Thankfully the kindly optic of the small rhino lit to life to assist him.
"I got my optic on you, diesel. Watch yourself." Unfortunately the crab was just as vigilant. Magnus could only sigh internally. This was going to be a difficult escape.
"I admire your dedication but you must admit this is foolish. Just let me go and I promise nothing will be spoken of the incident. However, you are testing my patience." Magnus' words being quite slurred, it took the minicon a bit to comprehend but when he did the little crab jumped to his legs with vigor. Claws threatening to zap Magnus again. Cut short by his co-warden needing assistance with the fuel drip.
"Gura. The needle. Bent. Swap it?"
"You're lucky, heavy duty. Really lucky." Duties swapped, the rhino came to rest across Magnus’ lap. Awfully comfortable with a prisoner but Magnus was getting the idea that these were rather bonded minicons with perhaps simpler programming. Something between an earth pet and an overly intelligent child.
“Forgive Gura. Knock Out is upset so Gura is upset. Hangover will do that. He’s not usually so snippy.”
“Excessive drinking. Not good form for a medic.” Not that Magnus could talk. Ratchet fueled less often than most of them but Arcee always made sure he had enough for a generous tipple. To intoxication was the only way the old mech fueled much to Optimus’ dismay. Though even he did nothing to dissuade the mech. “I was unaware you drained his fuel source. No wonder he does not like to fight. Foolish to have such a weapon but I suppose weapons consume fuel one way or another. I imagine it is at the very least a useful safety protocol. The enemy can’t use a weapon that refuses to fire on its owner.”
“One more word and you're gonna get some free facial reconstruction!” The crab lunged for Magnus’ chest but was intercepted and laid flat under his friend. The minicon all but snarling and swearing in a language Magnus was not familiar with.
“Odd that you speak other earth languages. Did you land somewhere else before you met Knock Out?”
“We were made in Japan.”
Magnus cycled his optics, resetting his audials to be positive he heard the minicon correctly. “I beg your pardon?”
“It was on our box. Made in Japan. Oyaji found it for us.” The minicon’s assurance did nothing to clarify Magnus' confusion. Certainly that couldn’t be possible. Agent Fowler would know if the humans had come up with that sort of technology regardless of country.
And yet…if he simply did not know…well, intel was intel. “Could you…clarify what part of Japan?”
“Minnesota. Shining Gura and Seismic Strike Zamu! Glorious historic battle changers! That’s us. Partners forever. Joushi-sama made us big. Mmhmm, he did. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was scared of the noise the machine made. So Gura went first for me. So brave.” That certainly clarified nothing but it was clear the minicon was on to something.
“Minnesota is not in Ja-”
“As far as you know that’s exactly where it is! You think you can sit there and get us to rat out our friends? Think again! They got no place in this stupid war. We owe Joushi-sama and Oyaji a life debt! You don’t get slag!” Zamu was barely restraining his partner now. Magnus quickly gathered it was best to put the matter to rest before he was knocked unconscious for a third time by the irritable and frankly quite dangerous crab.
Time drifted and despite knowing he’d been held captive for two weeks, ten hours, fifteen minutes, and seven seconds to Magnus it felt like nothing. Just one very long cycle and nothing more. Every now and then Knock Out would stagger into the ship, clearly drunk or otherwise impared, offer Magnus some paltry quip or salacious remark and then when Magnus denied he’d disappear to a different part of the ship for a while. Ever dutiful Gura following after him. Sometime later and sometimes not he’d wind up in the berth at Magnus’ side. Never staying long. The life of a medic Magnus knew too well.
From his talkative and distraught wardens Magnus quickly gathered that it was not just lust nor blatant pride that had led to his capture but due to Knock Out’s compounded grief and dissociative manic spiral. The abusive order of the Nemesis not offering the mech any reprieve from the horrors of war. Spurring him to the chemical comforts he had easy access to. According to Zamu he’d spoken of desertion, but with their ship still grounded he’d needed to buy time and find parts but was coming up short on both. Magnus could empathize, there was no mech who couldn’t and even at a good strength his chains held firm. So perhaps it was a combination of growing desperation and kind Optimus’ words in his mind that allowed him to entertain Knock Out the next time the mech made his way into the berth. A struggling enemy can be a better friend, certainly with talented servos of a medic.
Magnus had taken notice of the touch on his wheel well. A languid push able to rotate his tire set with a duplicitous ease. The relief after being forced to sit so long was undeniable. “You have a habit of touching things that don’t belong to you, doctor.” Just awake the vibrato of Magnus’ vocalizer was deep and cloudy with static. It certainly made the warning come off more like a tease.
“In times like ours it’s the only way to take claim. Your engine was purring before, were you having a nice dream?”
“I was. Quite the calming area you’ve hidden your ship. Do they have a name?” Smalltalk. Easy and deceptive. Knock Out may never have been a loyal Con but as far as his records went he’d never been loyal to any cause. Knock Out was loyal to those that proved loyal to him. An influential mech on Velocitron, an infamous name in the galaxy. A more than decent medic and a prolific body artist. Name often slandered for his few high profile failures, rough means of collecting his dues, and the rougher company he liked to fawn over. Rogues and killers who in turn melted like gold at his touch with nothing but an adoring word. A mech of his size with influence and looks had been warned and recommended time and time again the dubious servos of the racer.
“Once called it home. Can’t handle that now. You of the sentiment of naming non sentient machines?”
“My craft earned its title. The Iron Will. Years of dutiful service before it was given to me and still it continues to serve.” Knock Out offered nothing more than a soft hum. Magnus switched gears. “Normally…I would not bring up such a subject…but since I believe it is the reason I’m here...genuinely you have my condolences. I did not know Breakdown well, but…I feel if I had been a better mech he…would have had the strength to refuse Motormaster or if need be…the strength to come to me. I would have defended him. Perhaps things would have ended differently for the both of you.”
“He’s not dead.”
Magnus rarely felt awkward but- Had those blasted little minicons been lying? “Ah- Forgive me for interpreting-” Knock Out chuckled darkly, his fangs flashing in the streaming light. No part of the mech left unshined it seemed.
“Save it. I overheard my friend’s and you and I just can’t help killing a sacrinine Autobot shtick. As good as it feels sometimes.” Left with only questions Magnus was about to be angry…but Knock Out continued. The usual confidant glee in his tone struggling now despite the mask. “He’s as good as dead. I thought he was dead. He should be dead and every cycle I wake up and he’s still there…I think maybe it would be kinder if I pulled his plug for good. But I’ve always been selfish and he still owes me a few promises.” Magnus let Knock Out pause, clear the growing static in his vocals. “He might never be the same mech again after what I put him through. Won’t get a chance if I can’t get off this mudball so…just primus kicking me in the denta once again.” An opportunity to compromise, finally.
“Ratchet would-”
“He’s got a spare red dwarf shoved somewhere up his tailpipe?” Knock Out cut Magnus off with a cruel wild grin. This wasn’t about pride or skill it seemed. “I’ve got the tools, had them, I should say. Wasted the last charge on big M, and for what? Bet you bots don’t even have the energon it takes to keep my big guy alive for an hour. I could kill every power grid on this slag heap planet and it wouldn’t be enough. No amount of wind, water, seismic activity would be enough to jump a cybertronians spark as dull as Breakdown’s. That lone dwarf they’ve got might get me one or two goes and did I think about it. As soon as I scraped organic mess and rust from the big lug and noticed to my horror…I thought about begging. Then the morality set in. That terrible curse as Shockwave would say.” Disdain dripped from Knock Out’s words, heavy and caustic. “Or maybe It was just me reminding myself how I’ve been treated lately. Who's to say? What a thought though, what a story, the extermination of an entire race just for my conjunx. He certainly deserves it, we deserve so much better…but I’m no hero and I’m certainly not spaceworthy and playing Primus has turned against me a few times now.”
“You should be with him then. In his final hours. Grief and stress ruin the will, I know, but if you care as much as you say-'' As smooth as any high ticket courtesan Knock Out slid up and straddled Magnus’ hips. The trail of his talons and the sharp loss of motion of his wheels stirred something deep and shameful in the Commander’s lines. Throbbing worse as Knock Out pressed his warm array to Magnus’.
“You think an ex-combiner cares about monogamy? You think I don’t love the face my big lug made when he was brought low and filthy by a guest to our berth or that he didn’t love mine when I showed them the same treatment? No matter the class? You’re titanic Magnus, just as good as snagging Big O himself and the temptation to conquer you and parade you around as mine is quite a dream. But there are dreams and there are delusions…and I should let you go…but I’m having too much fun, a better recharge I’ve had in months-” Warm air from Knock Out’s vents tickled Magnus' frame. The intense warmth and lust pooling from the Con’s field had Magnus drooling behind his mask, his thoughts fuzzy with a rosey golden hue . “-And Breakdown would want me to be happy until he’s ship-shape and ready for service.”
There’d been rumors of the pair being outliers, Breakdown obvious, Knock Out not so much…but under the medics wanting gaze Magnus could not guess if it was by some gift the Con possessed or his own shameful interest that he found himself aroused but he could understand where they got the idea with how quickly his will was waning under those demanding optics. “Would you like me to be flattered that you wish to take advantage of me? I am not.”
“I want you to lay pipe, big rig, but if I wanted it cold and sparkless I’d screw my darling’s corpse. There’s nothing worse than a pity fuck, Commander. Except if you’ve got Starscream howling in your comm. Which is exactly what I’m going through so, good talk. I learned a lot.” Magnus watched Knock Out leave and he could only thank Primus for the intervention.
As prudent as Magnus was, he was not immune to temptation and Knock Out was certainly tempting. It was, after all, a staple of the Decepticon strategy. If you couldn’t be bloodthirsty or cunning, well then tempting was the next best thing. Many were tempting, the Decepticons had their fair share of racers.
As a caste, racers may have been quite high in the system but it was not for their complexities. It was a gift bestowed upon them much like Velocitron itself. Politicians, celebrities, and mechs from old money and influence kept racers like status symbols. They were athletes, artisans, musicians, models, entertainment and not much more. Certainly you could find one working as a scout or even in the factory, aboard a tradeship and the service parlors but those poor sparks were seen as failures of their caste. Too ugly or too old for sport to be taken seriously. Velocitron, their inevitable homeworld, was nothing more than a glorified dog-park in its glory days. When the masters lost their influence they were slaughtered and the races ran wild. Ultra Magnus had narrowly avoided that fate. He’d “sponsored” his own racers, as was expected for a mech of his status; he'd taken them to Velocitron before its fall, he’d even taken the pleasure of the trade shows, bartering one plaything for another sometimes on a whim for a night of novelty. He’d languished in the comforts of a racer’s frame, relied on the gentle refinery they were trained in. He’d lived the life and while he was not sure if Knock Out had ever been a kept mech well…Magnus couldn’t give a damn. He could imagine and though he looked nothing like the fast mechs Magnus once adored, he embodied them, verily. Temptingly.
“Oh this will certainly be my downfall.” Magnus had been suffering with an erection for some time now. Growing since Knock Out had left and fully problematic thanks to his own weakness. Knock Out’s smell lingered in the room. Wax, upholstery perfume, inner oils, all of it covered the berth and now that Magnus had noted it, he could not unnotice it. Oddly, it put him at ease, despite his situation. His processor convincing him he was not captured for dubious purposes by a morally deficient deception medic, but that he was far flung into the past. Awaiting his dear Lightbreaker, humoring him and his games.
Oh how racers loved to play games. Magnus missed Lightbreaker's games.
With no use of his servos to deal with his predicament Magnus could only wait and reminisce which did not help in the slightest but did serve as a good way to waste time. And without his warden's usual conversation it was the only thing keeping him from going insane besides the constant bouts of stressing he put on his chains every fifteen minutes. After both activities proved fruitless for the time however, Magnus risked a short power down as he waited for Zamu to offer him his rations.
Just as the sun was starting to set, Magnus was instead awoken by the sonorous tones of Onward, Aes. The old workman’s song only made more genuine by the quite obvious drunken state of the singer. For a fearful moment he assumed Knock Out had sent someone over, choosing Decepticon glory over his own lewd desires but it was only the medic, the mech’s true vocal pattern coming through in his state or simply a voice put on to amuse himself. It was…appealing…either way. Just as appealing as his frame looked bathed in the warm dying light streaming in from the window.
“Primus, I deign to save my sparkless crew-” Knock Out’s song echoed off the walls, a sad chorus all his own singing his woes. Magnus returned, soberly, almost suggestive of something more.
“Onward, Aes, onward.” Slow, articulate, pointed. Knock Out’s optics shot up, the mech clearly surprised. His grimace flipping, hungry gleaming smile blooming in its place. His frame swayed as he made his way to the berth.
“Oh my servos ache and my wires ar’ chewed-” Like a predacon stalking prey. Easily slipping through brush and bramble while its quarry went none the wiser.
Magnus was in only a slightly better position. “Onward, towards the ore’.”
“Onward, always, onward. Not a moment for a rest. It’s onward Aes onward or it’ll be a bullet for your chest.” Knock Out crawled onto Magnus lap, optics flaring as he looked into them. There was little chance the mech wouldn’t notice his predicament, his cord housing bowed and humming with hot aching static. Begging for attention. “I’ve got the company of fine bots at port-”
Magnus shuddered as talons raked smooth down his legs, Knock Out seating himself flush. He had a choice to make if his frame didn’t make it for him. “Onward, Aes, onward.”
“Don’t look for me unless I call for more-” Knock Out’s servos were on his helm, gently tugging on a cheek guard. Magnus’ ex-vent was hot, reeking of blistering internals. He felt the lock on his facemask pop, the panel sliding free, allowing him to gulp in cool air. Not that it helped much.
This was going to be his downfall. “Onward-” Knock Out’s kiss was sloppy and drunk, relentless and sweet. Magnus could only wish for the use of his servos to hold his frame down. Squeeze plush aft till the thin protective metal dented beneath his digits. Even as Knock Out feigned pulling back, Magnus lurched forward, demanding more. All it took was the racer’s groan and the mech’s arms wrapping around his neck for Magnus’ panel to pop. Plug springing free without shame. Knock Out let it slip beneath him, thighs hugging the massive length of live metal.
“Is this for me?” Knock Out whispered between kisses, thighs working the cord slowly. Stiff silicon and malleable plating sliping smoothly between silky waxed metal. Magnus swallowed a grunt, charge already pooling low in his tanks.
“I require discretion for this medical issue, doctor.”
“Discretion, I see. How discreetly would you like me to deal with the issue?”
"As medically approved as possible." Knock Out pinned his knees tighter, squishing swollen fuel sacks as he rolled his hips in a lazy rhythm.
"Mmhmm~ What would Ratchet do in this situation then?" Magnus abhorred even the thought.
“If this were Ratchet I’d have use of my servos and no need for his assistance.” He growled curtly. Will already far past tested.
Not that Knock Out cared. “Pretend both your arms were grievously dismembered in battle.”
“I don’t think I could survive the thought of asking Ratchet to assist in such a trivial-.” Knock Out hummed lewdly as he switched position on Magnus plug, forcing it upright so he could massage the aching tender base. Magnus’ head lolled back despite himself, the feeling of sharp careful talons teasing him far too nostalgic. “Primus!” He bucked into Knock Out’s touch, moving the mech on his lap as if he weighed nothing.
“I could…collect a sample~ Does that sound clinical enough for you, Commander?" Knock Out palmed one of the distended pouches embedded in the tight network of thick cable and silicon, appraising it adoringly “You’ve got quite the load packed into these poor things. Maybe it’s for the best. I don’t know if I want you making a mess of my berth. Or worse~”
Sparking a Decepticon? The thought was too much to bear. The shame he would suffer. Magnus muffled a whimper. “You shouldn’t even think of risking your immaculate figure for such fleeting whims.”
“Too true~” Still, Knock Out wistfully sighed as he stroked the length of Magnus cock with a wanting digit. “I’ll get the pump. Let’s see how loud we can get that engine of yours to roar.”
Artist (@silvercoatz) Twitter
Magnus was quite positive nothing about Knock Out’s set up was propper medical equipment, let alone the ball gag but Knock Out did apologize that his muzzle was in permanent use. Magnus was sure he would have drooled all over himself regardless. He'd lost all matter of time, sense, and decorum; the sixth or seventh continuous overload will do that to a mech.
He wished he could say Knock Out had no influence over this, but alas, without the medic on his lap, massaging the stiff cables of his neck and whispering drunken affections of how handsome he was, Magnus’ tanks would have run dry after the second or third round. Never been one for his lewd imagination, it was usually the expectation to deliver for his partners that kept up his libido. He wished he wasn’t harboring those feelings at the moment, that Knock Out’s attention was at least still unwanted, that he at least found the mech to be subpar to his predilections. He was denied those hopes and the restraints only irritated the wrecker in his spark. After all, if Knock Out wanted to so badly to fraternize with an enemy, it deserved to be a night the mech would not forget.
“Mhmm you seem to be enjoying yourself, Commander. Tank’s almost full. Should I change it out for you?”
Magnus suppressed his urge to buck into the equipment ensnaring his cord, likewise refraining from grinding against Knock Out’s aft in protest. Forced to reply hurriedly,“You seem intent on extending my p-pe-perfectly natural predicament for your own perverse enjoyment. Let us not p-pre-pretend-” Magnus felt something drip onto his plating, a sweet smell catching in the blistering air between them. The smell of Knock Out, only much stronger.
“You were saying, Commander?” Knock Out strained to speak, voice breathless and desperate.
Amongst the drone and constant stimulation of the equipment Magnus had not noticed the soft buzz, the loss of the teasing vibrations against his seams and around his vents, the growing glow of Knock Out’s optics but now that buzz sang above all the noise. As ensnaring as the screaming engine of an incoming enemy seeker, ready to rain fire. And something in Magnus’ processor flipped.
“The moment I’m free I’m going to wrend you limb from limb you morally bankrupt charlatan. I do hope you are happy.”
“Is that a promise?” Knock Out’s face was so close to his, Magnus could smell the burn of his internals. See the static fogging his systems.
“Yes.” Knock Out tangled his talons in the chains, thumb circling the lock, and Magnus’ spark picked up for all the wrong reasons.
"You want to be the big bad wrecker, Commander? Put a filthy Con like me in my place for disrespect?" Knock Out's plating was shivering from the strain. Betraying his collected mask.
"I'm more concerned about correcting the temperament of a bratty little racer." Magnus could not find it in him to sound anything but impatient, suggestive, demanding. He could feel Knock Out’s spark pulsing, his fans going at the high use but well trained whirr of a racer on the track, primed and performing. Knock Out's servo slid from between his thighs, not quite stained or coated pink but pungent as he thumbed the gag tentatively.
"And what experience could an upstanding mech like you possibly have with something like that?" It didn't take much to search the mech's frame but the evidence was subtle enough to miss. After the long years and likely dozen frame shifts the fact that Knock Out kept it at all was telling of something.
"That crest there? Embossed on your rubber collar? Tell me, whose is that? It's only right that I give them the unfortunate news that their prize winner has gone wild. Proper punishment always kept my whips in line." Knock Out didn't flinch, didn't smile or scoff, he simply slid from Magnus’ lap and walked off down the hall out of sight.
"Get back here!" Magnus’ snarl echoed and it sounded nothing like him. Cruel and threatening. Knock Out did not return. "Ah blast!" Well, there unfortunately went that attempt. He'd been so sure but perhaps he'd gone too far and now he was left with nothing but a cold lap and an irritating tugging on his plug.
"This is just-" Ultra Magnus flexed irritably and the chains strained. "FOOLISH! I'm tired of this nonsense! We're at war, Knock Out." The quiet snap sounded like a bomb in back of Magnus’ mind. He shifted and shimmied trying to find the weak link but nothing fell free. Venting deep he steeled himself and dealt with the cold burn trying to dissuade his escape. The chains popping like flashfire from the force. He marveled at the sight of his free servos as he tugged them from behind his back. Finally free. Burdened with choice.
He was an Autobot commander. Respected, trusted. If word got out, if Knock Out made accusations…they would not be believed but he would know. Could he live with himself?
Could he live with one night of bliss, of nostalgia, one chance in who may know how long to hold a well forged model tight against him and have them writhe in pleasure on his cock. Well… he could at least try. Perhaps sense and Primus would return to him just when he needed it most.
On sore unused legs Magnus freed himself from the tangle of tubes and wires, the loss of the overworked humm of the pump making the silence deafening. He expected at any moment for Knock Out to return but as Magnus inched down the hall even the soft rattle of his chains did nothing to alert whoever remained on the ship with him. This made sense the further he explored, leaving what he now gathered were the recharge barracks and finding himself out into the ship proper. The craft was bigger than he expected, more than a personal ship the Deception iconography scattered around told itself to be a proper Decepticon war ship. More likely considering the captain and the size, a medical ship.
It would be his game now, one with a wildly different ending depending on what Magnus found first.
“There you are.” Magnus grabbed Knock Out’s servo, wrenching the bottle from his lips and showering the mech with what remained inside. Knock Out screamed in shock, engine shrieking with him as he tried to race away. “There will be none of that now.” Pinned against the cabinets and Magnus’ thigh he had nowhere to go. He smiled, defensively.
“Oh, no. You got me. You plan on taking me prisoner?” His words slurred terribly, plastered again.
“No, I do not think that would prove valuable at all. Now, let me see that crest.” Knock Out scoffed but could not hide the nervousness and disdain in the unbothered sound.
“Are you really such a law abiding mech that you want to return me to my sponsor, functionalist prick? You’re going to have a rough go of it, considering they've been dead for centuries.” Magnus yanked Knock Out up by a wheel, snarling and struggling. “Watch it! Do you know how expensive I am to fix!?” Magnus ran a digit over the embossing; a complex spirograph. Not a crest, but a name. One in a language Knock Out likely hoped was lost to time. Caryatheus. A beautiful name. A craftsman’s name for something akin to worship.
“Gigantion. Not many mechs there who’d have the honor of a gift such as you. If I had to guess…Keystone? The grand architect of Velocitron, they hailed from Gigantion. One of it’s best architects. Lovely mech.” Knock Out’s face smoothed flat, emotionless or if Magnus had to guess properly indignant. “Was he so cruel to you that you put an end to him, unlikely since you keep the name he gave you so close. Since you seek the company of…titans.”
Knock Out’s optics burned, not quite with anger or disdain but something much more sad. “You don’t even compare. You don’t even deserve me. Do you even know the kind of racer I am? Velocitron was made for me! I designed it! Hiraeth built it as a show of how much he adored me! It’s what I deserved, that’s what he said when he first took me. I bet you couldn’t even make any of your whips see blue.” Well, that explained the ego. Spoiled through and through. Any yet who could not. Knock Out with his sharp impish smile, his just as mischievous nature. The intelligence and rage hidden beneath an airheaded personality. It was all wasted on the Decepticons.
“Hmm, you’ll have to find out, won’t you?”
“Oh I’m sure I will~ Stop wasting-” Knock Out’s helm hit the back of the wet bar wall, cutting off his complaint. Magnus resisted the urge to worry, knowing it wasn’t what the mech wanted. Knock Out wanted wrecker, he wanted to play rough and dirty. Just as long as it didn’t turn foul, as long as the danger was pretend.
“I hope I can trust a medic to have a clean bill of health.” With a dubious glare and taunting sneer Knock Out slipped his servos between his thighs and spread eagle. His codpiece had already been transformed away, putting his softly glowing gold valve instantly on display. Knock Out’s array was nicked and scarred; fine mesh crisscrossed with finer white lines and silicon pockmarked from talons and sharp denta. A stark contrast to the image Knock Out preferred but he seemed nothing but proud.
Proud or not it gave Magnus pause. Even as he pressed in, running a careful digit across delicate metal he thought sensibly of what he was about to do. Doubt creeping in. “What’s the matter? Worried it might bite?”
“Admiring the art.” Magnus slipped a thumb into Knock Out’s port; it went in smooth, still slick from self service. Knock Out’s engines hitched in shock, frame going stiff.
Still he managed to mumble, “I’m more of an interactive installation at the moment.”
Magnus palmed his half-hard jack, butting the tip against a line of flashing terminals. They sparked easy, hungry and overcharged. Knock Out rolled his hips,moaning loud and performative, catching static between the seams. A shiver ran up Magnus’ backstrut. If any amount of sense was to return to him, it would be too late. Spreading Knock Out's plush sealing mesh he nudged his plug in, swallowing a groan as he sank in quick. He watched Knock Out’s optics fritz. Tracking sensors rolling back, fluttering against the darker glass. Another show.
“Finally~” Petulance satisfied, Knock Out wasted no time taking control. Talons tore gouges into the metal tabletop as they curled around the lip. Fine abdominal plating and trained cable flexing tight as the mech held himself up and dropped himself on Magnus spike. Pulling himself up each time with what Magnus could guess was an award winning moan only to drop his hungry little valve back down. Not making much progress but Magnus had a feeling that was by design. Racers were fast little mechs for sure but even they knew how to savor an experience when they liked. Magnus likewise savored the show, feeling the stiff aching pressure return to his cord, thick plates and lines pushing and coiling out and setting to their usual length and girth.
“Such a showman. Were you lonely when your titan was away? Always thinking of him? Working on your…talents.” All racers had a niche. To assume Knock Out’s expertise was simply in the art of pleasure was to speak little of his credentials. Knock Out’s performative lust seemed more of a Decepticon using rumor to his favor than genuine personality. Perhaps a little of column A and a little of B.
Knock Out reached out a beckoning arm. Magnus took it, letting him pull himself close. He took Knock Out up by his knees, leaning himself lazily against a wall. The mech weighed nothing in his arms. Knock Out worked his shocks, still shallow and tame, the steady rhythm of the mech's frame artistic to say the least. "Keystone was a better mech. I was never alone. No matter how long I waited for him.” Still Magnus could see the inching line of shiny coral staining his prong. He vented, deep and slow to keep pace. If he was going to entertain his own base desires he would get as much intel out of it as he could. If that meant also extending the fun, well the two went servo in servo.
“He never worried about you and your appraising optics?” Racers were not inherently lovers or personal service mechs. They were assets; on foil at least. To say that a sponsor demanded service was not an unheard of requirement though. Unspoken obligation. Most racers were trained in the art of erotic entertainment and sponsors did not take kindly to their pretty mech's optics casting downwards or more often across tables unless it could be used to their favor. “Competition too big, even for you?”
“Teamwork, commander. Something I’d appreciate right now in fact. Highly lauded on Gigantion. Competition isn't a word they like to use. Unless it’s in good fun." As Knock Out dropped Magnus tugged him by the knees, hastening his descent and ramming him good. Knock Out showed his appreciation with a surprised shout. Self satisfied mania flashing in his optics. Magnus swallowed a groan,rewarded with the exquisite feeling of a tight port squeezing his cock. The temptation to be brutal flashed at the front of his processor, the urge to show Knock Out just how big he was, tantalizing. It made something hot and aching coil in his tanks. He resisted. There’d be a time and place.
"A harem you mean?" Knock Out didn’t recover as well, sentences stunted with deep invents and shuddered hums as he returned to using Magnus’ cord as he pleased.
"I was the only racer on Gigantion. At least of class. There were a few off-cuts. They didn’t like me. I couldn’t blame them, I’d’ve been sore too. They had to work; I threw paint at big walls, designed pretty buildings and bots, ruined crystal and marble blocks, made ostentatious armor. Art. Fashion. Blacksmithing. Hiraeth loved it all. Stupid bot.”
"You were made for him then? Those skills…aren't the common curriculum of a racer. That's…specialized. If not Velocitron what did a mech like Keystone do to be rewarded with something so…rare." Knock Out laughed softly, mournful almost.
"Primus, I knew I wasn't getting out of this without entertaining you a bit but you just don't stop do you? Is that all you're thinking about? How much information you can wring out of me?"
"It's the only thing keeping me civil I assure you." Magnus bucked his hips poignantly, feeling the first bit of resistance. It jumped Knock Out's frame from his servos but the mech pressed down defiantly, a thin wail echoing around them, piquing Magnus’ own desire to keep the wonderful sound in the air.
"Ah gods. Primus I-" Knock Out went weak, put out for a moment. Magnus fucked the bot gently, lubing his plug with the wash of fluid.
“I apologize if my inquiries brought up painful memories. It is and always will be an Autobots goal to embrace our fellow cybertronian, to bring peace. Most Decepticons…have their reasons for the fight, for their distrust, no matter how far the cause has drifted off course. I…I know you don’t think it as such but I do want to help you. I just need to know how…so I must somewhat know you to at least not make a fool of myself. If you wish to indulge my perverse mind however, you’ve been beating about the bush as it were on how a mech of your size pleased a titan. I know at the moment you’re not quite primed but even at your best-... I must know.”
“You’re such a dom.” Knock Out drawled, clearly entertained. “You can’t even think a bot would lie on their back for me? That’s my forte, Commander.”
Magnus could in fact imagine it easily. “Simple as that, hmm?”
“Well~ that and older equipment. They didn’t have the money to trade out for fancy jacks like yours. Didn’t care for it either. Too big for bumping bolts with how often they fell for their minicons. Nothing quite like being blitzed from a genuine connection. Energy dumps like that would have me out for weeks.” The thought did paint a lovely picture.
“Do you still have the equipment?” A, hiss of transformation and Magnus was running his digits down Knock Out’s back. Ten or so old connection ports, embedded right to his spinal strut, his central processing circuit. Another custom job. What Knock Out must have looked like writhing in pleasure, tangled in wire held lovingly in his titans palms. “You know… Optimus still uses these. You’d certainly fit between us. A model like you would be more than worthy of a Prime’s attention.” Knock Out’s optics gleamed in the warm flickering light of the plush parlor room. Tempted but certainly not falling for the bait.
“While that may be true~ We’re beyond flattery now, Magnus. I know the filthy mech you were behind closed doors. I still remember the taste of your plug. It’s the fact that you don’t remember that’s insulting. To be fair I’m lucky I remember. I’m sure the rest of your kind are all the same. Pious hypocrites. Optimus chief among him. Best to keep that fantasy just that. Never frag your heroes."
So that had been what irked the mech before. Quite embarrassing, but racers could be chameleons when they liked and to his defense trade shows and other similar parties were meant to have an air of mystery to keep things civil should certain nights go too far and upset a sponsor. Knock Out would have been kit to the nines in fanciful armor, a romantic disguise to keep his identity vague. "Suffered a bout of head trauma, doctor?" Knock Out motioned to the back of his neck with three digits, a common gesture for a horrific practice. Shadowplayed. The lack of additional humor to deflect on Knock Out's part led Magnus to assume it was not something the mech had recovered from. Emotionally at least. "Apologies do nothing…however you have my sympathy. May I ask…your "crime?"
"The first step to freedom or so they preached. When Velocitron became cut off and we had to handle ourselves the revolutionaries went around “freeing” those that found the slaughter of their sponsors- “afraid enough to stay shackled to Cybertron, the caste system, and the false embedded narrative of a racer’s place”- a crime. Especially the ones they wanted to lead the new circuit. I couldn't give slag for the caste system…but I loved Keystone and they murdered him in our berth.” Heightened emotions had Knock Out riding Magnus quick and hard, pounding down his thick cord inch by glorious inch. It was starting to show, plating beginning to bow to ease pressure and glowing sealing mesh thinning as it stretched around its quarry. Static was starting to pool Magnus’ seams, making him shaky. “It didn’t work too well on me.” Thank primus for that. Magnus tightened his grip on Knock Out’s aft.
“It would behoove you to separate yourself from unstable revolutions then. For your mental state."
“And go where? Where has the war not touched because I came here with Breakdown before the little glitch rats had computers and not twenty years later the autobots came along. Unless of course you were talking about defecting which would be even worse.”
“Did I not satisfy you that night we spent together? Did I not prove enough to have you wanting to be my improprietous stowaway? In seriousness, I can protect you. For your service. Medical service.” Magnus quickly clarified, though with how rough he was starting to get Knock Out’s teasing look was not uncalled for.
“And of my darling conjunx?”
“I suppose a proper cucking would serve as adequate punishment for this crime of yours. Something will have to be done about his manners though. Unless of course you think his spark could manage a frame change. We do have a few empty scout frames from the MTO era. A pair of loyal bookends certainly sends a message upon arrival.” A small genuine smile graced Knock Out’s face, something dreamy and wistful.
“You’re playing too much now, Commander. You’re getting me excited for a shot to my back.”
“I’m perfectly capable of making things happen with a bit of cooperation and the promise of trust.” Knock Out ghosted his talons over his bumped out plating.
“You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t trust that crab.” In the light of the parlor, Knock Out was gorgeous. Madness sinking deep. What was this night doing to him? Cavorting with Decepticons, acting as if he was still a young politician for the game of it. If only it didn't feel as uplifting as it did, that all it would take to end the war was a proper night meeting.
"Smart of you. He's vicious."
"I wonder where they get it from." The two went quiet, Magnus focused on the tremble of Knock Out's plates as he fragged him rough, pushing deeper and deeper each turn, relishing the resistant but eventual give of Knock Out’s soft mesh and the stunted gasps the mech couldn’t hold back . The trilling sighs as if he were getting his gears worked out and not his back blown. Magnus could just feel the back of Knock Out’s channel, soon he'd be able to brush main terminals but Magnus could tell Knock Out's aperture was already ready for his cord. His head had caught the gasket now and then, each time Knock Out would push closer, splashing transfluid and lubricant down his’ prong. Smattering the rest of his array snapping charge here and there. Trouble was- Nothing but a trifle really but still it gave Magnus pause, he still had quite a bit of cock left. This was not an uncommon issue and he could not blame Knock Out’s frame for being incompatible despite his enthusiasm…but the racer was enthusiastic for his size and it would be a shame to not indulge the Con after all the effort.
Magnus grabbed Knock Out by one of his thighs, moving the other to the exposed axle of his back wheel. The racer’s hold skittering and slipping but managing to catch his arm plating as he locked his other leg around Magnus’ tires. Not the most loving embrace, but it maximized movement and Knock Out clearly got the message, garnet optics strobing from the excess charge and still eager for more. “I’m only halfway in.” he grunted, testing his new position and finding it as tactical as he hoped.
“I’m aware~” Knock Out breathed, lost in a haze of the moment with little room for thought or care. “I’ll suck you off later big bot don’t you worry. I won’t leave you stiff and cold.” Magnus spared a moment to indulge the fantasy of Knock Out’s promise. It was tempting.
“That was not a complaint. It was a warning.” Knock Out shuddered in his servos. In fear or anticipation Magnus could only guess but hoping it was the latter he took no caution. He pulled out, as far as he could with his hold on the smaller mech then slammed back in.
The result was just as he'd hoped. His cord sunk in and it continued to sink even as he hit terminals and pushed against sensitive mesh. Fine plates telescoping down to allow more of Magnus’ girth to fill in and spread Knock Out's mesh to its limits. A lewd and slightly dangerous mod of his own that he'd gotten to fix the problem of his size for his own whips way back when.
The bot went limp in his arms, Magnus could see the glitch in his optics. Fine technology overwhelmed by far too many tactile and sensory imputs. His smooth voice horse and faint as he begged, “More.” Magnus had no mind to not oblige. He pulled back slow, most of his plug barely moving, only drawing back the thicker plates and a few inches more to have enough room to roll his hips and thrust in. Heat coiled in Magnus’ tanks as Knock Out moaned, sputtering broken celeras as his lights flashed erratic and blinding. Lust outweighed concern as he continued to ride Knock Out’s port, splaying his legs as far as they could go to make room for more of his jack to easily sink in.
“How much more would you like now? I don’t want to do any unmanageable damage. I’d have to take you to Ratchet. You’d be stuck as his prisoner for decades I’m sure.”
“More~” Knock Out trilled, his demand electronic and fracturing. Static leaking through even there now. Magnus rolled his hips in a smooth shallow pace, part tease, part precaution, part selfish restraint. He’d certainly gotten his whole cock in a racer before but never on the first try. He was close but the last few inches were quite the take and Knock Out was already on the edge, if he hadn’t already overloaded and simply unsatisfied, was primed for another. Magnus was intent on giving the mech as many as he needed. Knowing full well nothing he'd said had changed the mechs mind. He'd run back to the Nemesis, back to his poor conjunx, back to dangerous uncertainty that was familiar versus dangerous uncertainty that was not. A shame really. Knock Out deserved to be enjoyed.
“Look how full those tanks are. I hope I dent them, as a reminder. Since I didn’t seem to satisfy you last time.” Knock Out had retracted more plating, likely stuffed uncomfortably now. The malleable protoform defining the line of Magnus' cord, pushed out and drawn so tight by struggling calipers that it was a salacious show that should have been paid to be seen.
"Give it to me, Magnus. I know you want to break me." The firm command, the sound of his own name, the feeling of hot lubricant as he drove down all pulled at the hot coil on Magnus' own tank; tightening it, making his knees go weak. His jack caught on Knock Out's gasket, the head of his prong squeezing in easy. Knock Out's plates fluttered, shifting and locking tight against each other exposing more protoform to admire. It would look lovely filled out by his fluid.
"Primus, damn me." It was too much. Too perfect of a picture. Too lewd a fantasy. Too stupid a thought. Impatient, with what strength he had left Knock Out rolled his hips, sliding up and down Magnus cock with an exhausted whine as his frame trembled.
"Come on big guy~ Just…a…bit…more." Magnus was forced to vent deep, the air in the parlor already hot from the two of them. The room smelled of interface, of inner oils so pungent he could taste them. Knock Out felt like glass in his servos, fragile and humming in frequency with him. Lovely. He wanted the moment to last forever, he wanted to ravish the mech to oblivion.
Knees in his control he grabbed Knock Out by the lip of linked back plating and yanked him up. The languid release of his cord sharply cut the wire thin warble in his circuits and in a blink Magnus' fuel lines swelled and released with nothing but an almost mortified groan. With blissful release brought lustiful mania and he fragged Knock Out fast and mean, driving his cock in and out until glowing coral was dripping down his thigh and sticky sealing mesh was pressed flush to his array. Success of his goal forcing an excess round of datafluid to pump right into Knock Out. Determined to not leave his mission incomplete even by chance he rut against the mech, terminals butting and snapping from excess energy and still charged fluid as he dropped the two of them onto one of the fine couches.
Knock Out was moaning, a soft haunting sound made only more so by his distant lost stare and rigid frame. Bluescreened, just as he demanded. There was soot on his chest plates from his spark popping, coral and vivid plum spattered up his middle where Magnus had made a mess. He'd snapped a talon, Magnus made note to find the errant metal before leaving…unless of course…but he didn't want to get his hopes up. He had time to wait at least. Stuck calipers and throbbing mesh was still milking his prong and Magnus' processor was swimming, soon to be desperately in need of fuel.
Knock Out's system would fail soon if he didn't recover. It would knock him into stasis and depending on how much stress he'd taken he could be out for some time. If it took more than the night Magnus would allow himself to stay. There was no way to know who might come looking for the Con if he didn't answer the call or what they might do if they found him in such a state. It would be easy to make mistakes.
