They rarely met androids over difficult terrain. But when they did, it was often sudden, as if the androids had been programmed to lie in wait. Passing over a ridgeline, they suddenly found themselves facing off against five.
By now, their response was routine: split off enough for room to maneuver, and to divvy up the androids, which could only focus on one opponent at a time. Once one finished with his cohort, he could circle around behind the rest. And here, in this place, a deep crevasse proved a convenient disposal unit for the bodies.
Their response may have been routine. But this encounter was different.
One of the androids wasn't like the others. Its body wasn't cylindrical. It had arms instead of tentacles. Its head was round and had a face beneath the caked-on sediment. The optics were dark, inoperative. That made no difference, however, since it no longer needed to see.
It had been warcraft. It had that look and proportion. The laser-mounting sockets on the arms. No paint or insignia remained visible, but this was clearly Cybertronian.
After they terminated it, they turned it over onto its back. Starscream searched his memory banks but could not recognize it.
Prime surprised Starscream by suddenly unsheathing his retractable axe, and deftly slicing open the back of its head.
The cranial chamber was empty. The primary processor was gone! A few torn wires were all that remained.
"How…?" Starscream began to say. It shouldn't be able to move! It shouldn't–!
Prime remained kneeling over the body for several astroseconds, and Starscream noticed he was trembling. Suddenly, he reached for the empty head, and, without preamble, crushed it completely, as if it were made of tinfoil. Darkened optical glass ground down into glittering powder. Then, he tore into the housing, the incredible strength of his hydraulics never more evident as he ripped the body to shreds, scattering bits and pieces all around.
Starscream of course knew Prime was both powerful and temperamental, yet he was truly unprepared for this level of violence. Even for a tyrant, it seemed excessive. Fear froze him in place, set his vocal processor on mute.
II
Long after they'd left the androids behind, and were once again refueling, he couldn't help but wonder why Prime would waste so much energy on something that had clearly already been terminated. (He hadn't meant to wonder aloud, but it happened.)
"You saw what was inside its head, Starscream," Prime said, slowly turning to give him undivided attention. (All of Prime's movements had slowed of late, as if his motor relays were low on power. But that wasn't the reason.)
"Affir–I mean, negative. I didn't see…anything…in there. But…why? I mean, how…?" He spoke haltingly, terribly afraid that he might inadvertently say something to provoke the Autobot leader. (Like pointing out the fact that if they were trying to remain undetected, tearing a corpse apart wasn't exactly subtle.) After what he'd seen, it wasn't hard to imagine Prime tearing his body apart. Even so, he was baffled. How could it have even been functioning? he thought.
"Implants," Prime said, slowly turning his head to look down to the ground. "The Quintessons use implants to program androids, somewhere in their chests. They don't need a full processor."
"It looked…like his processor was…surgically removed."
"That. Is. Affirmative," Prime said tightly. "And…it would have happened while he was fully conscious of everything they did to him."
Starscream's optics flashed briefly.
"I did what I did," Optimus concluded, "so that no one would be able to use that body as an instrument of destruction again." And because I can't save him.
He prayed Starscream wouldn't say anything more. At that moment, he didn't think he could bear the 'Con's lack of sympathy, his inability (or unwillingness) to understand this robot's agony as he was vivisected: sensing his processor severed, cut to pieces, all while knowing he was utterly incapable of saving himself. The Quintessons were cruelly indifferent to suffering, having excised their own capacity for emotion eons ago.
Fortunately for Optimus, Starscream didn't wish to pry into this subject anymore. For one, he found the idea of what had happened to that 'bot horrifying. For another, he knew Prime was close to losing his coolant. Something about what the Quintessons had done had deeply offended the Autobot leader, to the point where he seemed to be…grieving. Stillness had settled over him, as if every ampule of energy had drained away.
But…why would Prime care what had happened to a Decepticon? For that was almost certainly what this 'bot had been at one time. There were practically no servicecraft in the Decepticon ranks, and they were far more numerous than the Autobots, whom they diligently worked to exterminate.
Prime couldn't have mistaken this 'bot for an Autobot, Starscream decided. So why would he be upset? If anything, he should be celebrating! One less enemy to worry about, right?
But maybe Prime was imagining what it had been like to undergo such torture. Didn't Megatron say he was a sentimental fool? No…he acted like a sentimental fool. He wasn't sentimental at all! He just pretended to be, to keep the Autobots from suspecting the truth.
And Starscream had almost bought into it. He clenched his fist in self-reproach, out of Prime's line of sight. Megatron would have been right to call him a fool this cycle!
Prime was a cruel despot, and he'd already admitted he found the Quints fascinating. If anything upset him, it was probably that he hadn't been there to either witness, or take part, in this 'bot's torture. Starscream knew he needed to remember that, lest he fall victim to Prime's predilections himself.