He never spoke with any of them on it. Scalpel would have liked to hear it all, but he was at the end of the potential list to tell the truth to if such a thing was tempting at all.
This Strika was very similar to the one he had known. This one was far more suspicious of him for the first stellar cycles. She wished to know of his origin. He did not say. She was suspicious of his loyalties. He reassured her that they lay with Megatron. They did, in part. They lay in the future Megatron's existence offered him.
Then there were differences between his original and this one unrelated to him and his presence here. This Strika liked to strike up conversations with her consort, who was, in his opinion, quite dense. Not dislikable, but Cyclonus had no time for his energy and limitless praises bestowed on Megatron (Vorns later, when Lugnut volunteered among a few others to join Megatron on a voyage to look for the allspark, Strika moved to talking with him loudly over a screen. Cyclonus avoided the hall that would pass by her room. He had no interest in overhearing such intimacy unguarded).
If there was anything that seemed to win Strika over, it was his battle style and blades. The Bleedback had retained their capabilities even after travelling through unspace to this universe. How that worked and how they recognized this alternate Unicron- wherever he was floating- as its power source, Cyclonus could not say. As for his style, Strika was quite approving. It was similar to the techniques of her idol, after all. A bit more unconstrained, she said at one point and offered to teach him the constraint that such a technique needed in her optics. She had no reason to know that the wild flair came from Galvatron's take on his predecessor's battle knowledge. He accepted her offer, if just because he did not wish to give her a reason to question him in that regard.
As for the others- well, they seemed the same as those he'd worked with before. Oil Slick was the only addition he had not previously worked alongside and Cyclonus despised him. It likely went noticed. Scalpel poked him over it. Scalpel prodded over anything, however. An undisguised distaste for their chemical weaponist was nothing unique. Oil Slick himself had already been warned by Cyclonus that he would die. The when and how and by whom were left unsaid and unknown and the other had laughed at him for it even as he was in the precarious position of Cyclonus's grip. Whether or not he would ever follow through on the threat was uncertain. It likely would not occur. Not until Galvatron rose again and did the task himself. Still, Cyclonus found that he had been pleased to feel the revolting mech squirm.
At first, he had only seen Strika and Scalpel. The latter asked far too many questions. The swords intrigued him. The strange mech that fell from the sky intrigued him. Cyclonus did not care how badly he intrigued him; he had no plans to tell Scalpel anything. This one was more insufferable than the one of his universe. He fed off of Oil Slick and vice versa. They were an irritating duo.
When Strika had finally decided he wasn't some sort of spy sent to bother Lord Megatron's Glorious Plan, she'd offered him new quarters. Real quarters (the lab could not qualify as one). Cyclonus had not accepted the offer until Oil Slick's visits to the laboratory's owner became insufferably common.
At the point in which he'd left the medberth behind for good, Cyclonus had adjusted to a simple fact: he was alive here now. He could love or hate it as much as he so wished, but there was no unspace device ready to send him elsewhere. One cycle, he thought he could hear his thoughts in Galvatron's voice telling him to make a status here. Secure a position among a decepticon team and await the time in which the familiarity of Galvatron could arise again. Secure it, for he was going nowhere else. This place he had entered had no exit.
That same voice sometimes argued internally, pushing the idea that any Galvatron that rose here would not be the familiar one. Cyclonus's thoughts- whatever voice they seemed heard with, they were still his- ignored that for now.
So through time and alleviated suspicions on Strika's part, he was given entrance to Team Chaar. Their own token mystery bot: a stranger who refused to speak of just why he had dropped from a space rupture onto New Kaon. Blackout sometimes forgot this fact and asked him who he was. Cyclonus determined that Blackout was an idiot. Then again, he was on the team for his size and strength. Strika was the only brain he needed. It was a status shared with Spittor and, to a degree, Blot. The rest were no idiots. Mindwipe was borderline psychotic in his own delusions, but quite capable of strategy and well educated. He also was rarely amongst them. Cyclonus took his spot easily while the supposed hypnotist was off on his own. He may not devote much time to talking about himself, but he still found himself accepted enough. It was very strange for an unknown to jump all ranks and land a position in Team Chaar. The fact that this before-unheard-of mech had done so kept him respected by any outsiders who otherwise would have picked fights in their stores or the streets of New Kaon. It was almost amusing how often fights got picked here. Galvatron would have liked the place.
Stellar cycles moved too fast. There was training. There were battles. He fit in well with Team Chaar. They were not known for exemplary teamwork to start with. Strika understood the chain of command from her position atop it, but the rest seemed to work independently. He was independent on a battlefield as well. With Galvatron, he had found a balance of teamwork. Not here. Not with them. So he worked on his own and, at the end, looked over a thoroughly defeated battlefield. That was Team Chaar's version of teamwork. None complained about it. Yes, if he were to leave one on their own to die injured as he once had left a different version of Blot, they'd disapprove. Even if their plans weren't micromanaged by their commanding officer, they were expected to look out for each other.
It wasn't that the members liked each other. And yet, to one measure, they did. Their newest member had not yet found a way to fit into that measure.
It was just one more way that he stuck out from them. Perhaps in time...But perhaps never. He was an alien. A member of a different universe. On one, rare occasion, the starkness of that reality had brought another mech to mind. He'd asked Scalpel to confirm that this mech's planet existed in this universe and found some solace in learning it did. The Tailgate that Skywarp had known had a gap in time wherein vorns had passed without his presence. To Cyclonus, this entire dimension was a gap. He'd not been present for any of its passing time. It mirrored his own to a degree that he had not been caught off guard by any of its history, but it was not his. It was not his.
But he would need to adjust to it. One so rigid in a solar wind broke apart; only the flexible remained. Knowing that hardly made it easier. Cyclonus couldn't muster enthusiasm here. Couldn't seek out companionship or laughter. He could not remain rigid to adjusting at all, but he would not muster excitement over living here.
By the first vorn, Scalpel had almost seemed to lose interest in him. If apathy had gained him anything, it was that. The scientist could go shift his interests elsewhere. Cyclonus had never been prepared to humor them.
