In an old abandoned Alley, deep in the dark under sectors of Cybertron dwells a pitiful creature. A creature that had once known glory and power beyond measure, but that was long ago, before his wings were clipped. But that had been lifetimes ago for him, both figuratively and literally. Once long ago people would tremble at his name and run from his shadow as it screamed through the stars. But even he couldn't remember the last time he had that kind of thrill, shaking off the memories that flood his head of happier times, but now they were all he had...
Now we was reduced to little more then a scavenger, His body battered and broken, too weak to defend himself. Never able to return home, he would have been shot on sight if he had. No one capable or willing to help him there, they were all out for themselves. Not like he could blame them, he had cheated, robbed, and double-crossed nearly all of them for power. He would settle for nothing less then the best.
He had tried to find home with others. Others like him that had left or been exiled. His plans having been that if he could find enough and rally them together that they would be able to return home and usher in a new reign and all would praise them for it! ...He barely got away from that brutish tank in one piece.
After that he had thought that maybe former allies weren't what he needed. He needed new ones, ones not aware of his past. Those tentacled freaks... they were perfect. They didn't his enemies and they were clever, if he helped them they would know how better to attack their enemies and could rule once more. They seemed to like that idea a little too much. I didn't take long for him to think that maybe he should have phrased his words better... It was three years before he was able to escape their labs as they poked, prodded, and dissected him to get a better idea of what they had done wrong. It didn't help that they had the primitive beasts helping them. He still had the scars from their teeth.
He was barely able to get away. Lucky really. For some reason, he always seemed to have luck on his side. Though many times, he wondered if his sense of luck was as sadistic as he, when he saw that large vessel appear from the darkness; A strange spaceship that had been designed after old earthen ships. It's Captains having been taken by old stories from earth, which were probably aided by Junkions. A massive galleon in looks and designs. The metal of the hull designed to look like wood. On its back it had several engines and a transparent dome encased the upper deck allowing its crew to work without fearing lack of oxygen or gravity. In front were two massive cannons with a long row of spiked running between them. Its many masts sport evidence of possible Junkion involvement, as the solar sails are all pitch black in color. Floating near helplessly, he had to wonder what he had done to deserve the attention of the infamous Dread Pirate Cannonball...
Brought aboard by a shuttlecraft that was designed to look like a rowboat. He was brought before the terrible visage of the Caption. A tall single-eyed mech, his left hand having been lost to the ages, and now the barrel of a blaster rest where it once was. His body mostly steel gray in color with gold and purple as secondary colors, where not covered in teal colored graffiti. The most prominent of which looked like a skull on his chest, over scarred Decepticon emblem. He had no face, just a single eye starring down from a hexagonal face. Even then, he could feel the pirate glaring down at him from that emotionless face.
Immediately, he did what he was best at in these situations where hope was fleeting... He feel to his knees and pleaded for mercy while kissing up to the pirate he barely knew. He was surprised that it worked; he guessed that every leader needs a good aft kisser... Cannonball had allowed him to stay and serve on his ship for several years. It was weak pitiful existence for him, to think he'd fallen so far. But he only planned to continue with them until they got back to a more civilized planet. He hadn't bothered with his usual tricks of trying to gain power; they weren't worth his time, just a ragtag group of mercenaries from all different cultures. He even seen a few had scarred Autobot symbols.
He had lost count of just how long he was aboard that wretched ship. But finally they decided to raid at a place that he would escape from the torment of this crew. They had decided to raid Iacon. For once he volunteered happily for one of these usually absurd missions. He led the charge happily, one of the few times he had ever felt close to his former glory. He knew the plan, and decided to pull it off without a hitch until he purposefully sounded the alarm and alerted the Autobots to their presence. He fled in chaos down into the dark alleyways and watched as that pathetic rabble was captured. He had planned only to stay until he could use what he had taken of the haul to properly repair himself.
But this time luck wasn't on his side. What he had gotten away with was barely enough for effective repairs, and the Autobot police force was on high alert because they knew there had been more pirates that they hadn't caught. He was forced to go deeper and deeper under ground. By time he had heard things settled down, that blasted microscope he launched the global defense grid and he was stuck. He had tried several times to get past them, which eventually cost him his wings. The lasers taking them out and causing him to crash into some dark city he barely knew. It was there that he stayed, and continues to dwell.
He couldn't go out in public. He was too well known, a famous war criminal. There was no telling what they might do to him. His fear forcing him to live as a scavenger on the fringe of society doing what ever it took to survive. He hated his existence now more then even when he was with the pirates... He had now started to miss them, but he knew that Cannonball would shoot him on sight if he tried showing up again there after what he had pulled.
Once again, he tried to pull himself out of his memories, and this time it was a voice that caught his attention. He crawled from the alleyway, getting a good view of the giant screen that was displaying a press conference of some sort. He didn't really care about it. No, it was one of the speakers that caught his attention, a tall immaculate jet, with a deep friendly voice and bright blue optics. "Skyfire?" His voice creaked... it had been so long since he had actually talked to anyone, that his voice felt foreign to him. But he remains focused on the image, not really hearing what the Autobot had to say.
For the first time in ages he had an idea, a plan, and most importantly hope. Skyfire... An honest pure hearted warrior, his kindness and generosity could rival even the Great Optimus Prime. Maybe... Maybe if he could get to him... talk to him... he might actually have a chance at a life again... it was a long shot, he had hurt Skyfire like many others, for the longest time he hated to even see that Traitor... but now... now that Traitor might be his only hope...
It was night on Cybertron, dark as pitch. It was this time that he usually would scavenge and get what he'd need for another day of survival. He knew the city well by now. He skulked through the streets, finding a communications booth, another idea that had been copied from those squishy pests on Earth. But tonight it was useful; he scanned quickly through the directory, and brightened as he found Skyfire's location. He was surprised... It actually wasn't far from here. He could actually make it before light came. He smiled for the first time in years; once again luck was back on his side.
--
It was dawn by time the large jet opened the door to his apartment. His optics brighten, he was sure he had locked it before going out last night. He slowly entered... he was sure something was wrong, that something was hear that shouldn't have been. He saw what it was as he entered the main living area. Lied flat out on the couch was another jet transformer. One that looked like it had seen better days. He recognized the build type as a Seeker. He lets out a gasp... he remembers reports of a Seeker having been seen trying to leave right after the grid went live, but no one had ever found it. He walked closer the mech that seemed unconscious. Its colors seemed faded, looking closer; he could tell that what was now white, orange and grayish had been in its prime gray, red and blue. It didn't take him long to realize who it was once he realized the colors. A mech who once had been his best friend in all of Cybertron, and the former air commander of the Decepticons.
"Starscream?" He gasps.
The red optics flickered on... he really shouldn't have ignored his needs for energy trying to get here quickly, but it was the only way make his way here before dawn. "S-Skyfire... H-help me..." His screechy voice cracked before his optics flickered out again as he lay still on the couch he had managed to collapse on...