Starscream threw himself into the chaos of battle, paying no attention to the laser storm that the Omega Sentinel had filled the sky with.
The heavy fire had already shot most of his squadron down. He ignored the cries around him to fall back, the deafening discharge of artillery, the Sentinel's slow and ponderous steps across the pitted land, his own flight systems shrieking under the strain of his current speed.
The Omega Sentinel activated its quasar weapons, sweeping deadly beams and sending the Decepticons careening out of the way. A couple pierced Starscream's wing; he bit back a snarl of pain but pressed on. Just another cycle more before—
The roaring discharge of plasma energy arched through the sky, impacting against the Omega Sentinel straight in the chest. It staggered and tried to right itself, but another blast from the plasma cannon equipped at the Beta System base sent it crashing to the ground amidst a massive cloud of dust and smoke.
Starscream dove into the cloud, intent on finishing off his crippled prey. The Sentinel had transformed back into ship mode. He let fly a series of missiles, decimating the bridge where the Autobots guiding the Omega Sentinel must have been stationed. He landed inside the Sentinel and immediately narrowed in his vision on the group of Autobots that emerged from the smoking wreckage of the bridge, their weapons online and aimed at the Seeker.
They would not reach him. Starscream would blast any mech in his path. He would relish in the horror in their optics as he shredded their plating with his claws. The energon coating his servos would no longer disgust him. He would revel in the warm liquid as he tore through chestplates and crushed sparks in his grasp.
Each Autobot he offlined was a step closer to ending the war. He cared nothing for how many that number would be. If he had to fill the streets of every city state with their energon and pile the Sonic Canyons with their broken frames, it still wouldn't be enough for…
For what happened to Vos. To his home, to Thundercracker, to Skywarp.
Starscream blasted two Autobots away with his null-rays, and impaled a third on his claws. Keep moving. Aim for their weapons first and keep shooting. Lose himself in the thrill of battle, so he wouldn't think back to the unseen messages to his trinemates, the sight of Vos suddenly in flames, the way Thundercracker had clutched at him as Skywarp bled out from under that metal slab, the explosion that had engulfed the two.
A quick scan showed a source of energy radiating down below, and Starscream blasted a hole in the floor and jumped through. It didn't take long to find his target: a cylindrical sliding door with an emblazoned Autobot insignia and a strong energy signal pulsing from behind. With a forceful yank, the door yielded to reveal a living, pulsing spark, swirling with blue and white tendrils of crackling energy.
Starscream fired his null-rays at the spark, which flared bright as a supernova and winked out of existence. The ship shuddered around him, walls turning gray as the hum of engines faded away.
What did it take to mass-produce these mass weapons of destruction out of living Cybertronians? Was there anything the Autobots wouldn't do to seize complete victory? The irony of this thought wasn't lost on him. Of course there wasn't. And neither did he have anything left to hold back against them.
The battle-frenzy seeped from Starscream's processor as he went back outside, leaving his frame heavy and slow. When Skystalker confronted him back at base with a scowl on his faceplates, he waved the other away dismissively.
"You are not continuing with this behavior, Starscream," Skystalker snapped, "We asked all squadrons to fall back after the plasma cannon was ready. Instead you charge right in, with little regard for the mechs under you and for yourself!"
"The Sentinel was destroyed. Get off my case."
"At what cost?! You lost eight fliers! If you'd just gone with the original plan—"
"I said, get off my case, Skystalker."
Starscream didn't raise his voice, but the other flinched and visibly struggled to press his case further.
"Supervise the wounded and fortify the base in the next megacycle," The Seeker ordered, "I'll take the next watch."
Skystalker grimaced, "Will that stop you from throwing yourself again at the Autobots with no regard to strategy? We don't have the resources to extract you if they overwhelm you."
"Let them try."
Starscream's processor was already cycling with agitation, as it always did now when he was out of battle. He busied himself in inspecting the plasma cannon and their weapons stores. When the Seeker had exhausted the rest of available tasks, he situated himself on a high ledge outside the base, his optics scanning the skies for potential attackers. Starscream could only manage a couple of sweeps before he succumbed to opening his communications feed again.
Hundreds of unseen and unreplied messages to Thundercracker and Skywarp, the last response coinciding with the last time he saw them. Starscream had to stop himself from sending another one. Was there anything more he could say that hadn't been composed in the past six orbital cycles of restless anguish and frustration?
He looked outward towards the former battlefield, still glowing softly from various starship wrecks with the downed Sentinel looming over it all. Starscream wanted nothing more than to fire up his thrusters and fly all the way back to Cybertron. He would head for Vos, where the city-state would be whole and gleaming like it always did, Skywarp leaping forward in over-eager excitement and Thundercracker with his perpetually-exasperated admonishment.
He refused to believe they were offline, but not knowing anything else about their fate and Vos' current situation seemed to grow more unbearable by the solar cycle. After he returned to Kaon with Megatron, Starscream had demanded immediate backup offered to Vos. The Autobots allowed no such luxury. Their renewed attacks on Decepticon-controlled colonies forced Starscream to travel offworld and aid in defenses. There was nothing he could but to wait and resent his helplessness. Back then he could do nothing but watch Vos disappear in a sea of fire. He could do nothing but watch his former trinemates be engulfed in a massive explosion. And now he still couldn't do anything, kept here by the Autobots when he should be—
The Seeker dug his claws into the ledge. He whipped his vision back to the landscape, scanning again and straining to see something, anything against the horizon. The Autobots would be back again. Starscream would welcome the attack. If he couldn't blast his way back to Vos, then he would strike down as many of them as he could, if this was all that he was allowed.
A ping in his systems jolted him to attention. Another new message, right on time and here to throw Starscream's thoughts into a direction he refused to go.
I just received Skystalker's battle report. You will not be able to return to Vos if you continue to fight so recklessly.
He's exaggerating as usual. Don't assume so quickly.
I have the right to assume when my second-in-command is diving into battle and endangering himself and his own squad.
One Sentinel is gone. The results speak for themselves.
I… Megatron paused, You haven't spoken a word about the attack since it happened.
He squeezed at the metal beneath him until it shrieked, What do you expect me to say? I will see to the war's end above all else.
You will see your own end instead if you keep this up. I need you in top condition, Starscream. I… You know I would have spared no resources in aiding Vos if the Autobots allowed it. If it helps, Shockwave has expanded his intelligence network to monitor the city-state—
Starscream shuttered his optics, his spark suddenly contracting inside its chamber. Megatron was back to choosing his words carefully, but there was a new air of genuine concern that bled through more often than not.
The Seeker thought back to their journey to Vos, when his greatest worry had been going back to a home he was exiled from and dealing with his frustratingly inscrutable leader. A leader who looked at Starscream with increasing awe and longing that gave everyone else the impression they were closer than was normal, who held him when he was half-mad with grief and desperation after they fled from Vos. Starscream retrieved the memory of Megatron's sturdy frame against his, his large servos pressed firmly on his plating as if he wanted to shield him from further distress, from tearing himself apart against an enemy that he could never exact equal revenge on.
He bit back a choked cry and tried to force the ache in his spark away. But Starscream knew it would still be there the next time he was in battle, where no amount of energon he shed could make a difference.
"Lord Megatron, a word."
The request cut through the silence of the command center. Megatron snapped his helm up from where he was surveying a map of Decepticon-controlled colonies to see Strika emerging from the shadows. Despite her large frame, she was surprisingly light on her pedes.
"What is it?" He asked.
"You need to stop keeping Commander Starscream out of the front lines."
"He's stationed at Beta IV, which is currently besieged with an Omega Sentinel in the mix," Megatron grimaced as he prepared himself for the inevitable confrontation, "Unless your definition of a front line is more extreme than mine."
Strika sighed in exasperation, "Your attempts to have him moved to the outer colonies did not go unnoticed."
The warlord fixed his gaze on the glowing green lines of their current supply routes, trying not to let anything show on his faceplates.
"The Wreckers are gaining more ground by the solar cycle. We can't hope for the support we wanted from Vos. I thought you knew better than this, Megatron."
"Is this about the Decepticon Heavy Brigade or something else?" He scowled, "Do not circle around the topic."
"You can't afford to play favorites with your officers." Strika's optics were unwavering.
Megatron bit back the urge to argue back. The General of Destruction spent most of her solar cycles trying to force strategic processing into her subordinates while in battle. She never read the reports. She didn't have to watch another mech slowly destroy himself because it was the only way he could grieve.
"Your point is meaningless. I know of Starscream's value. I am clearly aware that his defense of Beta IV stands the strongest against the Autobots. Until they give up, he shall stay at his post."
Strika sat down on a nearby seat, her hulking frame sagging with the force of her sigh, "I'm not trying to find fault with your command. Can't imagine anyone else who can hold the Decepticons together like you do. Keeping discipline among the majority of mechs we got joining the faction has been difficult enough as is, and that's even after the mess that is—you know the rest."
"I don't appreciate the comparison." Megatron said.
"You didn't have to make it personal. Megazarak's influence died completely the solar cycle you beat him into the ground."
"Then all the reason to not speak of him."
"... You are uncommonly preoccupied in making sure of that. If I didn't know better, I would say you were less interested in the Decepticon cause than in enacting some sort of revenge scheme."
Megatron stiffened, "Are you implying that I lack the ideals to lead?"
"You said that, not me."
The wave of indignation that rose in him was sudden and vicious. Megatron ground his dentas so tightly that they creaked. If it were up to him alone, he would have never seen Megazarak again in this lifetime. But he had decided to do it regardless, to shove down his fear and make his way back even though it was the last thing he wanted.
Are you going to hide from him forever? That's no way to live. You have to think bigger than that, Megatron.
A probing question asked on an unusually clear night in Kaon, where the smog had parted to show a clear patch of indigo sky blazing with distant stars. He could remember the ache in his joints from swinging his pickax all solar cycle in the mines and the grime that covered most of his plating. Though they were alone on the roof, he could still hear the muted activities of the inhabitants below them. A burst of loud laughter, a holovid playing a tad too loudly and the hum of machinery. Terminus was likely to come searching for them in any cycle now. Their shared hab suite had become cramped with the three of them. Yet he still looked forward to returning, to go back to reading the latest datapad of the pre-Golden Age legends with his companion as Terminus worked on fine-tuning their mining equipment.
Megazarak had to be removed. It was his duty, for the sake of every mech who suffered under his leadership, and for the sake of all warframes on Cybertron. Megazarak would have destroyed what little chance of negotiation they had with the Autobots. Megazarak would have remained the shadow he saw in every dark corner, the icy chill that gripped his spark, until the solar cycle he stood over his defeated predecessor, his systems sputtering, his swords notched, as the roar of cheering Decepticons filled his audio receptors.
"Choose your next words carefully, Strika." Megatron said, "Do not suggest that I acted out of self-interest. I staked everything on the duel. I am prepared to do whatever it takes to lead us into victory and force the Autobots out of power."
"Megazarak's ego would have been his greatest downfall, if he had been sound of mind."
"What are you getting at?"
Strika regarded him with a sharp look, "No one is without fault, Lord Megatron. Yours lie dangerously close to your habit of bringing in your personal sentiments into business. The whole AllSpark affair might have ended differently. We may have seen new warbuilds join the faction this orbital cycle. But now every soldier we lose puts us at further disadvantage. And if we lose the war, we face extinction. The survival of warbuilds depends on how this war ends."
Megatron's indignation faded away almost completely. He couldn't find the words to counter Strika, not when his spark seized inside its chamber. If he hadn't been so desperate back then. If he had led a mission to retrieve the AllSpark in secret instead, if only he knew the Autobots would—
His servos were shaking as he clutched the table in front of him, "I am not him. I know what's at stake."
"Then get your processor out of your tailpipe," Strika stood, "I don't care who you invite to your berth, but this thing with Starscream is spiraling out of control. I refuse to see the solar cycle when I'm disappointed by another Decepticon leader."
"Or what? What is the alternative?" His voice was beginning to rise.
"Condition Delta."
The silence that followed was tense. Strika did not falter as she held Megatron's optics, her gaze critical.
"That will not be necessary." The warlord said quietly, "Do not overstep yourself, Strika."
"I hope it isn't. I will not find satisfaction in executing the Condition, but don't think yourself above its reproach. You are not—No, that's not quite accurate. I'm not sure why I didn't see it sooner."
Strika's tendency to skirt around her point was becoming tiresome, but he knew what she was going to say, the exact words that she would use. Megatron began switching off the map display, digits jabbing at the buttons perhaps a little too forcefully. Even if he left before she could voice them, he knew that the words would burrow themselves deep into his processor for the rest of the solar cycle.
"You knew him well, did you?"
Megatron snapped his helm up, his dread dissipating in his surprise, "Come again?"
"Megazarak may be gone, but I see him more often than not these solar cycles," Strika turned away, "For a mech you reviled so much, you share many of his qualities."
Then she was gone, her heavy tread fading away with each step. Megatron stared into the shadows of the darkened command center in a stupor. The hammering of his spark created a roar in his audio receptors, and he had to clutch the edge of the console to prevent himself from going after Strika, to argue that she had misjudged him severely, that she knew little about either of them to make an accurate comparison.
Even though Strika was one of the oldest Decepticons, who had been there from the beginning and seen every stage of Megazarak's descent into madness. There was no one else in the position to make such a judgement.
The console suddenly lit up with an incoming communications request. Megatron slapped the device back online. The image of Scrash, his air general stationed on Floron III, flashed into view.
"Scrash to Lord Megatron, please respond. I have Priority 1 intel. AllSpark detected in the vicinity of Floron III's asteroid field. I repeat, AllSpark detected in the vicinity of Floron III's asteroid field. Autobot forces are in the airspace. I recommend deploying space fleet for immediate retrieval—"
The warlord had to replay the message in his processor for the meaning to sink in.
"General Scrash, send a visual now along with coordinates." Megatron's servos were trembling again as he activated the map.
"Autobot presence is too heavy to attempt a collection of further details. Deploy space fleet for immediate retrieval—"
The base soon sprang into frenzied activity as Scrash's message was broadcasted. When Megatron took a peek outside right after calling an emergency meeting, Decepticons were filling the hallways with restless energy and excited chatter.
"The AllSpark found…?!"
"That's almost too easy. It's within reach all this time…?"
"—gotta head out now—"
"Is the war gonna end now—"
"—can do it before the Autobots…"
"Lord Megatron," Shockwave emerged from a corridor and stepped into the command center, "I've already checked the validity of Scrash's transmission. He is using the triple encrypted channel that you created. This is news of the most confidential kind."
"The Autobots certainly haven't cracked that one yet." Megatron stated.
"That is correct, sir. Now to decide what to do—"
Skystalker ambled into the room with restless energy, followed by a grim Strika. Trypticon was currently defended by the four of them. Megatron admitted that they could have sent at least two of them to the colonies, but if the Decepticon main base was taken by the Autobots at any point in the war, they had little chance of victory. The rest of his absent generals soon joined the meeting through hologram. Starscream was displayed between Straxus and Hook, posture slouched and expression blank.
Megatron tried not to allow his optics to linger on his second-in-command as he launched straight into the matter at hand, about what they should be doing in response to Scrash's intel. However, Strika's words crept back to his processor. This thing with Starscream was spiraling out of control.
It wasn't as simple as that. Starscream was losing himself by the solar cycle. Even if Megatron could have him back in Kaon, he wasn't sure he could reach the Seeker he had known before they had left for Vos. Starscream had lost something much more fundamental than his hometown and his trinemates.
Megatron's spark twisted. His words faltered, and Shockwave had to bring him back to attention with a light tap on his shoulder.
"Lord Megatron, the past is behind us," Strika folded her arms, optics solemn, "Now that we have a chance to retrieve the AllSpark—"
"Are you certain this isn't a trap?" Straxus interrupted.
"Scrash used a secure channel." Shockwave pointed out.
"Yeah, but what if the Autobots cracked our codes—"
"Do not suggest that Lord Megatron's encryption scheme is inadequate!" Shockwave's antennas waggled in agitation, "Or that my intelligence work is for naught! We change our codes once every megacycle."
"Settle down. We need to decide how we're acting on this information." Megatron raised his voice as the generals began to argue. Starscream remained silent, but his expression became more taut by the nanoklick.
Autobot presence was heavy in Scrash's region, which meant a covert operation was risky, especially if the team had to extract the AllSpark and contend with their enemies at the same time. They could request Scrash to support them and create a diversion, but for some reason the air general couldn't be reached again. In any case, it was still risky, since Scrash had Autobot ground forces to defend against. If they rallied the space fleets from Antilla and Vehicon, as well as Cybertron and went for a full on assault, they were likely to retrieve the AllSpark in the chaos and overwhelm the Autobots at the same time—
"We shouldn't retrieve it." Starscream said.
The room fell silent. Megatron turned to meet the Seeker full-on. Starscream's expression was still unreadable.
"This is not a matter for debate." The warlord returned.
"It is when we have this little information. The Autobots know we were desperate enough to bomb Cybertron for the AllSpark. If they could set a trap using false intel, or even the AllSpark itself, they would."
The other generals stirred restlessly. Strika folded her arms. Straxus nodded in agreement, while Shockwave and Skystalker seemed to lapse into deep pondering. Megatron tried to look at his second-in-command with a steady gaze, but his processor was firing off disarrayed fragmented thoughts.
"Why… you're not suggesting... " The warlord tried to counter.
"The AllSpark should stay untouched for the rest of the war," Starscream pushed on, "The Autobots would rather eject the artifact than to have it fall into our servos. If we choose to leave it be, then no one would be misusing it with potentially disastrous consequences."
Megatron waited for the other generals to counter Starscream. No one did. Not even Skystalker, who had been one of the strongest supporters of the original plan, said a word. The meeting participants all looked away or downwards as the silence stretched on.
He snapped his attention back to Starscream and his bewildering opposition. Why? Why was the Seeker speaking up like this, after being dismissive, indifferent and reckless for orbital cycles? His demeanor certainly seemed to return as it was before, his faceplates furrowed in that manner when he was trying his best to win an argument. Starscream had been disapproving of the AllSpark retrieval plan back then. Was this related to that? The other had said the artifact was unpredictable and dangerous, but had gone on to plan the city-state bombing regardless. Last time was unsuccessful. Megatron heard Ultra Magnus' broadcast. His control had snapped, and then he—
Megatron gritted his dentas, "What then, Starscream? According to your logic that the Autobots would stoop to anything, what's to stop them from weaponizing the AllSpark against us?! We need to secure it."
"Then how are you planning to use it? I said that it's too dangerous for any Cybertronian to harness. We can't deal with the consequences, Megatron. Even if we simply kept it around, that would undoubtedly increase Autobot attacks on—"
"Removing it from Autobot airspace should be our mission objective," Megatron cut him off. He couldn't stop himself as his fragmented thoughts became a rush of words, "If I wanted your opinion and paranoia, I would have asked for it. I should be leaving right now instead of debating this matter with you. We've gone over this before, Starscream. The AllSpark is instrumental in winning the war. I lost it once, and now I will not lose it again!"
Starscream laughed humorlessly, "Then perhaps obtaining the artifact is better for you than not."
A roar filled Megatron's audios. Suddenly he was back in that moment, where rage had consumed any semblance of rational thought, where that acute mix of longing, desire, and frustration brewing for stellar cycles had pushed him over the brink. Stellar cycles of self control, gone in an instant. Starscream's neck in his servos, the protoform soft and so so fragile, which he could have snapped in the next nanoklick—
Megatron's tanks roiled. He had to bite his glossa to fight the urge to purge. Better for him than not to obtain the AllSpark? How did it come to this? This whole thing was never about the AllSpark at all. But what else was there?! It was the only course of action left. What else could he do? Watch Starscream continue to destroy himself bit by bit while he stood aside helplessly? Drag out the war for a thousand more stellar cycles? Doom all warbuilds to extinction?
Skystalker ventured a timid question, "So we're gonna deploy the space fleet—?"
"We are," Megatron said, "Notify our forces and get ready to deploy within the megacycle."
"This is a mistake." Starscream countered again, his optics flaring.
"Then what is your solution?! How will you end this war?!" The warlord rounded on him, "Vos was only the beginning. The loss of your trinesmates is nothing compared to what would happen if the Autobots win."
Those words were out before Megatron could reign them in. His spark sank as soon as he uttered them.
Starscream's faceplates twisted, "You think my judgement is impaired by grief."
Megatron tried to stop himself. But that unfounded frustration forced him to continue, even as his spark cried out in protest.
"Your irrational opposition is getting ridiculous. We've been locked in a stalemate for thousands of stellar cycles. Why do you continue to oppose me on this matter? Do you enjoy living like this?
"Don't you dare suggest—!"
"Then be silent!" His voice rose to a near shout, "Second-in-command or not, you have no authority to counteract my orders."
All defiance suddenly seemed to disappear from the Seeker. Starscream averted his gaze, but his wings trembled minutely. The other officers suddenly found the center console a lot more interesting than the discussion. Strika brought their attention back by launching into her strategic plans for the operation. The distracted atmosphere didn't subside.
Starscream's expression had settled into blankness, with no trace of anger or frustration. Megatron was unable to read his faceplates at all. Even though they've argued in the past, it had never been like this before. But of course, there was nothing normal about the exchange, not with him lashing out against the very mech he wanted nothing more than to comfort. Not with the way his every thought caught in his vocalizer, his every spoken word indignant and bitter and doing nothing to help. Everything was slipping away from his control, from his inability to do more for Starscream after the destruction of Vos, his management of the war, to his tumultuous emotions that seemed to master him faster than he could understand them.
Scrash looked up, his gaze fixed at the small window that showed a patch of the blue-green hued sky of Floron III. An unfamiliar ceiling. The hum of servo restraints. The silence that weighed upon his audio receptors, oppressive and isolated compared to the chaos orbital cycles ago. The things he would give in exchange to be exhausted by his ceaseless defense of his colony and to be surrounded by his subordinates again.
Approaching pedesteps stopped before his cell. The force field flickered off and two mechs came in. Scratch was too exhausted to fight them by now as they hauled his frame up and dragged him out into the hallway. He'd given away no information during the interrogations, even as electricity tore through his circuits until his vocalizer shorted out from screaming. He couldn't turn off his pain receptors to lessen the pain; the Autobots had disabled his neural network.
It would take more than that to break him. This wasn't the first time he was at the mercy of the Autobots. Before the war, as the Autobots cracked down on all high profile Cybertronian Defense Forces officers, he passed along information and warnings. A shadow who wanted no credit or recognition, who would've offlined that solar cycle under interrogation until Megatron attacked the Autobot base and liberated all imprisoned warframes. How eager he had to join Megatron back then, how content he had been to finally bring his fight against the Autobots out in the open.
His luck had run out this time. Scrash knew his solar cycles were likely numbered.
"Do your worst," He spat as the two Autobot guards strapped him into the interrogation slab, "Let's see how much you can get outta me this time."
A square uptight figure entered the room. Highbrow only reached Scrash's chestplates, but for some reason his stature seemed to tower everything else. He regarded the air general with a dismissive air.
"I do believe we'll make much progress today. I cannot be held up here any longer."
Scrash snorted, "Keep telling yourself that. Go eat slag, you fragging scrapheap. I'm not gonna give you anything."
"Ah, we do not need your permission to get what we want, Decepticon. It will be quick today." Highbrow said.
For some reason that declaration brought a surge of unease in Scrash. He shifted in his bonds, trying not to let his anxiety show on his faceplates. What were they after then? Direct processor hacking? The Autobots had already tried that long ago. But the firewalls Megatron had installed in all of his generals held well. Not even Highbrow, the Autobot head intelligence officer, would be able to break through without hundreds of stellar cycles of decoding. Will they be hooking him up to a decoder, where it would keep him in a suspended state for who knows how long? That thought also made Scrash shudder.
The Autobots connected his helm to some cables. Scrash closed his eyes, ready to endure and to misdirect. His limbs stiffened as the program took hold. He would not let his guard down. He would reign in his wandering processor no matter how much they threw at him.
At least that was his plan for a grand total of one nanoklik.
Scrash was hurled into oblivion. He thrashed, trying to regain his bearings. The rush of data then paralyzed his every function. He could only stare uncomprehendingly as his vision flashed and wavered, his processor locked up and unable to respond with any coherent thought.
And then came a rapid rush of visions. Iacon bombed and burning against a green sky. A massive explosion blooming on a field strewn with offline frames. A mech transforming into a tank, and then a jet. Ultra Magnus hurtling through the air in some kind of winged armor with his hammer blazing with electricity. Decepticon soldiers, battered and injured, stumbling through a battlefield and led by a mech with strange yet familiar features. The mech was shouting, though no words could be heard. His faceplates were twisted almost in agony, his crimson optics burning so intensely that it matched the streaks of laser fire gauging the landscape.
Before Scrash could even begin to understand what he was seeing, he felt something take hold of him. He howled soundlessly as it tore him apart, as it laid bare everything he was. The firewalls meant nothing. The code encryptions meant nothing. There was only the pure unadulterated malice that saw him as nothing more than a piece of scrap.
The last thing he saw was those burning crimson optics, and the glint of denta from a demented grin.
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