Round three: Starscream versus Scavenger. DING! Fear teh snark.

Warning; chances are good a chunk of this isn't going to make much sense to anyone who hasn't seen 'Conspiracy'(possibly one of the greatest examples of Megs dicking around with Starscream's head yet.)

So, basic rundown; Starscream has the big blue glow stick…sword. Sword. Megatron wants the big blue…sword. Megatron gets Leader-One to fire off a few misleading shots that result in Starscream attacking Demolisher by mistake, under the impression that he's an Autobot. Megs then does a heroic Homer-Simpson-As-A-Bodyguard leap between Demmy and said glow...sword. Whilst this results in saving Demolisher's life, it also results in a wound to Megatron's shoulder and a surprising amount of shock on the quick-to-arrive Decepticons' part. (Surprising, presumably, not because SS almost hurt Demmy, because, well, they're Decepticons, but because Megs would actually intercept a blow for one of his men. Self-sacrifice is generally more Prime's thing.) The unanimous vote (see! Decepticons can be democratic!) is that Screamer should hand the sword over to Megatron. Starscream reluctantly hands it over, after Megatron states that, for the good of the group, he will accept responsibility for the big blue glow sti…sword's ownership. (See Megs. See Megs dicking with Starscream's head. Dick, Megs, dick!) As this is happening, Scavenger sees Leader-One scurry back up Megatron's leg. At the end of the ep, he hands in his resignation. As he leaves, he comments on how quickly Megatron's shoulder wound healed, then laughs and exits. Megatron growls, but doesn't shoot the head from his shoulders, as most would deem to be the appropriate course of action.

Whee…two minute summaries are fun.

Tinker, Tailor, Traitor, Spy

The Autobot base always seemed quieter at night, with good reason; the Earthling germs ('children', he reminded himself, 'children') were diurnal, and deserted the place for their own homes once the sun set.

This meant he was relatively free to prowl the base as he liked.

This is…insane.

It wasn't, technically, his shift. He had no real reason (or, for that matter, right) to be prowling the Autobot base corridors, other than having awakened, shaking slightly, from yet another far-too-enjoyable dream involving clawed hands traveling slowly over his wings and sigil. Besides, he was curious by nature, and had been taken by a sudden desire to find out just how good Autobot internal defense systems really were.

The answer was beginning to worry him.

He rounded another corner, and reflected upon the result. A hundred glowing lasers utterly failed to erupt from every wall. A testy female voice from nowhere did not demand to know what he thought he was doing. The relative peace and quiet remained unbroken by the wail of a thousand alarms. Nothing, in fact, happened at all.

This is completely, hugely insane.

Over the last half hour, he had made brief but enlightening visits to the armory, the training rooms, the med bay, the warp room and had wandered past the personal quarters of nearly every Autobot on base (more than once, in Jetfire's case).

Had this been a Decepticon base, every step he took outside his quarters (krell, every step he took in his quarters for all he knew, he mused darkly, thinking back to Thrust) would have been monitored by surveillance cameras. Had this been a Decepticon base, by now the entire crew would have assembled en masse, every one loaded with big guns and bigger smiles at the thought of vaporizing his insides. Had this been a Decepticon base, by now he would have been killed in more nasty ways than he cared to contemplate.

Well. Maybe not killed. He had, after all, spent years memorizing the strategic layout of most basic Decepticon intruder alarm systems, and was quite good at ducking at the right moment. So probably not killed. But certainly singed, shot at, scratched up and embedded with numerous pointy things.

Give me a gun and a small but useful distraction and I could finish this war in a matter of minutes.

It was a dark, dizzying thought. He tucked it away for later and continued onwards.

The actual point of his quest was not to marvel at the inefficiency of the Autobot military mind, but to acquire himself a nice, sweetened cube of energon. Yet again he had…neglected to attend to the matter of sustenance after the day's battle, and was now becoming increasingly irritated at the realization that he could barely remember where the Autobot energon storage closet was. Jetfire had shown him already, of course, but his attention to detailed directions tended to extend only as far as a hand waved in the general vicinity of where something might, probably, have been at some point in history.

After twenty minutes of restless, questless rambling, he was stalking into the Autobots' main control room.

Strange, he noted as the doors swished shut, normally there was at least one Autobot on duty. Today (tonight, really, although the interior of the base looked exactly the same either way) there was a suspicious absence of anyone.

Although, he amended, another Autobot probably wouldn't have found it suspicious. But he was Starscream, and proud of the fact that he truly believed that everything, from the Minicons to the medic, was out to get him.

With no particular inclination to either train or attempt a return to recharge, he fiddled idly with the monitoring screens. Eventually surmising, without surprise, that the only thing in a position to mount a full-fledged attack on Autobot HQ right now was the small duck busy flying over the mountain.

He was toying with the idea of taking a few shots at it when a deep voice spoke up from the corner of the room.

"And what are you doing?"

The speed of the seeker's reflexes was something to behold. Before the speaker had completed the second syllable, Starscream had leapt twenty feet into the air and latched himself onto the nearest wall.

Acknowledging the seeker's feverishly panicked gaze with a sweep of his hand, Scavenger returned to his previous duty. Which looked suspiciously (or maybe not) to Starscream like contemplating the large energon cube held in one humongous hand.

He was about to voice this opinion when, slowly, the bulldozer spoke up again.

"You planning on coming down from there anytime soon?"

Whilst part of him was busy shrieking with indignation, the rest scanned the room for any other hidden spectators. Finding none, he tuned his conflict circuits out of 'kill first, ask questions later' mode. Slowly, he lowered himself to within an inch of solid ground, although he remained prepared to dart upwards again should the need arise. Scavenger snorted and took another swig.

Panic gone and irritation overridden by curiosity, Starscream studied the mercenary (or whatever he was now) with dislike. He'd loathed him from the moment he'd swaggered into Decepticon HQ, trailing insults and casual insubordination. The hatred had only intensified once Scavenger had proven to be a traitor, and had risen, irrationally, to boiling point once he himself had followed suite.

On the other hand, sour, uncomplicated loathing had driven well away any errant images of his ex-leader's hands, so perhaps the encounter was not a bad thing. Very, very gently, Starscream touched down on the floor.

"Am-azing. He screams, he backstabs and he even processes what people say to him. Will wonders never cease."

The voice hadn't changed. When first he'd heard it, it had been even more drawlingly mocking than even his own normally was.

"Ad-mirable. You wanted to stand up to me, even though your armor's been severed. You seem to have much more courage than even Megatron himself."

That, perhaps, had made him more furious than the rest of the degrading introduction altogether. Slagging Autobot, thought both Decepticon mentality and natural Starscream in disgust.

"Watch your words, tra-...Autobot", he growled, secure in the knowledge that he couldn't hearthe another member of the Primary Colours Squad approaching the room to interrupt.

"Wanna know something?" the front-loader asked, entirely at random. The typical aggression that coated his words had departed, replaced by an air of philosophical curiosity. Optics flicking over to the nearly-empty cube, the seeker found himself wondering how much Scavenger had already imbibed.

Splendid. An evening spent with a drunken mercenary spouting generic nuggets of quasi-wisdom. Will my luck never run dry.

"The reason behind the entire war is simple: People do not have any…damn…perspective. Care to get drunk?"

…rewind that moment, please?

"What?"

"Do you, Starscream, current resident of Autobot HQ, Earth, Leader of the Decepticon Aerial Attack Force, care to get drunk?"

…okay. New thing.

"No."

"Aw, c'mon."

"Get lost."

The mercenary turned and gave him a weird, wavering smile that didn't quite fit. Starscream fidgeted. He hadn't known Scavenger was capable of smiling like that.

"Y'know when the last time I socialized was? Ninety-two vorns ago."

Momentarily unable to think up a reply, Starscream watched as another toxic swig made its way down his throat.

"In fact", he continued, wiping the residue from his mouth, "last time I did anything with anybody else that didn't include fighting, training or following orders was…let's see…fifty thousand Earth years ago. How's that for depressing?"

And now we're clear out of the generic nuggets range and into the land of unnervingly strange. Hmm.

"Primus, will you take that look off your face?"

What?

"What look, trai-...Autobot?"

"And don't call me that, either. The look that suggests that I'm hiding an artillery ship behind my back. It's annoying me."

Starscream glowered. Scavenger swiveled the centre point of one optic around to peer at him.

"Oh. I get it."

The spy's quiet, bass chuckle was really beginning to test Starscream's patience. Scavenger continued, oblivious to the rising pillar of fury. "Y'know, he brought me in as an added boost. Not a last resort. Definitely not a replacement."

"I do not require the opinion of Autobot traitors, nor do I have any idea of what you're talking about", replied Starscream, his voice waspish and spiteful.

"You weren't much to look at, alright? I have a…tendency to judge on first impressions."

The seeker responded with a high-pitched, superbly disdainful clicking noise. Scavenger ignored him.

"And I meant it, by the way. What I said."

Abruptly, the whirling gears behind the indignant expression changed course. "I don't care what you said, mercenary", Starscream replied, quietly.

"Y'know the mercenary bit fell by the wayside 'bout three thousand years ago. I've been working exclusively for Prime since then."

"Anymore than I care about your credentials, mercenary", the seeker snapped, teeth baring.

Scavenger fell silent. He looked oddly out of place in the brightly-lit control room. Design and colour both suggested that he would be better suited to guerilla warfare on Cybertron, or one of the many minor outposts where turf wars were still being fought. Not here, in this freshly-repaired base, on this odd planet where both sides had developed one of the oddest types of warfare Starscream had ever experienced (he had privately dubbed it 'Battle Plan Sit, Wait and Watch The Monitor'.)

To his surprise, Starscream found himself muttering, "Besides, what would you know about our courage? You're not a Decepticon."

Scavenger's wry chuckle put him in mind of gravel running through faltering engines.

"Don't be stupid. Sure I was."

The chuckle became more pronounced at the look on the seeker's face. "What, you thought I was a neutral? Gimme a break."

Flabbergasted, Starscream could do little beyond gape. "But you…you're…"

"Thought you were the first, I guess."

"I…No, but…"

"I was sparked a Decepticon. I got bored. I met Prime. I went neutral. Did the merc thing for the next few million years. Then Prime needed help, and I owed him favor, so I went undercover. And here we are. The end."

"…Why?"

Scavenger looked thoughtful, before giving the sort of shrug that requires shoulders succeeding your own head. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Starscream was unable to keep the disgust from his face. Scavenger glanced his way, and gave a thoughtful 'hmm'. Draining the cube, he frowned contemplatively into the middle distance.

"Hmm. So", he mused, cupping his chin. "We've ruled out the jealousy angle, I seriously doubt you've held a grudge over one puny little insult, it can't be the he's-a-traitor angle, so…gee, I'm stumped. What is your problem with me?"

Regaining his balance, the seeker spat, "Take a guess", as savagely as he could.

"Oh. Oh. You hypocritical little creep."

"You-...It's not the same!"

Scavenger smiled smugly. "Maybe not."

In a slightly calmer voice, the seeker continued, "He betrayed me. Not the other way around."

What Starscream didn't say-judging by Scavenger's face, he didn't need to-was, "You just deserted, you coward! He welcomed you with open arms! Gave you respect without condition! You had no right!"

"Primus. All the reasons I could give you to hate me, you don't even pick the most obvious one."

Stinking, miserly…wait, what was that?

"S'pose I should probably tell ya. Autobot honesty's starting to rub off on me," he said with a self-deprecating little snigger. The energon cube-at last empty- was flung grandly to the side. Both mammoth arms swung up to link fingers behind his neck in a stretch, before his head fell back with a satisfied grunt.

Thoroughly annoyed with the whole business, Starscream was unable to suppress the curiosity that was fundamental to his nature. He frowned, tentatively moving from the wall to step closer. When no reaction came from the mercenary, he moved closer still, until he stood a cautious twenty meters from his chair. When still no reaction came, he said;

"Well?"

A snore was offered in response, and Starscream found himselfcontemplating summoning the Air Defense Team and settling matters here and now. Plans of imminent slaughter were cut short by the opening of a single white-gold optic.

And Jetfire thinks mine are creepy? he thought with a suppressed shiver.

"Well what? Oh. That. Right",Scavenger added as the seeker gave a low growl. "You sure you want to know?"

He persuaded the exile to sit down. Although maybe 'persuaded' was too strong a word, considering the amount of offering, hinting, cajoling and mocking that had been involved, until the seeker had given up on composure and perched himself upon the nearest computer module. It was a position, Scavenger noted, that still allowed him to be seated higher than the mercenary.

Hmm. God-complex, anyone?

"Okay, let's get it over with. Star Saber. The kid lost it, you got your greasy little mits on it, Megatron took it from you."

The seeker nodded, the cheerful nostalgia that had alighted on his face fading into a black scowl the moments his ex-employer's name was brought up. He had been sorely aggravated at losing the sword. Apart from elevating him from a danger on the battlefield to walking death incarnate, wielding it effectively had, in his opinion, offered up proof to Megatron of his worth as something more than a common grunt.

Besides, he was a possessive being, and he rather liked Runway. Whether they were happy with it or not, the Air Defence Team were under his protection, and, therefore, were his.

"Right. You remember how he took it from you, do ya?"

The other frowned, and said, "Of course." After a pause, he added, "There was a…mutual agreement that it would be better off in his hands."

"Yep. Right. You remember why that was?"

The seeker glared again-You were there, you know exactly why- and said, "Yes. I was found guilty of misconduct. I inadvertently attacked Demolisher."

"Yep. Right. You remember why that was?"

"You know the answers to these questions, mercenary. Why are you asking me?"

Scavenger hummed a tune and tilted his head back again, until Starscream huffed and grated, "It was foggy."

Very, very foggy. Zero visibility foggy.

"I heard shots fired near me."

And if he ever found out just which Autobot those shots had come from…

"They seemed to be coming from Demolisher's direction. My scanners were unable to identify him in time."

That, and the fact that he had been too eager to present Megatron with a freshly severed Autobot head to take the time to actually bother identifying the target…

"I went to attack him. Then…Megatron got in the way."

There was no way-simply no way-to describe the horror that had filled Starscream's universe, standing there, clutching the Saber in both hands and staring at the shower of sparks as they flew from Megatron's shoulder. He couldn't see most of the warlord's face, but he'd been more than able to imagine the expression.

"Yep. Right", said Scavenger, in an oddly awkward voice. Starscream stared stoically ahead. "Just out of interest…you ever wonder where those shots came from?"

The words shook the seeker from reverie, and he glanced at the mercenary in confusion. Then his optics flared.

Scavenger ducked just in time.

"Primus, will you get a grip? I didn't say it was me!"

"Oh", said Starscream, and replaced his sword with just a touch of embarrassment.

"Kids these days…", muttered the mercenary, reclaiming his seat.

"…But you do know who fired them?" questioned Starscream once the mercenary had finished grumbling, trying not to sound too eager. He'd spent many a recharge cycle dreaming up new, interesting ways of gutting whomever it had been that had, in one stroke, robbed him of both the sword and a good portion of Megatron's respect.

"Er…yep…"

"Who?"

Scavenger told him. Later, Starscream would decide that he really shouldn't have been so surprised.

"You knew. You knew all the time. And you didn't… tell me."

Scavenger had been alive for many years and had long since learned to judge a mech's voice. He was ready for it.

Fifteen minutes later, Scavenger picked himself up from the floor. He looked in disapproval at the two-meter-long cuts that had been hacked into his chair. He shook his head at the blade that was still embedded in the nearest monitoring scene.

"I'll tell you, I'm not looking forward to explaining that one to Optimus", he called after the seeker as he stormed out of the doors.

Almost as much, he thought, as Starscream would not be looking forward to explaining his newly ripped-off arm and dented wing to Jetfire. All in all, the mercenary decided, that could have gone worse. He wasn't sure why he'd bothered, but the claw marks up his arms and across his face were worth watching the Second In Command of the Decepticon Army throw the biggest temper tantrum he had ever seen.

"Kids these days…", he muttered again, and pulled another energon cube from subspace. Settling back in his disfigured chair, he winced and reached down to yank a sliver of blade from his leg.