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Flashwing knew he fragged up. 

There was no hiding it now.  He will have no choice but to reveal everything.  His good life was over, for there was no way his owners will be forgiving of his sins. 

Wheeljack had turned toward him fully and was slowly stalking toward him.  “Oh, ya think keepin’ someone isolated, blindfolded, tied up and half-starved is better?”  the Wrecker sneered.  “And I know you slaggers weren’t above molestin’ people either!” 

“No!  I don’t!”  Flashwing cried, curling himself into a ball, but keeping his optics on the Wrecker.  “None of wha’ my people did was good, I understand tha’ now!” 

“Do you?”  Wheeljack grabbed him by the arm and forced him to his knees.  Flashwing didn’t dare resist.  “Or are ya lyin’ through your denta, waitin’ for an opportunity to start playin’ your mind games with your owners.” 

“No! Never!”  Flashwing insisted, frantically shaking his head.  “I have no desire to go back to tha’ kind of life….” 

“Hold on…,” Rustshift was saying, apparently finally getting his wits about him.  “I feel like am I missing some very important context here….” 

Wheeljack was now looking toward the shifter, emitting a huff of annoyance.  “First off…do ya know what that insignia even means?” 

“I…know Sentinel designated as the symbol for traitors to the Autobot cause,” Rustshift replied hesitantly.  

A snort.   “And why did he choose that one?” 

“Uh….” Rustshift was clearly stumped. 

“It’s the insignia of the Sirens,” Wheeljack replied bluntly.  “The tribe that sided with the Quintessons during the War of Wrath.  And guess who is a member?” 

He felt the Wrecker jerk on his arm to make it more obvious who he was referring to.  Flashiwng winced at the brief stab of pain as he looked toward the ground in shame, not wanting to see Rustshift’s reaction….