III - Armada III

"You left me for scrap!" The clone snarled, optics burning with hatred.

"I will be over here." I took a few wary steps back, feeling my banded wings dip.

"I watched every single one of you PERISH!" Starscream shot back, stalking forwards and harshly poked his chest plate, heedless of the clone's blasters. "Three was mauled! Five was stabbed! Two was shot by Insecticons–"

"And I survived!" The clone—who must have been Two—pointed out as if we were unaware.

"How is that my fault?!" Starscream cried. "You were buried under rubble from the crash and I could feel your pain then, even now!"

Ratchet looked more than ready to object out of curiosity, but the pair were on a roll. Two jabbed his blasters at Starscream, forcing him to take a step back. "If you manage to wound me," he snarled, "you shall feel it as well." Starscream's optics narrowed at that. "If you even terminate me, well, the odds are not exactly in your favor, now are they?"

"It's a Catch-22." Jack breathed.

"Catch-44. Twice as bad." Miko suggested, leaning so far off the platform that I was sure she would fall.

"Catch-404: victor not found," Raf murmured, smirking slightly. It would've been funny had the situation not been so dire.

Optimus was about to step in as the pair began to circle each other, but Starscream stopped him. "No! This is between us!"

"As your physician, you cannot–"

"Shut up!" Starscream snapped. Two transformed his blasters away, aiming a swift kick at Starscream's legs. The Seeker skittered back, but not until after he had received a shallow scrape from his clone's talons.

"As for me, I cannot feel your pain, which gives me the upper hand!" Two grinned malevolently. Starscream transformed out the blaster on his right arm, landing a shot on his double's formerly uninjured wing.

"Yeah!" Will cheered. Starscream grimaced, and for a brief moment they both wore pained expressions, however, only one had sustained damage. Starscream lunged and tackled him to the floor. They landed in a tangle of arms and legs and a shower of sparks. The Seeker punched his clone in the faceplates.

"Why are–" Two said vehemently between blows, "you–" another punch, "hitting–" another, "yourself?!"

Starscream fell off him, looking dazed. "You have to beat him fast, it's the only way!" Jack shouted encouragingly. "You can do this!"

The jet tried to rise, but Two grabbed him and dug his talons into the exact spot on his side where the patch was. Starscream shrieked, his legs kicking out and several wiry bolts of whitish-blue electricity shot through his frame. This time everyone saw it and a couple bots even gasped. Optimus decided to intervene, running towards the pair. He tore Two off Starscream by his neck cables, tightly enough to constrict his movement, but not enough to make Starscream feel his pain as well.

Two kicked feebly, optics widening. "P-p-please…" he choked out. Optimus hesitated for a second, but a second was all that Two needed. He uppercutted the Prime, who dropped him in surprise. The Seeker dashed back over to Starscream and kicked him in his side where his wound was, having reopened, eliciting another shriek and ensuing burst of electricity. He transformed out a blaster and shot him in the center of his chest plate before anyone could react.

He planted a pede on top of the wound, "Any final words?" His blaster charged up. Starscream snarled up at him, optics smoldering.

"I was about to ask you the same." Two spun around in terror right as Bulkhead's wrecking ball met his faceplates. He crumpled on top of his double.

The green mech dragged Two off him, mumbling an apology. Starscream's optics were flickering and his intakes were ragged.

"That was intense!" Will finally breathed.

"You can say that again." Miko agreed.

"That was intense."

She punched him amiably, "Not literally, dude!"

"Duh!" He replied with a smirk, rubbing his arm. "What am I, brain-dead?"

"Shh!" I hissed at them, not knowing how they could act so idiotic in such a serious situation. Arcee warily checked Two for any signs of life while Bumblebee helped Starscream to his pedes. The scout chirped, asking if he was all right.

"I've been better," the Seeker answered in a staticky voice, "but it should pass in a moment, hopefully. I haven't gotten it down to a science." Ratchet proceeded to patch up his chest plate, then his side, again.

"I find it rather curious that you and Seven do not share this special 'connection.'" The medic added thoughtfully while applying a sticky sealing agent.

"That is something to be discussed at a later time." Starscream huffed. "Watch your fingers!"

"Then what is Two's condition?" The medic inquired, glancing up at Arcee while intentionally poking the jet, who irritably jabbed him with his talons in turn.

She glanced up from his chassis, "There isn't anything you can do that's going to help him now."

Ratchet swiftly finished Starscream's patches, looking to Optimus. "Your turn–hold on… what is this?"

"What?" Starscream asked, an edge of anxiety creeping into his tone.

"I will wait." Optimus assured the medic. Ratchet onlined his built-in scanner, sweeping it over the nervous Seeker's side.

"Is it my T-Cog?"

"I am not yet sure, but quite possibly." He replied. I locked optics with my double, almost feeling his distress.

"Your T-Cog appears to be undamaged," he began, switching off the scanner's red beam of light. Starscream let out a quiet, relieved sigh. "However, I have found there to be an… anomaly in its biosignature."

"Such as…?" my double prodded nervously.

"It seems that more detailed nano-mechanisms have been compromised in some way, but by what… well, it could be loss of binary coefficients in its code, altering its armature, or perhaps–"

"English please, doc. Not all of us are as smart as you are." Bulkhead suggested humorlessly.

"My name is not 'doc'!" He barked. "And what I said was simply that an outside source has somehow altered a fragment of Starscream's T-Cog." The Seeker winced as if receiving a blow.

"Moreover," he continued in a gentler tone, "it carries the obvious indicators of a virus."

I waited for someone to say it was a joke, to shout out "April fool!" or taunt me for believing it, because my expression certainly betrayed my mixed emotions. Except if Ratchet informed me he possessed a sense of humor—a cruel one at that—I would question my sanity.

"So… Screamy's sick?" Miko finally asked apprehensively, tapping two fingers together.

"In essence, yes." The medic replied. "That is what I'm being led to believe."

"With what?" I asked, halfheartedly picking at the new patch on my side. Worry gnawed at my tank like the dull teeth of an animal. Everyone was silent for a moment, an excruciatingly long moment. Optimus laid a servo on my shoulder plate as I stared at the ground, not saying anything. Neither of us needed to. "Please, please tell me it isn't Cybonic Plague." I whimpered, my optics meeting the medic's, then the Prime's. There were mixtures of pity, worry, and caution in those little blue orbs.

Ratchet picked up the sliver of metal from my side out from under a microscope, "It has already come up negative. But that is not what worries me; one could stick several labels on this, but none that read 'Cybertronian.'"

"Cybertron went dark eons ago," Arcee reasoned, "and no one that flew to this planet, 'Bot or 'Con, was infected. With anything." Arcee pointed out, but not sounding so sure.

Optimus looked down at her somberly, "I sincerely hope that to be true."

"Can none of you successfully capture a Transformer?" Silas' fist slammed down onto a table, rattling the various tools that used to lay in orderly rows.

"Sir, the subject Breakdown–"

"Did I ask of past failures, soldier?" MECH's leader hissed.

"No, sir." The same one replied.

"Then give me an answer." His tone was deadly calm. "Speak when you are spoken to!"

A second soldier sighed quietly, "Platoons A through E have been unsuccessful in detaining any Transformers, sir."

"Now, was that so hard?" Silas purred, stalking around him. He stopped behind his soldier, staring in front of him and up at Breakdown's chassis. It sagged from a set of heavy chains against the wall, a few inches off the floor. "If you had all failed, then what am I looking at?"

"Transformer Breakdown's remains." Another cautiously answered.

"Exactly." Silas agreed, walking around to face the second soldier.

"Sir, is it somehow a bad thing?" He wondered.

"Use your eyes, does it look alive to you?" MECH's leader hissed, hands clasped behind his back as he proceeded to circle the soldier.

"No, sir."

"That is what's wrong. Not a single member of MECH has proven himself capable of capturing and holding a Transformer, and I intend to change that." Silas growled.

"Sir, I mean no disrespect, but no single person could detain a Transformer." The second soldier reminded him. "Not with the resources we presently have at our disposal."

"Starting with you." MECH's leader growled, seemingly ignoring his comment. He grabbed a pistol, holding it like he knew every square millimeter of it, like a man to which it was nearly an extension of his arm. A loud shot rang out. "Does anyone else think they know how?"

No one answered, fearfully watching him beneath their armored masks. Two soldiers stepped forwards and began to clean up the body. Silas silently watched them for a moment, the scars on his face adding depth to the shadows already present from the dim room.

"Be that as it may," he continued, piercing the heavy silence, "but Project: Chimera is well under way. Soon enough, if the faction that calls themselves 'Autobots' are as intelligent life forms as they claim to be, then we shall receive custody of a live Transformer." He smirked, deepening the shadows even more.

Ratchet had been unsuccessful in finding anything other than the indication that the virus was in my T-Cog in the first place. He couldn't even identify what it was, let alone where it came from. There were no known records of this strain, which only made me feel worse. But so far, it wasn't spreading, which was good enough for me at the moment as I flew above a sparkling human city.

I had decided to mostly avoid cities, thanks to Seven's bad experiences with them; from the time he flew above the so-called Empire State in New York and almost was blown to pieces, to when he crashed into a skyscraper in Los Angeles.

But I couldn't help myself as I soared high above another city by the name of Seattle, in the territory called Washington. These names seemed random, almost like gibberish to me, like "New York." But "Los Angeles," as Raf had informed Seven and I, translated to "The Angels" from the human language Spanish.

"Leave it to humans to create the most ludicrous of words." I grumbled to myself, zeroing in on the structure called the "Space Needle," but keeping my distance so not to draw attention to myself. It had an even more intriguing style of architecture than from what Seven thought of the Empire State Building. Its narrow, white pillars that supported the disc at the top had an elegant, pearly quality to them; they gleamed more brightly than anything else to be seen in the fading light. Knock Out, ever so eloquent with his word choices, would have described it, in awe, as "shiny."

I did a large loop through a couple of clouds, basking in the fading light. "Ah, what better a way is there to take one's thoughts off present matters for a moment–" My comm suddenly pinged. I answered it, and a gruff, vaguely familiar voice spoke up before I could even open my mouth. That is, in a manner of speaking.

"Unknown aircraft, you are flying in United States airspace without authorization. Identify yourself."

"And to whom am I speaking?" I purred back.

"General Bryce of the–"

"Oh, you," I huffed, "you were the one who spoke with dear Agent Fowler a few weeks ago, am I wrong?"

"How do you know that?" He said, sounding mildly surprised. "That is highly classified intel–"

"I have my ways." I allowed a smirk to penetrate my tone. "I too, have, ah… conversed with Agent Fowler under more, well, shocking circumstances than I am sure you have."

"And whom may I be speaking with? I'm not sure we've met." He questioned, his voice once again stoic.

"A friend, or potentially an enemy." I was having more fun with this than I should have been.

"I have a button under my finger that will launch an anti-aircraft missile if I press it, blasting you and your plane out of the sky." He growled. "So, tell me who you are, who you're working for, and what you're planning to do and this won't get any more unpleasant than it already is."

I laughed openly at that, not at all swayed by his threats, "I am the plane."

"A Decepticon?" He asked, taking on a more menacing tone.

"Please. I no longer ally myself with that particular entity." I flew above the cloud where I'd opened a ground bridge from our base. The underside of my fuselage skimmed the chilly crest, dispersing the whitish fluff and causing water droplets that had condensed on my plating to come streaming off. It was oddly refreshing; I had found myself desperately needing to clear my thoughts after Ratchet's diagnosis.

Suddenly I found myself being sucked back into memories from a handful of hours ago…

"You are telling me that you cannot even identify what the virus is?" I snarled at the medic and rose up off the med berth, stalking over to him.

"Unless you are willing to undergo a biopsy, no." He stated firmly, crossing his arms. "And I can put you under to insure it's painless. Otherwise, I can perform some scans–" I cringed, "noninvasive, I assure you."

I pointed at the diminutive sliver of metal from my side under the microscope, "Doctor, then would you kindly tell me what that is?"

He let out a resigned sigh, "To accurately tell you, I would require an actual piece of your T-Cog."

I too crossed my arms, but in skepticism. "And what, Primus forbid, strings are attached?"

"As I said, I would need to obtain data from multiple parts of your T-Cog; to compare each of them, potentially seeing fluctuations in the virus and so forth. You do want to get better, don't you?"

"I see." There was no way that I was going to allow him to further tamper with my biomechanisms any time soon.

Arcee jumped in, "You would be able to determine if it is contagious–"

"Ratch," Miko interjected, "if it is, then aren't you all infected if you're breathing it in?!" She finished matter-of-factly. "Can we even get it?"

The medic sighed, "Though it may seem like it at times, no Cybertronian requires air to 'breathe,' however, intaking helps to regulate our temperatures. And to also answer Arcee's question," he looked at the blue femme, "from what meager information I could glean, I know that it cannot be transmitted through the air, or by any other means, so we aren't contaminated."

"Do not use the word 'contaminated' around me unless you wish for a swift removal of your glossa." I tried to hiss, but it came out sounding a bit more like a whine.

"Starscream." Optimus chastised gently, his tone laced with a layer of disapproval.

"If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all." Oliver quipped.

"I'll show you nice!" However, before I could do anything other than spit threats under my vocalizer, Bulkhead stepped in front of me, effectively blocking my path with his girth.

"Easy, Screamy." The green mech warned.

"Will you all stop calling me that!" I snapped, edging closer to the ground bridge controls.

[He looks okay to me.] Bumblebee chirped.

"I don't know, Bee." Raf countered, "Ratchet said that there'll be symptoms that have yet to show themselves…"

"And yet they haven't." Seven pointed out.

"I still don't get why y'all don't just quarantine him already." Miko groused.

"I think it is best for Starscream to be treated in a manner that is not confining." The Prime reasoned, looking to me, those all-too understanding blue optics seemed to drill into my very spark chamber. "And Ratchet already said it is not contagious."

"If he was–" Arcee began, but stopped when I let out a choking noise. Another realization hit me with the sharpness of a dull blade being forced through my chest plating.

"I-is it lethal?" I stuttered, looking pleadingly to Ratchet with wide optics.

He looked away quickly, "I… I cannot determine that yet."

I punched the console's screen, and with a heave so hard I was sure I had broken something inside it, I slammed the ground bridge lever down and transformed. I ignored the burning sensation beneath where my chest plate was that had almost become familiar, and with a blast from my thruster, flew through the portal.

"Let him go," I heard Optimus say before his words were whisked away on the wind, "the kindest thing we can do for him now is to give him time, old friend."

Ratchet's voice replied gravely, barely audible to me, "I fear time is one thing he does not have."

General Bryce's voice roared over the comm link. "ANSWER ME, YOU–"

"I'm here." My voice quavered while I tried to answer calmly; I was shaken by the flashback.

I could almost see the man pinch the bridge of his nose as his next words came out in a soft growl, "I will give you one last chance. Get your act together or get out, before I involve my superiors and tell them that dangerous Decepticons are flying around unaccounted for!"

I banked sharply back around towards the city, realizing just how far I had flown and not wanting to say anything more to General Bryce.

"Well, Starscream, if you will not yield…" he trailed off, leaving me to wonder how he knew my designation and what he was implying.

"I never said anything about not yielding." I retorted, relieved to find that the quaver had vanished from my tone.

"Which is precisely why I am doing this."

I didn't even notice the squadron of jets advancing on my tail, too tangled up in the webs of my thoughts.

Then the comm link cut out with a final burst of static as the jets swooped around and into my field of view, five of them, all identical. For a brief, panicked moment, I thought they were my clones, back from the grave. But their design was different; more heavily built, such as having two vertical stabilizers instead of one. When we first arrived on Earth, I scanned an F-16. But these looked like F-24s—I had once searched other types of human military jets to compare with my alt mode. I didn't find anything that I would want to scan, satisfied with mine.

They simultaneously opened fire, and I dropped like a stone, snapping out of my reverie.