A/N: This is a companion piece to my story Rise, so you should DEFINITELY check that first. Because Rise is in first-person, we tend to miss things that happen without Nova around. The Extras are designed to fill in the Rise universe.

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS UP UNTIL CHAPTER 17. BIIIIG SPOILERS.

For more Rise fun, look on my profile for a link to Rise Revolution, the Livejournal community where a bunch of AUs will be posted!

Extra 1 corresponds with Chapter 17: Duel.

Extra 1- Fall

I could just see the history datapads: "The Decepticons were forced into slavery; the chain of command was broken, trines split, commanders divided from their troops. The Autobots took every precaution to ensure that their fallen foes would never pose a threat again.

"But they missed something. Safe in one Decepticon's Spark chamber, Megatron's sparkling, heir to the Decepticon Empire, waited to rise."

Ugh. There were so many things wrong with that statement. First of all, "Megatron's sparkling." Those two words did not go together. Why would Megatron have a sparkling? Foresight? Not sentimentality, that was more Prime's style.

Second, "heir to the Decepticon Empire?" It was infuriating. It was unfair. I was Megatron's second-in-command! I should have been the one to take control of the Decepticons after Megatron's termination at Axis. I should have been the one to defeat him!

The last thing wrong with that statement was that the Spark chamber in question was my Spark chamber. I was the lucky mech who had to carry this… this parasite until it was ready to emerge, likely with a great deal of pain on my part. Because I was a Seeker, Primus slag it all, and I could carry a second Spark in my casing, and femmes were scarce, and I was apparently the one Seeker perfectly suited to producing Megatron's unholy spawn.

The memory was still fresh. If I shuttered my optics I could still see him above me, large, powerful, frightening. When I recharged, exhausted by the ever-increasing amounts of strength the new Spark sapped from me, I dreamed of it still. The weight of him on me, the glow of his optics, the heat of Sparkmerge burning through my very core… These visions jolted me out of recharge, overheated and shuddering. Would these nightmares never cease as long as the Spark created from our bond pulsed against mine? Would I always be haunted by Megatron's ghost through his creation?

I already hated the sparkling I carried, loathed it, and I hadn't even seen the slagging thing yet, and wouldn't for another vorn or so. Another vorn of torture, of pangs which sometimes made my legs wobble, of practically starving because of all the extra energy siphoned to my Spark chamber, of those slagging dreams. This creature inside of me was an extension of Megatron—couldn't he just die like any other mech? Never! He had to find a way to torment me from the scrap heap.

If I'd had a choice, I would have destroyed it. At the risk of deactivating myself I would have extracted it from my casing or, if things were dire, allow another the privilege, but the choice wasn't mine. I saw it again in my memory each time I considered destroying the helpless young Spark—the oaths Megatron had forced me into while our Sparks were merged. I had sworn under Spark-bond. As much satisfaction as destroying the last of Megatron would give me, I wasn't keen on offlining, not while there was the slightest chance that the Decepticons would return to power.

And we would return to power, even if it took vorns… even if it took a hundred vorns.

I was sent to Iacon and put on a work crew, rebuilding the Autobots' precious city piece by painstaking piece. I was not allowed to fly… they disabled my thrusters, even if I gave them a good fight first. We were roused from recharge at the first megacycle of the morning and sent out in teams, each guarded by an Autobot overseer. The groupings were shuffled every so often to prevent camaraderie between slaves. We worked without stopping until the first megacycle of the afternoon, when we were allowed five breems to rest before starting again. We worked until the light fled, sometimes later, and returned to our meager barracks for one measly cube of energon and an all-too-brief recharge.

I offlined most of my nonvitals to conserve energon. I would need every drop to supply the parasitic Spark with the energy it needed. I couldn't let anyone know about Megatron's sparkling… even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't have. The more who knew that I carried a sparkling, the more danger there would be.

In addition to siphoning off my reserves, the extra Spark had other ill effects on my systems. I was far more tired than the others by the time the night cycle came, barely able to process. If the Spark pulsed in a certain way against mine, it could drive me almost to overload before shifting back into its dormant rhythm. And sometimes I would suffer sudden moments of weakness, when all of my energy seemed to evaporate. Needless to say, it was impossible to hide these odd quirks while on a work crew. The first time I collapsed, the overseer came at me, snapping his electrowhip in the air.

"Get back on the line," he said threateningly. I kept my mouth shut and glared at him, trying to muster up my strength and failing. He snapped the whip smartly against my wingtips and I flinched. "Get up," he reiterated.

"I can't," I ground out. He hesitated, obviously unsure what to do. He was younger than I. Too young to remember how it was before the War. A silly protoform with his Spark set on the promise of an Autobot utopia.

"Do you need a medic?" he asked finally.

"No!" I said vehemently. At his confused look, I hastily added, "If you sent a medic to every collapsed slave, you'd have them collapsing left and right."

He processed this, then glared at me. "And if we gave every collapsed slave a break, we'd have the same thing. So get up and get back to work!"

With a monumental effort, I heaved myself back to my landing struts and returned to my place, glaring at him the entire time.

This sparkling would be the death of me. If I hadn't moved around between work crews so often, no doubt my increasingly frequent collapses would have been noticed. As the orbits passed, I grew weaker each night. What would I do when the time came? Femmes grew the protoform from their cosmetic metal; Seekers required a protoform to be available at the time of birth. I would have to somehow release the Spark and transfer it into a protoform that I would somehow get my hands on – and then, oh, and then, I would have to raise the thing.

But how could a sparkling survive if its creator had an existence such as mine? Could it survive if I had little energon to give it and even less time to devote to it?

The more I processed it, the more I came to the inevitable conclusion: I couldn't do this alone. I needed an ally or two, someone I could trust. And therein lay the problem. Who could I trust with my secret, with the sparkling's life-force and, by extension, my own? What sane Decepticon wouldn't take advantage of the situation?

I grew steadily weaker as the time approached, hating the sparkling more and more as it grew stronger within me. Some mornings, I felt too weak to move, let alone swing a pick all orn, but somehow I made it through each orn with my secret safe. I remained alone, not trusting my fellow Decepticons, haunted by growing fear, and the Spark I carried grew mature enough to live on its own. It was like carrying a compacted supernova in my chest, heavy and blazing hot. I never got used to the burden. Sometimes it fought to get out and I had to battle to hold it in – without a protoform, it would die.

Each time, it was harder and harder to hold it in, and I knew that soon it would be impossible. This sparkling wanted to be free.

It was a vorn since Axis when the creature inside of me finally tired of waiting. The second megacycle of the afternoon had just passed when pain lanced through my Spark, sending me crashing to my knees. The young Spark was agitated, pulsing and flaring, pushing against the side of my Spark chamber. Instinct written into my coding urged me to open my chest, but I held it closed with all my might. Everything happened quickly, several thoughts blazing through my processor one after the other. First that I had no protoform for the young Spark, then that I was out in the open, then that I needed help, then that I was alone. As soon as all of that had passed through my processor, all that was left was a terrible certainty: I was going to die. I was going to die.

I could only feel pain, coming in semi-regular spikes as the sparkling threw itself against the barrier of my chestplates and Spark casing. I could hear voices, but I paid no attention. Later I pieced together the scene: the overseer flicking his whip at me, seeing that I wasn't responding, shooing the rest back to work as he called a medic. The next clear image I had was the medic himself, having moved me to a secluded area, and I recognized him: Ratchet, friend of Optimus Prime, one of few Autobots worthy of my grudging respect. The pain was bearable now – he'd numbed my pain receptors, so all I felt was pressure and slight discomfort in my Spark casing.

"Let it go," he said calmly. "Let go. I've got it."

It was easier to relax without the pain. I didn't look to see him perform the transfer, focusing instead on the ceiling above me.

An energon cube was thrust before my optics. "Drink," Ratchet said gruffly. I sat up weakly and took the cube, gulping it down gratefully. He gave me another when the first was done, then a third.

"Why so much?" I croaked.

"You'll need it. This one's hungry." He held up a tiny metallic form which instantly began wailing at the top of its vocalizer when it saw me. I winced – he had my voice. Ratchet reached out, deftly pinched off one of my fuel lines and gently connected it to the protoform's torso. The sparkling quieted as pre-filtered fuel entered its system. Ratchet surveyed the setup, then held the protoform out to me. "I'm not going to stand here until he's finished."

I gingerly took the tiny form, feeling how soft and malleable his shell was. It would slowly conform to the coding in his Spark, requiring regular transfusions of metal as it grew until it had to be upgraded into its adolescent form. Some deep part of my programming guided me to hold it – him – gently, careful not to harm its delicate plating. He stirred fitfully and I crooned a soothing tone without thinking, lifting him to rest against my chest so he could feel the comforting warmth of his parent Spark. These were automatic reactions that I could no more fight than the need to drink energon.

It – he – had red optics, I realized. All of my bitterness vanished in an instant as I stared at the sparkling… my sparkling. He was mine. He had come from my Spark casing, he carried my coding. And he… as much as I hated to admit it, he was Megatron's, also, heir to what remained of the Decepticons. I was bound to him by my oaths but also as his creator, the one who had carried his Spark and kept him safe and fed. And my work wasn't over. I would have to protect him, to influence and raise and care for him, to keep things together somehow so that he would have someone to lead when he was ready.

I realized then just how much power I held. Long, long ago, I had given myself to the Decepticon cause, wings and Spark. Now the true test of loyalty had come. Ironically, Megatron had trusted me with our future… the future of Cybertron. For whatever reason, he had chosen me. When he could have had somebody safely loyal, like Skywarp or even Thundercracker… he chose me. For whatever reason – I was good at staying alive, I needed to be taken down a notch, I was prettier than the others… or perhaps because he had confidence in my abilities, my dedication to the cause – he had bonded with me. And now the responsibility was mine, and I would not fail.

"Well, now that that's settled," Ratchet said, dragging me back to the present, "there are some things we need to talk about."

I glared at him, daring him to ask. He glared right back.

"This little mech is healthy," he said. "He integrated perfectly into his protoform. As long as he's kept fueled and happy, there's no need to worry. But I need to know who his other creator is."

I remained silent, my glare intensifying.

"It's important, Starscream. I need to be sure that there are no inherited errors in the coding."

"There aren't," I said.

Ratchet sighed through his vents but pressed me no further. A knock on the medbay door made us both look up.

"I took the liberty of calling in a friend," he said to me. "Come in!"

The door slid open and none other than Optimus Prime himself entered. I tensed, unconsciously clutching my sparkling closer. He looked surprised, as far as I could tell with his facemask on. His next words confirmed that hypothesis.

"Ratchet… is that a—?!"

"Stop staring," I snarled. "It's not like you've never seen a sparkling before."

I probably shouldn't have been so snappish. Prime had been remarkably civil to me in the orns just after Axis. He'd even pleaded my case before the reinstated Senate, keeping me from execution. Now, technically, I belonged to him, but I hadn't met him face-to-facemask since an orbit or two after the battle.

Prime just tilted his head, confused. "But where… how…?"

Ratchet explained everything, at least all that he knew, about Seekers' ability to bear sparklings, about being called over to examine me and realizing what was going on. Prime took it all in, nodding every so often. When Ratchet was finished, Prime looked at me. I could already tell that he was ready to ask some questions that I did not want to answer.

"How did this… happen?" he asked. It gave me a twisted pleasure in how awkward this type of thing would be for the Autobot leader.

"Well, you see, Prime, when a mech loves a femme, the cyberstork brings them a little sparkling…"

"Starscream," he interrupted. "I'm asking a serious question."

"And I'm telling you it's none of your business."

Prime sighed patiently. "No more questions about the past. However, the future must be considered. What will happen now?"

"I'm going to raise my sparkling."

Prime said nothing, but Ratchet snorted loudly. "And how will you take care of a sparkling when you're on a work crew?"

"I'll manage," I said shortly.

"No, you won't. You can't survive on less than a cube an orn for an extended period, and neither can he. And anyway, where are you going to keep him? He can't go out with you every orn and he can't be alone for megacycles at a time. And you can't put him into one of our nurseries. Chances are they'll leave him to starve while the take care of the Autobot sparklings."

"Well, then, what do you suggest I do?" I snarled, voice rising as I lost control of my panic. I hid it under anger. "I won't give him to some Autobot nursemaid to raise at arm's length."

"You can't give him away at all," Ratchet pointed out. "He won't take energon from anyone else until his processor's developed enough to tell him it's all right."

"I'll find a way."

Ratchet growled, but Prime halted him with a raised hand. "I understand that you don't like asking for help," he said. "Obviously you don't need it. But he does." He gestured to the tiny form I held. "You can't keep him forever, Starscream. Slavery is… no place for a sparkling. He had no part in the War. He deserves to grow up free."

Instinctive terror clamored in my Spark. They were going to take him away. They were going to take my sparkling away. Prime must have noticed the warning signs, for he held out an appeasing hand.

"It won't be for several vorns," he reassured me. "As Ratchet said, he won't take energon from anyone else until he is older."

"When his memory begins to form," Ratchet said. Both of us looked at him. "That's more than long enough. About eight vorns. Ought to satisfy your motherhenning."

"You—!… his memory?" I balked. "Then… he won't remember me."

"It's for the best," Prime said gently.

"You want to take my sparkling and raise him as an Autobot?!"

"Would you rather he be raised a slave?" Ratchet pointed out. "If he's raised a slave you'll be separated for good."

"What do you mean?"

"He's a Seeker. The Senate won't let you be together, no matter what. If he's free, he stays."

"But how?" I asked. "Where will he go? What Autobot will take in a Seeker protoform?"

"I will," answered Prime. "I will raise him as my own, and the Senate wouldn't dare question me. Under their law, you belong to me… I give you now to him. You won't be parted forever. When the time comes, he will be your master."

You don't know how right you are, Prime, I thought, but instead I nodded. "And when is that?" Prime deliberated, but I answered my own question. "When he is old enough, I must teach him to fly. Fifteen to twenty vorns ought to do it."

"Acceptable."

I restrained a smirk. The timing would be perfect. As an adolescent, all of his opinions would be up in the air, his mind open to change, his Spark eager to rebel. Ideally a young Seeker would be led into the air much sooner, but I needed to be able to manipulate my sparkling in his most chaotic vorns.

Prime drifted a bit closer. "Does he have a designation?"

I stroked the sparkling's helm, making him chirr softly and shift in my arms, snuggling close to my chest. I had thought of a designation for the tiny Seeker. It was a distant echo from some mostly-forgotten time, possessing of a double meaning which seemed appropriate: one, a cosmic phenomenon befitting a winglet; two, a rebirth… of conflict, of Megatron, perhaps, of the Decepticons.

"Nova," I purred, giving the miniature helm a fond tap. "His designation is Nova."