XVI - The Human Factor III
Soundwave's scanners pinged aboard the Nemesis. "What? What is it?" Megatron asked, abruptly turning to face the blue mech at the sound. The silent mech opened it on the one of the ship's consoles. "Breakdown's signal… investigate with caution. It may well be an Autobot trick." The warlord gestured to a pair of drones, "Go scout the location with Soundwave, and bring dear Breakdown back, whether he is dead or alive."
The silent mech's fingertips flew over the keypad of the console, and a second later a ground bridge portal opened, bathing the Nemesis' bridge in a green glow. Soundwave walked through, the drones following close behind him, blasters out and at the ready.
Soundwave scanned his surroundings, searching for signs of any immediate threats. The warehouse in front of him practically waved a red flag in his visor. A charred, smoking maw of a hole was blown out of the side of it, and a scarred blue mech came walking out, dragging something that looked quite heavy. The drones raised their blasters defensively, but Soundwave raised a servo, signaling them to stop.
The blue mech appeared to be Breakdown, but Soundwave noted that something was off, besides the fact that his chassis looked like it had cut to pieces then welded back together.
"You must be Soundwave," he hoisted the crate he was carrying up into the air, "and I am CYLAS. But I believe Megatron will be much more interested in this." He held the crate up in front of the silent mech's visor with a sneer, "So, take me to your leader."
I woke with a start, sitting up so abruptly that the energon in my helm raced to my pedes. As if I didn't already feel dizzy and nauseous. The quilted blanket that had covered me from neck-to-pede now was askew, slipping off the berth. Some foreign instinct made me reach out a servo and take hold of it, pulling it back up. It was warm in a way I couldn't explain, not by mere heat alone. But there was enough of that inexplicable warmth that made me scowl… or keen at the thought of losing it. I snuggled into the thing, allowing it to caress my wings like a set of gentle servos.
"Optimus, he's awake," Ratchet said into a comm after glancing at me.
"Affirmative." The Prime answered.
"Where are the others?" I asked, my voice ragged, taking in the nearly vacant room through bleary optics.
"Jack is with Smokescreen and Knock Out, teaching them the proper ways of driving on human roads, Optimus and Arcee are out doing reconnaissance, Bumblebee and Bulkhead are scouting another possible energon mine location, and the children are getting caught up on homework. Did I miss anyone, Agent Fowler?"
"A-aren't you forgetting Seven?" I offered.
"Haven't seen hide or hair of your clone, Scream." The agent stated. "Sorry to disappoint."
"I should hope not," I muttered.
Ratchet rolled his optics, "It's a figure of speech–"
"I know." I huffed, insulted.
Agent Fowler turned back to the screens, reading aloud something that looked relatively important. "At sixteen-thirty hours, an unknown device, possibly a weapon of mass destruction, was stolen from a high-security military vault. Surveillance shows the Decepticon known as Breakdown at the scene."
"He's been off the radar lately," Ratchet noted, flipping through what looked like medical records.
"Of course he has!"
"Oh, and why might that be?" Agent Fowler asked, giving me a look like I was wasting his time.
"Airachnid terminated him." I continued, lowering my optics' brightness to their dimmest setting as I felt that strange tingling sensation come over my frame again. Ratchet came over to my side and shushed me gently as one would do to a naïve sparkling, then pulled the quilt up to my chin.
"She can't have," the medic argued, "she has been locked in the stasis pod in our storage vaults for quite some time."
I scowled up at him, "Did you not hear anything I just said? I-It's impossible for Breakdown to be driving around, least of all with a human, because he's offline! That Airachni-glitch terminated him a long time ago!" I waved a servo to punctuate my argument, hating how it noticeably sapped my strength.
"Quiet," the medic repeated, more gently and slowly this time. "Starscream, listen to me. Your processor isn't functioning as it should, you do not know what you're saying."
My mouth fell open and I coughed painfully, "Don't feed me that scrap—you're the d-doctor, for frag's sake! I am perfectly aware of my actions!"
He clapped his servo over my mouth plates. Fuming, I stared him down until he removed it and walked away. I pushed the blanket off my chest plate and swung my left leg over the edge of the berth, grabbed my right, and pulled it into the same position, giving the wall a death glare. Oh, how good it would feel to spring up and storm out in a huff, go for a flight as was an almost routine part of life back aboard the Nemesis. But that reality no longer existed for me, due to the IV still stuck in my elbow and my right leg the way it was. There was no use running from the truth, no matter how much I desperately yearned to: I was crippled. I probably would never walk again, not without some high-tech crutch. I trembled. I didn't know if any vital flight mechanisms were in that leg or not, but if there were, well, when I transformed I wouldn't be able to get off the ground.
Ratchet glanced back at me and came over, seeing my distressed faceplates. "Now what?"
"I-I won't ever be able to walk again, will I?" I whimpered and tried to lay back down on the berth, but when I made an attempt to move my right leg with my arms again, I just wasn't strong enough. I couldn't think of anything sadder.
"I… could fashion a crutch, or amputate it and give you a prosthetic…" he trailed off, looking at me with pained, sympathetic optics. But it would be a waste of time, we both knew that, because whatever meager amount I had left would be spent on berth.
"I'm sorry," Agent Fowler said stiffly from the platform. "Ratchet, have a look at this." the human encouraged, and stepped aside to afford the medic a better view of the screens. Ratchet watched, and I strained my neck cables to see whatever-it-was. The agent pulled up a photograph taken at an angle so steep that it had to have been from a satellite. "It looks like Breakdown entered the base in vehicle mode with someone behind the wheel." He reasoned, pointing at the photograph.
The medic's tone was well past skeptical, "Preposterous! A Decepticon paired with a human?"
Agent Fowler wasn't to be deterred, however, "And I have a pretty good hunch who."
"The only organization obsessed with Cybertronians," Ratchet said, his optics widening as he caught on.
"MECH. That means Silas." Agent Fowler leaned back against the rails of the platform.
"But MECH's base was reduced to kindling. I should know, I was caught in the blast!" I broke in, still pining over my leg and wanting to distract myself.
"How could you have been? There isn't a scratch on you." Fowler asked, his eyes narrowing.
"It caught my wings and I had two options: transform and die slowly, or don't and–" I slapped the palm of a servo against the berth.
"Yes, we know." Ratchet sighed, his reply surprising me.
"You do! How?"
"Seven told us, and you did as well last night." His tone took on an edge of worry.
"You don't remember?" Agent Fowler asked dubiously from the platform.
The medic turned to him, "Given the condition he was in last night, I'm not surprised."
My wings dipped, "It's not that, I do remember, but the details aren't organized and most of it is foggy…" I trailed off, morosely tracing a seam on the berth with the tip of a talon.
"I can tap into your drives to help boost your memory, but right now, finding what Breakdown and Silas are up to is imperative." Ratchet said firmly. "Take care of yourself, you'll help us that way."
"Why–" but I didn't get to finish and my voice raised an octave as that tingling sensation returned, but was like fire this time around. I squeezed my optics shut and felt my talons dig into the berth. It almost felt like being shot with one of those electric pulse rifles of MECH's.
I heard the medic come closer and fell into a fit of coughing, feeling the last of the electricity ebbing away. Weakly, I raised my helm, struggling for air just in time to see the medic turn a dial clockwise on a console hooked up to my IV. Behind him on the platform, Agent Fowler gave me a salute, a somber expression darkening his face in what felt like a farewell.
"No!" I protested, feeling the strange-but-familiar sensation of something cold mixing in with the energon in my veins. I clenched a servo as my processor grew murky, but my frame began to to lax against the berth, my strength ebbing. "I can' stan' just lyin' here… there, uh… mus' be somethin' I can—I can…" I trailed off, suddenly feeling lethargic and rendered unable to string a sentence together.
Ratchet came back over and pushed me down onto the berth gently, remorse in his optics for some reason. "Stay with us, Starscream." Lubricant sprung up there too, and he stayed in my sight until I knew no more.
Megatron paced up and down the deck of the ship's bridge, a dark scowl on his faceplates, servos clasped tightly behind his back. "Soundwave! What is this abomination you have brought aboard my ship?" the silver mech snapped, throwing a glare at the silent mech.
"I am CYLAS, as in Cybernetic Life Augmented by Symbiosis." He made a mock bow, "And I come with a proposition."
"I'm listening," the warlord said slowly.
"I propose that you not overlook the one asset that provides Optimus Prime with an edge. At least, upon this world." The blue mech smirked.
"And that would be…?" Megatron raised an eyebrow. "Unless you can deliver my former second-in-command to me for due punishment, I believe this conversation is finished."
"Far from it, Megatron." He added. The warlord glared. "Apologies, Lord Megatron."
The silver mech was losing his patience. "Spit. It. Out."
"The human factor."
Megatron bristled, "Look around you, CYLAS. I command an army from a mighty warship," he blustered, leaning in close to the blue mech's faceplates, "what could a human possibly offer?"
The blue mech smirked, "I am no ordinary human. And this," he gestured to the crate behind him, "is no ordinary weapon."
"And if we were to use it?" The silver mech inquired.
"Not 'it,' Lord Megatron. Them."
Piqued, the warlord continued in a deceptively soft purr which managed to sound just as threatening as disarming at the same time, "And what is it that you wish in return?"
CYLAS answered in an equally soft tone, but with pride instead of malice. "Merely a place at the table," he smirked, feeling as though he had already won.
The blue mech that used to be Breakdown strode purposefully on the left of Megatron down one of the Nemesis' halls. Dreadwing walked on the right of the silver mech, taking the rightful place as SIC. The three were returning from a storage vault, issuing orders to the drones stockpiling energon.
"So," Megatron began, "you say this container holds a virus?"
"Unlike any other," CYLAS agreed, jostling it for good measure.
"Did you not engineer it yourself?" Dreadwing queried, his optics flitting down at the silver crate before meeting the other blue mech's.
"I did, and I can assure you that it is not only torturous, but indubitably lethal."
"Once a victim has been injected is there a chance they could survive, no matter how small?" Megatron affirmed.
"None, whatsoever." He sneered, "Unless, of course, said victim is injected with the antidote." The blue mech patted the side of the case, "Albeit the virus is slow-acting, it is engineered to debilitate the victim to extremes. And if said victim transforms, it becomes far more pervasive, all the while interfering with their peripheral nervous systems and others at a much faster rate.
"Such as controlling movement and motor functions."
"Indeed, Lord Megatron," CYLAS assured him as the three walked over a threshold and back into the warship's bridge.
Dreadwing spoke up, "Has the virus been tested on any Cybertronian, or are these merely claims upon evidence that could just as well be void?"
CYLAS smirked, "Funny you should ask, I imagine dear Starscream is feeling its effects as we speak…"
Immediately Megatron halted in his tracks, his scrutinizing air became one much more sinister, "You infected my former second with your virus, and yet you have the nerve to stand here, preaching on how it is lethal." He said, not giving any indication of anger or surprise. Dreadwing sneered, clearly anticipating where this was going. "CYLAS, you have indeed earned your place at the table."
The blue mech, on the other hand, was surprised. "Lord Megatron," he bowed his helm, "I am honored."
Megatron's optics suddenly blazed with fury, "The dissection table!"
CYLAS was aghast, "Why?!" he stepped back, taking on a defensive posture.
"Because this virus is the best you had to offer, and seeing as you saw fit to use it to ensure Starscream's termination–"
"You misunderstand," the blue mech broke in, trying to salvage the conversation while he still could, "I used it with the promise of a cure, ensuring that the Autobots would hand him over, so I could in turn do the same for you!"
"Quit groveling!" Megatron roared, "As my former second has indeed turned traitor and joined their cause, Starscream is mine to deal with however I choose, and no one else." The warlord's tone became quieter but now had a keen edge to it, like two knives scraping together. He straightened, sweeping his gaze over everyone in the room. "And anyone else who attempts to do so will be executed."
Soundwave suddenly stepped up behind CYLAS, his tentacle-arms slithering out and administering an electric shock that left the latter sprawling, sporadic twitches running through his frame. Dreadwing nudged him with the tip of his pede.
"He will be a fascinating case for study," Megatron sneered from above the blue mech. A pair of drones picked his arms up and started to drag him out of the room. However, his cries for mercy and weak struggles went ignored, and the door shut behind him, cutting off all sound from the hallway.
Megatron turned to Soundwave, "Now, let us see about dear Starscream. We have gained tremendous negotiating power, a vial of the antidote in exchange for a traitorous Seeker." the warlord smirked malevolently, picturing CYLAS' terrified, scarred faceplates as he was dragged out of the room, "An optic for an optic."
"The cure is of no practical use to us," Dreadwing added.
"Ah, but Starscream is," The warlord turned to face him, "and we will wrest information from him by any means necessary."
"Are you suggesting he knows the location of the traitorous Autobots' base?" The blue Seeker asked.
"That, and much more." The silver mech sneered, "Soundwave, your new priority is locating the Autobot base. You will report to Dreadwing of your findings daily." The silent mech nodded. "For the moment, continue to decode Project: Iacon. For that, you shall report directly to me."
The silent mech nodded, pointing to a new set of coordinates already decoded on a console's screen.