My Madness, My Saving Sanity

Chapter Three: Vulnerabilities

By: Nightelfcrawler

Author's note: While this is G1 based, I've made Starscream a blend of his G1 and Armada personalities just because I find the dichotomy of it fascinating. It takes place in no particular timeline, following no particular events. Also, please review politely. If you haven't something nice to say, keep it to yourself please.

I first became aware that Ratchet had mentioned his suspicions to Optimus Prime when I noticed the side-long glance the Autobot leader gave me during one conference just outside the medical bay doors. They no doubt had no idea I was watching, but I had long since perfected the art of on-lining my optics without illuminating their facets. It was a perfect ruse for Megatron. Sure, I might not see as well, but I could see SOMETHING which was enough in situations such as this. Nonetheless it gave me an advantage to watch my enemies while they pussyfooted around me warily. It wasn't obvious at first, as the medic continued to treat me the same, shooting me the occasional wary gaze. But when Optimus came in to check on me once more I noticed his optics were more critical than normal. Nonetheless, he didn't mention anything to me. Still, I knew that he had shared words with his commander, possibly discussing whether I was lying or not. Fortunately, this didn't affect his repairs of my infrastructure. Ratchet was true to his word, and replaced all the damaged circuitry and critical systems that I was lacking. Most of the repairs occurred when I was in stasis and I would wake to find a new limb attached and functioning.

It was several cycles later that I finally was given permission to move around the medical room. I was eager to do so, for more than one reason. The first was to determine where exactly I was. This was easy to unearth, as I quickly noted the security cameras and the lack of any internal door functions. A prison medical ward then. Fitting and appropriate. I slowly on-lined my systems one at a time then carefully pushed myself up into a sitting position. It felt strange, being able to move again after so long, yet it felt refreshing at the same time. My optics quickly lowered to my body and began a diagnostic. Ratchet had attached a functioning skeletal limb for my missing arm, it was bare and simple and close to my proper size. A quick comparison to my other arm told me that all it's primary functions had been removed, save the basic protocols of movement. No weapons, no transformation circuits, no armor. I cringed mentally then slowly eased myself onto my legs. At first, they nearly crumbled under my weight, but as I clung to the reclining bunk, I felt the energon pulsing down and strengthening the limbs until I was able to stand. I moved with a clear limp, which was expected considering my replacement leg was slightly shorter and less bulky than my repaired one. It functioned enough to get me to the flat reflective surface of a mirrored cabinet door, where finally I could get a clear glance at my visage.

Primus… I was a fraggin' mess.

It was better than I had expected, to be frank, but that didn't help the wave of disgust that flooded through me like a punch to the processor. The gashes in my cranium had been soldered back together, so no more wires and blinking lights shone from the open cavity, only a thin silver scar that stretched from between my optics to clear across the back of my head revealed that delicate processors had been close to being irreparably damaged. A scar… it was the least of my worries, but I couldn't help but feel repulsed at the idea of a handsome face ruined by disfigurement. My optics had been repaired, but I felt a twisted sense of disgust flood through me at the color that stared back at me. Fraggin' blue?! Granted, I didn't expect the medic to have red prisms just handy for his Decepticon patients, but the color of blue optics watching me sent shivers of disgust flooding down my chassis. Of course, I still couldn't recognize myself, so it almost was like seeing a stranger. No armor, no helmet, no wings… I resembled a simple basic protoform fresh off the operating table, silver limbs without any additions or alterations, chest bare and hollow with gaps showing to my internal systems. It seemed he had removed all my armor entirely. I suppressed a shudder of rage, my fist gripping the table tightly as I squelched my desire to shatter the mirrored surface in one swift blow, and distracted myself by running a thin silver hand over my gaping chest area. I could SEE my spark chamber exposed beneath the lines and pipes that connected my vital systems. I was completely vulnerable. It was even worse as I turned to study my backside, seeing the soldered remains of where my proud wings once had been attached. Ratchet had done his best to save the circuits and lines, capped them off in a jagged pattern, then welded the metal shut in a sloppy line that told me it could be undone to repair the limbs eventually. It was hideously ugly, and left me feeling broken and crippled. I had sustained damage to my wings before, even irreparable damage that had required replacements… but to lose both of them at once, to not even have anything there to remind me of my elegant stature as the Aerial Commander… It was… frightening. If the others for one moment figured out my true identity, would they show mercy? Or would they simply terminate me? Honestly, I didn't know the answer. Logic dictated that Autobots did not react in such a way that they would terminate a helpless prisoner, however my training told me differently. I was used to rash brutal actions, not mercy.

I shuttered my optics, leaning heavily on the table as my vents hissed angrily at the release of heat building up inside my systems. What was I now…? How low had I fallen to bring myself here? I was worse than a prisoner now, worse than a disfigured patient… I was a freak… something that should have died but somehow hadn't managed to even do THAT right, and now I was suffering the consequence.

Why? Why was I fated to slip by in life constantly avoiding disaster, but being punished for my mistakes?

The hiss of hydraulics drew my attention as the door opened. My head whipped as I wiped my face blank in time to regard the medic as he stepped within the room. "Good, you're up." Ratchet commented, an optic ridge lifting, obviously impressed I was on my feet so quickly after being revived. "Everything operational? Any pain?" I shook my head negatively. Everything seemed in order, far better than I had expected. My scanning systems were still off-line, but I figured that this was a safety protocol so I didn't know where exactly I was, and would find it difficult to launch an escape. "Good." Ratchet replied simply. "Prime wishes to speak with you. You are to be escorted to his office. Don't strain yourself, though." He warned dangerously. "Your lines are still fragile. No running, no arguing, no sudden movements or you could burst a line and then you'll be here under my care longer than I wager you'll enjoy. I've instructed the same of your escort, who is to keep you from harm." He grinned in a way that reminded me eerily of my faction members. "Get going then."

I slowly limped to the door, a bit wary of what I would discover on the other side. As the panels slid back I grimaced when I saw the Tactician standing there waiting for me. His optics scanned me quickly to determine what threats I might cause, then determined I was clearly incapable of causing much trouble. "Follow me then." He said matter-of-factly as he turned to escort me down the corridor. I followed in silence, though of course I had little choice given my missing vocal processors. I idly wondered how long it took to craft new ones. I'd never damaged them to the point of no repair before. Probably a fraggin' month with my luck. Oh the irony… The Screaming One was mute. It sounded like something Skywarp would give me no reprieve from. While it was a blessing having the excuse not to talk to avoid giving anything away, I was entirely unused to simply LISTENING all the fraggin' time! It was also abysmally frustrating to not be able to fully scan my surroundings. Nonetheless, I soon got more data than I cared to, as we passed down the corridor and turned into a busier hallway. I could feel optics watching me from every angle as we passed by others who paused to watch me with some curiosity and hostility. I was the enemy, of course they were hostile. But I assumed by now most were aware of my condition, and clearly did not view me as a threat. How could they, I was as defenseless as a sparkling for the moment. Primus, even that little yellow bee could take me out.

How humiliating.

We soon reached a massive door that I immediately knew must contain their leader's sanctuary, despite never having been within the Ark before. It had none of the elaborate flair and audacity my leader's chambers had exhibited. It was simple and plain, merely large enough to permit entry for his tall frame. Figures… No class, these Autobots, far too boring for my taste. Where was the FLAIR? "I'm going to warn you right now." Came a sudden statement from beside me, as my optics shifted to regard Prowl warily. "Don't try anything stupid. You've been tagged with an EMP pulse disabler. If you try anything, all it takes is one code and you're on the ground twitching. Got it?"

So that was the reason they weren't cuffing me and putting me in a cell. I bit back the automatic glare I wished to send his way, and simply nodded my head once in curt reply before he pushed the door open for me to enter. EMP disabler, frag I hated those slagging things. They HURT. Later I would have to experiment to see if I could disable or alter it without alerting them. The challenge immediately brightened my mood. I entered the room without hesitation, and did my best to stand tall, despite the limp that kept me favoring my right leg. I would not become a despot prisoner, I would remain proud. Optimus Prime was waiting for me behind his large desk, and indicated I take a seat on the chair placed before him. Grateful for the chance to get off my mismatched legs, I sank into the chair with a small expunge of exhaust from my intakes, the sound slightly re-assuring to my audio processor. That I was capable of making some noise was a welcome sign. I still felt uncomfortable face to face with the leader of my enemies, but as to date I had looked death in the eye more than once and lived to tell about it. It seemed routine by now.

"I hear from Ratchet that he's pleased with your recovery." The conversational tone unnerved me. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, I was a prisoner no matter how I looked at it, and to them it wasn't worth it treating a prisoner they wished to gleam information from with disrespect. Unlike Decepticons, Autobots didn't believe in 'immoral' concepts as practical as torture and mind-reading. They would butter me up in hopes I would freely share more. Fools. They really were wasting their time. I had already decided to share what I knew, it was the only method of revenge available to me at the moment, and it would SEVERLY piss Megatron off, given he thought I was dead. "I'm sure you understand why we have not restored your armor, weapons and transformation circuits. We cannot take risks at this point. However, as you have made the request for amnesty, we must consider your plea and conduct a trial to evaluate whether it can be granted or not. If you are willing to provide us with anything available to you, it will be more promising that your request be granted."

I understand.

"Very well then. Let us begin with what you know."

The interrogation went far better than I had anticipated. I had prepared myself to be willing to lie, twist the truth and fabricate deceptions, but I found myself quickly adapting to answering truthfully about my knowledge as smooth as butter. He asked for classified codes which I gleefully supplied, weapons systems, numbers reports, mobilizations, plans and personnel files. All of this I granted him full access to, with only one slight modification. I knew that Megatron had wiped my existence from their ranks. If Prime and the others knew this, that could make them suspicious, so I omitted that particular detail, and led him to believe that I was still flying with my wing mates somewhere out there on assignment. It was likely the information of my downfall wouldn't fall into Autobot hands, at least not right away. Primus save me if they ever figured it out, though. There would go my chance at escape.

Overall, the conversation was actually quite… civil. Optimus Prime did not treat me as a prisoner, fool that he was. Instead he was polite and respectful, with courtesy when I hedged on an answer, never pressing me for anything I seemed unwilling to give. I began to wonder what on earth Megatron SAW in him as a rival. He seemed entirely ready to rely completely on the others around him, gather information and learn what he could before making a decision.

Good grief… what polar opposites the leaders were. As much as I despised the patient calm exterior the Autobot commander portrayed, I found myself respecting him by the end of our conversation. The scientist part of me could not find a way to see fault in gathering evidence before proceeding with any actions. It was the same thing I did for each of my own plots.

As strange as it was, when I was finished being interrogated, Prime gave me permission to travel the base, with restrictions on classified and security sections. I was allowed to roam the common areas and was give quarters of my own to utilize. The only condition was that a security officer was to keep me in sight at all time, and I was not to leave the base, though I was allowed to step outside near the entrance should I choose. Seeing as I could not run in my condition, nor transform, I assumed he felt safe in giving me some freedoms, especially given my co-operation. As they had still not uncovered any information on my assumed name, I was not raising any suspicion. It was highly unlikely they would uncover anything on my pseudonym, and if they did, they would simply find he had been a scientist long ago, and had vanished near the start of the war, easily explained if he had joined a faction's wing and not risen to high rank. For the moment, my decision to become someone else seemed to be playing off exactly as I had planned. Their guard was down, they were not treating me as a prisoner of war, but as a genuine defector. All I needed now was to disable that EMP device and get the Hatchet to re-attach wings so I could fly, or at least find a way to contact my wing mates now that I was no longer about to shake hands with Primus.

For now, I was merely satisfied to be able to finally see the sky again. Being indoors for who knows how long had taken it's toll on my temperament. Even without wings, I still held that claustrophobic streak that Seekers were known for possessing. Ironically, while I was able to contain it unlike some others I knew, it still gnawed at me deep within my spark. Lack of open skies, lack of flight… I knew if I didn't find a way to distract myself soon, I would start to suffer symptoms of that which Seekers flippantly called 'groundling syndrome'. I'd seen a few gone mad in the end from this reaction to being caged or grounded. It was not pretty. No, it was the sky that I longed for, and this that I took advantage of first. The endless desert sky called to me as I sat outside the entrance, staring up at it longingly. It was funny, really… When I'd first come to this backwards organic planet I remember being disgusted by the contaminants. There was so much organic bacteria, things that would corrode our systems, sand, water, wind, elements that affected us in minute ways of irritability. Yet, the more time I had spent soaring through the soft wisps of atmospheric condensation, the more I began to realize… I LIKED this planet. I never would have admitted it, and I hated it ground-side. But when I was airborne… I felt free… weightless… gliding over pure blue oceans, rugged terrain that I longed to do topographic studies of. I wanted to explore the natural geological wonders of this planet, something not built by hand as Cybertron had been, but something built by nature, elements, chance… It was unique, and the sky here was filled with so many challenging changes of atmosphere. Wind, water, electrical storms… all were fun to an experienced flier to play with. Would I ever soar the sky's open depths again? Would I ever feel the thrill of accelerating faster than ground vehicles could, twisting complex maneuvers in the air in perfect tandem with my brothers?

The loss hit me so strongly, that I didn't even notice I was no longer alone when a voice spoke up at my side.

"You look like you could use some company." My head turned to stare warily at the last mech I had expected to see. It was Optimus' far to perky saboteur. I wrinkled my facial plates with resigned disappointment at having my solitude interrupted, especially by one so particularly irritating. Jazz strolled calmly up the ramp to stand beside me, arms tucked behind his sleek striped frame, staring out at the sun kissed desert with a smile. "Pretty ain't it?" I just shrugged slightly, knowing he was only there to keep an eye on me. EMP pulse disabler or no, they still weren't taking chances. They probably figured Jazz was the least innocuous mech to send who might convince me to talk more and loosen up my processor a bit.

Just my luck.

"Ya know, most of the guys are taking bets how long it'll take you to cause some trouble."

I snorted slightly, amused. Of course they would be. But I had no plans to draw attention to myself, and if I were provoked… well I couldn't defend myself so I was likely more than not to simply retreat. As irritating as it was, I was smart enough to know when to keep my pride in check. Here, I didn't have to impress anyone with bravado, I could just sit back and enjoy the show.

"But I think that you could do more than that…" I blinked up at him a bit surprised. Just what did he mean by that? Jazz cocked an optic ridge at me and grinned. "I'm bettin' that you'll make some friends before you make some enemies. Care to give me an edge on that bet, Skyfire?"

I almost laughed aloud, or tried to. He was betting against those betting against me? How interesting. Suddenly, playing a game was very appealing to me… It would keep me amused anyway…

I slapped my hand into his and grinned.

Taking bets with an Autobot…

I definitely was losing it.