Ch. 124

C.Y.L.A.S. grudgingly walked through the halls of the ship he was slowly becoming familiar with. His new master, Lord Megatron, had summoned him after an intense... discussion with Hardshell. Since the disfigured mech couldn't distinguish any signs of torture on the Insecticon as they crossed paths, he didn't have the clarity to call it an 'interrogation'. But the wincing glance Hardshell had given him was probably the indication he needed for such a thing...

C.Y.L.A.S. stopped in front of the med bay, where he had been asked to to meet the warlord, and knocked loudly, "My liege," he called clearly, "you summoned me?"

The door slid away and Megatron chuckled from deep within the bay, "Ah, yes. C.Y.L.A.S. Do come in."

The disfigured mech walked in cautiously, watching as Megatron tampered gently with odd looking tools, "What is it you require of me, my lord?"

Large claws paused in their attentions with the wicked instruments and the large mech turned to glare down at his minion, "Hardshell informs me that you encountered dear Starscream during what should have been your limits test."

C.Y.L.A.S. frowned, but nodded, "Yes, that is correct."

"And neither of you thought to send word to the Nemesis while he was within your grasp?"

Megatron's tone was fluctuating from calm and curious to morbidly irate. C.Y.L.A.S. knew once the eruption began, it would take quite some time to quell it.

The disfigured mech stood firm, "Our situation moved quickly. Most of the battle was fought against a mech of unknown origins. I had mistakenly identified this mech as Wheeljack."

"Yes," the warlord huffed, "Hardshell informed me of this as well. This does not please me, C.Y.L.A.S."

C.Y.L.A.S. bowed, a servo clenched tight against his chestplate, "My apologies, Lord Megatron. It will not happen again."

Megatron's growl told the disfigured mech that the apology meant nothing and C.Y.L.A.S. took a quick intake before he spoke, "But if I may offer some information for your own future use, my liege?"

The large mech glared down at him, "Speak quickly."

C.Y.L.A.S.'s spider legs cringed back as his wings fell flat, "Starscream seems to have a weakness of sorts. I managed to get my claws around his throat which debilitated him in strength and struggle. It would seem his neck is a viable location to use to subdue him."

Megatron's optics leered and he scoffed, "You think I do not already know this?"

The disfigured mech dared not step back, "My lord?"

"When dear Starscream was last upon my ship," Megatron hissed, "I ensured our next encounter would make him easier to detain," he explained, "I quick break of his mind, it could be called; a swift act of damage against his throat and right side," the warlord sneered, "Both of these locations on his physical frame will elicit trauma in his mind and render him feeble enough for capture. Do not think I have not made plans far ahead, C.Y.L.A.S. I intend to capture and manipulate my second in ways unfathomable... But for now..."

C.Y.L.A.S. became increasingly aware of danger as Megatron began to circle him, looking him over carefully, "Is... there something more you require of me?"

The warlord stopped by his side, "Hm... Now that you mention it-" Megatron lunged forward and grabbed the disfigured mech by the faceplates, slamming him into a wall, "I believe I need to reiterate who exactly is in charge of this faction, you parasite," he hissed calmly, digging in his claws around the mech's helm to elicit a whimper, "I know the sly glances you give myself and my officers when you think you are unseen. My dear Starscream used to give the same looks. Rebellion. Mutiny. Usurpation. All these things in one glance. I am able to tolerate my second's betraying nature because he is of value, C.Y.L.A.S., but I do not intend to overlook your treachery as I have dear Starscream's."

C.Y.L.A.S. struggled under the crushing servo that dug into his helm, his intakes coming in pants at the feel of the pressure, "M-my liege, please forgive me!" he begged, "I was wrong to think anything less of your leadership! I am simply returning to former habits that asked for my own position of authority! It won't happen again!"

Megatron chuckled, amused, "Fitting that you should beg the way he does. You are lucky that I may have some use for you yet, C.Y.L.A.S.," with a sharp toss, the warlord dropped the mech to the floor, energon dripping from the sides of his helm, "but if you intend to live to see those uses, you will do exactly as I say."

C.Y.L.A.S. panted quietly and nodded.

Megatron smiled, "Good. First, you will acquire a new paint job from the lower repair bay. I despise looking at you harboring the false chassis of my second. Have yourself painted to remedy this."

The disfigured mech nodded again and the warlord continued, "Next, you will be put in charge of observing Dreadwing and Hardshell."

C.Y.L.A.S. blinked, but nodded once more, "O... of course. If it isn't stepping over the line, my lord, may I ask what I will be observing them for?"

Megatron smirked, "You will be watching each of their movements for the next forty-eight hours," he stepped back, folding his servos neatly behind his back, "I would like a former leader's input on the consideration of some future... changes that I have in mind..."

C.Y.L.A.S. walked to the lower repair bay alone, deep in thought. What Megatron had asked of him was somewhat surprising but at the same time... was it really? The doors opened with a hiss and C.Y.L.A.S. walked in to see a pair of robotic arms with airbrush attachments hanging in the center of the room. The mech had become accustomed at least to the simpler designs of Cybertronian tech and he walked into the center of the room, between the arms, watching with a still hidden amount of wonder in his optics as a hologram screen came up to greet him.

C.Y.L.A.S. decided not to make this difficult on himself. As he commanded from the screen for a quick chassis scan, different color pallets popped up along the side. Blues and reds? Too patriotic. Blacks and purples? Too Airachnid. Or, what was left of her. Reds and silvers, yellows and oranges, even a ghastly blue and brown. The mech shook his helm. He was thinking this over too much. Without looking, he spun the list roughly and quickly tapped the command to paint. Whatever he had landed on, it would surely be different from what he had now.

The robotic arms whirred to life and the sound of mixing paint echoed in his audials. Much like Megatron's commands.

"Despite our dwindling numbers," Megatron had hissed, "I will need you to decide which will live and which will die."

C.Y.L.A.S. had clearly been unprepared for the statement as he visibly flinched, "Lord Megatron-" he had hesitated, then continued, "it is ill advised to reduce our numbers from within. Especially when we are so close to capturing Starscream and ending the Autobots."

"And yet," the warlord had mused, "it is necessary. If I am to capture and harness my dear Starscream's limitless power, then I must ensure that I do not unintentionally send him farther from my grasp."

C.Y.L.A.S. blinked, "My lord?"

Megatron smirked, "Tell me, C.Y.L.A.S., do you know what a spark is?"

The disfigured mech nodded lightly, "Not much, but enough to know it is to Cybertronians much like a soul is to a human."

"Very good," the warlord praised darkly, "you have been learning... You do not possess a spark, C.Y.L.A.S. This is why I have turned to you for this task instead of Dreadwing or Hardshell. They have what I need to experiment upon. But I could never deal such a harsh sentence to either of my loyal subjects. So I'm going to give you the honor of doing so."

"Y... you want to experiment with their sparks?"

Megatron paced around the room lightly, "I need only one. Only one to use to ensure these tests will not allow my dear Starscream to escape. If he does, I may not have the resources to catch him again," the warlord looked back at him, "What he is, what he is capable of, is something that goes far beyond mortal understanding. In which case, it will mean nothing to you at all should I explain it," he took a sharp tool into his servo, picking at the filed end, "but when Unicron bound his mind to my own and shared his innermost knowledge, I became the only one to understand the extent of what my second could be used to create..."

C.Y.L.A.S. had been trembling. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to know any of it. He had stood slowly and tried his hardest not to let his fears show through.

"It... sounds incredible, my liege," he had bowed, intending to end the conversation quickly, "I will observe Hardshell and Dreadwing carefully to see which has earned the right to see you attain such power."

But Megatron had turned back, a wild look in his optics, "Can your mortal mind imagine such powers, C.Y.L.A.S.? To be able to see the intricate weavings of not just time and space, but the fabric of reality and the bend of life as we have come to understand it? To be able to crush any one of these things... or remake it altogether?"

C.Y.L.A.S. really didn't want to know. His wings flattened slightly and he shrunk back as the warlord approached him.

"Unicron feared my dear Starscream because he could not physically wield him," he had hissed, "but his knowledge of what he was and what he could be used to power and do..." he chuckled, "I now have access to all of it. And soon, I will wield a power strong enough to rule the universe..."

C.Y.L.A.S.'s optics snapped open when the airbrushes clicked off. He really didn't want to know what was going on in Megatron's helm. Was he insane? Was this Unicron truthful in the knowledge he had left the warlord with? Or was this some manifestation of a psychosis that demanded a solution and explanation to Starscream's miraculous abilities? ... C.Y.L.A.S. didn't want to know. He had just wanted to be more than human. He wanted to be Cybertronian, a Transformer. He hadn't signed up for such incredible delusions, whether real or fake, and the task of now choosing who would be next on his odd team to die. But still...

C.Y.L.A.S. shrugged, "So long as it's not me. I need to survive if I'm to see my plans through in the long run..."

He stepped away from the center of the room and went to a wall side that was simply one giant mirror to inspect himself. His new color scheme was clean, an intense black covering his chassis with accents of both red and purple scattered throughout. He was sure if he had a proper paint-mech attending, he could have red and purple details done, but he was still impressed.

"Well, well," he smirked, allowing his spider legs and wings to extend, "what a fear-inducing look for a flying spider..."