After enduring beatings from Megatron for vorns upon vorns, the pain of a missile to the frame wouldn't be so bad, right? Even as he fired upon his clone, creating a smoking hole in the chestplate, his denta ground in pain. He felt it as his own, edges prickling with heat, embers glowing brightly and spark nearly wobbling in his chest.
"I feel your pain... Really, I do..."
And it was lucky no one was around to hear his howl of pain after delivering the killing blow. He'd never hear the end of it. Doubled over on his knees, the Seeker shuttered and cycled his optics in an attempt to clear out the cleansing fluid that'd came rushing out. Some manner of a static-beep sound scraped from his mouth; a very bad word in the Decepticon dialect. He couldn't get up. Not just yet. His processor spun helplessly and though he was numb to it at the moment, he could hear his wingplanes rattling.
He settled upon sitting, and took in the cadaver before him. Though his plan had turned to utter scrap and was a serious blow to his self-esteem (he couldn't even trust a team of HIMSELF), at least he'd get his T-cog back. And even better than his old one, too; this one would be sparkly and new. His gleeful little smile at being able to fly again soon was fleeting—looking upon his own frame with lifeless optics made his tank go cold.
Eerie as it was, there was an undeniable fascination. This is what he looked like dead.
Vents pausing, he reached a servo forward, hovering uncertainly over the chest wound. Deciding against whatever idea that was, he instead rested his hand below it. Immediately his sensors detected a very soft oscillation and he booted his audials up to full power.
Primus. The body was still alive. Barely. He could feel the spark within quivering. The aerial's own optics spun small and without realizing it he'd begun hyperventilating. Though the processor of this clone was clearly deceased, energon still flowed, clinging to life.
Spindly claws twitched and spread out. His processor hitched almost audibly within, like a warning. But he disregarded, optics were bright. Servo smoothed down to slender waist, feeling the pressure of the life force scarcely pumping. To the right, snug under the cable there that he knew was sensitive, was a beautifully lustrous panel.
It was a clone, so the interface panel would be identical. He knew this. Claws pressed and dug into the hidden seams anyway. With a grunt, he tore the covering off. Again there was a blip deep in his processor and he could feel himself shaking still.
One sharp finger scratched metal besides the interface port, sending a minute but noticeable ripple up to the tips of his wings. His own panel ached suddenly, and his tank nearly froze over at this realization.
A hand moved up to rest against neck, the other down to the waist again. He could feel a pulse in both places. Starscream tried not to acknowledge the sound of his fans clicking on, and offlined his optics for a moment to keep from losing it. In-vent, ex-vent. He wanted to shut his audials off at that moment too, even more disturbed by the rasp to his air circulations.
Claws tightened around cables. Optics flickered. One swift, sharp clench was all it took to sever both lines. Energon erupted over his servos and his helm tipped back in a rush of pain, a feeling of drainage, faintness within.
Shaking, trembling, dizzy, the Seeker continued to tear at cables, bright life source hitting his plating in little splatters. He found wires and broke them, scratching paint and panels, digging and cutting until the essence stained up past his servos.
One deep ventilation, a pull, and crack. Starscream lifted his hand from deep within protoform. Head spinning, he brought the T-cog close to his face to examine it.
Shiny and perfect and his.