Insatiable

by Acteon Carolsfeld

[Permanent Hiatus] AU. Vos: independent, isolated, and self-governed by absolute monarchy…until a miner turned gladiator caught the optics of its young Crown Prince. Not all is fair in love and war. Warning: MegaStar; sticky. Based on M:Origin & G1 while taking liberties.

22. XXII, XXIII

Disclaimer: Do not own Transformers. D':

I can only hope there aren't any stupid typos or awkward sentences I've missed. Please excuse them if there are any!

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XXII

Sunstorm was sitting alone, far from the other sparklings. He hugged his toy close to his tiny body, and his wings shivered whenever the other young fliers made loud squeals or laughter of delight. I could not see his faceplate from this angle. I could not guess what expression he wore, slouched and curled up in the corner of the play chamber.

I've been informed that upon discovery and retrieval from battle site, the Seekerlet had been immediately placed in the sparkling ward at a tower specifically vacated for those injured in battle. He did not have many wounds, and what few there were had already been repaired by one of the best medics in Vos. I did not have time to visit him until now, which I regretted could not be sooner. Sunstorm obviously sustained injuries beyond even the abilities of Pristinus, hence why I really should have paid more attention to him, since his carrier creator played no little part in keeping me alive during battle.

None of the other sparklings seemed to have taken the loss of their creators as badly as Sunstorm. Given the situation, this was understandable. I was told by their primary caretaker that many of them still had other family members who were willing to establish surrogate bonds, or at least adopters who were interested in building a relationship with them. Sunstorm, on the other wing, did not seem to have anyone. No flier had come forth to claim him, and for him to not have any surviving family at all was very unlikely. To locate the other sparks in his code-unit was merely a comm. away, through the Vosian populace databanks. However, the idea of leaving the Seekerling with those who did not want him…

That left a tinge of bitterness on my glossa.

"Has no one offered to adopt Sunstorm at all?" I asked the ward nurse assigned to accompany me, optics staying on the hunched form of the tiny Seeker. I could see the caretaker, a white and lavender Fighter Jet by the designation of Cloudblast, in my peripheral. He pressed his lips together in a brief pause.

"…I'm afraid not, your Highness," He looked troubled, brow ridges in a light frown. "There's very little reason for Sunstorm to encounter such disregard from adopters. He's healthy, and despite having suffered malnutrition, his status meets all the growth quotas. His spark has expanded to further support his frame, and his flight system is ready for advanced upgrades. He is very intelligent as well. He's shown extraordinary processing abilities in our tests. He has an incredibly promising future ahead of him, but no one seems to see that."

"You said 'there is very little reason'." I turned my helm, and looked at the Fighter Jet, "Does that mean there is, in fact, something that's putting fliers off?"

"Well…" Cloudblast's frown deepened, "There have been expressed concerns from both caretakers and medics that Sunstorm simply might not be able to recover from trauma of this caliber. Other sparklings have shown similar symptoms, but, thus far, Sunstorm has made the least progress, if any at all." The Fighter bit his lips, and glanced at the Seekerlet. "He seems to be hit the hardest." He murmured, averting his optics to mine. Of course he was. I sighed through my vents, and crossed my arms before returning to my careful watch of the orange sparkling.

Sunstorm was shoved aside by his carrier during a moment of crisis, and later on had to witness said creator's gruesome deactivation. Sunrift's helm had been smashed to pieces under the ped of a ground pounder. Who knew what could be going through the Seekerling's processors, having to live on after seeing such horror?

"It doesn't take medical training to see that Sunstorm is different from the other sparklings, Sire. The adopters hesitate to take up such a mantle during a time of war." Cloudblast explained. "Family units are already taking on a challenge by adopting a sparkling. There are limits to how much care they can give."

"What will happen to him if no one takes him?" I asked.

"He will have to go through rotations at all caretakers' homes until he finishes his schooling." The Fighter Jet answered. "I truly hope he finds someone soon. He needs a stable environment to feel safe in, to heal, which…will be greatly compromised if he is to move on a frequent basis."

I nodded to Cloudblast's words, optics catching every little jerk in Sunstorm's frame. His tiny wings flicked, telling spades of fear and agitation, and he curled further around the toy, holding it close as though it was the only anchor he had left.

Another sparkling, a Striker, seemed to have taken a sudden interest in the Seekerlet. He hopped over, wobbling on his thrusters, and peered with his helm tilted, optics curious. He approached Sunstorm, giving him a nudge on the wing-nubs. Sunstorm shivered. He did not respond, only scooting further into his corner and turning his back to his visitor.

The Striker stood still, simply watching.

With a flash of his optics, he leapt forward, and tackled Sunstorm to the floor, tugging the Seekerling out of his refuge.

My intakes hitched. My right ped scraped a step forward. The Striker wrestled Sunstorm for the toy, persistent, and Sunstorm squirmed under the larger sparkling, mouth wide open in what I could only imagine were loud, shrill cries of protest.

I could not hear the scuffle. A pane of soundproof glass separated me from the sparkling ward. However, I knew they must have been making a ruckus, as all the other sparklings had frozen to stillness, staring at the two with widened optics.

The Striker was obviously stronger than Sunstorm. He ripped the toy out of the Seekerling's hands with a yank that stumbled the smaller flier forward. As the Striker bounded away with his new prize, Sunstorm watched, sprawled on the floor and lips in a gape. Fat drops of coolant tears gushed from his optics, and he stretched his thin, little arms after the Striker, as though just the act of reaching could bring back his toy.

He did not move from his spot.

His frame trembled, shoulders jolting in sobs silent to my audials.

A nurse came into view. He picked up the Striker, and seemed to chide the sparkling, a frown on his faceplate and index finger waving. The Striker, however, did not look apologetic at all, oblivious to why he was scolded. Shaking his helm, the caretaker took the toy, and set the sparkling down in front of a box with many other toys before walking toward Sunstorm, who was still lying on the floor, crying. The supervisor picked the Seekerlet up, and cradled him close to his chassis, offering back the toy, which Sunstorm immediately yanked close to his tiny canopy. Coolant still spilled from the Seekerling's optics, but he was no longer crying aloud, lips falling closed as he settled to sniffles instead, wing-nubs pointed down.

My lips pursed, brow ridges furrowing.

If this was what Sunstorm had to put up with on a cycle-to-cycle basis, no wonder he kept to himself.

Cloudblast seemed to have noticed my great displeasure, and spoke up in haste to soothe my frown:

"We try not to come between sparkling interactions unless absolutely necessary, your Majesty." He said, "The sparklings need to learn that they cannot depend on the caretakers to sort all conflicts out for them."

I heaved an ex-vent, but nodded. This made sense, especially so during war. Laser fire knew no distinction from soldier to sparkling. Dependence would only become liability. I knew this. However, that did not make the soreness churn any less inside my spark chamber.

The door to our right beeped, and slid open. Cloudblast turned, and made a small bow, but I did not look away from Sunstorm, who was still nestled within his caretaker's arms. The Seekerling had stopped shivering, and was now staring down at his toy. His optics were still wet, though coolant had stopped flowing down his cheeks in streams.

"Nightfire reporting, your Highness. All hail Prince Starscream." A familiar voice reached my audials, and I finally took my attention away from Sunstorm. The smiling faceplate of my scientific advisor came into view, and I felt a little of my tension drain away at the sight. I returned his smile, and nodded in acknowledgement.

"Rise, Nightfire," I uncrossed my arms, and let them dangle before turning to face the Space Shuttle. "What news have you brought me?"

Nightfire took out a data pad from subspace. Cloudblast looked at me in question, and I dismissed him with a wave of my hand. He bowed, backing out of the room. The door hissed closed behind him just as my advisor activated a hologram of his report, tapping a few buttons for it to expand for better viewing.

"There are a number of things for me to bring up to your attention, Sire. Should I proceed by importance?"

"Whatever you want," I answered.

"Affirmative," Nightfire nodded, and opened one of the files. "First report of the cycle regards to Decepticon Blitzwing, your Highness. I have enrolled him into an introductory flight course for sparklings at a nearby sparkling care center. Attending lessons with other fliers who have never flown before seems to help, your Majesty, so the results have been mostly positive. He's been making a lot progress in overcoming his fear of height. He is also growing more confident in his skills. His instructor has informed me that he is certain Blitzwing will be able to transfer to a youngling class very soon."

I bit back a chortle upon the mental image of the triple changer in class with a group of tiny, chirpy fliers, and waved at the Space Shuttle to continue.

Nightfire muffled a smile, and moved on to the next file.

"The Autobot weapons we'd retrieved from battle sites are still undergoing further study. So far, units assigned to the task have been able to dissect the cannons, though their inner-workings remain mostly unknown." The Space Shuttle scrolled down along his report. "However, unit leaders have assured me that results will be forthcoming soon. The prospect of counter-weaponry is likely. If not, protective armour for our troops at the very least can be done."

"Adding more weight to our soldiers? I think not." I shook my helm. "An attachment device would be better, maybe one that produces a force field."

"A constant force field that shields a flier at top speed, Sire?" Nightfire sounded skeptical despite his respectful tone.

"If they cannot make such a thing, see to it that they consult with the generals to develop new maneuvers to avoid hits."

"Affirmative, your Highness." Nightfire opened another application, and entered my instructions before carrying on to the next topic.

"The reconstruction of the labyrinth is in heavy progress." He continued, drawing out a three-dimensional diagram of the construction site. "Due to a previous shortage of materials, it is a little behind schedule. The factories went through a temporary shutdown after the battle, but the workers have returned to their stations, and, based on approximate calculations, we should catch up to the initial plan within the next three cycles."

"The outer wall is finished?" I walked a bit closer to study the image.

"Affirmative," Nightfire tapped the data pad, and the hologram zoomed in for a more detailed view. "The outer shell has been completed, though the inner sections will take longer to redo. I've been thinking about new floor plans and more complicated schematics for the maze, Sire. I would like to hear your suggestion." Nightfire opened another application, and gave me a short presentation on his ideas. I looked over them, asking questions whenever I felt the need, and went over my various concerns with the Space Shuttle.

"I see no improvement done on the sewage system," I scanned the hologram models. "I would've thought that securing the sewers would be top priority since that's how the Autobots managed to break our defense in the first place."

"I'm afraid there is very little that can be done about our water drainage, your Highness." Nightfire bowed his helm in apology. When he straightened, however, there was a bright glint in his optics, one that accompanied the smile spreading on his lips. "Although…" His wings perked, "I have come up with an idea that would theoretically decrease pipe usage to bare minimum."

That piqued my interest. Nightfire only had that specific look whenever he was up to something ambitious. "Go on." I prompted him, leaning further with my processors keen.

"It's actually very simple, your Lordship," Nightfire turned all of the holograms off before opening another, one that showed a model of Vos. "All we need to avoid, really, is acid rain pooling in our foundations. If we are to build a large dome over our city, starting from the outermost edge of the labyrinth…" He hit a button on the data pad, and a curved canopy draped over the model of Vos.

My optics widened.

"A…force field?" I asked, voice hushed. Nightfire nodded. My optics stretched wider. "You want to build a curved force field, spanning over our entire city, without any physical sphere for it to attach to?" The Space Shuttle nodded once again, and I turned toward him, vision agape and wings angled high. "By Primus, Nightfire," I exclaimed, "you're brilliant!"

Nightfire smiled, and bowed his helm. "You are too kind, Sire." He said, "Many would call me mad."

I laughed.

"Madness and creativity are wing-to-wing, my Space Shuttle friend. They'd once designated Eisodos a mad spark when he'd proposed the Helix Gardens of Praxus." I beamed at him before looking over the model, wings flicking in giddiness. "Have you spoken to the engineering units about this?"

"Not yet, your Majesty." Nightfire explained, "I thought I should make more designs first before consultations. I'm afraid such a project will take vorns to complete. The amount of energon required to power a force field generator at such size will be astronomical unless we find a way to bypass that problem, perhaps an alternative source of energy. I'm sorry to say that before that complication is solved, we will need to settle for the pipes again if acid rain comes."

"We'll deal with what we have for now." I nodded, optics still glued on the hologram. "Proper protection is never too late. I grant you full clearance on this project. Take as long as you need, and report to me on your progress."

"Affirmative, Sire." Nightfire dipped his helm.

"And make sure Megatron does not find out about this," I waved at the hologram with a hand. "This is a Vosian matter. It has nothing to do with him."

"Affirmative, Prince Starscream."

"Good," I nodded once more, and straightened from leaning toward the model of Vos and the dome. "Do you have any other matters to report?"

"Negative, Sire," Nightfire replied as he deactivated the holograms and subspaced his data pad, "Though…I do have an inquiry."

"Yes?"

"I am…curious, as to why you are here, your Highness." The Space Shuttle glanced behind the glass, at the sparklings, with a small look of confusion. "I am glad you are taking time to check on your citizens, but I'm afraid I don't understand why you wanted me to come here, specifically, to meet you."

I held his gaze, then looked to the glass as well, arms crossing behind my back. "You see that Seekerling with the orange paintjob?" I approached the viewing window, and jerked my chin toward Sunstorm, who had returned to his corner after the caretaker left. "His carrier creator died to save me."

"Primus bless his spark," Nightfire murmured.

"Indeed," I replied, tone dry, "That's why I came here, to see how he's doing after all this time, which is…" I frowned, "Not well, judging from what I've heard from his caretakers."

"Losing one's creators so young is devastating for any flier, Sire." The Space Shuttle walked to stand beside me, though he stopped one wingtip behind. "Forgive my impudence for fabricating assumption, your Majesty," He turned, and cast me a bewildered gaze, "But I feel as though there is another purpose for my attendance here."

"You are forgiven." I kept my vision on Sunstorm instead of meeting my Science Advisor's optics. "I am…Well," My brow ridges furrowed, and I glanced down. "…I'm contemplating on adopting him, Nightfire."

For a long moment, Nightfire did not make a sound.

"…Your Highness…?"

The two whispered words carried the full weight of his breathless shock.

"No flier seems to want to take him." I explained, unraveling my arms from behind me and crossing them over my chassis. "He needs a safe place to stay, a stable environment, which he cannot have unless someone adopts him." I watched the sparkling, still huddled in the corner. "I know the happenings in my tower are often chaotic, but there is no safer place in Vos. He will not be my heir, but he will be taken good care of."

I ran a cycle of air through my vents.

"The best schooling our city can offer will be available to him. Once he reaches maturity, he will train as a soldier." I studied his frame, his wings, and calculated what he had the potential to become. "He will be strong, Nightfire, and he will serve me well." My resolve hardened. My wings tensed on my back. "…Just as his carrier had once done." I added, digits tight around the plating of my arms.

Nightfire did not reply at first. He was silent, and his lack of response agitated me. I sent him small glances, but he did not seem to notice, brow ridges knitted and lips pursed. Finally, he snapped out of his thoughts, optics brightening and turning to address me.

"Star," His lack of a title alerted me that he was serious. "You know I have no authority to judge your decision, and you don't sound like you're looking to hear any suggestions I might have on Sunstorm's situation, so I'm curious as to what you really want from me." He paused, as though hesitating to voice a question, which he appeared to forgo. "Perhaps it'd be better for you to speak to your trine mates." He said instead, "After all, the arrival of a sparkling in a trine is big news."

That was not what I wanted.

"I don't need to speak to them to know that they won't object." I almost let out a snort at the thought. "Thundercracker is much too soft-sparked to reject a sparkling, and Skywarp will just be happy he's going to have a fresh mind to corrupt with his idiotic ways." I huffed through my vents, and tried to portray a front of confidence, despite my brief, worried looks toward the Space Shuttle. "I called you here because I want you to be frank with me. Do you…" My optics averted to the glass, "…Do you think I can be a good surrogate-creator? For him?"

Nightfire was still as he contemplated my question. I knew he was staring at me. I could feel his gaze burning into my plating. I avoided meeting that gaze, despite the curiosity gnawing at my spark to see what expression he wore. He was probably surprised, since I'd never expressed having exceptional fondness toward sparklings.

"…You won't be able to do any actual caring, Star." For some reasons, he sounded a little amused. I sent him a glare, which made him chuckle. "I didn't mean to offend you, and I apologize if I have." He gave his helm a minute bow. "Your intentions are good. You are going well beyond your duties to ensure the happiness of your citizens. However, you can't turn a blind optic to the inevitability of neglecting Sunstorm even if he were to reside in the Royal Tower as your adopted." His words were gentle, but their content was blunt. "You will need to spend time with him to properly build a surrogate-creator bond, time you do not currently have."

"I can bring him with me to some of my meetings if I can't find free time." I protested, more than a little annoyed toward his efforts at discouraging me.

"That's not what 'time with him' means, Star." As always, Nightfire was right, which only aggravated me further. "The flier who will spend the most time with him will be whomever you assign to be his caretaker while you're overseeing the war and our city." The Space Shuttle paused, and I startled when I felt his hand land on my shoulder. "I'm very surprised that you'd want to adopt an orphaned sparkling." I turned, and Nightfire's faceplate came into view, kind and curious. "Speaking of which, when did you start having the idea?"

"Recently," I grumbled, feeling a little embarrassed. "I don't like what I hear about what's happening to him, so I thought I should do something."

"Would you like alternatives aside from adopting him yourself?" My Science Advisor pushed, testing his boundaries.

I kept his inquiring gaze, but stayed silent, pressing my lips tightly together.

"…You've already made your decision then, haven't you."

It wasn't a question, so I did not answer.

Nightfire's optics dimmed a little. "To be honest, I'm still not sure what you want me to say."

An uncomfortable silence settled around us. His hand felt heavy on my shoulder, but I did not move to push it away. I knew he only wanted to help, which was why he was disregarding rank and being straightforward with me with his concerns. However, what he did not know was that I was not sure myself why I decided to consult with him, for this matter in particular, especially since I had already made my choice.

Somehow, having the Space Shuttle here, having his approval, was very important to me.

"I just want you to tell me one thing," I turned to fully face him with no small amount of sheer will. "Do you think I can be a good surrogate-creator?"

Nightfire had another lengthy pause. I tried my best to not fidget, and waited with utmost impatience. He was watching me, studying my faceplate, though he looked vacant and pensive at the same time. When he finally answered, it was with another question:

"Would my opinion change your decision, Sire?"

I did not give any outward reaction, but the sudden reintroduction of title took me back. The way Nightfire spoke made my spark seize in a flinch. He appeared to have realized something that I haven't, and that made me uncomfortable.

"No," I answered truthfully only because there was no point to lie. "But it would reassure me."

The Space Shuttle held my gaze for several kliks before taking a deep sigh through his intakes. His hand left my shoulder, and hung by his side as he turned his optics to Sunstorm, brow ridges furrowing in thought. When his attention returned to me, he offered a smile, though it looked to be more pointless than pleased. "There is nothing for me to base my judgment on, your Highness." He bowed his helm, the gesture souring my spark in disappointment. "I am not qualified to answer your question, being an unbonded flier myself."

His answer was just as disappointing. I wanted to scowl in frustration, but what he continued to say was more of what I'd wanted to hear:

"However," He seemed to deliberate on how to word his response, "By stubbornness alone, I have a hunch you will find a way to be a good adopter for the Seekerling." He smiled, the expression this time more sincere. While his reasoning in his faith toward me was rather displeasing, his reply was satisfying enough, so I merely scrunched my nose bridge, and let it go.

I held the Space Shuttle's optics, and gave him a small nod before casting my gaze back to Sunstorm. The sparkling had fallen into recharge, curled up in his corner. He was still hugging his toy close to his chassis, helm drooped to the side as he leaned against the wall.

I would have to remember to take that toy with me when I take Sunstorm into my tower. He seemed oddly attached to it.

Going through the appropriate procedures took much longer than I expected, but eventually, Sunstorm became mine. He still had to go through various tests before he was cleared for moving into my tower, so I chose that time to inform my trine mates of the new development in my life.

As it turned out, my trine mates did not take the news as well as I'd anticipated.

For once, Skywarp was the less troubling of the two, simply mumbling about not wanting to sparkling-sit as he lounged on his recharge berth in my trine's common quarters.

"I know you're gonna make me watch 'im. Some slag about me not having anything important to do," My purple trine mate stuck out his bottom lip as though I'd already commanded that he do it. "And for your information, I have plenty of important things to do!"

Ignoring his idiocy, I turned to Thundercracker, hoping for support, but all I found instead was a stormy frown.

"Star, don't take my words the wrong way, but…you're not in a position to adopt." My blue trine mate did not back down even when my wings stiffened. "I understand your intention of repaying Sunstorm's carrier by taking his sparkling under your wings, but you really don't need any more responsibilities on top of what Vos and your Decepticon rank already demand. Your time is more precious than ever, and time is what you must have if you want to become a surrogate-creator for Sunstorm. Seeker sparklings are easily the neediest. Just think about what it was like for you."

I tensed.

"You must remember how you'd wished you could spend more time with your creators during sparklinghood." Thundercracker continued to say. "From what Cloudblast told you, Sunstorm obviously has even more needs than the average Seekerling." He continued, despite the obvious signs I knew he could see telling of my displeasure at his words. "I just don't think you can handle more stress at the moment." He simply would not shut up. "Of course I'll be able to help you, and so will 'Warp, despite what he says. However, there is something very important you're overlooking."

My blue trine mate paused.

He seemed to debate whether or not to speak out his concern.

I really hoped he hadn't. However, the ever polite Thundercracker chose, in that moment, to toss his most prized reason out to the wind in an uncharacteristic indulgence of impulse.

"To be completely frank with you, Starcream, sparklings need two creators." He said, "And you don't even have a prospect candidate for an intended bondmate."

I froze, intakes hitting a full stop as my spark chamber frosted with ice.

Silence.

It hung in the chamber.

Until the edges of my optics stung and my wing joints ached from the high arc of my wings.

"…Whoa!" Skywarp exclaimed, gaping at the blue Seeker. "Whoa, TC! Stop right there!" He pushed up from his berth. "What in the pits are you doing?!" He hissed, and glanced at me as though afraid of what I would do. "You know we can't talk about that!"

"I-…I know," Thundercracker winced, looking like he had something distasteful in his mouth. "But I can't hold back this time, not when we're talking about taking a sparkling into our trine."

"Yeah, but…" The teleporter grimaced. "Couldn't you've said somethin' else?" He kept glancing at me, wary. "You just dabbled your nosecone into both of those things we don't ever—"

"-I won't trouble you with sparkling duties if that's what you're worried about." I spat out, standing from Thundercracker's berth to sit on Skywarp's. "To be completely frank with you, I fail to see where you have any say in this matter at all, Thundercracker." I sneered, and glared at my Diplomatic Advisor.

"This is a trine matter, Star. I think I have much say in this, just as Skywarp does." My blue trine mate sent me an imploring gaze. It held an edge of hurt toward my abrupt leave from his side, but I was too chafed by what he had said to care about that much.

"I'm adopting Sunstorm as the Crown Prince of Vos, not as your trine leader." I bit out, optics narrowing.

"Oh please don't start that again, Starscream." Thundercracker grimaced, and turned his faceplate away.

"I already made my decision." I ignored his antics. "I am not here to ask for your opinions. I am here to inform you of what's going to happen."

Thundercracker's faceplate snapped back toward me. He stared, brow ridges knitted, for a long, silent while. "Why do you do this every time we try to communicate as a trine?" He shook his helm as though he could not comprehend my behaviour. "The Crown Prince of Vos and my trine leader is the same Seeker. I see no distinction." He insisted.

"Which is why you attempts at communicating with me continues to fail. You never treat me accordingly." I crossed my arms, and Thundercracker sent out a frustrated cycle of air through his vents.

"For Primus's sakes, Star! You still want me to 'your Majesty' you even in our common quarters?" My blue trine mate was becoming frazzled, which was odd for one usually calm and collected. However, I hardly cared about that triviality at that moment.

"You forget, Thundercracker, that I don't actually recharge here." I replied with equal fervor, tone pointed and edged. "I see two berths, not three. My chamber lies above yours, which should be more than enough clue for you of our proper hierarchical positions."

"How can you even say something like that? Do you not hear yourself talk?" Thundercracker leaned back, helm in a slow, exasperated shake. "This attitude is exactly why our trine never gets along as well as others'!" His brow ridges dipped further, optics holding a hurt, helpless gaze. "We can barely talk about anything of importance without you pulling rank on us, and every time you do anything that consequentially involves our trine, you never actually ask for our opinions at all. Did the thought of asking us how we feel about suddenly having a sparkling in our trine cross your mind at all? Have you ever thought that maybe—"

"-Hey! Wanna know what happened the other cycle?!" Skywarp hopped up from his berth, and gestured dramatically, optics wide. "Soundwave's runts and I pranked this bot, painted 'im pink while he was recharging and glued 'im to the ceiling in the mess hall! It was the funniest slag ever! But by Unicron was he mad. Megatron made us get him down afterwards. I only got away from gettin' my aft kicked 'cause I could teleport, but I dunno about Rumble and Frenzy…"

Skywarp's interruption stopped the brewing argument between Thundercracker and I. My purple trine mate continued to chatter, his forced excitement and enthusiastic prattle almost sickening to watch. I scowled, and turned away, but not before giving my blue trine mate a hard glare. He looked back with his lips pursed, and did not speak.

The rest of the cycle passed with meetings with various advisors. By the time night cycle arrived, I was exhausted, and very much looking forward to a lengthy recharge. After running a brief shower, I climbed into my berth, and flopped down on my canopy. My systems were in preparation for shut down, until an insistent ping popped up from my comm..

:What?: I answered the request, drowsy and annoyed.

:Soundwave to Commander Starscream – Please acknowledge.: Soundwave's voice rang in my audials. Its tone was so flat and boring that I almost dropped into recharge immediately.

:Acknowledged.: I mumbled, sinking deeper into my berth. :What do you want?:

:Purpose of contact – notification on next meeting of Decepticon high command. Time scheduled – fifteenth joor, one upcoming mega-cycle. Location – Kaon, Decepticon main base, section two-A, chamber three-dash-one-zero. Coordinates to follow. Topic – military strategies. Target – Autobot city Tarn. Specifics – invasion of energon crystal storage facilities. Recommended course of action – prepare aerial combat plans.:

:I don't need you telling me what I should do, Soundwave.: I scowled. :Why isn't Lord Rust Bucket contacting me himself? He's always comm.-ed me personally before.:

:Soundwave – Communications Officer. Lord Megatron – Supreme Commander of Decepticons.:

Great, another kiss-aft in the Decepticon army. I sent a short huff through my vents, and buried my faceplate into my berth.

:Acknowledged. I'll be there with my trine mates and generals.:

:Affirmative.: Soundwave paused, and I reasoned he must have been logging the information into a terminal. :Inquiry – confirmation of attendance one cycle prior to meeting?:

:No,: I snarled into my berth, :I don't need reminders, Soundwave.:

:Affirmative. Termination of contact – commence.:

I cut our line before his voice even faded. I was in no mood to play nice with the mech who'd rubbed his disgusting hands all over my wings in pretense of painting sigils. Settling into a more comfortable position, I took a deep cycle of air through my intakes, and waited for my recharge protocols to kick in. As my systems slipped into resting mode, thoughts of the upcoming meeting surfaced in my processors.

I had not seen Megatron since the incident in his throne room, and he has yet initiated any contact with me. Sometimes I would access the comm. frequencies I have stored in my data banks just to entertain the idea of sending him a ping to taunt him. I never did such a thing, of course. The consequences would be undoubtedly unpleasant. In all honesty, I did not expect him to stop keeping track of me for such an extended period of time, but he, once again, proved just how unpredictable he could be.

My ventilation slowed. Memory files bubbled at random before sinking back into the inky black depth of my sub-level hard-drive. There were better times to muse about that rusty ground pounder. Peaceful recharge was rare during times of war. With much effort, I managed to silence my wandering thoughts. My systems powered down one by one, and my awareness of the world waned.

Despite how we parted, I was glad that I was going to see him again.

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XXIII

:Do not attack the city. I repeat, do not attack the city!:

I cursed as a missile almost hit me in the right wing, and swerved in the air, making sharp, fast turns to avoid the thick web of cannon fire shooting at me from below. With a series of flips and rolls, I managed to escape the onslaught of blasts unscathed, finally allowed a brief reprieve to survey the battle below me.

Everything was engulfed by flames and explosions. The rising heat was a blistering bake against the belly of my alt-mode, almost flaking the paint. My frame has sustained several scorch marks, close calls with Autobot anti-flight weapons. My right wing had been clipped by a lucky shot from a mech who was no longer with the living. I had no idea where Megatron was. The noise was too deafening for me to pick out his battle cries. I could see my Fighter Jets in the distance, in formation, raining bombs from above. I wondered if Bladeflight was with them. He would be able to help me pass on my instructions.

I had lost all contact with my generals and trine mates several breems ago. My comm.-system had been flickering on and off ever since a blunt hit in the helm I'd received earlier during the battle. It seemed to have completely given out, and I was left flying alone, circling the outskirts. :Bladeflight, Ramjet, do you copy? Thundercracker? Skywarp?: I tried once again in vain, pinging everyone I could think of. :If any of you receive, forward my order to all fliers currently in combat – refrain from attacking the city. I repeat, no Vosian military personnel is to attack the city center of Tarn!:

City center was not our objective. However, there was already a significant amount of damage from what I could see on the buildings on its outer edge. War knew no boundaries. It spread like energon through coolant. Even though Megatron had no interest in taking the city, his subordinates, or mine, would understandably make it their target if Autobot snipers were stationed there.

I contemplated flying to my Fighter Jets, but my presence would only interfere with their battle plan, resulting in unnecessary casualties. Hissing in curses, I changed my flight path, narrowly avoiding a large cluster of Autobots, and shot off to where I knew the Decepticons had already secured before my comm. spluttered out.

This mission was proving to be much more difficult than all previous times we'd engaged the Autobots. Not only was there a large number of enemy soldiers stationed at the storage facilities, there was also a lot of little crooks and crevices for them to hide in from air attacks. Of course, all of these factors had already been taken into consideration during lengthy strategic meetings with the Decepticon high command. However, theories and simulations could only predict so far. Reality had a nasty habit of giving malicious surprises.

Overtaking all surrounding outskirts of a big city like Tarn was a feat to accomplish to begin with, much less during night cycle and attacking from all sides. The idea was simple: surround the place, kill the Autobots, and take the energon crystals. The tactics employed were many and quite ingenious. Our calculated probability of winning was exceptionally high for invading a wide spread of land. As far as I knew, Bladeflight followed the plan down to the last wingtip, and Ramjet was doing admirably in holding back from dangerous improvisation. Fliers were not the front-liners of this battle. Our main job was large-scale damage while covering the ground troops.

Everything began well, but not well enough. We hit the Autobots fast and hard, but their reaction was shocking in its effective swiftness that belied their semi-comatose while stationed at the docks. The dullness of every-cycle patrol did not make them lethargic as I had expected. It made them even more battle-hungry and eager, though I suspected revenge also fueled their lust for spilling energon on this night.

I was slightly worried whether or not Megatron brought enough mechs. I hesitated to call them soldiers, because they weren't, at least not yet. I was amazed that the Decepticons has managed to succeed this far. While they were tough, ruthless, they were still somewhat disorganized, not to mention their unfortunate tendency to antagonize each other at inconvenient times.

A laser shot sailed past my left wing tip. It almost seared my flight sensor. I swore, veering to the side with a screech of my engines. I had no warning before it came, and, even now, I could not tell where exactly it came from. Damned buildings and their flickering shadows, they camouflaged a lot of small Autobot groups. More laser blasts fired toward me, and I was forced into a wide arc to reach the Decepticon stronghold. To retreat from a fight was irritating, but I'd rather not get any more wounded than I already was.

Due to the minor injury on my wing, I could not reach full speed. Even the smallest unbalance could be fatal if one was not careful, and I had no death wish. The scalding heat from the raging fire below smacked against the cold air from Cybertron's thin atmosphere. Their collision created surging winds, odd, turbulent currents with whims of their own. They were a nuisance, which hardly helped my sour mood. They were the reason I lost my trine mates in the first place, when I had stumbled in the air upon receiving a hit on my wing.

I was supposed to rendezvous with Thundercracker and Skywarp at prearranged coordinates at a specific time. However, due to my stumble, I was late. By the time I'd reached the designated meeting spot, my trine mates were no longer there, which was understandable. There was no wait during battle. They would carry on with their respective objectives without me.

Of course my lack of a functioning Comm.-system was also why I could not find them. However, if I could locate Megatron or Soundwave, I would be able to forward my instruction to my fliers.

Megatron would not like my decision of not attacking the city, especially if it might compromise taking out Autobot snipers, but he never said we were going to claim Tarn under Decepticon rule.

Our main goal was securing the energon crystals, and, according to Soundwave, a large shipment of the raw material arrived during third shift of the cycle. Based on approximation, the amount of refined energon one could convert from the crystals currently stored at the outskirts was enough to feed all Vosian citizens for two vorns. This was treasure beyond any miracle since the beginning of Cyberbtron's energon depletion crisis. If the Decepticons could claim this, not only would they attain more wealth than they could have ever imagined, but also tip the war even more in their favour.

No wonder the Autobots were fighting with such desperation.

Avoiding more gunfire, I approached the Decepticon stronghold, and began to descend. Already mechs were loading hovercrafts with crates of energon crystals. They barely looked up when I passed them overhead, now used to the presence of fliers, and my Seeker pride almost balked at such treatment. Huffing with annoyance, I transformed in mid-air, and touched down on the ground.

The place was bustling with activity. Weapons were distributed. More Decepticons were sent out to battle according to plan. There were puddles and trails of energon on the ground from the wounded and deactivated. Every once in a while, a missile or two would fly past overhead. Screams would follow, before the sounding explosions muffled the guttural shrieks of war.

"You," I pointed at a ground pounder running back toward the storage warehouse, "Where's Megatron? I need to find him."

"Dunno where the boss went," The mech did not even pause, tossing a reply before passing me.

An indignant sneer curled my lips, and I glared at his retreating back. I thought I wouldn't be surprised by the sheer insolence of these mechs anymore. Obviously I was wrong.

"You there, green and black!" I barked at another ground pounder, who was loitering as far as I could tell. He turned around, optics curious, and I saw that he was holding a data pad, which probably meant he was in charge of the whole loading operation. "I am Starscream, Decepticon second-in-command." I announced as I strode toward him, "I want to know the location of our supreme commander."

This grounder was much more tolerable than the last. At least he was making half an attempt at standing in attention and giving me a messy salute.

"I don't know much to be honest, Commander Starscream," He shrugged, "Last I heard Lord Megatron's was in the frontlines at Sector E. That was a while ago. Don't know where he is now."

Megatron's army clearly lacked proper discipline. I narrowed my optics and pursed my lips. "How come no one here knows where his own Primus-damned leader is?!" I snapped at the mech. "Are you all useless and incompetent?!"

"Hey, don't yell at me. I just watch bots load 'em hovercrafts." The ground pounder lifted both hands in surrender. "As far as I know, the commanding officer here is Shockwave."

Shockwave? What the slag was a scientist doing out here on the battlefield?

"Where's Soundwave then?" I asked, wings jerking agitatedly on my back.

"With the boss? I don't know."

With a frustrated growl, I turned on my heels and walked away. These grounders were a bunch of idiots!

:Bladeflight, Ramjet, do you receive?: I tried again to hail my generals, but all the response I got was static. I contemplated accessing my side of the trine link to see if my trine mates left theirs open, but quickly dismissed the idea. Unless the trine was complete and together, leaving one's bond open could only be a liability in battle, since any distraction could be deadly. Hissing in expletives, I scanned the area, wondering where was, and found myself staring at the temporary med bay.

Of course, the med bay! My wings flicked up. I could fix my comm.-system there!

Running toward it, I darted and backtracked many times to avoid being trampled by bulky grounder pounders. Did they not watch where they were going?! The med bay was not quite a med bay, more like a designated location for mechs missing limbs to lie in an orderly fashion on the ground, groaning in pain while medics scurried around, trying their best to get to all patients before the injured bled to death. Equipment was scarce. Sterilization was nonexistent. Dead frames were already cut open and sliced to pieces to excavate reusable parts. I almost started to feel bad about the Decepticons having such terrible medical care when a voice roused me from my pensive observation.

"If you're not dead or dying I don't want to see you!"

I followed the direction of the voice, and spotted a green and purple mech. On his pale faceplate was a bright, red visor, and I felt my wing joints tense.

"You! Wings! Do you hear me or not?!" He snapped at me again, and I gave my helm a shake.

"…I'm not 'wings', you glitch-ridden fool! I am Starscream, your superior officer, and I will be treated as such!" I yelled back, a scowl on my features.

"If you're not dying, you're not my problem!" The medic was hands deep in some grounder's innards as he threw glances at me, annoyance apparent on his lips. Ignoring his words and his unpleasant attitude, I propped my hands up on my hips, and declared to him in a shout:

"My comm.-system has been damaged, medic, and I demand to be fixed!"

"Trivial injuries will wait until after the battle." His reply insulted me with its belittling curtness.

"How dare you," My voice rose in volume and pitch. "By rank alone, my injury far outweighs the lives of these pitiful scrapheaps!" I waved dismissively at the bleeding grounders by my peds, and sneered.

The medic froze. Under his hands, his patient gave a low, static-filled moan.

"…I might not be an officially certified medic, flier." He turned his helm toward me, the gesture painstakingly slow. His visor erupted into blinding brightness, and it was alarming, jolting me back a step. "However," He continued, "I have willingly taken the Medical Oath of Cybertron." He glared at me, expression so full of distaste that I was rooted to the spot. "Never offend me or my profession in such a manner again, you hear me?" He bit out, and only yanked his visor away when his patient gave another agonized groan. He went back to digging around in the grounder's chassis, and I was left feeling like a scolded sparkling, the sensation an uncomfortable churn in my fuel tank.

After a long moment of standing and staring, an explosion shook the ground under my thrusters, and jolted me out of my stunned silence. "I'm looking for Shockwave." I decided to change my wording. If the damned mech would not fix me, I could at least find the purple scientist and reach Megatron or Soundwave.

The medic sent out a blast of air through his vents as he pulled on something deep inside his patient's chassis. "Do you see any one-opticked Cybertronians here?!" He replied, and gave me a brief, aggravated flash of his visor.

Annoyance flared inside my spark. "Actually, there are many, but none of them are the one I'm looking for!" I answered in a snarl. "Just tell me where the frag he is!"

"If he's not dying, then I don't know!" With a forceful tug, a sharp, glinting piece of scrap metal came out of the injured grounder. Energon spurted out like a fountain, and splashed all over the place. With a grimace of disgust, I turned away. I could find a way to reach my fliers without having to witness such a display.

I walked around the Decepticon stronghold, asking for the location of Shockwave. No one seemed to know, and I grew more aggravated by the klik. It was highly doubtful for a scientist to be at where the fighting was, since I did not think a mech like him knew any combat at all, despite his convenient left arm. Looking around blindly was a lost cause. I accessed my data-banks for battle plans of Tarn, and tried to discern where I would most likely find Megatron at current time.

Megatron…

Memory files surfaced as I sifted through the plans.

The strategy meeting held in Kaon had been excruciating in its formality. Between Soundwave's monotonous voice and Shockwave's linear logic, I was certain my processors had sunk into stand-by mode before air combat came into discussion. Well, it was not so much air combat, more of how to bomb the slag out of the Autobots in the most efficient way possible. Tactics and recommendations were thrown back and forth until the lengthy process of coordinating ground and air forces began. Throughout the entire meeting, Megatron did not look at me once aside from directly addressing me. He kept himself contained, demeanor aloof, distant, and I left Kaon feeling oddly bothered and discomforted.

Taking one last scan of the area, I gave up trying to find Shockwave, and took off into the air. With a quick transformation to jet-mode, I shot off toward the west, knowing by calculation that Megatron was most likely securing another sector for the Decepticons to raid if everything was going according to plan. I encountered more Autobots along the way, and almost got caught in a large explosion. Flames licked my tailfins. Smoke engulfed me like a thick chemical cloud. Debris pelted against my plating and wings, but I escaped, though with several more burns. Mood even more compromised, I pushed against my current safe speed limit, and sliced through the currents. More Autobots tried to take a shot at me. They missed. In less than a breem, I neared my destination, and began to descend when I noticed groups of Decepticons.

I had to be close. I could hear the deep, thunderous roar of the fusion cannon. The Decepticons' positions started to resemble the formation we'd discussed during the strategic meeting. Working out where Megatron should be was easy. I descended further, and clicked off my thrusters to glide in the air once I was safe inside Decepticon territory.

I started to look around, trying to spot Megatron. He stopped firing his cannon, so there was no sound aiding my search. He had to be extremely close now, though, perhaps only a few warehouses away. Passing by a few groups of Decepticons on patrol for stray Autobots, I circled the storage facilities, and noticed something huddled in a corner between two conjoint buildings.

It was a mech, a ground pounder. He was little more than a hunched shape hiding in the shadows, but only half of his frame was covered by darkness, the other half in plain view. Even from my distance, I could tell he was shaking. His body was drenched in energon, rendering his paintjob indistinguishable. He was not wearing armour like the Autobots, which meant he was not the enemy, so why was he hiding? Curiosity got the best of me. I tilted my axis, and glided closer. My spark almost froze out of my spark chamber when I realized who this mech was – someone I did not expect at all to see:

Orion.

The mech was Orion.

What in the pits was he doing here? I had comm.-ed him well in advance to tell him to avoid the docks during this specific night cycle. I could not reveal much, but I was very clear when instructing him to find an excuse to not take this shift. I was thorough in explaining to him the importance of him following through with what I said. I was certain he was going to listen, so why? Why was he here?

The dockworker was curled up, pressing his back as much as he could against the wall to blend into the shadows. He was shivering, shoulders in spasms. Judging by the amount of energon he had on his frame, I was surprised he was still conscious. He suddenly jolted, and hugged his knees even tighter against his chassis. I could not figure out what had triggered such a response until loud, boisterous laughter broke out behind me, and I instantly flipped in the air, transforming back into root-mode to hover.

There were a couple of Decepticon patrols approaching Orion's hiding spot. They were far away enough to not notice him, but if they came any closer, they would, with absolute certainty, see him. However, they were rather engrossed in whatever they were talking about, making a ruckus as they shoved each other and joked. If Orion remained silent and kept still, there was a chance that they might miss him.

Before that line of thought even passed through my processors, a faint, but distinct whimper trickled from below me. My intakes hitched. The Decepticons dropped to silence. They were looking in Orion's general direction, and their optics narrowed, suspicious. They have yet actually seen the dockworker if their craning neck cables and cautious gesturing were any indication. However, I knew Orion would not survive the confrontation. The patrols had powered up their weapons, the whirr of their blasters unmistakable and immediately making up my mind.

"Decepticons, report!" I shouted at the patrols. "Have you spotted any Autobots?"

The group collectively jumped. One of them even dared to lift his blaster by reflex before his friend grabbed its barrel. These grounders must have been recruited without my audience. They murmured to each other as though they did not know who I was. I scowled, hands clenching into tight fists. Megatron should've educated his mechs about me even if I wasn't there. What kind of soldiers didn't even know who their own Primus-damned Commander was?

"I am Starscream, Decepticon second-in-command and air commander. You will report to me when I ask it, soldier!" I snapped, glaring down at them, and they grew nervous.

"We, uh…We didn't see any Autobots, sir." One of them answered, peering up at me.

"Then you obviously are not looking hard enough." I stared them down with disdain, and pointed at them with a swing of my arm. "Well? What in the pits are you waiting for?! Survey the area down south and make yourselves useful!" I waved my hand in the opposite direction, sending them away.

"But—…Commander Star—Star—…" The grounders murmured to each other as though they'd already forgotten what my designation was. "Commander Starscream!" The one who had been speaking announced triumphantly, and I made a scornful face. "We heard something by that corner and were just gonna check it out, sir!" The mech motioned in Orion's direction, and I forced out an annoyed growl.

"I'm hovering right here, you imbecile! There is nothing!" I propped my hands on my hips, lips pulling into a familiar sneer.

"But…I'm sure I heard something there." The grounders shared confused looks, hesitating to follow my order. My optics narrowed to slits. Sticking out my chassis, I fanned out my wings, and put on the most threatening expression I could muster.

"Are you challenging my authority and credibility as your commander, soldier?" My voice was a low snarl, followed by the shrill whine of my null rays' activation. The grounders startled, and, without even a reply, scrambled in a turn on their peds. They walked away, sending nervous glances back at me. Before long, they disappeared from view, pushing each other behind a corner just in case I decided to give them parting gifts courtesy of my compact cannons.

I waited a moment longer before allowing a relieved sigh to pass through my vents. I turned back to Orion. He was staring at me, shocked, mouth hanging open. His blue optics pierced through the shadows, and he'd become still, tension apparent in every joint. I eased my thrusters, and landed a few steps away. Keeping his gaze, I walked toward him, pace slow, and frowned in concern.

"Orion?" I asked in a soft voice, bending down slightly to catch better view of his faceplate.

"…S-Seeker…" Orion whispered, and his trembling returned. "Seeker, you're—…you're here…You're here! …And your designation is Starscream!" He laughed, the sound barely rasps, and my frown deepened.

"Are you hurt?" I gave him a once-over, lips pressing together as I took in the energon caked over his plating. He gaped at me, as though he did not know what I was talking about.

"…Oh! This!" He finally snapped out of it, and looked down at himself. "This—…It's not mine…" His gaze lowered, and he tried to laugh again, but this time, he only managed a weak, humourless grin. "It's…my friend's." His words were hushed, the corners of his lips quivering, curving downward. "My friend…was—…killed…torn apart, right in front of me." His optics stared, forward, blank and unseeing. "I—I…survived… pretending to be dead under him…His energon soaked into mine."

His haunted expression was a little disturbing. My jaw hinges tightened, and I stopped in front of him, not knowing what to do.

"I just—…don't understand…" He continued to speak, syllables becoming so muffled that I wasn't sure if he was still aware of my presence at all. "Dion just wanted to join the Decepticons. That was why he—…why he did not run away, even though they had big guns. But—…But why did they …kill him, Starscream…?" He lifted his faceplate, optics widened. "Why did they kill him…?!" His expression crumbled, and anguished tears washed down his cheekplates. "…He was my best friend…" The dockworker shook, frame rattling. He choked, voice strangled and hushed. "…He was my best friend…!"

"Alright, that's enough." I could no longer bear looking at him, lips curling and spark uncomfortably tight inside my spark chamber. "You have to get out of here, quickly. I can escort you, but you'll have to be fast on your peds and hide as soon as I tell you to." When he gave no outward acknowledgement that he'd heard me, I became irritated. "Come on. Get up." I ordered him, knowing we did not have much time. There was still a battle ongoing. "Orion, get up!" I repeated, and when he still did not move, I reached for his arm, vents in a blast of a sigh.

"—No!" He immediately balked, and plastered himself into his corner. "N-No! Please! I—I can't!"

"It doesn't matter if you can or cannot, Orion. We have to go!" I hissed, and glanced side to side in case any other patrols was in proximity before making another attempt at grabbing him.

"No!" He shielded his faceplate, curling into an even tighter ball. "I-I can't! I don't want to die! They'll kill me just like they killed Dion! I c-can't—I can't!"

Snarling and biting back curses, I stepped forward, and grabbed onto his arm regardless of his protests. "If you don't want to die then you should have listened to me!" I yanked, trying to get him to stand. "I told you to find an excuse to not take the night shift. Did you think that was for no apparent reason?!"

"I—I couldn't…!" He shook his helm, struggling to duck out of reach of my other hand. "I couldn't leave Dion here by himself!"

"Oh for the love of Primus…" No matter how hard I pulled, he did not move, being heavier than I was. Frustration nipped at my spark. The longer we spent tugging at each other, the greater the possibility of someone hearing our scuffle.

"A-And the Autobots…" Orion continued, words spluttered. "If I—If I suddenly bail out of work, they might be suspicious. What if they—…What if they figured out that the attack will happen tonight? Then you might get hurt!"

I paused, lips hanging apart from the obscenities I was kliks from uttering. I stared at him, so surprised that my hand remained attached to his arm, even though I no longer pulled at the limb. I did not know how to respond, caught off guard that this insignificant dock worker actually worried about me. His concern that the Autobots would become suspicious of his sudden leave was unfounded. After all, his employer would most likely assume he'd lied so he could spend the night cycle drinking with his friends, as such behaviour was common for young mechs in the labour force, or so I've been told.

I doubted the Autobots really cared about which dock worker came to work. There was no valid reason for Orion to fret over his absence rousing suspicion.

However, his motivation for coming to work despite my warning was…a bit shocking. We were hardly friends. We'd only met once, and all we did afterwards was have a few conversations over comm.. This hardly garnered enough worth for him to risk his life, just to decrease a sliver of the danger I would face. It was irrational. It made no sense whatsoever. It was…a little spark-warming.

"Come on, Orion." I tried once again to drag the dock worker onto his peds. "If you don't want to die, then you should do as I say."

It took a lot of prompting, tugging, bribing, and yelling to finally get Orion to stand. His best friend's deactivation obviously jolted something loose in his processors, and even as I led him through the maze-like paths between the warehouses, he did not look like he was with me at all. His optics were glowing. Their brightness was eerie. I've never seen anything like them before. Every once in a while, I turned to check up on him, and each of those times, I was repeatedly surprised by how much light shone from the two specs of blue, enforced glass. We encountered more patrol teams along our way, which I then easily diverted after shoving Orion into the nearest dark alley. We stumbled upon several Autobot corpses during our journey, and I swiped a blaster for Orion from one of them, prying the weapon out of dead, cold fingers.

"Hold this. Keep your finger off the trigger unless you want to shoot." I wrapped his hands around the handle of the blaster. "Lean your weight forward when you fire, and don't forget to keep your peds shoulder-width apart, one a little in front of the other." He looked startled, optics darting between the weapon and my faceplate as though the blaster was going to ignite into flames right between his digits. I could not determine whether any of my instructions actually sunk into his processors or not, but there was no time for a repetition. I only clutched him around the elbow, and led him on our way.

"Listen to me, Orion," I whispered as I scanned the area for Autobots and Decepticons alike, "You are in the middle of a battle that has yet reached its climax." Seeing no movement around us, I pulled Orion into a quick dash across the intersecting pathway. "You must protect yourself. You cannot assume you are safe just for being a civilian. In combat situations, if you do not wear a Decepticon badge, by default, you are the enemy, simply because you are not one of us."

Suddenly, a familiar voice, flat and toneless, reached my audials. I cursed, and shoved Orion into the shadows of one of the looming warehouses.

"Listen to me, closely." I hazarded a quick glance in the direction of the voice, and cursed when there was a flash of blue. "I cannot accompany you further. You're on your own from here onward."

Orion froze. He did not answer, but he did not need to. Just from the increase of trembling in his hands, I knew he was terrified. Not that such mattered.

"Hide in the shadows as much as you can, and use the blaster only when absolutely necessary." My fingers tightened around his elbow, just to emphasize the importance of my instructions, and he hastily nodded. "Remember to aim before you fire. It might be difficult when you're fearful for your life, but the last thing you'll want to do is waste ammunition by being careless." My hushed words sounded harsh amidst the rumbling noise of battle as I pressed against him, keeping both of us hidden. "My comm. is out, so I can't guarantee you clearance from my fliers. Be careful. Find the Autobots. As far as I know, they shelter civilians."

The dock worker's vents stuttered in hitched breaths. There was a glimmer of rising coolant below his optics. Locked onto his frightened and panicked gaze, I clutched his arms, and gave them a squeeze. "Go into the city." I told him. "Go underground if you can, and don't come out until the battle is over." I offered him a tight, thin smile, a feeble attempt at flimsy encouragement.

"Stay safe, Orion Pax." With that as our farewell, I pulled away, and backed out of the shadows.

Leaving him.

Soundwave was a couple of warehouses down. Standing with him was Megatron. They both looked worse for wear, but neither seemed to have received severe injuries. With slight astonishment, I realized that the chipping red paint on Megatron's cheek plates had completely worn off. When did that happen? How come I never noticed before? As I wondered, Megatron turned his helm to survey the area, and spotted me in an instance.

I tried to look as nonchalant as I could about walking toward them, but it was hard, since being on the ground during battle for a Seeker was…odd. Soundwave stopped his droning, and pivoted on his peds when he noticed Megatron staring past him. They watched me approach them, and I had to smother down the urge to flick in my wings. I could only hope Orion had sneaked away, and that Soundwave was too distracted by the ongoing battle to feel the need to pry into my processors.

"Lord Megatron, I've been looking for you." I addressed him as soon as I got within range to be heard without the necessity to shout.

"Why aren't you monitoring your fliers, Starscream?" Megatron looked displeased, pinning me down with a hard stare. "From what I hear, the battle has not eased enough to justify you loitering around."

Plastering on a sneer, I stomped up to him, and scrunched my nose bridge while my wings jerked on my back. "If that damned medic of yours would actually do what I told him to, I wouldn't be 'loitering around'," I shouted to mask any possible scuffling from Orion, and crossed my arms. "If looking for my mighty leader is so obviously a pointless pursuit." I narrowed my optics, tone needling.

"You look fine to me." Megatron did not even roam his optics over my form before commenting, and I scoffed through my vents.

"How enlightening an observation, oh insightful one." Sarcasm dripped from my voice like a thick film of oil. "If you'd actually let me speak before gracing me with your wise and brilliant commentary, you could've saved yourself the trouble of sounding like an imperceptive fool."

"You've spoken nothing but pointless garble thus far." He growled, lips curling, and his energy field flared, a lick of impatience against mine.

"Shut up! Are you going to hear me or not?!" I snapped, swinging my fists down by my sides. "You think I wanted to leave my fliers to look for you? I only came because you're the only ground pounder aside from your communications officer to have comm. access with my trine mates and generals! Approaching my Fighter Jets and Seekers physically is out of the question, as I'll only end up making a mess by steering their priorities away from battle, and since my comm.-system got disabled from a lucky shot by one of the Auto-slaggers, I'm a little tight on options."

He stared down at me, and let out a hum.

What the frag?

"Well?" I hissed. "Are you going to help me?!"

"Before that, I have a question for you." He clasped his hands around his back, brow ridges in a frown. "Why were you walking?"

I was caught off guard. My wing joints tensed.

"Your wings appear functional, and judging by the fact that you still have enough energy to yap, you haven't received any serious injuries that jeopardize your flight system." He gave me a full-frame study, optics glowing and focused. "I did not hear you arrive in the air. I did not hear you land. I did not see you when I scanned our proximity since stopping at this junction." His gaze zeroed in on mine, suspicion a heady simmer. "What are you hiding from us?"

I shifted on my peds, and forced out a huff, optics averting. "Don't be ridiculous. I wasn't hiding." I clenched my jaw joints as I glanced up at him. "…I had to make sure you aren't Autobots!" I blurted out my excuse like it was the most obvious reason in the universe. However, even to me, the lie sounded weak.

"Starscream…" A scowl deepened the shadows creasing his faceplate. His stare hardened into a penetrating glare, and his energy field condensed around him, promising a world of hurt if I were to dare insult him with another flimsy excuse. My joints stiffened. Nervousness rattled my logic. My mouth parted before my processors could come up with any valid explanation. However, before I could seal my fate of receiving at least a vicious punch, a distant explosion jolted our attention away from the topic.

Helm snapping toward the direction of the explosion, I stared, lips still parted, as the night sky erupted into a splashing tide of optic-piercing red. The magnitude of the audial-shattering noise alone rooted me to the spot, gaping, when flames, engulfing the black canvas of stars, spat out burning debris. Before I could even stutter out an inquiry as to where it had come from, more sectors blew up, in succession, increasingly closer and closer. The very ground beneath my peds started to shake. The air was ripped open by heat and commotion. It was as though Cybertron's core had split. The quakes were so violent that I toppled over, yelping and scrambling to stay upright.

Arms caught me, and I instantly grappled on, optics darting in fear. The aggressive currents resulted from the explosions slammed into my flight sensors, and carried with them were sharp, glinting pieces of scorching metal, beating and scratching against my plating. I hastily deactivated my ventilation system, to keep the debris from clogging my intakes. The world was in chaos. The air itself had ignited. The dry, scalding heat around me blistered my paintjob, and, without the help of my vents, my internals skyrocketed to critical temperature levels.

Even my overworking coolant system could not bring it down. My fuel lines were on the verge to burst, the energon in them boiling. I shrieked in pain, and pressed into the frame that held me. We were being smelted alive. There was no other term to better describe our surroundings as the pits combusted around us.

Throughout the confusion and panic, I wondered how my fliers were doing. I sincerely hoped they had been out of range when the explosions happened, and that most of them were safe, unhurt. The flight conditions had become a total purge. The air howled into the furnace colouring the sky alight. While I was confident in my soldiers' skills, even the most seasoned of fliers would have great troubles trying to navigate the currents. Primus, what have I gotten myself into? How was I supposed to escape out of this?

"Soundwave!" Megatron's voice bellowed from right on top of my helm. I startled, spitting out a curse, but I should've known he'd be the one to catch me, having been closer. He pulled me close against his chassis, arms tight around my frame. I tried to struggle, but he tightened his grip, keeping me pinned. "Report!" He shouted to his right, and, for a long moment, only the screeching of winds and deafening roars of fire answered.

"Laserbeak—…loss of…c—connect—…Loss of connection." Soundwave's voice faded in and out, though its harmonized texture helped me to distinguish it from the noise booming around us. "Initiating recon—…Laserbeak, report. Repeat: Laserbeak, report…"

If the small drone was flying around when the bombs went off, the chances of it surviving was very slim. Its size and weight was no match for the currents clashing into each other. If it were lucky, it would not have deactivated upon impact against the ground or a warehouse, but the possibility of such scenario was pessimistic at best.

However, several kliks after Soundwave's repeated attempts at reaching his drone, there came a small, raspy squawk. Peeking over Megatron's thick arm, I saw a flickering shadow through the thick fume, and, a moment later, Laserbeak appeared out of the smoke, hopping on its little clawed peds. It was missing a wing, and one of its optics had cracked. Energon leaked out of the injured optic like tears. The drone stopped dead in its tracks as it spotted Soundwave. Looking up at the blue mech, it paused, and suddenly started scrambling toward its master with renewed, frantic vigor.

Soundwave rushed to his drone, more swift than I had ever seen him move. With large, hurried strides, he reached Laserbeak halfway, and knelt down onto one knee, arms extended. His back was toward me, blocking the sight of their reunion. Even so, I could sense something different about his behaviour, marked most distinguishably by the way his shoulders had tensed by an almost unnoticeable degree.

"Laserbeak: Return." I heard him order, and tiny sounds of transformation followed. However, it did not complete, and Soundwave patiently instructed again. "Laserbeak: Return."

A short while passed, filled with small noises of transformation cogs catching on each other. Laserbeak let out a tiny squawk, sounding pained and miserable. Soundwave reached toward. When he stood up and turned around, he was holding his drone to his chassis much like the way a creator would hold a sparkling

He approached Megatron and I in silence. "What did Laserbeak see?" Megatron asked, voice rough and dark.

"Laserbeak reporting: Explosion locations: Energon crystal storage facilities in sectors D, E, and F. Probability of destruction of other energon crystal storage facilities: ninty-three-point-two-seven percent." Soundwave dutifully intoned, betraying no emotional response whatsoever. "Confirming estimation: initiated. Connection to Autobot surveillance system of Tarn: established." He paused, and my wings trembled as I waited, optics watching his dimmed visor. "Estimation: inaccurate. Energon crystal storage facilities: one-hundred percent destruction. Possible explanation: Pre-planted explosives by Autobot forces."

Megatron cursed. I could only stare at Soundwave in shock.

"What of our mechs?" Megatron snarled. His arms clenched tighter around me, and it almost hurt, but I was too stunned by the news to protest.

"Status of Decepticon forces: unknown." Soundwave answered. "Establishing contact to Officer Shockwave." A pause. "Establishment: failure. Re-establishment initiated: awaiting response."

"What about my fliers? Where are my trine mates and my generals?" I asked, optics wide.

"Establishing contact to Vosian military frequency." Soundwave fell silent, and it was the longest wait in my lifetime. "…Connection Established. Commencing broadcast."

Soundwave let out an odd, buzzing sound, and suddenly, voices filtered out of his vocalizer.

"—the frag do you mean you can't reach him?!" Ramjet's voice blared out. "You're his fragging trine mates!"

"He closed his trine link!" Skywarp wailed, and Ramjet swore.

I felt stupid, a wince on my faceplate. Of course, the trine link! I could have checked on my trine mates by connecting to them through the bond since the battle was obviously on standby.

"Wait, there's someone on the line with us." Thundercracker. "I don't recognize the frequency!"

"State your designation, intruder!" Bladeflight demanded, voice harsh.

"Designation: Soundwave." Soundwave replied. "Current location: Sector F of outskirts of Tarn. Surrounding company: Lord Megatron, Air Commander Starscream."

"Star!" Thundercracker's exclamation of surprise and relief came through, accompanied by Ramjet's loud, relieved sigh.

"Thank Primus…" Bladeflight murmured, but he was immediately interrupted by Skywarp.

"Star? Star? Hello?" My purple trine mate called out. "Hello?! Can you hear me? Why isn't he answering?!"

"Air Commander Starscream: unavailable on Vosian military frequency." Soundwave answered for me, and I wanted to rub my faceplate with my hand.

There was nothing in the universe that could stop Skywarp's stupidity from standing out at even the most inappropriate of moments. I made a face, and offlined my optics with a hiss through my vents.

"Well, why isn't he on the line then?" Skywarp asked, sounding perplexed.

"Air Commander Starscream: comm.-system disabled from injury."

"Injury?" Thundercracker piped up. "Is he alright?"

"Affirmative. Status: fully conscious and functional."

"Where are you?" Skywarp popped in once more. "Gimme your coordinates and I'll teleport you out."

"Precise coordinates: unavailable. Teleportation: unadvised." Soundwave countered. "Current location: unrecommended for aerial frame types."

I stiffened upon hearing Soundwave's words, optics onlining to give him a look of confusion. I was as light as air frames could be, and I did not feel like I was in danger. The conditions were hardly comfortable, but I was not suffering beyond my threshold. I wiggled in Megatron's arms, and tried to get away, but his arms refused to budge, tightening to cage me against him.

"Ow! Stop that!" I snapped at him, helm turning to scowl. "Are you trying to squish me to death?"

Megatron tilted his faceplate, the downward motion a slow inch. "I am saving you from melting your wings off your back, ungrateful glitch-spawn." He snarled, expression shadowed and ugly. "Stay still and stop making this any harder than it already is!"

"What are you—"

I startled when I finally took a good look around me since the explosions.

I did not realize until now that I was, in fact, pressed inside a narrow alley just large enough to fit me with my wing tucked back. Craning my neck cables, I looked behind me, and noticed that most of the passageway had been blocked off by collapsed walls. There was only a slit of the sky from what I could see. Most was covered in smoke tinted red and orange. Dipping my helm back down, I tried to peer over Megatron's shoulders, but I could only catch glimpses of what lay beyond him. His massive frame blocked me from the rest of the outskirts, engulfed by smelting pits.

My fingers clenched around his plating. I immediately understood that I was currently staying in perhaps the coolest spot in the entirety of Tarn, shielded on all sides. Megatron had effectively kept most of the heat at bay from blasting straight into my faceplate, but the temperature was steadily rising. The fire had not died down. My wings began to shake. I was fully aware of the danger I was in, as my plating was not dense enough for proper insulation.

Peeking over Megatron's arm, I looked at Soundwave, who was holding Laserbeak in a similar manner. Voices of my trine mates and generals continued to filter through his vocalizer, and he answered their questions patiently, standing perfectly still as though he was not currently being baked alive. He reassured them with his blank, expressionless voice that I was fine, and asked my fliers to scout the area at a safe altitude. Upon orders from Megatron, he requested a report on the general status of the Decepticons, the Autobots, and the storage facilities. After affirmatives were received, he ended the transmission, so we waited, anxious, caught amidst flames with nowhere to go.

"Has Shockwave responded?" Megatron spoke up when my fliers' voices faded out.

"Negative." Soundwave did not sound particularly bothered.

The ex-gladiator's optics narrowed, but he did not pursue the topic. "What's the estimated time for this fire to die down?" He asked instead, helm inclined toward his communications officer.

"Estimated time: one-point-seven-two joors."

"That long?!" I rose to the tips of my peds as I gaped at the blue mech over Megatron's arm, voice shrill with incredulity. "What, are we just going to…stay here for more than a joor while doing absolutely nothing, and wait for this Primus-damned fire to go away?"

Megatron looked down at me, lips pursed. "Your input is not helping, Starscream." He stated, "Your frame cannot withstand the current conditions." I sent out a huff. He ignored me. "We don't know the detailed status of other sectors, which means it could be worse. Being mobile is too dangerous at the moment."

So what, he expected me to just stand here and be hugged?

I bit back the urge to scathe, and decided on being reasonable. "The two of you can obviously survive in this heat, and I can fly out of here in half a breem at most." I argued, the intimate closeness of our frames too comfortable for my liking. "I can fly straight up, and avoid exposure to the fire." I pressed, "I am fast enough to escape. You don't have to waste time staying here when you have the option to move."

"Don't be stupid." Megatron snuffed my idea, lips curled. "Heat rises. The air will burn much worse before you can reach a safe altitude." His voice carried gravity I've never before heard, optics ablaze, brighter than even the fire crackling behind him. "You forget what is being consumed here, Starscream. Energon crystals, raw, pure energy, in massive quantities stored in tight spaces." He kept my gaze.

"…Your wings will vaporize before you can surface out of the fume."

The weight of his words turned my spark ice cold. I could no longer hold his optics, lowering my helm and scooting closer against him.

Primus…the Autobots were trying to smelt us alive, to eradicate the threat in one, clean sweep.

The scale of their sacrifice was inconceivable. The mines were already having great trouble producing energon crystals. Starvation was a menace that bared its fangs over every grounder city, like a persistent fog. Vos was safe from its looming terrorization, but even within my own city, I knew, there were fliers malnourished and poor.

There were enough energon crystals here to fuel every single one of my citizens with refined grade for two full vorns, and they were all gone, in a shutter of an optic, burning away under flames that the Autobots had ignited. Many would suffer the consequences, most being Decepticons and civilians. Vos would remain unaffected as long as my city was careful with energon distribution. However, for mechs like Orion, the loss was devastation unimaginable.

"Soundwave, has Shockwave responded?" Megatron asked, and I once again peeked over his arm.

"Negative." Soundwave intoned, looking oddly calm despite the cracking and flaking of his paint from the heat.

"What is the current status of the Decepticon general frequency?" Megatron had to shout over the noise of chaos, voice coarse and gravelly. "I cannot access it."

"Decepticon general frequency: partial inactivation. Recommended course of action: forward orders for Lord Megatron."

Megatron replied with a curt nod, and Soundwave shifted Laserbeak so that the drone was perched on one of his hands. With his other, the blue mech tapped at the side of his helm. His visor flashed.

"Voice recording: commencing." He announced after a brief pause of silence, and turned toward our lord.

"This is Megatron broadcasting to all active units on battle frequency one," The ex-miner's voice was firm and controlled, not a single speck of uncertainty colouring his tone. "Our mission objective has been compromised. Begin retreat procedure. Hovercrafts containing cargo depart for Kaon at once."

Retreat procedure meant that the stationed hovercrafts on standby at a safe distance from Tarn would make their way to pre-designated pickup locations, where mechs on battle site would converge. However, the time allotted for the procedure was no more than fifteen breems, which meant anyone who cannot reach the coordinates fast enough would be left behind. Based on Soundwave's calculations, neither he nor Megatron would be able to catch the hovercrafts before they depart from the outskirts.

"Order: forwarded." Soundwave intoned after a short lapse of silence.

Acknowledging the blue mech with another curt nod, Megatron instructed, "Contact aerial forces for a status report."

"Affirmative." Several kliks passed, and my fliers' voices trickled out of Soundwave's vocalizer with a burst of static.

"-fifteen injured, keeping flight by their trines." Ramjet paused in what sounded like a casualty count as everyone on the line seemed to have noticed a foreign frequency's return.

"Soundwave: present." The blue mech announced.

"How's Prince Starscream?" Bladeflight asked.

"Commander Starscream: conscious and functional." Soundwave answered after catching my optics. "Inquiry: Current status of battle sites?"

"Like slag, that's what." Skywarp replied, tossing formality to the wind with a string of curses. "It's hard enough flyin' over this pit-hole, but the Primus-damned fire just ain't dyin' out. Seems to be gettin' worse if you ask me. Some warehouses are blowin' up all over again." He stopped for a brief moment, silence interspersed with whispers of static. "…I just finished a quick check. Only the north looks a little better. Everywhere else is pretty much equally fragged. Tarn's practically surrounded by the smelting pits. I wouldn't be surprised if the city ends up burning too."

The city was going to burn.

My spark shivered a little inside my spark chamber, though I gave no outward reaction.

If the city burned…where would Orion hide?

"I see shadows moving and approaching Decepticon hovercrafts." Thundercracker spoke up. "Does this mean a retreat is in order?"

"Affirmative." Soundwave answered. "Retreat procedure: initiated."

"What of Vosian forces? What is our Prince's command?" Bladeflight's voice was tense, carrying a defiant strain.

"Commander Starscream: second-in-command to Lord Megatron. Conclusion: retreat procedure in effect for Vosian air fleet."

Ice frosted over the frequency as my Fighter general paused. "…My wings bear the Royal Seal of Vos, ground pounder, not the Decepticon insignia." Bladeflight remained professional, but his words carried an obvious edge. "What is our Prince's command, Soundwave?"

At that, Soundwave tilted his helm toward me, and caught my optics with his visor. I did not reply, staring back at the glowing pane of glass. In fact, I didn't feel like doing much of anything at all, processors groggy and systems slow.

"Well, we're not leavin' until Star gets his thrusters outta this slag-hole." Skywarp cut in, always elegant in his commentaries.

"Skywarp's right." Ramjet seconded. "We must remain with our Crown. If Decepticons can survive the explosions, there are probably Autobots who survived as well. However, I would suggest that our injured soldiers board the hovercrafts. They will decrease our efficiency."

"I agree." Thundercracker supported Ramjet. "We already lost many. There's no reason for the injured to stay in these conditions to suffer."

"Fighter Fleet General Bladeflight requesting clearance from Crown of Vos for permission to proceed as proposed by Seeker Fleet General Ramjet." Bladeflight directly addressed me, "Prince Starscream, please respond."

Soundwave was still looking at me, waiting for any indication of an answer. Slowly, I made a single nod, and the communications officer replied accordingly.

"Commander Starscream: affirmation received. Permission granted. Renewal of updates to Decepticon hovercraft units: Commencing."

My fliers' voices continued to float out of Soundwave even though the blue mech was obviously concentrated on another task. My trine mates shared their concerns and confusion as to why I refused to open my end of the trine link. Ramjet ran a wing count, and regrouped his soldiers. Bladeflight did the same, reporting the numbers. The injured were sent to the nearest pickup location. Trines accompanied their respective mates, and Fighter Jets of the same units went along with their wounded comrades.

Soundwave stayed on the line, and continued to broadcast my fliers. His intention was unclear, but Megatron did not tell him to stop. Hearing my trine mates and my generals helped settle me a little. I leaned against my gladiator, helm on his chassis, and allowed his arms to hold up most of my weight. Silence overcame us, interrupted only by Soundwave reporting that the hovercrafts have left Tarn. A rough count of remaining Decepticon forces was given, its numbers discouragingly small. However, Megatron did not comment on the loss of sparks needlessly extinguished on this night cycle. He only nodded, and that was all.

Silence returned. It did not break for several breems.

"You've been quiet." Megatron said. His chassis vibrated as he did, and I was momentarily distracted from my staring.

What was I looking at?

…Hmm.

That was odd.

Soundwave hasn't answered.

He was always so quick in responding to his leader.

"You are hardly ever quiet, Starscream."

Megatron was speaking to me, not Soundwave. However, I did not reply, because what he said was not a question. Statements did not need replying to.

Megatron stopped speaking for a moment.

"Are you still awake?" He said after the pause, and this time, I did answer, because it was a question.

I nodded.

"You must remain awake to monitor your systems. Automatic supervision cannot ensure survival in the current condition."

He was right, but my processors felt so heavy. My vision faded in and out, from the blinding flames around us to the luring, seductive darkness that blanketed me in comfort. The energon in my fuel lines felt so hot. They were probably on the verge of sizzling to vapour. My sensory network was bringing up warning after warning on my HUD, but there were so many, too many, for me to keep up or understand. My limbs felt weak. My wings had lost their perk. My entire frame was overheated, but my coolant system hasn't been helpful for longer than I could remember. I tried reactivating my intakes, but one breath of the scorching air had me instantly cancelling the idea.

…

…Someone was shaking me.

Someone was calling my designation.

What did he want? I was rather comfortable here.

A sharp, jabbing pain from my wingtip yanked me from the cool abyss of black. I yelped, and jerked awake, vision bursting into light as my sensors onlined.

"I told you to stay awake, Starscream!" Megatron snarled down at me, narrowed optics flaring brighter than the flames.

I didn't realize I'd fallen into recharge.

My helm dropped to the side, plopping against his chassis. Why could I not recharge? It'd felt so good to be unaware in the situation. I didn't have to feel the heat melt my expensive wax and blister beautiful paintjob. My flight sensors didn't have to register the licks of hot air sweltering around them. Even Megatron's body, my shield, was way too warm pressed against me.

"Soundwave, how long until we can move?" Megatron asked.

"Approximate calculation: forty-six-point-five-eight breems." Soundwave sounded boring even now. I wondered how Laserbeak was faring.

Megatron spat out a curse. I reasoned he had every reason to curse. After all, he was probably under a lot of discomfort, if not pain, from the suffocating heat. I'd be anxious to get out of here too if I were him.

"Take a reading of our surrounding environment and send the results to the fliers. Ask them if any of their frame-kin can withstand the temperature. If there is anyone capable, have Skywarp teleport him to Tarn immediately." Megatron said. "Starscream can't wait."

"Affirmative." Soundwave answered, and there was a long pause from the blue mech as he, I could only assume, took the appropriate readings. He interrupted my trine mates' hysterical dialogue, something about my end of the trine bond slipping, and informed my fliers of Megatron's plan.

There was unified silence from all parties on the Vosian military line after the results transferred.

"…Slag!" Skywarp bit out, and, with one word, summed up what everyone felt about the situation.

"Soundwave, give me precise measurements of the dimensions of your location. If possible, send me a visual grid." Bladeflight took control, perhaps the only one experienced enough to still remain level-helmed.

There was another bout of silence before Soundwave replied.

"Measurements and visual grids: sent."

"Received." Bladeflight did not speak for several kliks. When he did, he heaved a deep, frustrated sigh. "…It's no use. Space Shuttles are the only fliers equipped with an internal temperature regulation system that allows them to withstand extreme environments while in alt. without external mods, but the place is too small for them to fit."

"Can't you put the mods on me and I'll teleport in?" Skywarp piped up.

"Negative." Bladeflight smacked the idea down, as though he was worried that Skywarp would impulsively do just that without a klik's notice. "External mods only work for entering atmospheres, and you don't plunge to land on a planet. It's a smelting pit down there. You won't last."

"What the frag do we do then?! We can't just leave Star!" Skywarp's voice heightened into a shout. "It's a slaggin' miracle that he's lasted this long!"

"What about insulation blankets?" Thundercracker cut in. "For fires and lab explosions."

"No." Bladeflight let out a hiss through his vents. "You can't fly with a cloak flapping in the wind with conditions like this."

"Then Striker Jets? With the mods?" Thundercracker's voice shook. "They're heavier plated than all other military frames. Maybe they'll have more time."

Bladeflight paused. "The probability of a rescue mission resulting in sacrifice remains high. Strikers are more durable, but they'll have a harder time maneuvering around the currents." His words were hardly encouraging. However, there was a faint note of pensive hope in his voice. "There are…very few Strikers I can think of that might have a chance."

"As long as there is one who can do it, that's good enough." Ramjet spoke up. "We've all sworn to protect our Crown with our lives. I don't think the Striker Jets would mind." The Conehead was clearly too impatient to stall. "Ramjet to Stormstrike, do you receive?"

"Stormstrike receiving, proceed." There was a ping, and Stormstrike came on.

"We have a situation at Tarn that requires one of yours." Bladeflight explained. Someone fast, experienced. High maneuverability under extreme conditions and high level of stress."

"I have received your report. Your plan can work." Stormstrike replied. "Send Skywarp back to Vos. Nightfire is preparing the procedure. I will be ready to depart in fifteen breems."

"You're coming yourself?" Thundercracker sounded surprised. "You're one of our generals! There must be someone in your troops you can send. You are too valuable for the war to take up this mission."

"No one is more valuable than Crown Prince Starscream." Stormstrike was blunt. Those in the military did not bother to soften the bladed edge of their words. "I will meet with Skywarp on the topmost flight deck of Patrol Tower S-four in fifteen breems. Coordinates to follow. Stormstrike, out."

An awkward silence permeated the frequency after the Striker general left. Skywarp was the one who broke it.

"Don't take it to spark, TC." He said. "No one's gonna think you don't care about Star. I mean, who's ever heard of a trine mate not worrying over his trine leader?"

Thundercracker's reply came through, but it was a murmur. I did not catch it. A critical-level warning sprung up in my processors. It blared, flashing in hurried succession, and spewed out diagnostic results.

Coolant system: Unresponsive.

Initiate emergency reactivation? Y/N.

Yes, my processors answered.

Commencing emergency reactivation.

Emergency reactivation: failure. Commencing error search.

Error: Coolant levels depleted.

Reactivate ventilation system? Y/N.

No. Gulping in hot air was not going to help.

Error: Coolant levels depleted.

Mobility: Compromised.

Flight capability: Compromised.

Initiate emergency shutdown? Y/N.

No.

WARNING: Internal temperature beyond critical.

Central systems: Overheating.

Internal energon status: Unstable.

Initiate emergency shutdown? Y/N.

No.

Fuel pump efficiency: Compromised.

ERROR: Coolant system failure.

Reactivate ventilation syst—

Spark stability: jeopardized.

WARNING: Spark stability jeopardized.

Initiate emergency shutdown? Y/N.

No-

ERROR: Mobility loss: Eighty-five percent.

ERROR: Coolant sy-

ERROR: Central systems failure: Imminent.

WARNING: Internal energon stability: Below thirty percent.

WARNING: Fuel pump efficiency: Below fifty percent.

WARNING: Spark stability jeopardized.

Initiate emergency shutdown? Y/N.

N-

Energon reroute: Spark chamber.

Commencing emergency shutdown in five-

Someone was shaking me.

Four-

Someone was shouting.

Three-

The voice was familiar.

Two-

A pair of red optics, looking at me, widened.

One.

They were almost beautiful.

Emergency shutdown: Initiated.

Megatr—

…

…

.

---

Notes: Exactly two months since the last update. About time this came, eh? XD Sorry for the long wait! Hopefully, the length of this chapter has made up for it.

Huge thanks to my always lovely reviewers MalevolentMask, Borath, Eiswolf-Zero, Ashcola17, Kira michi, Guest #1, Sneer, Tiikeri, Cannonade, Wooden-Horse, Random523, VyxenSkye, oh la la, Apple, AMNShadow, 6MissSparklez9, loverofmythology, Devlinn Reiko, tiedwithribbobs, Guest #2, Trixxybaby1995, heretherebemonsters, theboombox, ladyredvelvet, starscreamfancypants, The-writing-Mew, extension-cord, Enlyien, TammyCat, darkblackandlight86, prismadecepticons, and Patched-up Matryoshka. I can never express enough how much I appreciate your feedback. Sometimes I'd go back to read them. They motivate me to work on this story. :/)

Oh man, I don't even know what to say here. I've been absent for so long. Little Sunstorm is moving up in life! At least he won't have to starve anymore, the poor thing. Orion, Orion, Orion, you silly, silly mech. Who knows if he made it out of the fire? Who knows what could've happened to him, hmm? -wink- As I was editing this, I felt that this battle wasn't nearly as exciting as the one for Vos. Hope none of you fell asleep reading it, haha! At least getting stuck in a smelting pit seemed to have resolved some of that tension between Megatron and Starscream, though I don't know if all has been forgiven just yet.

Anyways, please let me know what you think about this chapter! I'd love to hear from you. :) The review box is conveniently placed just below. You know you want to click it! Go! Go!

It's calling to youuuuu.

X/D