Chapter 20: The Prodigal Child

A/N: Yay, on to the REAL story! Minds been driftin' long enough :P I think this one's gonna be a long one, not sure…

For those who don't know, 'empties' are Transformers that are always low on energon, which they use as a derogatory term.

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There are just some places a seeker cannot fly into. One of them being the narrow alleyways in a place so aptly named Junk Zero, because one, it was the largest capital wastelands of Cybertron and two, the area was gifted with mountains of semi-melted slagged parts or unwanted corpses. Located in the southern regions of Cybertron (conveniently near the smelting pools), most of the Transformers that can tolerate the aberrant stench of decay to reside there were empties, and low profiled criminals. Safety was ironically the basic need that drove Transformers to such a place, next to business of the unwanted sorts in a moral society. Scientists, robbers, dealers, no matter what they were called, they worked under the same name to procure whatever they wanted. To survive there, all one needed was ample fire power to prevent desperate empties from begging or mauling, and common sense to never wander into Junk Zero unless you had a very good reason to.

Which explains Starscream's predicament. Squeezing sideways into a narrow pathway to crumple out of the other end, the Decepticon second-in-command felt a furious emotion rise to her fuel pump. The old routes had changed drastically ever since she returned, and she was far from happy at the 'improvements'. What used to be a narrow alleyway became an unconventional tube to squeeze herself out of, and no amount of grousing could remedy her situation. She had already stumbled, tripped and almost ate the ground to get to her destination, and she was not going to give up now, no…this was more than a route to her old home.

…It was her creator testing her patience. Or something like that.

Rustling her dark cloak from any debris and unwelcome dirt underground, Starscream looked up at the broken scraps and empty shells, congealed into place as a makeshift entrance. Blatantly positioned over the arid door was a dim light and a very large machine gun, aimed at whomever chose to stand directly in front of the door.

'At least the floors…a floor.' Starscream thought, too glad to feel smooth, balanced metal sheets under her feet.

…Oh well.

"Ding-dong."

Starscream waited for an equally sarcastic, graveled reply behind the rust-coloured wall.

"(If you want in, you'll have to remove the hood, dear)," a deep, aged worn voice rung behind the sliding doors.

"Slag you, Triburst."

"Hmm, that is the incorrect password, because there is no password," the voice chimed. "…Who are you?"

'He kind of recognises me…it's him all right. "An accent firm and matured with age, acquirable only through knowledge and the intellects such as I, Triburst."' Starscream cringed at the vocal memory playing back in her head. 'Slag you, daddy dearest. Now let me in!'

Starscream yanked her own hood away from her head and looked straight at the door.

"I know there's a hidden camera somewh-"

The doors shrieked in protest to be forcibly opened by a pair of worn hands, abusing the cogs in the automatic system. Standing with his arms apart and blocking the passageway was a large imposing seeker, as tall as the entrance itself. The older seeker earned his outsized stature from obsolete designs in favour of the smaller frames adopted by newer seekers. Sporting a dark olive paintjob fully ignored by maintenance, his hands and his feet were marked with vorns of abuse, hatched away to reveal the raw grey metal. Yellow optics glowed sentimentally deep in recognition of his own creation.

"Starscream…!"

She looked up with a cocked optic. "…Triburst-WOAH!!!" And was hastily pulled into his workshop, the doors slamming in outrage. Dropping her from his arms, Starscream almost fell on her aft if he didn't grab her again by the sides underneath her arms. The red seeker quickly snaked out of his grasp and leapt a measurable distance away from her creator, turning her wings at him to snub the older seeker.

"Don't forget who I am now, father! You were against my military pursuits, so don't think of getting comfortable just because I've achieved what you cannot even afford to dream of!" She held her breath to scrutinize his workshop cum home. "I've not forgotten about you disowning me, and I'm not here to get your apology either!"

"…You called me father…"

Slag…slaggit. Well…I can't reveal what I really want, you might not know who's listening in. Not that I have to, we know what we're here for-

…Is it me, or has he actually tidied his workplace?

Starscream turned around to face her creator, who was dangling his hands incompetently in front of her. Taking a quick glance at his worn digits in concern, Starscream mentally furrowed at his bodywork.

I don't owe him anything, and I don't have to do anything to get what Megatron needs. He readily offered to give his invention, his little knick-knack for the good of the Decepticon empire-

"Triburst you're useless! Eight million vorns fly by and you just shifted your junk around in this hovel of a workshop! You can't even repaint your own arms!"

Don't get back into your old habits Starscream, this old bufoon's not worth your time! Remember what he said to you? Hmm? Remember how he cast you out? How he wanted you to be like all those other empty-headed femmes, except you had proper articulation?

The red seeker thrust her index finger to the medical bed cum workshop bench situated in the middle of the room, trying to avoid looking at the elder seeker, whose gaze was completely lost in her bad manners.

"Sit there, useless!"

He only wanted you to learn so you can entertain the men with clever conversations! So you can find a suitable mate who would laugh at your girlish tittering!

The proud aerial commander dropped to an unfeminine squat to rummage through a dirty cupboard, flinging away miscellaneous tools that were in her hand's way. Plucking a spray gun from the recess of the cupboard, she shook and tested the dirty battered thing, to find it still working quite well. Throwing it aside for later use, she scrounged further for a full paint can, creating a scattered mess around her body.

So he can give you away, to get rid of you because he doesn't need you anymore! That's why he disowned you when you wanted to join the Decepticon ranks! You ruined his plans to get rid of you the 'right' way! But he can't get rid of all this-!

"How do you live through all this TRASH?!"

"Welcome to Junk Zero!"

"SHUT UP!!!" she barked him into submission.

You stupid useless father! How can a genius think when he's aft deep in slag! This is what Transformer Hell looks like! What are you trying to do, make a Junkion PROUD?! IDIOT!

The green seeker obediently kept quiet observing his creation's hectic movements, staring dumbly at her back. Starscream shook furiously from stirring the contents of the can in her arms with a long piece of iron, and readied the spray gun when the coagulated paint was fluid enough.

When she picked up the spray gun, it helpfully crumbled into pieces.

"SLAGGIT! SLAGGIT! SLAGSLAGSLAG!!!" the femme con stomped her delicate feet and threw a tantrum at the broken clutter on the floor, kicking it astray.

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Moments later, Triburst found his right arm with a refreshing coat of…maroon paint, the only colour Starscream could find in the phenomenal mess. A sleek cold blue arm supported his left hand being sanded as olive flakes danced from his arm, fluttering to the floor. The clean reflection of the new stickers adorned each of his wings, gleaming with Decepticon patriotism. A handmade paintbrush stroked his arm now, giving his arm extra luster. The yellow optics belonging to Triburst scrutinized Starscream's unquestioned devotion to his well-being.

"…If you're still angry at me after many vorns-" the paintbrush slid across his arms in a more chary motion, "…then I un-disown you."

Starscream's hands held the paintbrush still, before resuming her current task with a more gentle sweep. "The word you're looking for is adopt (you old fool)."

The two kept an callow silence, reverting their gaze to the paintbrush in quiet solace. After a breem or so, the older mech raised his free hand, tapping and retreating his fingers into a loose fist until he settled them warmly on her shoulder. Wholly alien to the physical affection Triburst offered to his creation after countless years, Starscream hastily shrugged his uninvited hand off her shoulder, and continued painting the polished metal with a rigid stiffness running down her arm.

"I see you on the news sometimes…a talented scientist, a cunning soldier, a groveling coward-" his arm took a jab from the sharp end of the paintbrush, "-Megatron's partner…"

"Make's you proud of the daughter you never had, hmm? Its so fun reminiscing with a living fossil."

"…My little Star's changed a lot…" Triburst looked down musing to himself, leaving Starscream to wince at her childhood moniker.

"That's what a few million years does to you, Triburst. And a smart-mouth creator."

The old seeker snorted back at her. "Star, I know you're going to leave soon, so I just want you to know…"

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A/N: Eyipes! Cliffhanger! …Or a chapter cut short 'cause its too long ;P I don't know why I associate olive colour with old people, but I like it. Triburst is: Reaowr! Hiss! Wh-kssh! So whipped by Starscream XD