Starscream had heard him.
To this day, he was unsure whether it had been intentional - whether Megatron had meant for him to overhear that threat, or if he was supposed to have been kept in the dark.
Either way, the warlord had certainly used that request to his advantage, the seeker mused as he gazed out of the window. He wondered if what he saw before him had been the plan all along. Had Megatron been scheming even as the words left Starscream's vocal processor all those years ago? True, in reality it had only been twenty stellar cycles, but it seemed far longer to Vos' Winglord.
The mech gave a snort of humourless laughter at that thought. Winglord. By all rights and by the customs of his city he should have been the Crown Prince. But such a title could indicate a power above Megatron, and of course that couldn't be allowed.
It seemed that in the Decepticon commander's view, Vos existed purely to be repressed and extorted. Twenty years ago Cybertron had been resurrected, and Decepticons (along with converts to the cause) had poured in from every corner of the galaxy. Their numbers had been comparatively few considering the army's size before the war, so Megatron had used the newly-restored Vector Sigma to boost their ranks. Even so, they had been unable to stop a steady trickle of Autobots and Neutrals from slipping in under the radar, and by the time these newcomers had settled in Kaon and Tarn it had been too late. Megatron had taken Iacon, but had lost one of the planet's best sources of raw materials.
As such, he had turned to Vos. The city perched on a cliff that sat above several rich mining veins, and it was this that had afforded it enough resources before the war to be self-sufficient, and opulent on top of that.
That wasn't the case anymore, though, thought Starscream bitterly. Megatron had wasted no time commencing with the process of draining Vos dry. The seeker had been in line to take a place on the city's senate back before joining the Decepticons, and it pained him to see how quickly its newly-restored beauty had deteriorated. Cybertron's Lord Protector kept up extortionate demands that the citizens struggled to meet - let alone retaining anything for the city's own use!
It was all planned, of course. Megatron was deliberately crippling both Starscream and his city in order to keep them in check. He had conscripted nearly every warrior-class seeker into the Decepticon army, leaving Vos almost completely defenceless against the Autobot raids that had occurred towards the start of the planet's new era. And his conquest of Earth - which had been running for ten years now with no victory, thanks to Autobot intervention - had placed an even higher demand on the city.
The toll that Vos was paying certainly showed. Outside Starscream's window seekers flitted about anxiously, hurriedly going about their daily business with dull optics and bowed helms. Every one of them looked haggard and worn. The buildings had quickly lost their newly-minted shine when nobody could keep up with their maintenance - towers and pavilions that had stood as proud testament to Vos' grandeur now crouched with shattered domes and fractured spires, nursing their wounds on a broken skyline. Many citizens bore scuffed and charred armour, their shoulders permanently hunched as a result of being forced to work in the cramped mines and smelting pits.
It was this last factor that angered Starscream the most. Seekers were creatures of the air. They needed open space and freedom to fly in order to stay healthy, much as the minibots had relied on their close-knit family units for security; just as the Praxians had thronged the Assembly each day to satisfy their thirst for knowledge and culture. Megatron had used their dependance to his advantage, harnessing the power of the fliers' preprogrammed claustrophobia in order to keep them subdued.
The warlord claimed to have both liberated and restored Cybertron, but in truth he had done neither. The planet was a shrivelled husk compared to its old glory, with its inhabitants even more repressed than before.
Starscream sighed. Megatron's manifesto had deceived so many, including himself. Before the war, he'd believed that the Decepticons were the way towards change and a better Cybertron. During the war, he'd been twisted beyond all recognition, by those around him and also his own ambitions. Now he was a bitter shadow of what he'd once been, finally starting to perceive the error in his judgement only when it was far too late. It was the same for all those who had been taken in by Megatron, and they were paying dearly for their mistake.
Funny, really, that he was this concerned for an entire city. A single mech would've been lucky to extract even a pinch of sympathy from him an orn ago.
No, Starscream corrected himself. What was funny was that Megatron thought he could push a seeker and his birthplace this far without something snapping along the way. And something had snapped - deep within said seeker's processor, Starscream suspected. Why else would he have that particular encoded datapad tucked away from spies and prying optics?
Why else would he have started fighting back?
After all, however hopeless things looked, there was still resistance. One simply needed to know the right people...
Arcee scowled, her denta scraping over each other painfully as she glared up at the citadel from a narrow alley. Typically Starscream, claiming the largest and most imposing building for himself. And there was a statue of him outside. A fragging statue! As if he were some great hero or saviour of Cybertron!
A static flicker crackled over her body and she swore under her breath. Stupid electronic paintjob was playing up again. It made scouting missions stupidly risky, but there was really no other option - the Autobots were far too low on resources. Things were awkward enough having to get by as groundpounders in a city built for seekers, without adding in a shortage of supplies. Though the choice of location was a good idea. It would be far less likely for the Decepticons to target a city of fliers when searching for vehicular bots, even if Vos was notorious for sheltering Neutrals. After all, their opponents already held Cybertron's two southernmost cities - why would they suspect the Autobots of sending a group so deep into enemy lands, let alone somewhere designed for those who lived in the air?
Optimus had played that advantage, of course. Being stationed this far into Decepticon territory was dangerous almost to the point of insanity, but it had also been incredibly beneficial for running and coordinating missions, as well as gathering intelligence.
That said, Arcee couldn't wait until their time in Vos came to an end. They'd already been in the city for half a stellar cycle, and she didn't think she could take much longer staying in the same place as the mech who'd posed for that ridiculous statue.
He'd obviously posed for it. No Cybertronian she knew of had that ostentatious a posture naturally.
A commlink pinged in her helm.
::Chromia to Arcee. Do you copy?::
The femme raised a servo to her head, tearing her optics away from their blistering hold on the main square.
"Affirmative," she replied. "I'm gonna have to cut the patrol off early, though - paintjob's acting up again."
::Alright:: Chromia replied, a sigh gusting over the commline. ::And 'Cee? Be careful if you are where I think you are. That'd be the worst place to be spotted::
"It's so frustrating, though!" Arcee growled defensively. The city wasn't exactly on her designated patrol, but she always made a point to visit and send a glare in its direction. Especially at the statue. "His citizens are wasting away around him, and all he ever does is sit up in that tower and watch it happen!"
::Count your blessings, 'Cee:: Chromia warned. ::If he did venture out more often, if he did more about this, there'd be a higher likelihood of us being discovered::
"I guess you're right," Arcee sighed. "It's just... we've dreamed of restoring Cybertron for eons. And the 'Cons had that chance, but they're just killing it again."
::Could you really expect anything more of them?::
"I think I was expecting more, yeah," the cycleformer replied. "We all missed home, we all wanted to go back. Starscream had the literal key to that and he handed it over to Megatron. And he doesn't even care about the result."
::So it's less about the 'Cons, and more about his choice, then?:: the older femme asked. When Arcee didn't respond, she continued. ::Anyway, you'd best get back quickly if the paintjob's glitching::
"Understood. Arcee out."
The femme checked that her frame was still covered by a layer of holographic black before shooting the citadel a last, venomous glance and slipping off down the alleyway.
"These are the crates that were appropriated?"
The silent mech nodded once, visor reflecting his master's profile as Megatron studied the boxes. A thick, wickedly sharp claw traced over an emblem on the side of the nearest case of artillery.
"Vos' royal seal..." he murmured, injecting a heavy dose of mockery into the word. "And these were taken from the Autobots? You are certain of that?"
Another silent nod.
"Of course, it could be the result of an Autobot raid," the warlord mused, before giving a short, dark laugh. "However, knowing Starscream it would be wise to doubt that. It seems that he requires further reining in."
Though enforcing any kind of punishment would be difficult without concrete proof, and the seeker's slipperiness had been a constant frustration for the warlord. Megatron was fully aware that if he had Vos' Winglord hauled away for punishment on the grounds of mere suspicion (however strong that suspicion might be), he would have a full uprising on his hands from the seekers. Using the city as a primary source of materials, while beneficial to the Decepticon cause overall, meant that he had to be wary of providing its residents with any reason to rebel. For countless years he had walked a thin line between suppressing Starscream and his city so that they would not pose a threat, and keeping the situation just balanced enough to avoid any major unrest.
But if Starscream truly did pose a threat, he would have to be removed. All previous attempts to uncover the truth had been fruitless - neatly dodged by the seeker as he sat at the centre of a community whose members were all deeply loyal and protective of him. Nothing short of invading the mech's mind would uncover his true intentions. A cortical psychic patch was a possible option, but having the flier brought in for questioning would undoubtedly stir up the seekers. It seemed that futile spying efforts were the only way to continue. Or...
The gleam of an idea had manifested in Megatron's optic. There was more than one way to get inside a mech's mind.
"He has managed to avoid other attempts to spy on him in the past, but...
"Soundwave - contact the newly-promoted outpost commander in Kalis. I have a... proposal for her. She seems eager to improve her standing in the Decepticon force, so I believe she will agree. And have a commline to Vos established should she accept."
The spy dipped his helm in affirmation a final time and left the room.
"He will not escape me now," Megatron muttered to himself. "If Starscream has been aiding the Autobots, this will expose him once and for all."
A lithe black figure stole across the narrow street and pressed its palm to a section of wall. After a couple of seconds there was a hiss from the passage around the corner and Arcee followed the noise, dropping silently through the hatchway that had opened at her touch. The trapdoor slid closed above her as she stood up.
"Hey," she called shown the corridor, deactivating her electronic paintjob to expose blue armour underneath. "No news from the world above, I'm afraid. But I'm gonna need Perceptor to take a look at this thing."
She detached the camoflague chip from the back of her neck as she spoke, before heading deeper into the base.
A silver-blue femme stood in the doorway to the main room.
"I'll take that," she offered, holding out a servo for the chip. "Need to speak to Percy later about repairs to my handgun."
"Thanks," Arcee replied, giving Chromia a quick smile. However, as she turned to enter the room footsteps clattered up behind her.
"Did I hear you say you needed something taking to Perceptor?"
"Wha- Oh, hi, Moonracer. Yeah, 'Cee's paintjob chip's been glitching."
"I can deliver it! I was on my way over to the lab just now."
"Does that storeroom they're using even count as a lab?" Arcee asked skeptically, giving the green femme an odd look. "And why're you always spending time there anyway? It's not like you've got any interest in science."
"Hey, it may be small, but it's not a storeroom! And why shouldn't I help in the lab? I may as well be useful if I need something to do - I mean, I'd rather be training or whatever, but we don't exactly have a shooting range down here."
Arcee couldn't decide if her expression was more defensive or indignant as the sharpshooter folded her arms. Grinning at her slightly petulant pout, the two-wheeler nodded to Chromia.
"You heard her. She wants to be useful for once - let her take the chip."
"Oh, har har. Who was it that saved your skidplate during that raid on Polyhex, again? Can't have been me if I'm so useless."
Smiling despite her words, Moonracer accepted the chip from Chromia and headed down the passage.
"She's got other reasons than wanting to help for spending so much time in the lab," Chromia muttered shrewdly as the two remaining femmes walked into the main room.
"What reasons are they, then?"
The older femme smirked and said nothing, turning away to talk to a powerfully built, battle-scarred red mech. With a snort that was half exasperated, half amused, Arcee sloped over to the energon store in the corner.
"There you are! It took you long enough to get back!"
"What now, Ratchet?" the femme groaned. "I already told you - my shoulder joint was fine last time you checked it."
The medic gave an irritated huff that sounded suspiciously like 'I beg to differ'.
"That's not what you're needed for," he replied. "Optimus wants to speak to you in a couple of cycles - once he's done talking with Sideswipe."
"Still no luck finding Sunny, then?" Arcee asked, folding her arms.
Ratchet sighed.
"Sadly, no. We're starting to think that the only scenario in which he'd still be alive is if he's been taken prisoner."
"We can't tell Sides that," the femme murmured, glancing worriedly at the door to the Prime's office.
"We may not have a choice. Sideswipe's not stupid - he's sure to figure it out soon."
It was almost as though their conversation had been overheard by its subject: at that exact moment the door opened and Sideswipe stomped into the room, optics dark. Ironhide paused his conversation with Chromia to say something to him, but the younger warrior brushed past without a word.
"Arcee?"
Optimus had appeared in the doorway, his expression grave. With one last, worried glance at Sideswipe, the femme crossed the room to enter his office.
Starscream's servos shook with rage as he turned away from the monitor. He had previously thought that Megatron could not be any more controlling and thoughtless, but this utter madness really took the proverbial oilcake. That he would even consider forcing someone into such a situation - it just proved that the warlord had passed beyond the reach of sanity entirely! He would feel sorry for this outpost commander, if it weren't painfully obvious that she had only agreed because he himself had been marked for slaughter.
With an infuriated snarl, he swept a pile of datapads off his desk in a vicious slash. Just when things had been progressing, it was all going to be snatched from his servos. Now he would never have the chance to correct his mistake...
Because Starscream knew that this was all his fault. For a time he had held the literal keys to Cybertron's restoration in his very hands, and he had relinquished them. Now he was forced to stand by and watch while the planet was torn apart as a result of his choice.
Emitting a sound somewhere between a groan and a cry of rage, the seeker collapsed into his desk chair and buried his helm in his servos.
He would have to tell them. There was no way that he could continue to provide assistance - not now that his privacy was set to be invaded in this most perverse of ways. Sighing, he reached for a hand-held communicator, lifting his helm minutely to view the screen.
"Hello, old friend," he murmured when the display lit up to show a mech's face. "I'm afraid the time has come when I need to request an audience. Be warned, though - they're not going to like this..."
"I... you want me to do what?"
Optimus regarded her with a slightly puzzled expression as the femme spread her servos in disbelief.
"I understand that you may be reluctant to accept the post, given what transpired upon our departure from Earth," he informed Arcee gravely. "I did not expect you to react so strongly, however." He paused. "Is something troubling you?"
"No, I-"
The cycleformer sighed and folded her arms, optics lowering to the floor. There was no way she could tell Optimus why she wouldn't - couldn't - accept this new mission. If he knew... She didn't want to think about what would happen if she was found out. She'd never be able to face the others again. The fact that this assignment would mean interacting with Jack was bad enough - she couldn't risk her secret being discovered.
Primus, just when she'd almost managed to bury the regret, too...
"It's just... after what happened I feel like I can't face them. Any of them. They put their trust in us to protect them and I- and we failed. I know that all they'll be able to see if I go there - one of the team who was supposed to be guarding Airachnid - all they'll be able to see is one of the aliens that let Jasper be terrorised. That let Fowler and Sierra die."
"Agent Fowler died honourably," Optimus insisted. "He was trying to save the girl from Airachnid. However, the humans have acknowledged that it was not our fault Airachnid got free. It was simply a fluke, albeit one with tragic consequences. They themselves have asked for reinforcements, and I believe it would be prudent to appoint you as team leader; given that you possess the necessary skills and have also had previous liaisons with the humans."
He placed a servo on the femme's shoulder.
"Arcee, they will not hold you at fault. You will be accepted, should you choose to work with them."
They should blame me, the femme thought bitterly. If they knew...
It was impossible for her to accept the mission - how was she supposed to face Jack, knowing what she did? Yet at the same time, if she turned it down questions would be asked. They'd find out the reason for her refusal, and the femme didn't want to think about what would happen after that.
"I'll have to think about it," she finally muttered, turning to leave without another word.
As she left the room a large, white mech hurried past her, looking deeply concerned.
"Skyfire, what's"-
"Can't talk now," he replied shortly. "You'll find out soon enough, I should think, but at the moment I really need to speak to Prime."
Arcee watched him go, equal parts worried and intrigued. With all the shortages they had been suffering recently, the last thing the Autobots needed was further complications. Whatever it was, she hoped it could be resolved soon.
AN: Woo, first chapter! I have to say that I'm really looking forward to continuing this - (sort of) peacetime Cybertron, exploring the city of Vos, and writing my OTP? Yes please!
Lemme know what you think so far, and I'll try to update as soonish as I can (though I can't promise anything given my track record XD)
TTFN!