Cybertron, and all its inhabitants, were at war.
This was a fact of life.
War meant scars were handed out by the dozen.
This was also a fact of life.
And the occupants of the nemesis certainly understood the concept. You could walk into the eradicon barracks at any given time and find at least one little group of the drones discussing their greatest scares and battle wounds, or that of their superiors. While the higher ups didn't often partake in such frivolous conversation, well except maybe for Knockout, it did not mean they knew nothing of the others wounds.
Take, for instance, the cherry red doctor. Though he prided himself on his beautiful finish and flawless paint job everybody knew that his right tire would never be quite as high as his left, due to a poorly applied patch job somewhere under his upper armour.
Then there was Soundwave. New comers were always quick to question the communications commander when they met him for the first time. Most commonly; why was he so quiet? And, the less popular, but still prominent; why are his legs so weird? No one could really answer the former, except for maybe Soundwave, but that just brings the whole thing debacle full circle now, doesn't it? The latter, however, any drone who thought he was someone would tell you that little tale. There were a few variants of the story itself, but they all ended at the same place, Soundwave's legs had been broken beyond repair and the odd shaped armour acted as a sort of permanent crutch, it was one of the reasons he rarely left the ship.
Megatron's stories were countless, Dreadwing had some good ones too, and no one really talked about Breakdown much anymore… but one mech out of all of them was infamous for his tales of scarring, or lack thereof.
This mech, was Starscream.
Of course there was a reason behind this, and it was not that the second was simply a flawless fighter and had never been scratched so bad as to have a permanent wound, anyone with a perfectly functioning processor could tell you that. He was just careful enough to never let it slip.
One in particularly shameful injury had managed to worm its way in to the number two spot on the seekers special little list. Not that order really mattered.
Years of abuse had lead Starscream into a life of constant flux from perfect functioning condition to morbid disrepair on a near daily basis. Most injuries turned out to be superficial, a couple needed some heavier attention, but all in all he would always come back kicking, well I say always.
Seekers were not built to be particularly heavy duty, there were a few exceptions of course, but usually they were light, lithe, and did not carry heavy armour. Any large amount of weight or bulk would be highly counterproductive for flight.
This ingenious design would come to cause a bit of a problem whence the war began; because while they were kings of the sky seekers were very rarely equipped for hand to hand combat, or in this singular case, the commander was not prepared to handle repeated violent punishment.
Megatron was a vile being to be in close quarters with, weather as friend or as foe did not matter he was likely to break you in some way, double if you were Starscream. And break the mech he did; the number of times the second had been launched, tripped, shoved, and generally fallen aft-first to the ground by cause of Megatron's hand were countless. The additive sum of these incidents being permanent, and painful, damage to the commander's lower back.
The mangled support had gotten so bad in recent decades that the pain permeating from struts was so constant that Starscream no longer really noticed. Sometimes he would run into the kind of sharp pain that ran all the way up through his systems when he twisted in the wrong direction but it was part of him now, a not so little reminder of who was really in control of the seekers life.
Of course he was going to keep this secret from everyone on the warship. He could not even begin to imagine the scrutiny and taunting jeers that would come his way were he to let it slip. No one could respect or follow such a liability into battle, let alone have him lead; his master would surely extinguish him, should his story fall on untrustworthy audials. The tyrant would not be too impartial to his second being in possession of such a handicap. Yes, it was all the better he keep this to himself, in the long run.
Injuries were a little more troublesome to keep out of the keen and watchful optic of the Nemesis's resident doctor than some special sensory nodes though. And despite being Decepticon by nature somewhere deep down in Knockout's spark was a small amount of caring and concern for everyone under his charge. Of course it was buried behind vanity, curiosity, and a dozen of other emotions, but it was there.
Ultimately Starscream couldn't avoid letting it slip when he had entered the med bay one too many times barely able to hold himself upright. The grounder's growing concern got the better of him and, after some fighting and minor sedation, laid his commander down, peeled away layers of lightweight armour plating, and gasped in horror at the abomination he had presently revealed. Starscream remembered the med berth feeling particularly cold that day.
Nothing could fix him completely; the machinery was much too far gone for that, the technology that made up a Cybertronian's skeletal support system was far too complex to re make using the few resources they had. All that could be done, Knockout had said, was to patch up areas that had lost all integrity and try and iron out as many dents as possible, and he would have to have it done regularly. He'd still be left with slightly cock-eyed pistons, twisting, dented panelling, lessened, but still persistent, pain, and a slight hunch back, but the chances off him losing all ability to stand would be far less.
Starscream had come to the conclusion long ago that this was his master's way of implementing ironic karma for the seeker's constant backstabbing. He had also come to the conclusion that he would fight it every step of the way. No matter the pain, no matter if he crumpled to the ground, unable to support himself with anything but his arms he would find a way to keep wrestling fate until the very day he was no longer able to do even that. He didn't want that to happen, he loved moving too much, but if it came down to it, he wanted to prove his power and leadership even more. Wouldn't it be the best revenge to take down Megatron whilst fighting through the damage meant to keep him from doing so? Strascream thought so.
And maybe one day, he might be able to stalk around the nemesis without pain circling his systems, but until then he would take that ache and turn it into fuel, anger, wit, and use it to claim his rightful place and maybe, just maybe, give Megatron some permanent scars of his own.