Disclaimer: Haha, I wish I owned!
XXV
Devastation beyond repair was the only way to describe the cities fallen under Decepticon rule. Within meta-cycles, half of Cybertron was overrun by the joint forces of Kaon and Vos, left uninhabitable by civilians. Megatron exhibited yet another cruel, sadistic streak for violence one could even call art. He no longer cared if anyone lived to join his ranks, only that everything burned to the ground. The very few who did manage to survive were the only ones he deemed worthy of his cause. Rumours of his madness whispered amongst my fliers. However, contrary to my soldiers, they fueled the bloodlust of his Decepticons.
Megatron changed after the failed overtaking of Tarn. I did not know what had set the change in motion, only that he began to distance himself from me, demeanor cold and aloof. Yet stranger was the fact that he has stopped hitting me, no matter my impudence and insubordination. He settled on punishments instead, heaps of boring data pad work for minor transgressions, and putting me through atrociously creative hard labour tasks whereas before, prior to Tarn, he would have preferred to slap me around. He continued to train with his subordinates, but he no longer held back, stopping only when his opponent was one ped into deactivation. The numbers of mechs brave or foolish enough to keep volunteering to fight him was countable on one hand, while others tried to avoid him even in the halls.
At first, I thought his change was temporary. He was very displeased with the Autobots scapegoating the Decepticons for the loss of Cybertron's energon reserves. Our enemy was terrified of our advances, willing to do anything to turn the war in their favour, to encourage civilians in flocking under their banner. This disgusted many, but Megatron was especially repulsed. I had assumed he was simply acting out of anger. However, his unrelenting resolve of killing everything in his path continued even after it became apparent that he no longer cared about the lies the Autobots told. Eventually, I knew this new turn of character was here to stay.
Not that I particularly cared about what was going on in his processors. We were winning, and that was what was important. Between my duties and the many battles waiting to be fought, I hardly had any time to dwell on our relationship. However, as I sat on my throne with Sunstorm in my lap, I could not help but wonder about the ex-gladiator.
Nightfire was reporting something or another about the second testing phase for the west quadrant of the labyrinth. Stormstrike added comments whenever they were needed, but he was curt and brief. I was not the only one impatient for my science advisor to finish. The war was forefront in everyone's processors, so listening to the Space Shuttle go on and on about shifting walls was a bit aggravating. Sunstorm chirped as he played with his toy. He tugged at my fingers to garner my attention, and I smiled, giving the sparkling a gentle rub between his wings.
The tiny Seeker made a high-pitched, delighted squeal. His little wing-nubs flicked up and down while he beamed up at me with wide, sparkling optics.
"Your Highness, would you like me to stop?" Nightfire's voice betrayed no emotion, but his expression clearly spoke of how offended he was that I was so blatantly ignoring him in favour of playing with Sunstorm. I did not respond right away, sparing my Space Shuttle friend a brief glance. It was very amusing, how all my generals' wings perked up in hope upon my science advisor's inquiry.
Even old Bladeflight appeared to be having trouble with waiting for Nightfire's report to finish.
"Skip the details, Nightfire. Just tell me how the labyrinth is doing since its rebuild." I answered, and cupped a hand behind Sunstorm to prevent him from falling off my knee.
Nightfire let out a quiet sigh, a small lapse in his impeccable manners. "While there are minor complications, as a whole, Sire, the labyrinth is back to full functionality." He bowed, indicating the end to his report, and I gave him a small wave, dismissing him from my attention.
My generals came forth one by one. They kept me updated on the status of my army. The troops were learning new maneuvers devised for the next upcoming battle. They were complicated, interwoven between teams and trines. They required coordination between all three military frame types, resulting in training sessions Vos has never seen before: Striker Jets, Fighters, and Seekers in the sky together, vital maneuvers in our next attack to preserve the cultural worth of the city.
Praxus, home to the infamous Helix Gardens, was our next target. Megatron had every intention of crushing it to the ground like every city we had conquered thus far, but I managed to persuade him to exempt the more monumental features of the city from flames. Praxus was the only grounder city I saw a sliver of value in. It housed the main historic Archive of Cybertron. It was notorious for being the sparking place of many Cybertronian artists. Once every vorn, mechs from all over the planet gathered there, to showcase their new works and accomplishments in a deca-long conference designated as The Assembly of Arts, which showered the city in splendor and beauty. Painters, poets, musicians, architects, philosophers – Many of the most prestigious were regular attendees in this celebration of Cybertronian culture. Even scientists were invited, being amongst those who brought creations into our world.
Prior to the complete closure of Vos, many fliers participated in the Assembly, and a greater number went just to see the spectacle of eccentric mechs gathered at one place. However, after my city became contained, very little of my citizens made the trip anymore. The last notable news I heard from the conference had been about the artist Sunstreaker punching a service attendant in the faceplate for accidentally spilling energon on his paintjob. The channels were more interested in dramatics than the arts nowadays.
Ramjet finished his report, signaling the end of morning court. A few words later, I gave a collective dismissal, and waited for my advisors to leave. Many did, but two remained. Thundercracker had recently taken a habit of walking me to my next appointment, and Ramjet remained, I presumed, to play with Sunstorm. The white Conehead developed a great fondness toward my adopted sparkling. To my surprise, Sunstorm actually reciprocated.
"Sunstorm, come here!"
My guess had been correct. In an instance, Ramjet's expression changed from formal and serious to cheerful and stupid. His optics sparkled, and he put on the most exaggerated grin I have ever seen. He clapped his hands, and spread his arms wide open in a gesture of invitation. Sunstorm chirped back, and looked up at me, waiting for permission to go to the Conehead.
I gave a curt nod. Sunstorm took off from my knee, and let out a happy squeal as he flew toward Ramjet. The sparklet flung himself around my general's canopy, and hugged the curved glass with his toy squished between their frames. Ramjet laughed. He wrapped his hands around the tiny Seeker, and patted his small back, rubbing his wing joints with a digit. Sunstorm squirmed. He giggled when the Conehead tickled his abdominal plates.
"Despite seeing this display well over enough times to not be surprised, I'm still amazed that Ramjet of all Seekers has taken such a strong liking for sparklings." Thundercracker shook his helm with an incredulous smile, and watched with great interest as Ramjet tossed Sunstorm into the air and caught him as he fell back down.
"Yeah," I settled into a casual lounge on my throne, one I would have never allowed had I not been in the company of fliers I knew well. "Who would've guessed that a slagger like Ramjet can be good with sparklings?"
"Starscream!" Thundercracker swung his helm around with a big gape on his faceplate. "Don't say words like that in front of a sparkling! What if Sunstorm learned?"
"What if he did?" I shrugged. "He's going to learn it eventually."
Thundercracker pursed his lips. He crossed his arms over his chassis. Oh slag. I tensed. He was entering his creator mode. I had best mediate the situation if I did not want a full-on lecture about how to bring up a sparkling.
"—But of course I will take your advice into consideration, Thundercracker." I hurried to speak on, and straightened in my seat to look more mature and sophisticated. "Besides, I don't think Sunstorm heard. He's too busy playing with Ramjet."
Ramjet was playing tag with Sunstorm in the Grand Hall, hiding behind pillars and hollering dramatically when the sparkling rounded up on him. The Conehead purposely floated at a slow speed, and plastered the most ridiculous expressions of shock onto his faceplate when Sunstorm managed to wrap his little arms around him.
"How is it that you are so small yet can fly so fast?" Ramjet put on a pout, and Sunstorm giggled some more, clutching his toy with one hand and holding onto Ramjet with the other. A large grin breaking his sulk, the general descended, and touched down on the floor. Just as he wrapped a perch under the sparkling, Sunstorm looked up with his round, shiny optics, and blurted out:
"Slagger!"
My optics flew wide. Thundercracker gasped in horror. Ramjet froze, unsure if he had heard right.
"Slagger! Slagger!" Sunstorm called out happily, hugging and nuzzling against Ramjet's canopy. "Slagger slagger!"
At first, no one understood Sunstorm's repetitive exclamations of the curse word. However, as he rubbed his cheekplate against the Conehead's cockpit glass, it suddenly struck me.
Oh Primus…
My wings began to tremble as hilarity bubbled from my vocalizer.
Sunstorm has identified Ramjet as "slagger"!
My vents spluttered. I burst into loud, hackling laughter, and wrapped my arms around my abdomen, curling up on my throne. Ramjet's cheekplates flushed in an instance. They glowed, matching the gape in his widened optics.
"Starscream! This isn't funny!" Thundercracker's scolding voice reached my audials, but it left little effect. "You can't encourage Sunstorm's behaviour by laughing your af—y-your posterior off!" My trine mate's stumble only made me laugh harder, wings twitching on my back.
Oh this was glorious. I tried to rein myself in, but every time I glanced in Ramjet's direction, I ended up bursting into laughter once more. The Conehead looked downright devastated, completely at loss as to what to do with the sparkling in his arms, who remained eager and joyful snuggled against his canopy.
"…What the frag, Starscream?! What in the pits did you teach him?" The general snapped out of his shocked daze, and glared up at me, a scowl on his features.
Giggling and vents in stutters, I beamed with a mischievous, mirthful grin. "I didn't teach him anything, my dearest Conehead." I purred, and gave the fuming Seeker a teasing wink. "Sunstorm is simply smart enough to see you for what you are."
As if noting an unspoken cue, Sunstorm chirped up again with the word. Oh to the pits with composure. I was certain I was going to blow a fuse from how much I was laughing. Thundercracker looked like he'd fried a circuit, gawking at the tiny Seekerlet. A long moment later, he shook his helm, and covered his faceplate with an upturned palm, groaning and muttering about a helm ache.
After more hysterics at Ramjet's expense, I left my Grand Hall for my next meeting. The white Conehead volunteered to drop off Sunstorm at his nursery, and we parted ways after much tear-shedding from the small Seekerling. Sunstorm hated being separated from me, but there were duties I had to tend to not for sparkling optics or audials. I tried my best to make it up to him by allowing him to stay with me through the night cycle. However, even those instances were rare, as I needed undisturbed recharge, and sparklings were fussy.
The first half of the cycle passed without much excitement. I had a sip of energon, and made my way to the topmost flight deck to meet up with my trine mates and Nightfire. We were to be teleported to a mining outpost that the Decepticons had recently secured. It was one of the few dig sites that continued to produce energon crystals, which made it especially valuable. The Autobots fought to their very last mechs to keep it. They perished guarding their posts. Under normal circumstances, even the mere thought of fliers going to see a mine was ridiculous at best. However, with new technology from Vos stationed within it for better efficiency, Nightfire and I had to make a trip to oversee its progress, to make sure none of the grounders had damaged it by doing something stupid.
By the time I arrived at the flight deck, both of my trine mates were already there, conversing with Nightfire. Well, it wasn't much of a conversation. They were staring at the Space Shuttle while he talked on and on about his projects. Thundercracker was at least polite enough to pretend he understood, nodding every once in a while with a thoughtful expression on his faceplate. Skywarp had tuned off completely, gaping blankly into space, optics dazed and jaw-joints slack.
"Star!" The purple idiot spotted me faster than both of his companions. "You're here!" He visibly perked up, and waved as though I was on the other side of Vos, grin brighter than a sun.
"Yes, I am." I answered in a dry tone. "How well-observed."
Skywarp did not seem to notice the sarcasm in my comment, bouncing on his peds as he waited for me to approach them. He must have been extremely bored with Nightfire's science talk if even jabs at his lack of intelligence did not annoy him.
Thundercracker and Nightfire turned upon Skywarp's happy exclamations. Stepping back to stand beside each other, they bowed in acknowledgement of my arrival. "All hail Prince Starscream." They offered proper greetings, while Skywarp only beamed.
"All ready t'go?" My purple trine mate asked after I nodded at my advisors to rise.
"Obviously," I replied curtly, and held out my hand. "Let's get this over with."
Skywarp reached for my hand, and grabbed Thundercracker by the arm. He motioned at Nightfire to come forward to hold onto him. However, before we could leave, a voice called out, stalling us.
"Wait, Your Highness! Wait!" A succession of quick and light pedfalls followed. A small-sized flier was running toward us. Nightfire sidestepped, and Pristinus came into view, waving. He arrived before us, and offered an apologetic smile.
"Sorry for keeping you, Sire." He nodded a slight bow. "I wondered if I can come with you to the mines."
Whatever I'd expected my medic to say, that had not been it. My optics widened a little, and I frowned.
"There's nothing particularly interesting at the mines, Pristinus, especially for a medic."
"I understand, your Majesty." Pristinus dipped his helm, a polite smile still tugging at his lips. "It's just that I heard the Decepticons are building another converter, which means that the Constructicons must be there. I would like to speak to the medic, Hook, if you would permit me to."
"Why do you want to speak to Hook?" I asked more out of curiosity than distaste, and tilted my helm.
"I've seen his work on some of our fliers who'd returned from battle." The Stealth Jet explained. "They were hasty field patches, but they were done well. I thought it would be beneficial for us if I were to educate him on the repairs of flier frame types."
"Are you sure?" My frown deepened. "In doing so, a ground pounder would come to intimately know the inner-workings of fliers. I'm not sure if that's a good idea."
"He's a medic, Sire." Pristinus looked rather surprised at my implications. "If he had taken the Oath, he would not use his knowledge for anything but medical purposes." When I remained unconvinced, my medic pressed, "It would be greatly rewarding for us to have another medic trained to help our soldiers, your Highness. Hook has managed adequate repairs on our Jets and Seekers without previous flier-frame medical knowledge. I believe he is very gifted. He can become a great asset in the future under the right guiding hands."
I still did not like the idea of Hook learning about us, but Pristinus's argument was sound. With a reluctant sigh, I nodded, and told him to latch onto Skywarp.
With a "pop", Vos faded away. Our thrusters touched rough terrain as new surroundings appeared around us. I parted from Skywarp, and looked around, taking in the scenery. There was not much for one's optics to feast upon, only large industrial buildings with the most depressing gray I have ever seen.
Walls stripped of their paint, bare, with rust spots spreading web-like patterns at their corners. Flood lights, charged by electricity, shined down from above. They illuminated the factory sector with cold, white light, washing bleak all that scurried under them with blinding intensity. Even the mechs on the level beneath us, carrying carts of energon crystals to the chutes, were rendered mere shadows with colourless frames.
The air was sour. It itched my flight sensors. I made a face, already wishing I was elsewhere.
We'd arrived on a platform, overlooking the outpost. There were ground pounders around us. Several noticed our arrival, and gave us lengthy looks. To my surprise, they did not leer with inappropriate intentions or otherwise, faceplate devoid of expressions as they watched us, optics a faint glow. I felt as though I had finally found the answer to Megatron's usual air of indifference. If this was where he stayed prior to Kaon, I'm surprised he still had the capacity to feel.
Everywhere was dull, a terrain of flat gray. There was nothing beautiful to look at, nothing to ease the tedium of repetitive labour. The workers lumbered around without motivation, the only film of colour on their frames being of the purple glow cast from the energon crystals in the carts they carried. "This place is awfully depressing." Nightfire murmured, and gave the grounders still watching us wary glances.
Being the largest flier of our group, he instinctually took on the protective role, stepping closer to block us from the view of peering optics. Pristinus responded to the Space Shuttle's comment with a curt nod, but he did not speak, merely wrapping his arms around himself. The medic scanned our surroundings, lips pursed and brow-ridges in a frown. I could only assume he was not at all impressed with the many safety hazards glaring from all direction in the area.
"How can anyone stay at a place like this?" Thundercracker whispered, scooting closer toward Skywarp. "I heard miners rarely leave the outposts, but what do they do here? For processor stimulation."
"You don't need to do a lot of thinking to dig, TC." Skywarp answered, and patted our blue trine mate on the back to soothe the agitated perk in his wings. "B'sides, that's the whole point: the Autobots don't want you to think. If they could replace you with drones, they would."
"And they did." Another voice joined our conversation. I turned around, followed by my fliers, and found the source of the voice, a mech in a small huddle of workers. They were sitting in a circle, crowding around a few cubes of stale looking energon. With a start, I realized that this platform was probably a place of recreation, for miners to gather and relax during their breaks. There was not much here to enjoy, but the air was cooler, and they could catch a view of the sky.
"What do you mean?" Thundercracker asked, brow ridges knitting.
"Miners have been getting booted outta mines for metas now." The same grounder spoke, uttering a low grunt with his vents. "We were next, y'know. But the Decepticons took over, so we stayed." He tried to shrug, but a screech of grinding gears stopped him. He flinched, faceplate scrunching into a grimace of pain, and he cursed, rubbing the junction between his neck cables and his shoulder with the other hand.
"What's wrong?" Pristinus asked, optics flashing a sharp, keen glint.
The grounder shook his helm. "It's nothing." He snorted.
"It's clearly not 'nothing'." Pristinus's voice gained a hard edge, and his wings arced higher on his back. He had identified the grounder as a stubborn patient. I shared a worried look with Nightfire, wondering if I should stop my medic before he annoyed the miners.
"Told you it's nothing." The mech growled before taking a swig of his cube and sending Pristinus a glare. "Mind your own business. I don't care where you're from, but here, unless you deactivate, it's nothing."
To my alarm, Pristinus's expression morphed to shock and sadness, as though a tiny crick in a nameless ground pounder's neck had the capacity to devastate him. Before any of us could grab a hold on his arm, he slipped away, and strolled toward the grounders.
Workers on the platform stopped conversing in hushed voices, and started to watch. My medic made his way to the group his identified patient was sitting with, and politely asked the other mechs to move so he could slide by. The other grounders were clearly too surprised to protest, so they did what he wanted without hassle. They openly gaped when the Stealth Jet approached the miner who had spoken to us, and knelt down before him on one knee.
The grounder straightened, and leaned back. He stared at Pristinus with great suspicion, lips pressed together into a downward line. However, he did not move beyond putting his cube of energon down beside him, and allowed my medic to settle before him, between his knees.
"May I?" Pristinus asked, voice gentle and soft, and the grounder, after a moment of internal deliberation, mutely nodded.
There was a small buzz. Pristinus activated his medical scan, the smooth pane of glass over his left optic flashing online. He took readings of the grounder's neck and shoulder, silent as he analyzed the data. With a small hum and a brief nod to himself, he stopped his scans, and reached forward to give the miner's shoulder a small tap.
"Something got caught in your joints, right at this point here." My medic explained. "Based on the weld marks on your plating, you were treated for an impact injury, weren't you?"
The grounder's optics grew a little wider. He made another mute nod.
Pristinus hummed, and nodded in return. "This little complaint definitely won't deactivate you, but, with time, it may inhibit the movement of your arm," The Stealth continued. "By my professional opinion, I would suggest for you to receive proper medical care right away, to uproot the problem before it begins. I can help you with that if you want. It's not a difficult fix. However, I completely understand if you'd feel more comfortable with your own medic, in which case I will leave you on your way."
The grounder was silent. For a long time, he studied my medic's faceplate, distrust apparent in his scrutinizing gaze. However, he seemed to have decided that he's already pushed his discomfort off for too long, and relented with a curt nod. "If you can get it out now, might as well do it." He grumbled, and tilted his helm so that his neck cables were presented in plain view.
"That's what I like to hear." Pristinus smiled, and leaned forward, transforming one of his fingers into a small laser scalpel. The grounder froze upon seeing the tool. After much comforting murmur from my medic, however, he relaxed, and the Stealth got to work.
Within a breem, Pristinus took out the small, metal shard that had stuck in the grounder's joints, and patched up the tiny incision. Humming with approval, he leaned back to inspect his work, and dropped the shard into the grounder's opened palm. Transforming the tweezers back into his fingers, he patted the grounder on his shoulder, declaring him repaired.
"Is there anything else?" He asked, and waited while the grounder experimented with rolling his shoulder.
"Well…" The miner looked back at my medic, optics round. Kliks ticked past, and the mech became flustered, shifting to sit up straighter and gaze darting away. "I…I was wondering…" He mumbled, scratching his nose bridge, "…If I could…uhh…touch your wings."
Pristinus was not the only one to still in surprise. Nightfire tensed more rigid than all of us, having designated himself as our protector for the time being. I glanced at my trine mates, crossing my arms and shuffling on my thrusters. Thundercracker nibbled on his downer lip, while Skywarp simply gaped, a massive grin beginning to spread across his faceplate while he quietly snickered.
I hardly found the situation as amusing as my purple trine mate undoubted did. How dare a gutter-caste scrapheap voice such a disrespectful request to a high-sparked?
Pristinus had yet replied, possibly rendered speechless from shock. I cycled a deep intake of air through my vents, and parted my lips to issue an order for him to return. However, before even one syllable has left my vocalizer, a bubble of sound emerged from the kneeling medic. The Stealth Jet's wings started to twitch. He burst into laughter, pearly giggles that matched the minute jerking of his shoulders.
"I—I apologize." He tried to muffle his brief lapse of professionalism. I felt my lips curl. Why was he apologizing? There was nothing funny about having one's wings molested. But then again, Pristinus has always had a strange sense of humour. He's always been more lenient toward ground pounders, most likely due to his involvement in the Great Quint War, where fliers worked intimately with grounder forces.
"Why do you want to touch my wings?" He asked when he finally reined his laughter under control, voice coy and teasing.
The grounder flushed. "I've never seen fliers before, and I probably won't ever see one again." He tried to brush it off with a casual shrug, but his grimace of embarrassment ruined the effect. "Thought I'd ask, since you're right here." He ran an appraising look over Pristinus's wings. "I've always wondered what they felt like."
Pristinus quirked his helm as he thought, vocalizer emitting a small hum. "Well, why not?" He chirped, tone light, and perked his wings higher. "Go ahead," He leaned closer toward the grounder, and flicked his slender appendages in invite. "Just remember to be very gentle. Wings are very sensitive, after all."
The miner was so enthralled by my medic's pale, pristine wings that he could barely remember to nod. He was not the first to become captivated by them. The Stealth Jet was designated after his wings, the slender, white expanses of smooth, glossy plating leaving many fliers' sparks aquiver. However, strangely enough, Pristinus has not bonded, and had no lover I knew of, which was extremely odd, given that he was older than the Golden Age.
The grounder, with careful hands, wrapped his fingers around the bottom edges of Pristinus's wings. He caressed with long, gentle strokes, optics bright with awe. He traced the edges until his fingers reached the tips, where he tightened his grip in an experimental knead. Pristinus jolted slightly, but he did not tell his admirer to stop, so the mech grew bolder, pressing his palms flat against the thin, white limbs, rubbing back and forth.
I thought I'd be disgusted by the display, and yet, I could not bring myself to look away. There was something about the way the grounder held Pristinus's wings that made my spark swell, in warmth and longing. The miner treated them as delicately as he could. He worshipped them, as though they were the most beautiful and valued sight he has ever beholden in the universe. His optics shimmered. His previous impassive mask shattered into an expression of pure wonder and reverence. His lips fell apart, and I could tell, even from a distance, that he believed this moment to be the most extraordinary of his entire existence.
I watched, and I felt envious.
No one has ever admired my wings in such a manner, as flawless and perfect as they were.
I would not hesitate to say that I had the most magnificent pair of wings in all of Vos. I knew many glorified them, as they have provided inspiration for much poetry and works of art. However, my people perceived my wings as a symbol of power, as proof of my superiority. None of them has ever looked at my wings, nor have they seen them for what they were.
To my citizens, I was not Starscream, a Seeker, a mere individual.
I was Crown, who has, simply, always been beautiful.
Megatron has never gazed at my wings with similar adoration either. I had no doubt in my processors that he saw them as weapons, effective means of raining death on our enemies, which was perhaps the only aspect about me worthy of his respect. From what I could recall, the only treatment he's ever done to them was yanking at them to elicit cries of agony from my vocalizer. He's never touched them with anything akin to tenderness, unlike the way with which the grounder handled Pristinus's wings.
Megatron equated my wings with use, be it to help him win the war or to deal me punishment. He's never given any indication that he prided them in high regard. The only interest he's ever expressed was smearing his mark to brand me as his possession.
I was not aware of how blatantly I wore my misery until I caught Nightfire staring at me with a worried, but suspicious frown. I was so engrossed in watching the grounder's antics with my medic that I had forgotten all about my surroundings. Finding myself unguarded was very startling. I shook my helm, and snapped out of my thoughts.
"Are you quite done yet?" I shouted, jerking the grounder out of his stupor and gaining the attention of my subordinates. "We still have business with our mighty leader, and he does not appreciate tardiness." I sneered, an expression of repulsion plastered on for effect. As Pristinus excused himself from the miner's company, I turned away with a brisk pivot of my heels, and motioned at Skywarp to lead us to Megatron.
"This way," My purple trine mate gestured toward a flight of stairs. We followed him, and, before long, entered a massive chamber.
Machinery hummed, and spewed blasts of hot, humid air. It was a factory, where energon crystals were systematically categorized into different purities before getting sent into chutes for the conversion process. At the other end of the cave-like hall, two Constructicons were chattering to each other, pointing at a data pad held between them. The one of the left looked decidedly annoyed. The other radiated exasperation. I could not tell who exactly they were, only that their paintjobs designated them as parts of Hook's gestalt team. Not that their designations were important. As far as I was concerned, the only value they had was their grumpy medic who had the sheer audacity to yell at me.
I had no previously knowledge of gestalts until after the great fire of Tarn. During a battle, Megatron bellowed at the Constructicons to form "Devastator", and before I could figure out what the slag he meant, the six green and purple grounders leapt into a transformation, before stacking together into a gigantic mech that towered manifolds above even the largest of Shuttles. I was so shocked that I shifted into bipedal mode straight in the air, and gaped while the giant thing wrecked through the city we had been attacking. Afterwards, back in Kaon, I was debriefed about the unique nature of their team. I was surprised I had never heard of such an interesting, and apparently rare subgroup. Vosian Archives have no previous records of their existence.
I was most curious about them. There was no gestalt in Vos, or in previous records of our planet. The Constructicons were reluctant when I approached them to unravel their innards. One of them mumbled that others have tried, but glares from his team mates shut him up for good. They appeared to share a bond with each other as well, and seemed to have the ability to communicate through such bond. I'd hesitate to call similarity to Seeker trines, but that would be the closet I could relate to.
One of the two Constructicons finally got fed up with whatever the other was saying. Throwing his arms in the air, he snarled a reply, and stomped away. The one lingering watched his team mate's retreating back with pursed lips, but he did not follow.
"You! Constructicon!" I called out once we came close enough to be heard over the machines. "Where is your team mate Hook?"
The Constructicon turned, visor glowing red and a facemask covering his features.
"Ahh, Commander Starscream," The mech greeted amiably, and subspaced his datapad before turning to face the approach of my group. "Hook's at the Southern sector right now. He's supervising the building site."
"So he's not busy," I stated, and motioned at Pristinus to come forward. "This is my personal medic, Pristinus, Director of Health and Medicine of Vos." The Stealth Jet bowed upon his introduction. "He wishes to speak with Hook." I instructed the grounder, "Tell him to meet us in haste."
"I can't do that, Commander." The mech frowned. "Lord Megatron said at least one of my team must be at the building site at all times."
"Then find someone to take over for him." I snapped, in no mood to argue with an insignificant construction worker.
"But no one else is available right now." The mech replied.
I leveled with him a glare. "Oh how your dilemma pains me with woe." I jeered, a tight smile stretching thin over my faceplate.
"Uhhh," The Constructicon held up his hands in a gesture of placation. "Perhaps I can give your medic the coordinates, and he can fly there," He offered. "It'll be much faster than Hook anyways."
My lips curled, and my optics narrowed.
"The only reason I am even entertaining the notion of tolerance toward your implicit disrespect is that your team mate has somehow managed to prick the interest of one of mine, a feat nothing short of a miracle." I hissed, wings rising on my back. "Don't push your luck, ground pounder. Subordinate come to the superior, not the other way around."
The mech froze, and his expression, what little I could see of it, soured. "Hey now, just you wait a klik here," He stood straighter, "when in the nine pits of Unicron did I—"
"-Your Highness, if I may speak," Pristinus interrupted before an argument could erupt between us. "I wouldn't mind in the slightest doing as this individual had suggested. After all, I won't be of much use accompanying you to your task. I would like to use my time more efficiently, Sire, if you would allow me to."
I did not respond, keeping my glower at the Constructicon, and the medic took my silence as an affirmative.
"Please send me the coordinates." He asked the ground pounder, who looked away, and nodded.
"I already told Hook you're coming, so he'll be watching for you." The mech said. "Now if you'll excuse me, Commander and entourage, I have to go finish my designs." With a curt bow, he walked away, and I scoffed, purging our interaction from my data-banks.
There was no need to remember talking to an inconsequential bottom-scraper.
Pristinus excused himself, and went the way we came. He left the factory chamber, and promptly took off after a quick transformation. I watched my medic fly out of sight, and turned to Skywarp.
"Where's Megatron meeting us?" I asked. "I hope he doesn't expect us to enter the mines." I grimaced, wings in a disgruntled jerk on my back.
"Well—…Uhh…" Skywarp averted his optics, and made a weak wave to the right. "This way." He led us through a side door, which opened to reveal a dimly-lit corridor. I frowned, glancing at him as I tried to interpret his inadequate response. He'd practically ignored my question, which tensed my wing joints with unease.
The hall we'd entered had an incredibly low ceiling. This was uncomfortable for all of us, especially Nightfire, who kept glancing up as though expecting the ceiling to drop on his helm. Fortunately, the room we entered afterwards was very spacious. My Space Shuttle friend heaved a sigh of relief. I fought not to do the same. Instead, I swept my gaze across the chamber, and spotted Megatron standing with Shockwave. They both turned upon out arrival. Shockwave bowed in my direction, while Megatron merely waited, silent and unmoving.
"Lord Megatron," I strutted toward him, a familiar, haughty smirk gracing my lips. "You must be most pleased that this mine has produced such wealth of energon crystals. After all," I stopped in front of him, and wrapped my hands over my hips, "My fliers played an imperative role in its capture from the Autobots."
"Starscream," He acknowledged. My wings flicked on my back, anticipating praise. However, he gave none. "The results have been satisfactory, yes." He affirmed with an even, indifferent tone, and my lips curled in annoyance.
"Would it kill you to give a compliment?" I snapped in distaste. "My fliers fought valiantly for this outpost. They made many sacrifices."
"Yes, they did." Megatron stated. That was all.
Scoffing with a huff, I decided to let his lack of appreciation go for the moment, and tossed Shockwave a brief glance.
"What's he doing here?" I sneered. "Can't you go anywhere without one of your aft-kissers?" I drawled, mocking master and lapdog. Megatron's optics narrowed by a minute degree, but he did not rise to my bait.
"Shockwave is here to oversee the installation of the energon-signature amplifier, since the prototype you'd sent us has been effective thus far." He answered, voice flat as a drone's.
"I am most curious about how the amplifier is able to differentiate between the crystals and the energon inside the workers." Shockwave interjected, words lilting to imitate natural inflections of anticipation and excitement. "It is quite remarkable." His optic blinked in rapid succession. "Its new feature of allowing the workers to access its scans through their communications system is very impressive."
I gave him a sideways stare, and hummed, keeping my lips pursed and glare disdainful. Turning back to Megatron, I let out a curt ex-vent, and decided to hurry to the task so I could return to the comfort of my city.
"Well?" I crossed my arms. "Where do you want the amplifier?"
"This way." Megatron answered. He turned, and strode toward the side door of the room, without a single word on my undesirable attitude. Again, I was taken back. He seemed to have completely stopped caring about what I said or did as long as it did not compromise my competence in battle. The strain this behaviour put on my spark was getting brittle, and I almost shouted at him, demanded to know why he was acting this way. However, the words would not come. I pressed closed my lips, and followed him, hands tight fists by my sides. This was not the time to make a scene. I did not want to express Megatron's aloofness bothered me, especially not in front of Nightfire.
We passed through the door, and walked down several winding corridors. The air progressively became hotter, more humid. Dust grew thick, until my intakes itched from irritation. The floor had a slight slope. We were heading underground, entering deeper into Cybertron. The thought agitated me. I had to bite my dentae to stop myself from announcing my discomfort.
Megatron did not tolerate weakness in his troops, and my distress would only be interpreted as such by the ground pounder.
He was right at home, of course, the slagger. I glared at the back of his bucket-shaped helmet. Who knew how many vorns he'd spent in the mines, digging and plowing his way through near darkness to pry precious fuel from our planet's solid depths? The lights overhead buzzed and flickered, splashing shadows on the walls. The dark shapes chased each other when the light crackled. They startled me, jolting my wings when I thought they were persons from the corners of my vision.
I looked back every once in a while to check on my fliers. Thundercracker had glued himself to Skywarp's side, optics wide and alert. He gaped at all the darting shadows, as though in suspicion of camouflaged danger. Skywarp had his right arm around our restless trine mate's waist. He murmured into the blue Seeker's audial, and though the teleporter did not appear as bothered about our constricting surroundings, his optics were a little too bright, casting a sickly glow to the furrow between his brow ridges.
I could barely make out Nightfire's silhouette without recalibrating my visual sensors. The black of his paintjob blended seamlessly into the darkness shrouding us. If Seekers were feeling claustrophobic, I could not imagine what a Space Shuttle must be going through, being much larger and wider. To my surprise, my scientific advisor carried forward with apparent ease. His back was straight. His steps were firm. His wings had sagged from their usual perk, but that was his only sign of discomfort with the situation.
Observing my fliers relieved, partially, the nipping inside my spark chamber. I turned my helm around, and stared at Megatron's broad back, finding it difficult to refrain from breaking the suppressive silence.
"How much longer?" My voice was higher than usual. It echoed in the long, dank corridor like a thin wail. I grimaced, hating the pitch at which I sounded. It was screechy even for my standards.
"Not much." Megatron replied, tilting toward me with a brief glance. His optics penetrated the gloom like flaring pits of smelter fire. I shivered, and averted my gaze to the floor.
…which was moist, slippery under my peds. I had to be very careful to avoid sliding on my thrusters.
I wished my trine mates were a little closer.
A shrill yelp burst from behind me. My wings swung up in less than a klik, and I jumped, intakes hitching with a gasp. My fuel pump almost skipped a beat, and I cursed, my spark clenching in fright.
Everyone stopped. Megatron turned around. He was looking at someone, annoyance pulling down the line of his lips, so I turned as well, a tirade prepared on the tip of my glossa to lash out at whichever idiot that had dared to give the Crown Prince a startle.
Thundercracker was clutching onto Skywarp with even greater force than before, faceplate in a grimace of terror. I should have known it was him. He was the only Seeker who could yelp and retain dignity in his voice. He was staring into the shadows on his right, optics stretched wide and wings perpendicular to his back. He pressed so close to Skywarp that the purple Seeker started to look embarrassed, though I doubted the teleporter minded holding our blue trine mate in his arms.
Nightfire glanced between the shadows and Thundercracker, wearing the biggest frown of confusion I have ever seen on his features. He was concerned. He'd stepped a little closer to my trine mates without intruding into their space, and his joints had tensed, the arc of his wings rigid.
Shockwave, at the rear of our group, peered around Nightfire's back. He might have been curious, but it was hard to tell with only an orb of light to work with.
"What is it?" Megatron was the one to breach the silence, voice a guttural grunt saturated with impatience. My wings jerked, and I bit out another quiet curse, scooting aside so the ex-gladiator would not speak right over my helm.
"…Something just touched me…" Thundercracker whispered, optics in full shine darting about as he looked for the perpetrator.
"There's nothing there." Skywarp mumbled.
"I know, but—…I swear, something grabbed my ped just now!" The blue Seeker ducked behind Skywarp, and clung on tighter.
"It was probably a reanimated limb drone." Megatron answered as though recounting the weather. "They were popular once in the mines."
"Reanimated limb drone?" I tilted toward him, and made a face, trying to figure out why, of all designations, they were given such a strange one.
"It is exactly as its name suggests." Megatron lowered his helm, and caught my gaze. "Cave-ins happen frequently, and workers die. A mech at a mining outpost next mine had the idea of severing the limbs and reactivating them to keep as pets. These drones are equipped with small electric generators that run on industrial-grade energon. They provided entertainment for the miners."
My wings twitched.
"One of such entertainment was miniature pit-fights between the drones." Megatron spoke on, "They got out of hand when a betting pool started, and some took their losses much too seriously. The Autobots issued a permanent ban, and tried to confiscate the drones. However, they did not manage to capture all of them. These limbs now infest the mines, stealing energon wherever they can."
I could only gape at my lord, optics round and lips parted. What he'd just explained was difficult, too poetically macabre, to process at once. The corridor was silent. I could only assume the others shared my sentiments.
Except for Shockwave. The slagger couldn't gape even if he had wanted to.
"…How do they…know to find energon?" Thundercracker asked, voice hushed with a touch of disgust and morbid curiosity.
"They are equipped with small processing chips." Megatron looked over my helm. Silence hung in the air once again. His voice faded away, a murmuring echo in the dark corridor with stain-patched walls, and I felt sick, fuel tank churning in nausea.
Suddenly, a loud groan blared along the hallway, followed by a wave of clatters. For a spark-seizing moment, I thought the ceiling was going to collapse. I panicked, springing forward with a sharp gasp. I grabbed onto the closest mech I could reach, which happened to be Megatron, which, under normal circumstances, would have made my wings bristle in distaste. However, faced with the looming threat of being stuck underground, I figured the best candidate to be stuck with would be an ex-miner – a perfectly logical decision. I clamed my arms around his, and pressed against him as though welded to his plating. Nothing in the universe could pry me from him until it became clear that Cybertron was not about to swallow me into its inky, solid depths.
I peered up at the ceiling as though I could see beyond it to figure out what was going on.
"What was that?!" I hissed in a whisper, wings quivering and pointed down.
"The pipes." Megatron answered, and fear-induced irritation slammed into me faster than I could ignite a thruster.
"Do you think I'm stupid? No pipe can possibly sound like that!" I snapped at him, fingers clenching harder around his arm until my joints started to throb. "It was like Unicron's innards after gorging on too many planets!"
The groan came again, and I squealed in terror, frantically yanking Megatron closer against me just in case he thought it was funny to push me away to withstand the dangers of being stuck in a cave-in all by my poor, defenseless, claustrophobic Seekerly self.
"You are exaggerating." Megatron uttered a curt noise that sounded very much like a hybrid of a grunt and a snort. He was probably laughing at me in secret, but no matter. At least he hasn't shoved me off.
"I am not exaggerating!" I started to yell, blabbering nonstop as I tended to do when confronted with fear-struck situations I had no control over. "I don't care if your aft's rusted for millions of vorns. I'm too young to deactivate! I don't want to have my spark extinguished while stuck in a dark, damp, nasty, slag-infested pit-hole filled with creepy crawly severed limbs! I'm too beautiful to die in such a degrading manner! What will my predecessors think when I join them in the Well of Sparks? Here comes Crown Prince Starscream, deactivated in a mine before he could even break his seal and produce a sparkling. Who's ever heard of a flier in a mine?! I knew I shouldn't trust you to pick a good location for the amplifier. Why did I even fathom that I can trust you with something so important? Because I'm glitched in the processors – that's why!"
"If you don't stop screaming at such an unnatural decibel, you might very well bring the ceiling down on us." Megatron stated in a deadpan tone. The slagger had the audacity to sound bored, and I almost shrieked at him for his utterly inappropriate disregard toward our obviously life-threatening predicament. Before I could, the meaning behind his words sank in. I grudgingly snapped my mouth shut, and fought back a shiver as I glanced up at the ceiling, frightful and crouching.
Megatron watched me, and let out a sigh. "We are going to be fine, Starscream." He sounded frustrated. "There won't be cave-ins here. We are not deep enough." Despite the scowl on his faceplate, he has yet made any movement to throw me off. I stayed silent, pressing my lips together. While there was much I'd wanted to say, I far more preferred survival over getting the last word, at lease with the possibility of bringing down the ceiling.
"…Are you planning on plastering yourself to me for the remainder of our trip?" Megatron asked, and I immediately whimpered, tugging him close. After a most awkward silence, he sent out another blast of air through his vents, and turned around, to walk further down into the corridor.
"Wh-What the frag do you think you're doing?!" It took all what was left of my fraying self-control to not shout. "We can't go that way! You said we're safe from cave-ins here, but you never said anything about down there!" Even though I was nearly not strong enough to physically deter him from the heading in the direction he'd wanted to go, I still yanked on his arm, insistent to make him acknowledge my point.
"If you are too cowardly to go any further, you can return to the surface." Megatron was definitely annoyed with me now. His voice held a growling edge, and he tossed me a brief glare.
"Go back up by myself? Are you crazy?!" I protested, "What if I get lost? Then I'll never find my way to the surface!"
"Then you are stuck with no choice but to come with us." He concluded, and I let out a frustrated whine, trying not to stumble as I matched his strides while glued to his arm.
"Don't use words like 'stuck', you tactless bucket. What if it happens?" I grumbled. However, another glare from him effectively shut me up for good. He was an ex-miner. If he thought it was a good time for me to shut up, he must have had reason, a safety reason, and I was not inclined to test out what that safety reason was.
After much clumsy shuffling, one of my peds accidentally got caught around the ex-gladiator's. We tripped, and barely avoided falling flat on our faceplates. Megatron, after catching ourselves, snarled, and snapped his helm in my direction. I was certain he was going to punch me, or worse, shake me off. To my surprise, he did not. Instead, he turned, and scooped me off the ground with a single sweep, an arm firm around my waist. With a yelp, I grappled for his shoulders, and his other arm wrapped under my perch. Without a single word, he continued walking as though nothing had happened. I dipped my chin, and wiggled to get more comfortable before latching my arms around his shoulders.
A triumphant smirk curled up my lips. I buried it against his neck cables. Now there was no way he could shake me off! Even if a cave-in happened, I was safe, because I was with him. He'd worked at the mines for countless vorns. If anyone was to know what to do when stuck underground, it would be him.
…And it's been such a long time since he'd last allowed me this close.
We went deeper into the mine, and passed through two sets of airlock gates. They creaked and clanked as they slid apart, gears rusted and old. The heat and humidity became worse as the final set of doors opened. A hot blast of air hit my flight sensors, and I flinched, grimacing in discomfort.
The temperature was a different smolder from Tarn and its Great Fire, one made of steam rather than flame. We walked through the final pair of gates, and stepped onto a large platform without railing of any kind. It was an elevator, bare without any covering and activated by a lever. At least Megatron had the foresight to avoid the box on our far right. Judging by the size of that contraption, Nightfire would not even be able to enter it.
The platform gave a heavy jolt, and started to descend. The sudden clunk as it moved startled my fliers. Sighing, Thundercracker looked around, and frowned as his vision turned upwards. Curious, I followed his optics, and gave our surrounding a slow sweep.
We were in a large, vertical tunnel, lined with stairs and ramps in steep spirals. Workers pushed and carried carts full of energon crystals, which emitted an eerie glow. The darkness here was like liquid, ink that gathered around every light source, drenching occupants within the mine. The tiny lambs along the stairs were like flickering embers, suffocated by the impenetrable, ominous gloom. I recalibrated my optical settings, and tried to see if the tunnel led to the surface. I couldn't detect any light from above, only blackness, stretching infinitely far. It was probably a good thing that I had no knowledge of how far down we were. Otherwise, I would have been alarmed, even if the tunnel was wide and open space.
We continued downward, in complete silence. Not a single word was shared between us. Only the miners' pedfalls and straining joints disturbed the quiet, accompanied by clattering and scraping noises, some trickling in from tunnels branching from the one we currently traveled through. Every once in a while, the stairs groaned and screeched under the combined weight of worker and a full cart. However, none of the ground pounders seemed to care, moving on as though they did not hear it at all.
I squirmed in Megatron's arms, and pulled myself higher. He grunted when I kneed him in the chassis, but he did not snap at me to stop, only adjusting his hold around me. I peered over his shoulder to check on my trine mates, and found them huddled together on the middle of the platform. Thundercracker's wing pointed at the floor. They shivered, visible even through the dark. Skywarp was faring significantly better. He rubbed our blue trine mate between the wing joints, and seemed to be murmuring something, optics dim and brow ridges in a shallow knit.
Shockwave had moved to stand on the far left of the platform, behind Megatron at a respectable distance. He was, of course, completely fine. His only optic blinked at odd intervals, and I wondered if that meant he was thinking, or perhaps plotting. I glared at him, gaze slitted with suspicion. However, he didn't even notice. He exhibited no reaction whatsoever, so I grew bored, and stopped.
Nightfire was by himself in the back corner, on the right. He had his arms crossed over his chassis, a faceplate of stern. At first, I was worried that he was displeased with me, about my choice of sticking with Megatron. However, after a closer inspection, he was simply on edge, staring forward and lips pursed.
"You really are a sadistic fragger, you know that?" I huffed out a sigh, and settled down. "I bet you chose the location for the amplifier just to see what happens to fliers when they go underground." I muttered into his neck cables, wiggling to return to my previous position.
"You give me too much credit, Starscream." Megatron answered, adjusting his arms around me. He didn't sound like he cared about my name-calling, demeanor almost peaceful, surrounded by this darkness and humidity undoubtedly familiar to him. A little surprised, I leaned back a little, to catch sight of his faceplate.
He tilted his chin down when he noticed my movement. Our optics met. His expression remained bland and impassive, but his features were relaxed. I could tell from the lack of tension usually found in the firm set of his lips, the minute narrow of his gaze. He looked younger, despite the dim lighting that cast shadows on his frame, etching each and every scar and scratch. He looked a little distant, but this time, it was more pensive than guarded. Perhaps he was reminiscing with his vorns at his own mining outpost, though I hadn't the faintest clue what memory could be worth remembering about, having been made in a hole like this.
We looked at each other, without a word spoken. Silence stretched brittle. I let out a burst of air through my vents, and looked away, plopping my helm down against his shoulder. It was hot. His plating was warm. However, I did not mind. My cooling fans could be heard over the murmur of noises around us, whirring enthusiastically to bring my internal temperature down to a tolerable level. Coolant was a caress of chill throughout my systems. Megatron's ventilation stirred my wings. They created a steady cycle of current, which eased the need of my flight system in finding stimulation.
As long as there was moving air, and a promise of a safe return to the sky, I could keep my fear under control.
With nothing to do, I traced the ridges on the cables of his neck with my finger tips. His helm turned slightly when he registered my touch, but he said nothing, and allowed me to do what I wanted. His leniency was, in itself, a shock. It pleased yet troubled me at the same time. One part of me wanted to announce, with a perk of my wings, that it was about time he recognized how I was to be properly treated, while another, suspicious of his motives, whispered that this divergence of character should, in me, rouse alarm. It was so unlike him to not be violent, especially when he knew I was being difficult just to get under his plating. He's been so calm when dealing with my repetitive attempts at challenging his leadership, which bothered me, much more than I had anticipated.
Why has he stopped hitting me? Was he deterred because he did not want to risk a reoccurrence of what had happened last time?
Last time.
When my yearning,
My desire.
Presented for him,
the depth of my perversity…
Of trickling fluids staining my thighs.
My cheek plates burned, and I grumbled, kicking that train of thought out of my processors. I had sworn to myself that I would never rekindle with that cycle ever again. It was one of the most shameful and depraved moments of my existence. The only reason I hasn't deleted it altogether was—
Well.
That was not important.
We finally reached the bottom. Megatron stepped off the platform, and led the way. We walked through a hall of metal and rock, and entered what looked like a large chamber leading to many other tunnels.
Megatron stopped, and turned around to address our group. This gave me a chance to scan the rest of the chamber, and there, in the middle, was the seat of the amplifier on a platform.
"This is the precise center of the mine." The ex-gladiator explained, and I looked around as he spoke. "If the amplifier is placed here, every worker will be able to receive its signal."
Nightfire gave a brisk nod, and reached into his subspace.
"I will get to work then." He was clearly looking forward to returning to the surface, striding up the platform without even asking for my permission. I hardly cared at that point, and watched the Space Shuttle, impatience pulsing my energy field. Megatron turned. I shifted accordingly to catch a view. My science advisor took out the amplifier, the small device dwarfed by his hand, and set it down, slipping it into its seat. There was a series of tiny clicks, and the amplifier lit up, whining into activation.
"…Is that it?" Skywarp's voice reached my audials, and I swirled around to give him an irritated glance.
"Do you honestly think we all have nothing better to do than coming down here for the sole purpose of putting the amplifier into its seat – a task even a simpleton like you can achieve?" I scowled, and bit out with a drawl.
Skywarp scrunched his nose-bridge, and shrugged. "Just asking…" He grumbled, and went back to watching Nightfire.
The Space Shuttle had already begun entering the necessary instructions and codes. A hologram appeared. It showed glowing scrolls of writing alongside a three-dimensional, gridded model of the mine. Nightfire started tapping at the hologram, and the miners pushing their carts around us paused as they passed by, to stare. Several breems ticked by. Finally, my science advisor heaved a deep sigh, and entered the last line of commands, stepping back when the hologram blinked into a process bar.
"It's finished. The system should be up and running in three…two…one. Activated." The amplifier made a small beep, and the hologram disappeared. Nightfire turned around, and bowed his helm in my direction. I nodded, tilting toward Megatron, who had, on his faceplate, the focused, blank expression all mechs wore when mid-conversation in their comm.s.
"How are the results?" I asked, a pleased smirk lifting the corners of my lips.
"So far, yet to be seen," He answered after a short pause. "By the end of the cycle, we will get the results."
Of course all he cared about was the energon crystals and not our ingenious work.
I scowled at him in distaste.
"Fine." I glowered. "Just remember to give me the rewards I deserve when you've been adequately amazed."
"Asking for more rewards, Starscream?" Megatron looked back at me, not bothered by my glare at all. "I have allowed you to attach yourself to me like a malfunctioning symbiotic drone. I believe that is rewarding enough."
"What?!" My voice shot up in volume and pitch as my fingers tightened around his shoulders. "I give you the prized privilege of being my perch and you thank me with-with—…such insufferable nonappreciation? That is completely unacceptable!"
"I can drop you if it is insufficient." His optics flashed for a split klik. The slagger—…He was amused!
I ground my jaws, and narrowed my optics to a full glare.
"Why, mighty Megatron," I purred through gritted dentae and a forced grin, "I didn't know you cared so much about what I think."
Megatron quirked up one of his brow ridges. Without warning, his arms fell away.
With a sharp, startled cry, I latched onto his shoulders, and threw my legs around his hips.
"You glitch!" I shrieked. "You almost dropped me!" I shouted right into his faceplate, and reeled in victorious glee when he flinched at the shrillness of my voice.
"If you can articulate your displeasure, you can walk on your own." The ex-miner replied in a dry, gruff voice, and dealt me a flat stare.
"Silence!" I yelled, and would have smacked him on the helm if I did not need both hands to clutch onto his frame. "I'm not nearly finished with expressing my utter outrage toward your continuous belittling of my accomplishments, nor am I done professing my retaliations in response to your insulting treatment of my person!" I sneered at the insolent slagger. "You think you can just brush me off like every other instance where I generously put aside my princely duties to actually put effort into bestowing you and your scrapheap of an army with weapons and the latest Vosian technology?! No! I refuse to endure this disrespect any longer! Not even once did you acknowledge the amount of research and time I've personally invested into these projects! Do you have any idea how much knowledge and power I am entrusting in you? Fliers have spent vorns perfecting this amplifier alone and you think carrying me around is going to—"
A sudden boom erupted overhead. I jumped, intakes hitching in a gasp. The noise was so loud that it shook the ground and the walls around us. It reverberated in the hollow of the large chamber, like a chorus of bellowing voices. Tirade forgotten, I froze into stillness, optics wide as I glanced around with great alarm.
"…What—…What was that…?" I whispered, too terrified to even shiver.
Megatron stared at me before tilting back his helm, vision flickering up.
"You have finally accomplished the unachievable, Starscream." He murmured, and actually frowned in worry. "You seemed to have caused a cave-in with your extraordinary prowess of vocals."
"Wh-What?!" I squeaked, optics stretched so wide that I was sure the glass was going to crack. "B-But the—the ceiling isn't—"
"-It has yet to begun to sink, but it will, very soon." He interrupted me, and studied our surroundings, undoubtedly assessing our situation in a way only an ex-miner could. "Judging by our current distance from the surface, we will be stuck here for at least one full cycle before we can be rescued."
I was too horrified to even form one word to describe how terrified I was at the mere prospect of—
"In order to escape, you must follow everything I say." Megatron pinned me with a stare. "You must remain completely silent for the remainder of our time underground, and not move a single cable, understood?"
I hastily nodded. I've never seen him this serious before, solemn without a hint of anger. The booming came again, shaking the ground, and I whimpered, burrowing my helm against his neck cables. Genitor of a glitch I did not want to be stuck down here. This was the absolute night-purge of every flier sparkling, to be sealed off and left to rust until either hysteria or hunger snuffed the spark.
It was not until we were halfway up to the surface when I noticed, with much confusion, that the miners pushing the carts were far too at leisure for there to have been a cave-in.
This could mean only one thing:
That Primus-damned, scrap-scraping aft of a fragger had lied to me just to get me to shut up.
Nothing fueled rage faster than the drive for vengeance.
The rest of our journey was filled with punches and kicks and snarling threats promising an agonizing deactivation.
Megatron eventually became so fed up that he struck me with a backhand vicious enough to stun my processors for two full breems. I returned to Vos with a stinging cheek plate. However, even as I screeched at my trine mates and Nightfire about the injustice of it all, my spark felt a lot lighter than it had been for a very long time.
Not that I was happy Lord Slagger hit me.
I was just relieved that things were starting to take a little resemblance to normal.
Notes: It wasn't until the next cycle did any member of that group realize that they'd left Pristinus back at the mine. When questioned about why he hasn't made contact with Vos to arrange a pick-up, the medic only smiled, and said he had pleasant company.
Or something like that, haha!
Shout-outs time once again to my lovely reviewers keeperofcoldtoes, Random523, VyxenSkye, TammyCat, avisshadow26939, 6MissSparklez9, Guest 1, Sneer, Other Personalities, Krazed Jetformer, Rozelith, Cannonade, FIREstee, Borath, starscream fan, Confuzzled-Neko, loverofmythology, DreamMaster08X, Guest 2, Eiswolf-Zero, Kim2000, supergirl95, prismadecepticons, The-writing-Mew, DeceptivelyGood, starscreamfancypants, Devlinn Reiko, Khysani Myrical, Jeanette, heretherebemonsters, and Dark Limbo. Thank you very much for your feedback. I greatly appreciate it!
Next chapter: Battle for Praxus. ;)
A review would be lovely.