Salvation

Chapter 3

"You're pathetic!"

The words reverberated in his audio receptors, or that might just have been the vibrations from the heavy impact of the fist that struck the side of his head. He flew across the room as easily as if he were weightless, his fall broken by the wall.

Megatron towered above him, irrepressible fury etched deeply in the lines on his white face. "You disgust me!"

One of the light grey feet caught Starscream straight in the cockpit as he was trying to pick himself up off the floor. He bent double, optics wide, as he felt part of his energon processor collapse under the crushing blow.

... What the frag had happened? He'd returned to the Nemesis after his meeting with Perceptor to find Soundwave waiting for him, and had been told Megatron wanted to see him. He'd stupidly assumed that he was being re-promoted, and had sauntered into his master's quarters.

And now -

A dark hand picked him up by the neck, lifting him from the floor. He struggled vainly against it, trying to pry the fingers from his neck, but Megatron was far stronger than him.

"Stop -" The choked word was ignored, Megatron even shaking him back and forth when he dared to speak. The rough treatment disturbed his equilibrium and unsettled his balance fluids, cutting his plea short. A worrying gurgle emanated from his vocaliser as the tyrant hurled him halfway across the room and into the recharge berth, sending him tumbling over it in an awkward and jarring cartwheel.

Again the white face twisted in a snarl, the merciless optics flashing vengeance as the powerful fusion cannon was levelled at the weakening seeker and fired. Piercing purple sliced the air in two, and Starscream twisted in a rough attempt to dodge the shot. He didn't entirely succeed, as the beam passed through his side and severed a minor energon vessel there, but his quick reflexes had saved him from a fatal wound.

"Mega-" Once again, he started to try and beg for his life, to beg for forgiveness, for mercy, but before he could even complete his master's name, the furious warlord was over him and kicking him in the head.

"I thought you were better than this!" Yelled the ruthless leader, accompanying each word with another harsh kick, raising his voice above Starscream's whimpers. "And here I find that you're willing to sell yourself out to your little Autobot whore!"

"N-no, I -" Starscream desperately pleaded, trying to curl away from the relentless impacts raining down upon his face and shoulders. His words were interrupted again, this time as the foot caught him in the throat and dislodged his vocaliser, knocking it out of place slightly.

And he desperately tried to think of a way out of this. Megatron knew somehow – probably had one of those blasted cassettes spy on him – and Starscream didn't think that the excuse 'you made me start this, I was just making it work' would satisfy his enraged commander. At this rate, Megatron was going to beat him to death.

"I should have known!" The gun-transformer was hissing, staring down with contempt at his fallen lieutenant. "You and your infatuation with Autobot scientists!"

Unable to speak as his vocaliser re-aligned itself with the connective circuitry, Starscream tried, his processor sluggish as it was damaged by the frequent impacts upon it, to think of a way to get out of this with his life, a chance that seemed upsettingly small.

And he thought of Perceptor.

No, he didn't need to rely on anyone else – he could get through this without letting the Autobot know his weaknesses.

But he thought of Perceptor.

He didn't need anyone, he didn't need anyone, he didn't need anyone, he was strongest on his own when he couldn't be betrayed. He could worm his way out of this on his own, like he always had done before.

But still he thought of Perceptor.

There was nothing left to lose; the only reason Megatron was holding off killing him was for the enjoyment of seeing him writhe in pain. All of his nervous circuits were alive with signals, firing to his processors and leaving him twitching spasmodically.

As his breaking body was beaten across the room again, his leader screaming more insults and accusations at him, Starscream sent a helpless plea through the communicator link, at the same time doing his best to shut off the bond; he didn't want his mate to feel his fear.

Starscream? Perceptor's meek and soft voice in his processor, as though he had heard it without his audio receptors being utilised. But we just met, can't we wait till tomorrow? I'm exhausted.

He knows! He's going to kill me. There was simply no time to mess around, Perceptor had to understand that Starscream could not survive much more. Already Megatron's quarters were purple with his lifeblood. He's going to kill me. Help me! Don't let him kill me!

The jet's vocal emulator started a grating, high-pitched whine as it restarted, finally having slid back into place. At the irritating, involuntary noise, Megatron roared, apoplectic and uncontrollable in his anger. Starscream's concentration wavered, Perceptor's response was drowned out.

Starscream, I'm not going to betray my friends, I thought we already agreed this. Now, I'm going to recharge. I'll see you soon.

No! No, no, he was about to lose his last lifeline -

There was no other choice, Starscream poured all his remaining concentration into opening the bond between their sparks, sending his emotions flooding to Perceptor.

Just as one of Megatron's hands closed around the upper ridge of his left wing – the wing on which Perceptor had inflicted those first three scratches over the insignia – crushing it, crumpling the thin metal in an inescapable vice grip. A groan of discomfort was torn from his throat as his leader began to tug at his limb with harsh force, the grey foot coming to rest against his shoulder.

All too late, Starscream realised what Megatron was doing.

There was an audio-splitting shriek as the metal of his wing was shorn straight in two.

The jet gaped in shock at his dismembered wing dangling from Megatron's black hand in the few instances before the pain registered, and then he arched his back, his right hand whipping round to clasp at the bleeding stump as he threw his head back and howled.

Shock set in, disconnecting many of his less-vital systems as he brought his hand back round, staring horrified at the viscous purple liquid that slicked his fingers as energon oozed from the stricken metal of his back.

He'd suffered plenty of injuries to his wings, which were not retractable and protruded unprotected from his body, he'd had parts shattered, shot off, he'd had the whole limb disconnected for repairs, Megatron had whipped him over the wings countless times – but he'd never had one so callously and calmly torn off, ripped from his body -

From somewhere faint, as though far away, he heard his mate's voice, worried and guilty, distorted through his fading awareness as Megatron cruelly held his wing out to him. Not fully conscious of his own actions any more, Starscream reached out and took his limb, cradling it to him, thin noises emanating from his vocaliser, a mixture of stunned disbelief and severe hurt.

-mus, came the meek voice through the communicator, barely audible over the thudding of his own energon pumps, ... geological survey... next terrestrial solar cycle, co-ordinates... forty, forty-nine north, fourteen, twenty-six east.

He understood.

Perceptor was giving him information. It wasn't important, probably. But if he told Megatron, he could pretend that he had just been using the Autobot, getting into his trust to further Decepticon needs. It was a chance, it could work.

"Listen -" He started thickly, his fingertips shuddering against the wing in his arms, but Megatron was not to be calmed.

The Decepticon leader ruled with fear. He was ruthless, and calculatingly cruel, and he remained the embodiment of control by making sure he was familiar with the psychological strengths and weaknesses of all of his warriors – especially the most troublesome ones.

Starscream fancied himself a master of torture. He was nothing compared to Megatron.

With sadistic slowness, he raised Starscream's chin up; the jet had no more energy to fight, most of it was spattered on the walls in sickening amounts. With his spare hand, he brought around black fingers towards the dark face, his anger subsiding to colder but more effective punishment. He was well aware that physical violence had stopped working on Starscream a long time ago, and he had had to become more inventive.

Slowly, those fingers wandered, almost deceptively gently, towards the red optics. Savagely, they tore the fragile translucent material straight from the seeker's face, discarding shards on the floor. Megatron ignored the shrieks as he continued ripping optical wires from the jet's now-empty sockets, blinding his insubordinate warrior.

Starscream ripped himself away from the unforgiving hands, deaf to his own yells for mercy as he covered his mutilated face with one hand. When he gathered the courage to move that hand away, his fears were recognised and he fought down the urge to scream in horror as he could not see a thing.

As a flier, the thought of blindness terrified him, perhaps more than falling. At least when one was falling, there was still a chance that air resistance would slow descent enough to restart one's engines. A lack of sight meant a lack of knowledge of the surroundings – any obstacle, any danger might loom up unavoidably. There was no anticipating, no dodging; it was the fear of the unknown.

In vain, the seeker tried to activate his radar; it did not respond, the wires cut at the earlier cannon wound to his chest. He fought down the welling panic within his chest, vents cycling out more air than he was taking in as they sped up in his terror.

"Megatron," though he tried his hardest to keep his voice from wavering as he wailed his leader's name, the underlying sobs were still there as he trembled helplessly, "Megatron, I'm sorry, please -!" He wasn't even sure what he was begging for any more, he just wanted it to stop.

"You're pathetic." Megatron sneered, footfalls thudding as he pace around the crippled jet, who clutched his wing to him tighter with one hand while reaching out, groping fruitlessly with the other, hoping to touch something that might help him get his bearings. He tried to process audio input logically, but irrationality choked him, overwhelmed him, robbed him of his voice as he tried to use the information his mate had given up for him.

"Th-the Autobots," he managed, still surprisingly eloquent, "tomorrow, forty, forty-nine north, fourteen, twenty-six east, am-ambush them..."

The pacing stopped. Starscream turned his head towards where he thought Megatron was, though it didn't help at all; the only input from his eyes was the thin stream of optic fluid leaking about the torn metal, his sight was gone.

"Interesting." Murmured the tyrant at long-last, much, much calmer than he had been, though, in many ways, his slow and exaggerated movements were more frightening than his towering rage had been. "Perhaps I have misjudged you this time, Starscream."

The jet felt himself hauled off the ground and half-led, half-dragged along by his master; he couldn't tell where he was being taken, completely disoriented and slowly being pulled under the suffocating panic that was threatening to overwhelm his conscious. Still he clutched his wing to his fuselage tightly, as though it would help him somehow.

And then he was stumbling forward, pushed by Megatron, to fall to the floor with a clatter. Sightlessly, he drew himself up to all fours and turned his head back to where he believed his leader was standing.

"You will stay in here until I have ascertained whether or not you are telling the truth." Came the cold, unfeeling voice. Though the seeker could not see it, Megatron was smirking down at the wreck that had, cycles before, been the most arrogant of the Decepticons.

Heavy retreating footfalls told Starscream that Megatron was leaving. He waited until he couldn't hear those rhythmic noises any more before he drew himself into a hunched, shivering ball, his knees up tight to his cockpit so that he could hide his head in them. He switched energy input to his optics off, wanting to stay under the illusion that he was blinded by choice, that he would be able to see if he turned them back on...

He wanted revenge, he wanted revenge on Megatron for doing this to him, he hated Megatron! At least it would be over soon, this would all be over soon, Megatron would destroy some Autobot weaklings and it would be over. He would be free to plot again, free to be himself again, free to, to...

A geological survey? That was what he had heard through the communicative link. That meant it would just be a couple of stupid scientists playing with some rocks, no problem for the Decepticon strike forces, an easy kill. Easy kills, no competition, Megatron would praise him, he would be able to kill his leader -

But... but a geological survey? What if – what if he was on it? What if Perceptor was on that survey?

Well, he would get killed, and serve him right for landing Starscream in this mess! The Decepticon shuddered and clutched his wing close to him.

Some time ago, someone had told him that the worst thing that could happen to any Transformer was to lose a bondmate. That was why he had stalled back on Cybertron, when that traitor Skyfire had proposed that they merge their sparks. He'd been terrified of that supposedly-unbearable sensation of having a mate ripped from you...

Oh, Primus, the blackness was stifling! Any number of hostile threats could be lingering right next to him, and he couldn't see them to defend himself from them -!

An involuntary whimper ripped itself from his throat, and he curled tighter, hoping that Megatron's mercy would come to him soon.

O

"What time are you planning on leaving?" Asked Prowl, watching the three scientists prepare their equipment for the upcoming expedition.

"Oh, we'll probably head off sometime very soon while it's still early in the solar cycle, there's a time difference that far, it'll be afternoon by the time we get there." Remarked Skyfire calmly, looking up from the datapad he was studying.

"Will you want a military back-up?"

"No thanks, I think we'll be more than capable to handle any attacks. Besides, there's no reason to worry, the Decepticons don't know we're heading so far out. The coordinates aren't anywhere near here, according to an Earth map, they fall on the coast of a country call... um,"

"Italy." Supplied Beachcomber helpfully from somewhere around Skyfire's knee.

"Yes. Italy."

The tactician tilted his head back blankly. "And why are you going all the way out there again?"

Both Beachcomber and Skyfire turned to Perceptor, who was standing a small way away from them, indicating that Prowl should enquire of him. "He's the one who came up with the idea."

"Well, Perceptor?"

"Hm? Oh." The microscope shrugged, his voice a substantial amount more listless than usual. "There's a volcano at those coordinates, called Vesuvius. It should be subject to periodic catastrophic eruptions, resulting in violent pyroclastic surges of immense kinetic energy output, but it's been overdue for at least the last forty terrestrial years which means the surrounding human settlement is at serious risk. I've been considering siphoning energy from the potential geothermal reserves, which will keep us functional and reduce the risk to the indigenous lifeforms."

His explanation finished, he turned himself slightly away from his friends again, before realising that they were all utterly silent and glancing back; all three of them were staring at him.

"Hmm," Prowl responded to the description, which was just a little too theoretical for his liking. "You're all capable mechs, I trust you're able to defend yourselves. The expedition has my approval, but I want you to report back to Prime before you start any experiments with the volcano."

As he left to return to his immense workload, both tall Skyfire and diminutive Beachcomber turned their heads to stare back at their microscope friend.

"Perceptor," asked the white shuttle carefully, worriedly, "are you all right? You seem a bit... upset?"

"Hm?" Too late Perceptor remembered that he was not so good at hiding his emotions. "Oh! I'm fine, I just... uh, didn't get much in the way of recharge, so my systems are a bit sluggish."

"Hmm, insomnia again?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that. I've just had a lot on my mind." The red-bodied researcher shook his head and forced himself to smile at his colleagues, wanting to dispel the worry from their minds.

"Are you sure you should be coming out with us? Maybe you should let Ratchet check you over." Beachcomber suggested as he checked one of his tyres.

The microscope forced a chuckle. "Ratchet has checked me over as many times in the past deca-cycle as I have transistors and he's found nothing wrong, it's nothing to worry about. It'll pass quickly, I'm sure."

Maybe he should have asked Prowl for a military backup. After all, Skyfire and Beachcomber were relying on the fact that the Decepticons were not aware of their travelling to the landmass the humans called Europe. Of course, they didn't know that Perceptor had leaked that information only cycles ago.

The microscope again questioned whether or not he should have given Starscream that information, as he had questioned the decision countless times since he had made it. But he had been so worried, so scared that he was about to lose his mate – for just that split instant, saving the life of the sadistic, cruel, unpredictable and hated jet – saving Starscream – had seemed more important than worrying about the fate of the scientists, himself included, that he had endangered.

Besides, Prowl was right. Though all three of them held pacifist ideals and were not ideally suited to a time of war, they were far from helpless, more than capable of defending themselves should the need arise. And he was rather relying on Skyfire's speed and efficiency when it came to evacuations. Hopefully, the shuttle would have transformed and got them out of harm's way and back to safety at the first sign of danger on the radar.

He didn't mention to his colleagues that he had not had much recharge because of, not only being kept awake by Starscream's pleading, but by his sickening, spark-consuming worry about the Decepticon's health. The air commander had sounded so scared through the communicative link. Correspondence had terminated so suddenly.

Even the terror that Perceptor had felt channelled through their spark-bond had been cut off abruptly.

Was he even still alive?

He had to be – Perceptor refused to believe that his mate was dead. He'd probably just... probably just offlined from the beating, he had said himself that he often did because Megatron was so rough...

That nagging feeling of guilt that licked at his core was extremely unpleasant, the microscope thought to himself as he checked he had all of the tools and equipment he needed. It was because he had sold out his friends to save a Decepticon who may have already been marked for termination by his leader.

Oh, if only Starscream had listened to him and stopped provoking Megatron, maybe then the tyrant wouldn't be so eager to hurt him! But there was no changing the jet. No changing his ambitious, power-hungry, backstabbing ways.

And Perceptor ached for the war to end, so that they could live in peace without any of this subterfuge and hiding and selling each other out. He hated that he had been forced to, within a klik, decide whether to risk the life of his friends or the Decepticon who, though holding the ability to make him feel so wonderful, often treated him like dirt.

It was impossible to word just how much it had hurt him that he had chosen the Decepticon over his friends – he just hoped that his trust would not be misplaced, and that Starscream would be thankful for the assistance, and that Skyfire would be quick to take the initiative and flee at the sight of any ambush. Perceptor would never be able to cope if Skyfire or Beachcomber were killed because of him.

He hoped that Starscream was still alive.

And he prayed to Primus that he would not regret his hasty and quite possibly misguided decision.