Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

 It was luck that found Megatron able to regain consciousness after the collapse.

There was a weight pinning him down, and his sensors were taking far too long to boot up for comfort. It may have only been a scant few kliks in which his optics remained unresponsive, but it was enough to feel as if he were back in the suffocating dark of the mines. His field flared briefly in panic at the thought - he fought to reign it in, to reel it back to where he kept it wound tight around his spark.

A moment later and he was inventing sharply as his sensors snapped back online. With them came a wave of pain and discordant input. Gritting his denta against any sort of vocalization of the sudden agony tearing through his neural net, Megatron instead tried to focus on scanning the composition of the immediate area. It was neither stone nor gravel that had him pinned here, just an entire tower's worth of debris. Damage alerts began to stack across his visual processing centers, itemizing every injured component that could be readily identified.

There were no responses from the sensory nodes in his right arm and leg, a possible symptom of extreme damage. His internal repair system had temporarily disabled the neural net in those limbs, most likely to prevent him from falling into shock upon coming online. Given the distribution of the rubble around him, there was a reasonable chance that the limbs were either crushed by the weight of the debris or torn away entirely. Not the first time he had lost a limb to the war - there were worse inconveniences.

Something dripped onto his helm, trickling slowly down his brow to pool in that tiny indent of space between his right optic and the ridge of his cheek plates. Megatron muted the emergency alerts and cycled open his optics, blinking rapidly to shunt the lenses back into alignment. A haphazard collection of broken beams and bent metal panels filled his field of view once he acclimated to the lack of light - pieces of the balcony he had been standing on and the building it had previously been attached to.

Another drip drew his gaze to a faintly glowing blue line of energon trailing down the side of one of the beams above his helm. He followed it up, tilting his helm as far back as his current position would allow. Against a backdrop of dented silver, he spotted the sharp violet corners of an insignia - his insignia. The wing it was stamped on on stood out like a beacon against the drab gray of the surrounding debris, even with the dust and energon now coating it.

The rest of the seeker it was supposed to be attached to was obscured, but the sound of another pair of vents struggling against the stray particulate clogging the air told Megatron that his Sky Commander was still functioning. He recalled Starscream touching down with practiced ease on the balcony rail, freshly returned from a survey patrol of the sector. Wings fanned up and out, the seeker had only just hopped down onto the balcony proper when the first missile had struck.

The rapid shift of expressions on Starscream's face was a sharp memory - morphing from that slightly self-assured smirk to absolute horror in half a klik. That initial blast had sheared off the top of the building, cutting off the most immediate escape route for both of them.

Not that there would have been time for escape.

The second and third missiles had followed a mere spark pulse later, the combined force of the impacts toppling the tower. Shrapnel had prevented any and all impulse of transforming to flee, and gravity had done the rest of the work to bury them both.

The next drop of energon fell a the corner of Megatron's mouth, sliding slowly down his chin and onto his neck. He heard a groan, muffled and mangled - either something was wrong with his auditory sensors or Starscream's vocalizer had been damaged. A cascade of dust and smaller debris showered down, clattering against his chassis as the seeker started to come fully online.

"Don't move."

His own vocalizer seemed to have suffered some injury, the command escaping with a twinge of grinding discomfort. Megatron coughed, trying to initiate a manual reset - it took three attempts, during which it seemed that the seeker had regained consciousness enough to transition straight into a panic attack. Starscream's field snapped out to its full radius and crackled with distress, enough of it that his own initial anxieties at being pinned started to burble up again.

Not a surprising reaction, but definitely an unwelcome one.

He saw the wing within his view twitch and heard the sharp hiss of pain that followed he movement. The rubble creaked, more dust falling around Megatron's helm - the drip increase, warm energon splattering onto the cabling of his neck.

"Starscream!"

The movement above him ceased as the seeker froze, though the rapid stutter of ventilations did not. The noise overtook everything for a moment - the whir of the seeker's fans was stilted, as if fighting against a clog. From the sound of it, there wasn't just dust trapped in those vents. Given the amount of energon dripping down onto his face, Megatron guessed that an interior line had been punctured.

A ping on his internal comm pulled Megatron from his assessment of his Sky Commander's condition. He had no hesitation when opening the line - there were only two mechs who knew the frequency and of them, only one was feasibly in range. The information that Soundwave relayed to him was not promising - the missile strike had ended with a total of eight impacts, and the damage done to the compound and its personnel was extensive.

Reinforcements would arrive within a few joors, but Iaconian forces had already begun to move across the border in a blatant effort to take the sector. Or retake, as their propaganda would no doubt claim - a laughable notion, as if Helex had ever truly been theirs. There was a reason the southernmost sectors had been drawn to his cause, and it had everything to do with Iacon's eons old claims of having united the planet.

You can't claim unity when you leave half your population to starvation and rust.

All evidence pointed to this being the start of a push against the more recent attempts of his own forces to secure strongholds north of the equator. The recent acquisition of several of the smaller sectors bordering the Rust Sea must have been cause for alarm - perhaps they thought his goal was to seize the spaceport at Hydrax. It was an appealing and highly valuable target, that point could not be argued by anyone. Taking it would open up the possibility of acquiring off-world resources, further bolstering their ability to remain independent from Iacon.

But that was a thought and a plot for another time, when he was not trapped in what was soon to become enemy territory. Megatron quickly compiled a list of return orders for Soundwave to relay to his commanders, for immediate retaliation and distraction. With any further luck, would draw attention away from this area long enough to re-secure it.

As he disconnected from the line, Megatron turned his focus back upwards to continue his assessment of his Sky Commander's condition. The seeker's vents were no longer cycling as rapidly as they had upon the mech first coming online and his field had ceased snapping about wildly in distress, though that in itself was not an indicator of a lack of panic. It could just as easily been a sign that Starscream had fallen into a state of injury induced shock.

"Still functioning down there?"

Shock became immediately ruled out at that quip, though Megatron did note the shaky edge contained within the query. Such a tremor in the seeker's voice only tended to occur with genuine fear or worry.

"Despite all the efforts of the universe," he answered, as yet more energon hit his cheek. That the drip was so steady was more troubling than he cared to admit. Despite the numerous past grievances he had with the seeker, there would be even more problems caused if he were to succumb to his injuries. The politics of even having Starscream appointed to the rank of Sky Commander had been a nightmare of negotiations that he never wished to repeat. "You seem to have lost quite a bit of energon."

"H-how could you tell?"

"I'm right below you, Starscream. It has been dripping on my face."

"...oh."

"How bad is it?"

There was a pause, in which the sound of the seeker's vents shifted to a more regular whir and a small amount of dust filter down from above. He heard the telltale coughs of a vocalizer reset amidst the creaj of the rubble - the deliverance of the answer to his question was very deliberately being avoided. Even with Starscream having reigned in his field from the panicked whorl it had initially been, it was still so easily readable.

"Starscream, how bad is it?"

"It's fine."

"You are bleeding."

"Yes, that tends to happen when one has been impaled."
 
"Impaled?"

"That is what you call it when you have a jagged piece of metal sticking through your torso," the seeker responded, voice somewhere between a rapid hiss and the drawn out screech of grinding metal. It had definitely been his vocalizer that had been damaged rather than Megatron's auditory sensors. "I can't feel my wings."

"Your wings should be the least of your concerns right now."

"Says you."

"Can you reroute energon flow along a different line,?" Megatron asked, ignoring the snappish bite that had accompanied that quip. Most mechs had at least one or two redundancies as far as energon lines were concerned, though in truth his familiarity with such things was limited to the heavier ground-based framesets. "Or shut it off entirely?"

"No."

"No?"

"It's a main line, not some periphery," Starscream clarified, tone still caustic and panic edged. He moved - dust and detritus cascaded down, ricocheting off the broken beams to ping against Megatron's plating. "If...I can get my arm free-"

"Keep still!"

The command went unheeded, the rubble creaking ominously over head. He shuttered his optics to avoid being blinded by the fresh wave of particulate that rained down with the seeker's continued fidgeting. There was a gasp of pain, followed by a near incomprehensible stream of warbled Caerullux - he knew enough of the codex to recognize some of the more colorful of the curse words being used.

"Starscream!"

The seeker did not respond, but the larger movements he had been attempting stopped. He still seemed to moving though, that much Megatron was certain of - Starscream's field had contracted into a solid bubble of concentration. The faint scent of something burnt filtered through the dust to tickle at his olfactory sensors.

There was a muffled whimper of pain and a few more choice bits of profanity, this time in the less musical sounding Caestellar - a language primarily used by the lower class of Vos. Evidently a certain pair of other seekers had imparted some interesting lingual practices on his Sky Commander. The drip of energon began to slow, stopping entirely a few kliks later. The last of it struck the crook of Megatron's neck, seeping down beneath his collar plating.

"Starscream?"

Again no response, no sound at all save for the rapid hitching and clicking of the seeker's vents, struggling to pull in air.

"Starscream!"
 
"You don't...need to shout."

"What did you do?"

"Field repair kit," the seeker responded, words tinged with pain and exhaustion. "...cauterized the line."

That wasn't an ideal fix, Megatron knew. It meant that the lines themselves would need to be replaced entirely once they were extracted, which would result in a much longer recovery time. It was still far better an option than drowning in one's own energon.

"My comm isn't working."

"Mine is," Megatron replied, cautiously flexing the fingers of his working servo. "Soundwave is aware of out predicament."

"Oh good. Tell him to hurry."

"He will proceed with as much urgency as the situation dictates."

"So that's what? Five breems? Five joors?"

"...Starscream..."

"I can't feel my wings!"

Megatron sighed and rolled his wrist to test the space around it - there was a twinge of pain, but aside from that his left arm still appeared to be in adequate working order. Slowly, he attempted to pull it inwards to his torso. There was enough space beneath the beams that it could be done if he was patient and did so with caution.

"...it's my fault, isn't it?"

"What?"

"This is my fault."

"And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?"

Megatron stilled his efforts for the moment, cycling open his optics again to focus on the only bit of the seeker he could actually see.

"Those missiles...the timing...they must have tracked my patrol..."

"Our work on this compound was not exactly, hidden Starscream," he reminded his Sky Commander, fighting to keep the annoyance from seeping through. "I highly doubt that this patrol, out of all the hundreds previous, was the single most contributing factor."

"But-"

"Do you want me to blame you?"

The seeker fell silent again, and he returned to working his arm free of the beam it was trapped under. Slowly but surely he drew it closer, pausing every now and then to be sure that his movements would not dislodge any of the wreckage around them. Megatron was conscious that moving was the exact thing that he had warned Starscream against, but reasoned that the erratic and panicked way the other had been thrashing about was a far more dangerous thing to the stability of the ruin than his own measured attempts.

Unfortunately, he was wrong.

Something creaked within the debris as he finally pulled his arm free of the beam. The panel he was pinned against tilted ever so slightly back - Megatron froze, but it was not enough. He did not know exactly what had shifted, but the wreckage beneath his back abruptly buckled and gave way. Suddenly he was falling, his auditory sensors filling with the sound of metal on metal crashing and tearing.

There was a flash of pale silver before his optics just before Starscream's frame struck against his chest. On impulse, Megatron reached out with his one working arm, latching on to the seeker just kliks before their plummet came to an end. Pain lanced through his back struts, sharp and biting - with it came a dozen new damage alerts flashing across his vision.

He hissed, struggling to stay online as his vents sucked air inwards in a vain effort to provide relief. Dust choked every sensor now, his optics reflexively blinking as a flood of coolant welled up, flushing out particulates so that the delicate lenses within would not be damaged. The weight of the wreckage was no longer pinning him down, replaced by the decidedly less hefty frame of his Sky Commander.

The piece of railing that had punctured Starscream's armor had been jarred loose by this second tumble, leaving behind a mess of torn cabling and energon lines. Some of those lines were leaking again - he could feel warm energon trickling out from the seeker's forward vents. 

Vents that were now struggling even harder to work, he noted.

Turning his helm, Megatron surveyed the change of scenery. It seemed the weight of the tower wreckage had trigger a collapse into some unknown portion of the sector's underground substructure. There were many such areas strewn across Cybertron, he knew - remnants of an age of plenty when movement between hemispheres had been less restricted and more welcome. Sectioned off and disused long before even the rise of Sentinel Prime, only a few areas were still known and even fewer had ever seen a living mech.

Pain faded, but in its absence rose exhaustion - he fought it, still scanning the area for anything that might prove useful. He spotted the field repair kit the seeker had used earlier lying a few meters away to his right. It may as well have been a few kilometers for all the energy he could muster for movement at the moment. Still he tried, knowing that falling into stasis now might mean waking to find a dead seeker draped over his frame.

Grunting, he stretched out with his right arm before recalling the damage reports from earlier - it came as a surprise then that it actually moved. The sensors along his right side still reported back as having been disabled, the mount where his plasma cannon was supposed to be, however, had been twisted off. As the weapon had been wired into his neural net for more finite control and aim, he supposed it made sense that it being irrevocably damaged had triggered a shut down of those particular sensors. The rest of his arm appeared to be relatively intact.

Dented and scraped up, but definitely working.

Megatron quickly constructed an override command to reboot that portion of his neural network, gritting his denta to brace against the influx of pain that would surely accompany it. A ragged groan escaped his vocalizer as sensation returned to his limbs, accompanied by a dozen more reports detailing the extent of the damage done. Arm and leg were now accounted for, intact though functioning well below optimal condition - that was all he needed, really. Carefully and with no small amount of effort, he pushed himself up to his elbows and in doing so, he got his first proper look at Starscream since waking up in the rubble.

One wing was missing and the other wasn't much better off, bent nearly in half with connective cabling exposed at the juncture. The seeker's usually immaculate armor was scuffed and dented and scraped near clean of any paint, exposing the natural coloring of his armor in places. The hole where the railing had punched through his torso looked much worse at this angle than Megatron's initial assessment.

Taking in a long drought of air, he cautiously moved Starscream off of his frame and onto the ground beside him. The seeker did not stir, soundly and assuredly in forced stasis - at least that would make this easier. Not trusting himself to even attempt standing at the moment, Megatron shifted to his knees and proceeded to half crawl, half drag himself to where the field repair kit had landed.

The casing had cracked, but the contents were still present - he grabbed the welding torch and shuffled back to where Starscream lay. Closer inspection revealed that the seeker's earlier repair had held, as it was a completely different line that had been nicked in the secondary collapse. Burning it shut again was a simple enough task, but his exhaustion and impending shut down made every successive movement difficult. The hiss of the torch felt like the harshest of static in his auditory sensors. The few kliks it took to enact the repair seemed like vorns - he let the torch drop to the side when it was done, only just managing to push himself away from Starscream's prone frame before his own systems started rolling through shut down.

Optics shuttering of their own accord, Megatron gave up trying to keep himself upright, not even registering the clunk of his helm as it hit the ground once more.

Chapter Text

Everything hurt.

Starscream groaned and even that minuscule attempt at noise brought with it pain as the components of his vocalizer ground together. It took a few kliks to recall exactly why every part of his frame ached, or why his systems kept streaming injury reports across his visual centers. The line flashing insufficient date where his wings should be was tank churning, as was the one below it itemizing every internal component currently compromised.

The agony of coming online earlier to see that twisted piece of metal railing jutting out from his midsection was freshly etched in his processor. Despite every section of his sensory network screaming in protest, he raised a shaky servo to his torso. His digits found the edges of the wound near immediately, catching on an exposed sensory node and sending a jolt of fresh pain snapping through his system. He hissed through his denta, jerking his servo away and letting it fall to the side. It knocked against something loose next to where he lay, sending it clattering towards his pedes.

Cycling open his optics, Starscream froze upon spotting the familiar frame of another mech lying not even a half meter away. Even in stasis, Megatron was a formidable sight - the bulk of him was all that could be seen from this angle. The warlord's armor was dented and marred by numerous gouges, and it looked as if his plasma cannon had been roughly torn from its mount on his right arm. Much of the upper half of his frame was splattered with half dried energon. The only indication that the larger mech was even alive was the steady if slightly stuttered whir of his vents.

Tearing his gaze away, Starscream scanned the ground for whatever it was that his servo had struck on. He spotted the welding torch from his field repair kit now resting down near his ankle and frowned at it in puzzlement. He was fairly certain he had shoved it back in the case after cauterizing the lines in his torso - tilting his helm back he saw the box a few meters away, cracked open and ummaged through.

Cautiously, he raised his servo back to his midsection only to wince as his digits struck the fresh welds on the exposed lines. There should have been only two - messily and shakily repaired line sthat had been sliced by that length of broken railing that had punched through his armor. Instead, his probing found three welds and a conspicuous lack of jagged metal piercing his torso. He was suddenly very glad that he had been unconscious for its removal.

Turning his attention back to his surrounding, Starscream tilted his helm to the side to scour the area further. The wreckage had collapsed, that much he remembered - gravity's pull and his forehead striking solid metal. He didn't need to feel out his helm to know there was a dent or that his sensory plume had been snapped clean off.

Beyond the immediate field of debris that had fallen around them, there seemed to be more open space. A dozen or so meters above his helm, he could make out a gash in the ceiling, clogged by the rest of the wreckage of the tower. It was abundantly clear that they would not be leaving the same way they had come in.

That thought was enough to bring back every sensation of panic that Starscream had felt at being trapped earlier. The weight of the rubble that had pressed down on him had sent his field flaring in distress and while he was no longer pinned in, having no exit was just as anxiety inducing. His vents hitched, fans kicking into a higher gear only to whine horribly in protest of the dust and half-clotted energon still clogging them.

He couldn't feel his wings.

"Calm down."

"Calm down!?"

Megatron was still lying on the ground just an arm's length away, helm now turned towards him with crimson optics half shuttered and half dimmed.

"I can't feel my wings!"

"So you have said," the warlord muttered, words barely audible. "Many times, in fact."

"Well, it's important!"

"Not right now it isn't."

Huffing indignantly, Starscream whipped his helm away - a mistake, given the pain and renewed alarms the motion caused. He ignored them, attempting to sit himself upright. The effort was far too much for his damaged systems, however, and he succeeded only in managing to roll himself onto his side. This action shouldn't have been possible with his wings extended, he realized. The sickening thought that they were missing entirely crept into his processor, and he felt his fuel tank churn once more as the likelihood of it sank in.

Taking in a shaky ventilation, he raised his right arm up to feel over his shoulder - when the tips of his claws scraped against nothing but air, he couldn't help but whine.

"Never lost a limb before?"

"No!" Starscream snapped, unnerved at the very idea of it. "And losing a ling is much different than just losing an arm!"

"Arms can be rebuilt and so can wings."

"That's not the point!"

"Of course it isn't," Megatron responded, the words sounding weary and worn. "I've lost limbs before, Starscream. I know how jarring it can be!"

"An arm is not a wing!"

"An arm, a leg, awing? What difference s it make when all that's left to feel from their absence is the void left behind? You are alive and it can be fixed. That should be all the assurance you need."

The most immediate retort that Starscream could muster got caught short in his vocalizer as something overhead gave a dreadful sounding creak. e had barely turned his helm up towards the noise when the world upended once more, this time in a more horizontal direction. He let out a yelp, half startled and half pained - it was drowned out by the cacophony of debris crashing down.

It was only when he landed a few meters away in an undignified heap, with a fresh sharp pain in his shoulder and new dents in his armor, that he realized Megatron had shoved him across the ground. He snapped his helm up in time to see a large sheet of metal siding slam into the ground where he had been seated just a half klik before. It hit hard enough that the impact rattled his armor, several other large chunks raining down around it in a deafening crash.

Megarton had rolled himself out of the way and onto his side, arm raised over his helm to shield it as small chunks of rubble pinged and clanked against his chassis. Only when it seemed the avalanche had ceased did the warlord lower his arm, optics cycling open fully to flick about the area. That gaze settled on Starscream, sharp and unyielding and lingering - he suppressed a shiver and turned his helm away.

Trying to keep his field from betraying the anxiety still swirling in his spark, he checked his internal chronometer in an effort to think of anything besides the way Megatron had been staring at him.Only a joor had passed since they had initially come online in the wreckage topside, so it seemed that neither of them had been out of commission for very long.

"Can you stand?"

Starscream snapped his helm up in alarm at the question.

"What?"

"Can you stand?" Megatron repeated, moving slowly to push himself up. "I cannot continue to just lob you out of the way every time something threatens to fall on you."

"...is that likely to happen again?"

He cast a cautious glance upwards at the precarious mess of beams and cladding still clogging the gash in the ceiling. There appeared to be some pieces dangling haphazardly from the wreck, providing a definite answer to his own question. The panic which had been simmering in the background noise of his processor decided to boil up again at this renewed prospect of danger.

Starscream drew his knees in towards himself, hissing in pain as something in the joints of his left leg ground together in misalignment. The area around the hole in his torso felt like it was burning, but he grit his denta determinedly against it and shoved himself up. The sudden shift to being upright brought with it a brief sense of disorientation, causing him to stagger forward a few painful steps before he managed to steady himself.

He felt exceedingly off-balance and just the bit of effort it took to stand had sent his ventilation system into overdrive. Glancing over at Megatron, he saw that the larger mech had managed to climb to his pedes as well - though he seemed to be favoring his right leg. The warlord barely cast a glance in his direction before turning to take a few shuffling steps into the gloom.

"This way."

"How do you know that's the right direction?"

"I don't."

"Oh, great," Starscream muttered, limping after him. "What is this place? I don't remember any basement stores in the schematics when we started building this compound."

"Old substructures, from the Golden Age."

"Under Helex?"

"That is where we fell from, isn't it?"

"You know what I meant! Helex was never exactly a popular hub of activity."

"That you know of," Megatron retorted, slowing his already sluggish pace to step carefully over a stray slab of debris. "There were a number of global transport lines back then, sealed up as they became too costly to maintain. The biggest of them ran north to south...the Meridian Corridor, I believe it was called."

Starscream skirted around the same chunk of rubble, frowning at this explanation. His knowledge of Cybertronian history was extensive, though weighted very heavily with events that centered around Vos and the sectors that surrounded it. He had never read anything about the existence of underground transport lines, but then again his interest had never been in the logistics of cargo hauling. He doubted there would be any information on it in any of the Vosian archives, for that matter - too low of an altitude to be of any importance.

There was a wall looming large and solid in the shadows just outside the field of debris, and it was towards this the warlord seemed to be heading. Starscream hurriedly hobbled forward to collapse against it, vents struggling to compensate for even just that bit of extra effort. He panted, glancing back at the rubble they had extracted themselves from only to find himself disappointed over how little distance it actually turned out to be.

He sank down, shifting to rest his back against the wall only to freeze halfway through the motion. Frowning, he ran a quick internal check over his wing sensors - they pinged back non-functional just as they had before. Except he had definitely felt at least one of them scrape up against the wall.

Out of the corner of his optics he noticed that Megatron was staring at him again.

"What?"

"Nothing."

The warlord turned away, pressing his fore-helm to the wall, the crimson glow from his optics reflecting back on his face. There were splotches of dried energon coating the curve of those cheek plates - his energon, Starscream realized. Now that there was an opportunity to look, he saw that amidst the dents and scrapes he had amassed in the fall, Megatron's neck and upper torso was covered in it.

The thought of having lost that much energon was enough to send a wave of dizziness through Starscream's processor.

"What?"

Startled, he quickly snapped his gaze away from the warlord's frame.

"Nothing."

He heard the other mech heave an annoyed sounding sigh, followed swiftly by a series of grinding coughs. Such a noise sounded worse than it actually was - vocal capacitor damage was a somewhat common issue. He would have been more worried if the cough were less dry and more burbling. A puncture in one of the main energon lines of the neck was a lot more serious than getting a little dust in one's intake.

Looking back out at the rubble, Starscream scanned the debris strewn ground, frown deepening as a sudden thought occurred to him. Gritting his denta, he pushed himself back up to his pedes and staggered back the way they had come.

"Where are you going?"

"The field repair kit." he rasped out in answer, not stopping as he shuffled carefully back towards the wreckage. "We may need it."

"If it collapses further, I will not be able to dig you out."

Starscream ignored that warning, determined to at least find the welding torch - it was by far the most useful item in the kit anyways. He spotted it a few meters away, next to a large metal panel that was folded neatly in half. It was thankfully in one piece, though the casing looked to have been dented in the most recent shower of debris.

Picking it up required quite a bit more effort and ingenuity than it would have had he not been suffering several dire injuries. Bending his torso at all sent a nauseating amount of pain roiling through his system. In the end, he figured out an undignified sort of crouch that allowed him to scoop up the welding torch and stand again without falling over. He was very keenly aware of how awkward it must have looked, but not a single comment was made. The warlord hadn't even been watching him, still leaning with his fore-helm pressed against the wall.

Starscream started limping back, slowly but surely picking his way through the rubble. He was maybe two meters away from the sanctuary of the wall when his pede caught on the edge of the slab he had so deftly avoided earlier. He yelped, stumbling forward - if both wings had been functioning optimally this affront on his balance would have been easily corrected. Instead, with one missing and the other refusing to respond, he was stuck with no way to maintain upright stability.

He fell, only just managing to throw out an arm to catch himself.

The palm of his servo scraped harshly against the ground, as did his knees. There would definitely be a few new dents along his shins now, added to the growing collection marring his armor. At least he had kept his grip on the welding torch, the tool clutched close to his chest plates.

"Still functioning down there?"

"Very funny," Starscream hissed, deciding to just crawl the rest of the way back to the wall no matter how undignified it was. Panting heavily, he shifted to sit against it once more, still holding on tight to the welding torch. "How long did Soundwave say it would be?"

"Seven joors at the least."

"Lovely."

"We can not remain here," Megatron stated dourly, though he made no move to push away from the wall just yet. "Not for much longer."

"What? Why not?"

"This was not just a bombing, Starscream."

Silence fell between them as he mulled over that statement, gaze pouring back over the wreckage. If the intention of Iacon was to send troops into Helex, then they would have started the instant the missiles had been verified to have struck their chosen target. Depending on where they were staging from, it would be anywhere from one to three joors before they arrived onsite, if they hadn't arrived already.

Shuttering his optics, Starscream focused on creating a quick and ugly override for the sensor in his lone remaining wing. It was going to hurt, but the ability to detect pressure change was a utility that outweighed the discomfort it would cause him. He hissed out a few choice curses upon initiating it, the additional agony drowning out every other ache in his frame for a klik. He fought through it, determined to not let the pain force him offline again. 

Biting his bottom lip, he focused on running a few diagnostics to ensure the function he had restored his wing for was at least available. Ideally, he would have both wing back in pristine condition, but as Megatron had so aptly stated earlier - that wasn't happening anytime soon. His remaining wing was bent and void its usual range of mobility, but the atmospheric sensors pinged back that they were working within a reasonable margin of error.

"What did you just do?"

"Nothing."

"Your wing is twitching," the warlord pointed out. "It wasn't doing that a moment ago."

Starscream took in a shaky ventilation, bracing himself against the wall with one arm as he slowly climbed back up to his pedes.

"I turned the sensors back on," he explained, keeping his arm against the wall to steady himself. "I'll be able to sense any pressure changes. It will give us at least a bit of forewarning, should the wreckage be breached."

Megatron was staring at him once more, or more specifically at his wing, expression contemplative. The warlord turned away just a half klik before said staring became unnerving enough for Starscream's already thin patience to snap. He moved along the wall in silence, steps heavy and dragging.

Slowly and unsteadily, Starscream moved to follow.

Chapter Text

Megatron walked through the darkness, each and every step a renewal of all the aches that currently permeated his frame. There was a particularly sharp but intermittent pain in his shoulder struts that flared whenever he moved his left arm. Behind him trailed Starscream, shambling and shuffling but otherwise silent. Neither of them seemed to have the energy to spare for both movement and speech.

They had left the collapsed wreckage of the tower behind for the relatively clearer ground of the old transport tunnel. There was still an inordinate amount of dust clogging the air, hindering already compromised ventilation systems. It was evident that no mech had been in these tunnels for at least a century, maybe more.

There were similar structures in Tarn, he recalled - converted into training grounds and barracks for the Sectorial Guard. Megatron had long thought them unique to his home sector, but like so many notions of his youth time and circumstance had proven him wrong. He'd learned of the transport lines from his fellow miners during his tenure off-world, though only now was he beginning to realize the true extent of them.

Somewhere ahead the tunnel widened, opening up into a larger chamber that on first glance appeared to be just as dim. Slowing to a stop just a few meters shy of the opening, Megatron leaned against the wall, optics scouring the gloom. There was a faint glow somewhere in the chamber - he squinted at it, trying to identify the source.

"What is it?"

"There's a light," Megatron responded, keeping his voice low. "Ahead, to the left."

"An exit?"

"No, I don't think so."

He started forward again, optics locked on the little light - it was too steady and stationary to belong to a mech and far too small to illuminate much. Starscream came limping after him, once again reverting to a barely audible hiss of melodic Caerullux to vocalize his worries. Megatron ignored the seeker's mutterings as they left behind the tunnel they had been traveling down, stepping out into what looked to be a junction of several similar cavernous corridors. The light was coming from a large platform cart sitting off to the left atop a pair of rails embedded into the ground.

"Is that a cargo tram?"

"An old one, yes," Megatron observed with a slight nod, adjusting the trajectory of his steps with newfound determination. "Still powered."

"How?"

"Does it matter?"

"Does it matter?" STarscream echoed incredulously, putting forth a sudden surge of energy to stagger ahead of him and reach the side of the tram first. He grabbed the edge, claws digging into the metal to keep himself upright after that burst of effort. "Of course it matters! Where is the power coming from?"

Megatron frowned, bracing his own weight against the side of the cart as he considered the question. The rails ran in a northeast to southwest direction and looked to be intact as far as he could tell. He ran his gaze down them, following the line of them as far as his optics would allow in the cloying darkness. If the cart was anything at all like the ore haulers he knew from the mines, then the amount of power it drew to move would be proportional to its load weight. Given the size of the platform, it was meant to carry things far larger than either of their frames.

Turning his helm, he glanced down the left side of the cart, searching for a ladder or a grip - anything to make it easier to haul himself up. There was a guard rail comprised of three bars encircling the side, the lowest of which was level with his helm. He stared at it, trying to allocate the energy it would require to haul himself up and over.

"What are you doing?"

Megatron ignored the seeker, not just because speaking and moving at the same time was unfeasible - it should have been self-evident his intention. He grabbed the middle bar, gripping the metal tight enough to claw away some of the paint. It took all of his strength to heft his weight up, pedes scraping against the side of the cart for a moment until he managed to plant them against the side and push. Once a sufficient amount of his frame was over the topmost bar, he let go of the railing and let gravity do the rest of the work. With a series of rather painful clunks, he half fell, half rolled onto the floor of the cart.

It wasn't graceful or dignified, but it had gotten him where he had wanted to go.

Exhaustion flooded through him and for a few kliks he was motionless, dead to the world in a sea of nothing. The pain came rushing back like a wave crashing against the shore, snapping him free of that brief moment of numbness with a hiss. Starscream knelt in his field of view, muttering about his stupidity with words barely distinct enough to decipher.

"At least have the decency to use my own codex if you are going to insult me."

"Oh, you want me to call you an idiot in Tarni as well?" the seeker asked, glowering down at him. "Which dialect, Vexxor or Palidux?" Or maybe you'd prefer the root Ferrox - I've heard it has some interesting conjugations."

"How did you get up here so quickly?"

"There are steps on the other side, ykta."

"It's ychta," Megatron corrected absently, turning his helm to look towards the side opposite from where he had climbed up. Sure enough, the guard rail dipped diagonally down along a line of stairs built into the edge of the platform. "...stairs."

"Yes, stairs."

Another stream of discordant Caestellar spewed forth from the seeker as he moved away towards the end of the tram cart. Tilting his helm back, Megatron spotted what looked to be a control box mounted on the railing at the corner. Starscream continued to complain as he looked over the various buttons and levers, though his mutterings soon morphed from curses to speculatory interest over the functions of the controls. After a few kliks of fussing and fiddling, the seeker pulled down on one of the levers. The cart gave an echoing groan as it lurched forward, moving for the first time in what was decades at the very least. 

It was not fast - Megatron had not expected it to be. It was, however, a better alternative to walking given the state that they were both in. Starscream moved back from the control box to collapse in a heap on the floor, the welding torch still clutched tight in one servo. He held it against his chest, looking just as exhausted as Megatron felt.

"If we get tracked because of the energy draw, it's your fault."

"..won't"

"Oh, well I'm reassured now," Starscream commented dryly, leaning back as if to rest on his elbows. Except it seemed the seeker's arms no longer wanted to cooperate, resulting in him falling back completely. "...ow."

Laughing hurt, Megatron discovered - his shoulder struts specifically punished him dearly for his minor display of amusement. The glare his Sky Commander pointed his way only served to prolong the agony. Fuming, the seeker snapped his helm away and rolled onto his side so that all that could be seen of him was his scuffed back and bent wing.

"...ychta..."

"Dechta."

"What?"

Despite the pain, Megatron chuckled further at the affronted note to the seeker's voice and the scrabbling as Starscream flipped back around to glare at him further.

"What did you call me!?"

"Dechta," he repeated, shifting against the tram cart floor in a futile attempt to put less of a strain on his shoulders. "It is...a word used for a pouting sparkling."

"Is there a word for annoying rusty old mech?"

"Not for something so specific, no."

"Pity, there are several in Caerullux," Starscream informed him acidly. "And Caestellar. And Caebrux. And even Caeventa, but using the holy codex against you would be considered sacrilegious."

"So complicated..."

The seeker huffed, but remained laying on his side still facing him with an expression of mild vexation decorating his face. Beyond his shoulder Megatron could see that remaining wing twitch every so often. His gaze drifted to the hole marring Starscream's midsection - it seemed the hasty cauterization of those energon lines was holding for now. As most of the seeker's paint had been scraped off in the collapse, the natural coloration of the armor beneath it peeked through, though the myriad of scuffs and dents covering his frame made discerning them difficult.

Megatron recalled the current color scheme - pale silver with sharp red and blue secondaries - had followed soon after the seeker's promotion to Sky Commander. Starscream had disappeared for half a quartex back to Vos at the Winglord's insistence, something about sanctifying this elevation in rank. He had returned with a fresh coat of paint and a determination that bled into the wings assigned under him. The conflicts with Iacon that followed had been solid victories, thanks in part to just how precisely the seeker's strikes had landed.

Those victories had led to a ceasefire - a ceasefire that had ended on this orn.

Megatron wasn't sure what excuse Iacon would present, to claim this attack as justified, but he was certain that his Sky Commander's worries concerning who was to blame were unfounded. Starscream had more than proven himself a capable commander, despite the snide commentary of others within the Vosian Ranks of the Aerial Forces. Maybe the seeker's patrol would be cited as a folly or proof of failure, but he knew well that it alone was not what had provoked the attack.

"What is this?"

Starscream looked startled as he lifted a servo to point at a patch of missing paint on the seeker's chest plates. The metal looked as if something used to have been etched there, only to be filled in and smoothed over. Megatron could only just barely make out the difference between the color of the weld and the color of natural plating.

"Nothing," the seeker snapped, swatting his servo away. He let it drop with a thunk to the floor, finding it too tiring to hold it up much longer anyways. Staring pointedly got things across that his lack of physical energy was not going to get the subject dropped so easily. "It's just a scuff - your paint is scratched too!"

"That is what tends to happen when a building falls on you."

"Right."

"But that mark is not a scuff or a scratch," Megatron insisted. "It looks more akin to a welded over engraving."

"So?"

"So what is it?"

"Why?" Starscream asked, that wild field of his suddenly flooding with an odd mixture of anxiety and suspicion. "What does it matter?"

"...I suppose it doesn't. I simply did not recall you having had any engravings, particularly in that specific spot."

The suspicion in the seeker's field vanished as it snapped in on itself, the last faint brush of it leaving only a hint of ice and bitterness behind. He watched in silence as Starscream move to lay flat on his back, optics aimed to glare up at the dark rolling ceiling. Further observation revealed other places on his frame with the same faint evidence of engravings - in fact, every patch of missing paint seemed to have them.

They weren't old welds either, he realized - maybe a few quartexes past being filled in and smoothed over. Turning his helm away so that the seeker would not spot him frowning over this puzzled, Megatron trained his gaze on the ceiling as well as it slowly passed overhead. If he was correct in his estimate, then both the engravings and the welds that were covering them were not just recent - they coincided with Starscream's promotion. Engravings weren't uncommon, he had known a number of mechs that had them in various places both mundane and questionable. Covering them up wasn't unheard of either, especially if the marks were made during a long night of poor life choices. Something as extensive as what seemed to have been decorating Starscream's frame was usually done out of some sort of religious observance. Perhaps it was a part of that sanctification of his rank, though why it would be covered afterwards he had no clue.

Megatron remembered once seeing an Acolyte of the Allspark visiting Tarn, their frame etched and embossed in gold to match the embroidery of their cloak. He recalled standing guard at the door to the lavish banquet the Archon had thrown for the visit, watching them gorge on flavored energon and high-grade. He had remained there even as what was leftover was cleared away, knowing he'd be returning to the barracks with only a half cube of low-grade as his ration for the orn.

Shuttering his optics, his thoughts strayed to a similar feast that had been prepared to mark the end of a long bout of hostilities between Tarn and Vos. He had not been present for the negotiations, only summoned after - to be assigned new duties by the Archon. The Mediator from Iacon had finally struck a treaty both sides found appetizing enough to agree to and so there had been an exchange.

Dredge had been so smug, so very certian he had come out of the initial proceedings with the better part of the deal.

It had been the first time Megatron had ever seen a seeker in a context outside of being shot at during border patrol assignments. The Vosian delegates had arrived and left with their assigned hostage without much fanfare, leaving behind the youngest prince of the royal family to pay their end of the bargain struck. Starscream had been given a seat at the high table, but the chairs had been designed to accommodate much larger frames than his own, making the scared seeker look quite a bit smaller than he actually was.

The Archon had expected to get a pretty little seeker to play with and abuse, thinking the same fate would befall the fool of a cousin he had sent in exchange. The Iaconian Mediator had dispelled that notion quickly, saving Dredge from breaking the treaty before it had even been ratified. There had been much cursing over being tricked after the Vosian delegation had left, with a tale thrown through a window during the rampage. At the end of it, Dredge had banished his guest to a seldom used wing of the Citadel and Megatron had ended up as little more than a bodyguard for the little seeker for a full decade.

Perhaps if the Archon had bothered to have read the fine print, things would have happened differently.

Chapter Text

The darkness of recharge receded, taking with it the semi-comforting numbness that was temporary stasis. Pain swept back in with a vengeance, flaring along active sensors like fire. Starscream groaned, reflexively curling his limbs inwards only to snap back straight half a klik later at the fresh agony that movement sent snapping through his frame.

Panting, he lay with his back flat, remaining wing twitching uselessly against the tram cart floor. The ceiling passed by overhead, slowly shifting from one discolored panel to the next. He wondered exactly how long he had been out and how far they had managed to travel in that time - it was taking far too long for his internal chronometer to synchronize.

Next to him he heard the dust clogged ventilations of Megatron, still soundly in the abyss of exhaustion forced recharge. The warlord hadn't moved a decimeter from where  he had collapsed on the tram, lying there with optics shuttered and his field radiating the lazy calm of stasis. For a few breems, the world was just the movement of the cart and the subtle shift of scraped up plating with each ventilation cycle. He had once memorized every frown and furrowed optical ridge that manifested on that face - such a misplaced infatuation that had been.

Starscream snapped his gaze away as an old familiar misery started to well up. He shoved it down, very pointedly refusing to acknowledge the ache in his spark that was threatening to overtake the aches in his frame.

"Stupid," he murmured to himself, training his gaze back up towards the ceiling and the cables strung along each panel. As a distraction, he tried doing a more through glance through his damage readouts - a mistake if there ever was one. He made it halfway through the second report before the twisted feeling in his tank had him filing the alerts away again. "...ugh."

Tapping his claws against the floor, he started to count - a breem or two later he had an approximation of how fast the tram was moving and how far it had traveled. His chronometer finally booted up, making double checking his math rather easy. Three joors and nearly ninety kilometers wasn't much, but it was definitely a significant head start on any potential pursuers. 

Starscream estimated that securing the area enough to even clear the wreckage would take a few joors, and as his atmospheric sensors hadn't picked up on any significant pressure changes yet, it was safe to say that the hole was still blocked off. With the number of tunnels he had counted at the junction where they had found the tram cart, any search team would be split up to cover each possible route. The Iaconian soldiers would most likely guess that any possible survivors might take one of the southern corridors, but they probably would not expect them to have made this much progress.

That alone did not negate the possibility of them being found quickly. The bulk of the Iaconian forces sported ground based alternates, and a number of them were very fast - the chances of being discovered were still relatively high at this point. The longer it took for that wreckage to be cleared, the better their chances would be. If the cart continued at its current pace, it would pass the border into Gygax within another joor and the odds in favor of survival would increase exponentially.

At least, for Megatron it would.

Starscream knew his own personal chance of survival hinged on whether or not the Winglord counted this debacle as a failure on his part. Finding the tram tunnels might count as a blessing for a number of reasons, not just because it spared them the potential of incurring further damage. If he could figure out where it was drawing power from, it could become an asset - finding an asset was a good way to keep on living.

It was a puzzle though - a majority of the above ground infrastructure in the southern sectors was refurbished and recycled ten times over. As drab and unsightly as it was on the optics, there was something admirable about the efficiency of it all. Heavy equipment such as a generator was often re-purposed and maintained long past the point it should have been scrapped. Nothing remained disused for long, so for something like a working tram cart to even exist meant either it was still being used by someone or it was on a forgotten circuit hooked up to something else that was still in use.

On the floor beside him, Megatron shifted and grumbled, optics cycling open to squint at the passing ceiling. The warlord's field retreated, that loose lethargy vanishing as he came fully online. One deeper invent resulted in several hacking coughs and cloud of dust expelled into the air from his vents.

"We're maybe a joor away from Gygax."

Megatron turned his helm to the side to look at him, the frown adorning his face that of one still groggy from recharge. There were so many things about that expression - and the contexts in which he'd been privy to see it - that Starscream wanted to hate.

Nothing good had ever seemed to follow it.

"How long was I out?"

"Three joors," Starscream answered, slowly pushing himself upwards to sit. The action brought a renewal to all the aches he had almost gotten used to. "No pursuit yet."

The warlord did not comment on that, nor did he make any attempt to move from his position on the floor of the cart just yet. Instead, he shuttered his optics again, looking as if he intended to return to recharge. Starscream stared at him, quite annoyed at this particular action - that irritation must have bled into his field, for half a klik later those optics cycled open again to fixate on him.

"Soundwave isn't answering his comm," Megatron informed him pointedly. A half-breem of silence passed before he heaved an irritated sigh, most likely having tried again to ping the mech. "...must be out of range."

"Great."

"Your sarcasm is unhelpful."

"Oh, that wasn't sarcasm," Starscream retorted, tilting his helm to make a show of examining a particularly long scrape on the side of his thigh. "I love being trapped underground with no wings on a barely moving tram with only you for company."

"Skarreg'dek dechta."

"Ya za aer eva yar sur."

"There is such a thing as hard consonants," Megatron told him with a glare. "If only you seekers would invest in them, you might sound less like an alarm siren whenever you speak."

"You'd rather I sound like a malfunctioning trash compactor instead? No thank you."

The warlord broke into a laugh, which turned into another fit of coughs as his vents struggled to cope with his amusement.

"Glad you find it funny," Starscream hissed, trying to tack on some malice to words and failing somewhat. It was difficult to maintain irritation when the object of it was dying from self-deprecation induced laughter. "Ychta."

"You don't seem to mind that word so much."

"It has its uses."

"Do you remember any others," Megatron asked him, finally moving from the floor. It took some maneuvering and no small amount of pained grunts for the warlord to sit himself upright with his back against the tram cart railing. As no answer had been forthcoming during his repositioning, he threw a pointedly impatient sort of look Starscream's way. "...well?"

"Why?"

"You were boasting earlier about insulting me in Vexxor or Palidux. Were obscenities the only thing you retained?"

That could have easily been answered with a yes and a demonstration of said obscenities, but for some reason the question had him feeling just as trapped as he had felt in the wreckage. Starscream wanted to fly, to tear through the sky until his thrusters burnt out and the only sensation left was the rush of his flight systems racing against gravity to reboot. Every bit of that wretched language Megatron had taught him while residing in Tarn remained etched into his processor - it had been thrilling to learn, echoing the words and hearing the other mech laugh when he inevitable stumbled over the pronunciation.

Sometimes he had mangled the words on purpose, just for that reaction.

"Arech drak gar dreg gech."

Whatever amusement was left on the warlord's face vanished in an instant, making it look a bit like he had been drenched with a near freezing deluge of solvent. It wasn't as satisfying a response as Starscream had imagined - he wasn't entirely sure what he had wanted to happen. Not this bitter, biting sensation in his throat or the coldness clenching at his spark.

"Did I say it right?" he asked, knowing that letting silence overtake things would have been the wiser course of action given the stiffness of the other mech's posture at the moment. But the words still burnt through his vocalizer, acidic and acerbic. "It has been vorns, so I'm afraid I may be a little rusty."

Megatron stared at him, the sharp red of those optics highlighting every angle of the frown that had crept over his face. He shifted, discomfort rising under that gaze - he moved to pull his legs in, clasping his arms around his knees like a fidgety sparkling. His torso protested the movement, pain radiating out from the hole in his middle.

"...well?"

"Your pronunciation was flawless."

Chapter Text

The tram cart rumbled onward through the gloom as Megatron watched his Sky Commander very pointedly avoid optic contact. He had intended his teasing of the seeker over his distaste for the Tarni codex as a minor amusement - something to distract from the ache of their injuries. He had not expected Starscream to remember much beyond simple phrases and insults, given his display of disdain.

He wondered how many times the universe planned to prove him wrong this orn.

No doubt the seeker meant to sow some sort of guilt by spitting his own words back at him. At the time he had snapped that caustic phrase, he had meant every bit of cruelty entwined in them. It had been a boiling over point for an anger that had been brewing since he had been old enough to pick up on all the persistent and pervasive imbalances of life.

Megatron leaned his helm back against the guard rail, shuttering his optics as he tried to ignore the frantic fearfulness running rampant through the seeker's field. He waited, keeping his ventilations as steady as he could - after a few breems of silence that cloying anxiety began to fade. How easy it was, that simply pretending to forget a percieved transgression was enough to return a relative calm.

He hadn't forgotten, of course - the words revolved in his processor, souring with each turn.

When he had been ordered to shadow the seeker all those vorns ago in Tarn, he had not known exactly what to expect from the duty other than ensuring the little prince did not die or suffer major injury. He had been largely successful in that task for the majority of Starscream's tenure at the citadel as the Archon's hostage. If it weren't for the disaster those last three orns had been, the following decades might have played out much differently. If his reaction to the seeker's advances had been any different, if he had not given in to impulse - he might have remained in Tarn to this very orn, standing guard at the door to yet another feast on a nearly empty tank.

Megatron was certain that the Winglord had not been appraised of the finer details of the incident, as it was the only plausible explanation as to why he had not been killed outright for his actions. Whatever lie the Archon had spun to maintain the peace had inadvertently saved his life - a life slated for the dark of a mine on some distant world and one that would leave him largely unrecognizable to those he had known. Every choice made after that had led to the uprising and Dredge's own eventual downfall.

Conquering his home sector had not initially been on the agenda, but after the victory speech in Kaon the Archon had challenged him outright. Maybe it had been foolish to answer it, but killing Dredge and assuming control of the region had opened up the pathway to negotiations with Vos. A dire need for aerial support had led him agreements forged with the Winglord - thirteen wings pledged to his cause, with Starscream among them. It had taken all he had to reign in the impulse to shoot the seeker through the spark the moment he had spotted him in the ranks. It had seemed so deliberate a reminder that the chains that had once bound him were not so long removed.

Ignoring his presence had turned out for the better.

Upon hearing that Vos had aligned itself with him in committing troops, Tetrahex had followed suit in an effort to outdo their northerly neighbor. Wings from each sector competed to be more effective than the other, helping to solidify his hold over the southern polar regions. Every one of them were skilled fliers and a sight to behold in combat, but Starscream - Starscream had outstripped them all.

It was impossible to refute the casual way the seeker seemed to ignore basic physics when aloft. He had a seemingly effortless ability to flip from alt to root mode and back to take down targets with barely a loss to his momentum - Megatron had found himself impressed despite everything.

This had led to the seemingly critical mistake of encouraging it.

There were times when praise seemed to sustain Starscream more than energon. Simply noting the number of enemy combatants the seeker had managed to strike down during a skirmish would double the number on the next encounter. Complimenting a particularly tricky aerial maneuver led to an even more complicated one being attempted or invented at the next available opportunity. Acknowledging any of the mech's plans being moderately successful over others meant a flood of additional ideas crowding his inbox. 

Megatron had thought that the seeker's eagerness to please him was a result of residual guilt, and as such had begrudgingly accepted the enthusiasm. He had told himself that if this was Starscream's form of making reparations, then he would accept it for as long as it furthered his goals. Neither of them had ever spoken on what had happened in Tarn, and that had suited him just fine until now - now, near fifty vorns of unacknowledgement was shattered by the words still tumbling through his processor.

"...arech?"

He cycled open his optics, the question a whispered echo on his glossa.

"Why?" Megatron repeated, louder and clearer so that the seeker could not pretend as if he had not heard him. "Why those words?"

"You asked what else I remembered and I obliged."

That response was sharp and measured and cold, echoed in Starscream's field like the bite of a harsh frost storm.

"So sorry I could not conjure up anything sweeter," the seeker hissed at him. "You never did teach me anything nicer."

"But that...that is what has stuck in your processor all this time? Why?"

"Does it bother you that much?"

"You purposefully spew forth a reminder of one of the lowest points in my life and have the gall to ask if it bothers me?"

"Quiet..."

"QUIET!?"

Megatron snapped his helm up, ready to tear into the seeker only to pause with the action half processed upon realizing his Sky Commander was not even looking his way. Instead, Starscream was halfway to his pedes, weight on the guard rail with his lone remaining wing snapped as straight up as it could go. His gaze was aimed back down the tunnel, back the way they had come.

"They've breach the wreckage," the seeker breathed, field flaring out in a brief pulse of fear. "It won't take them long to find the junction."

"We have a head start."

"Not much of one. Their alt modes will cut that distance down in not time."

"Panicking will not help," Megatron stated, flexing his right servo. It took some coaxing and no small number of overrides to get the blade housed there to slide out. Satisfied that the retracting mechanism was working properly, he glance back at the seeker. "What are you doing?"

Starscream had returned to the control box of the tram, digits hovering over the buttons as if indecisive.

"If they discover the power draw, they will catch us for certain," the seeker stated. "I can rig it to go faster, but it will not be quiet."

"What?"

"Ychta...what do you think will happen if they reach us? If they capture you?"

"No."

"You can barely stand!" Starscream snapped, turning his focus to pry up one of the panels on the side of the control box, seemingly having made up his mind. "If they have one captive, they may be disinclined to continue the chase."

Megatron pushed himself up to his pedes in defiance of the pain that came with the motion. It took two steps for him to reach the seeker, grabbing his arm just above the elbow  to yank him away from the controls.

"I will not suffer the indignity of having you sacrifice yourself for me," he growled at his struggling Sky Commander. "We will deal with any pursuit together. When or if it comes."

"How courageously stupid of you."

"I have my blade still, and strength enough to deal with some paltry scouts."

"Lovely," Starscream said, the word falling flat in the air. He felt the seeker give one more experimental pull against his grip, before heaving an annoyed sounding sigh. "You can let go now."

"Are you done panicking?"

"...yes, I am completely calm."

That was a lie, but the seeker's field was no longer as erratic and terror strewn as it had been mere kliks before. Megatron unlocked his servo, digits loosening enough for the other to pull free. There were more scratches in the paint there now, courtesy of his claws.

"You have your blade," Starscream repeated, turning to look up at him with a sour expression. he nodded, sliding the weapon out once more with a jolt of his arm - it was nowhere near as smooth a motion as it should have been, but it worked well enough. The seeker eyed it, expression shifting to a calculating one. "Do you have a plan on what to do with it?"

"It is a sword, Starscream. It's for stabbing."

"...ychta."

Abruptly, every single sensor in Megatron's frame went numb - it was almost as if his entire neural net save for his processor had shut down. The only thing he could move was his optics - shifting back and forth to find the cause of this affront. What his gaze found was Starscream, expression blank as the null-ray that attached to his left arm sparking slightly as it powered back down. Delicately, the seeker reached out with a flattened palm and gave his chest a shove, tipping him back until gravity sank its fangs in to drag him back to the floor.

Chapter Text

Starscream had a plan.

He had to keep telling himself that it was a good one as he quickly pried up the cover panel for the control box. He could pull off two, maybe three more shots with his null-ray if he did some very thorough energy distribution adjustments. That would at the very least allow him to stall any pursuit long enough to make continuing it more costly.

That was the point, of course - to force any Iaconian scouts to call off the search. because them discovering that their attack had been successful in injuring Megatron would not lead to anything good. He shot a brief glance at the inert hunk of metal that was the warlord, flinching slightly at the glowing red glare currently aimed his way.

"I'm not sorry," he declared, snapping his attention back to the control box. It was easy enough to see what needed to be pulled out and reconnected to ensure the tram would do what he was intending. The wiring was old, but still more than serviceable. "I'm not...I'm not doing this to be noble."

That last bit might have been a bit of a lie, after all dying for a cause was considered a noble action. Granted, his reasoning was more about controlling his own circumstances than anything else, but he knew well that type of selfishness could be seen as selfless. 

Plugging in the last of the wires he'd selected, Starscream did a quick glance over his hasty reroute to make certain it would not cause a short or reverse course when he flipped the controls. Satisfied that his work was at least somewhat mirroring the calculation he had done, he quickly replaced the top panel. Once it was secured, he moved to step around the control box in preparation to jump ship, one servo on the main lever ready to snap it upwards at the same time.

He raised his helm, taking in a shaky ventilation as he looked down the tunnel back the way they had come - was that the gleam of distant headlights on the walls or his imagination? He went to step off the edge of the platform and face whatever inevitable death awaited him, when sharp clawed digits clamped down onto his right ankle. Optics widening, Starscream let out a startled yelp and reflexively tried to yank his leg free, falling against the control box. His servo slipped on the lever, knocking it forward - the tram lurched in response, giving a near deafening rumble of a groan against the rails as it abruptly picked up speed.

The change in momentum sent Starscream tumbling, slamming face first into the guard rail next to the controls. Dazed, he tried to grab hold of it to steady himself only to be dragged back by Megatron's iron grip. How the brute had managed to override the effects of the null-ray pulse would have been more troubling if it weren't for the brand new processor ache he had acquired. He tried to kick with his free leg, but coordination seemed to be out of the question at the moment. His pede struck the warlord's side with barely enough force to produce a clank.

"...let go!"

"Absolutely not," Megatron growled at him, wrenching his torso to the side so he could reach out with his other servo and grasp at Starscream's wrist. "You are not killing yourself. Not for me. Not this orn."

Clawing at the ground, Starscream tried in vain to keep from being dragged backwards, but the warlord seemed to have regained full control over his motion sensors. It was a breem and a half of struggling that ended with his arms pinned and his face pressed against Megatron's chest plates. The scent of his own dried energon mingled with an underlying oil and a faint burnt metal singe that tickled his olfactory sensors.

"...fragger."

"Call me whatever names you want."

"That would take far too much time," Starscream muttered, trying to snap his wing down to smack against the other mech's arms. Unfortunately, such fine control wasn't possible with it being bent so out of shape - he succeeded only in causing a slight downwards twitch. "I could shoot you again."

"Are you so desperate to die?"

"As desperate as you seem to see me suffer!"

That earned him a few kliks of bewildered silence in which to try and wriggle out of the warlord's grip. This ended up being a futile endeavor, for the larger mech had locked his arm joints around his frame to keep him immobile. There was no way he'd be able to slip free even if he did shoot the other mech again - Starscream wasn't strong enough to push those arms off of him in time to escape before the other recovered.

"What do you mean by that?" Megatron asked, the words such a shift in tone from the anger of just kliks earlier that for a brief moment Starscream ceased his attempts to escape in shock. He hated the sincerity the warlord had managed to anchor in the query, as if the answer was something he would truly care about. As if the answer wasn't something he already knew. "Starscream, answer the question."

He invented shakily, refusing to respond at all - instead he shuttered his optics and let his helm fall against Megaron's chest. The warlord tended to keep his field locked tight, but this close he could catch the edge of it - the tinge of revulsion over their proximity was not nearly as prevalent as he had expected. Instead there was confusion and concern flickering like static, taking up the surface of it in a way that left him feeling uncertain himself.

Maybe he didn't know.

"...how can you not know?"

The words hadn't come out much more than a whisper, but it seemed that Megatron had heard him all the same.

"...know what?"

"You...you are the one who insisted on naming me Sky Commander," Starscream hissed at him, doubt preventing the words coming out as sharp as he'd intended. He shifted his shoulders back in a renewed attempt to escape. "You agreed to the Winglord's terms for it! You let Silverlight ship me back to Vos to be tortured! You want to complain of reminders of bad times in your life? You are a direct cause of a number of mine!"

"Drana-dek dechta," Megatron grumbled, the edge of his field shifting from confusion to irritation. "What would you know of torture, princeling?"

Starscream did not miss the faint bitter tinge to the question nor the careful placement of emphasis on that faux term of endearment. He had once found it delightful to be called such by the mech - now it just caused a further unpleasant twisting in his fuel tank.

"Don't call me that."

"You're a prince, are you not?"

"Ves le solee," Starscream responded hollowly, falling still. "Ul'ha-laes, hae-lossa, ma-laes."

"Prince of nothing?" the warlord echoed in translation, tone that of one barely holding back a scoff. "Unwanted? Worthless? What is the last one? Pitiful or pathetic?"

"Tainted."

"...tainted?"

The confusion swirled back into Megatron's field as Starscream let out a bitter, biting cackle.

"But I am pitiful and pathetic as well, so add them to the list," he said, furrowing his optic ridges against the other's chest. "Ve-hela. Avelas."

"Tainted by what, exactly?"

"...Unicron."

The warlord drew back a it, not enough so that he could wriggle free but so that his face could no longer remain hidden and a look over could be had. Starscream kept his helm bowed and optics cycled tightly shut, not wanting to know what expression might be on the other mech's face.

"Who told you that?" Megatron asked of him, the question coming out with a mix of bafflement and suspicion. "The Winglord?"

"...yes? It's...it's usually your sire who declares it? Does...does someone else do so in Tarn?"

The warlord heaved a sigh, abruptly releasing his hold on Starscream in order to push himself off the floor on his elbows. Starscream remained where he was, cautiously cycling his optics open to peek out. That sharp crimson gaze looked down at him, speculative - he couldn't feel the other's field any longer, but his own was definitely a tangled mess of anxiety and confusion at this point. This reaction was unnerving and his tank was twisting once more in dread.

"In Tarn...to say someone is 'tainted by Unicron' is to say that they are absolutely slagged."

That was definitely not the explanation that Starscream had expected.

"What?"

"Drunk. Inebriated. Wildly intoxicated."

He stared up at the warlord, frown deepening as this information settled into his processor alongside the definition he had known to be true his entire life.

"But that's...that doesn't make sense..."

"It makes plenty of sense," Megatron countered, tilting his helm to the side. "What does it mean in Vos?"

"It is...it is a term for those whose carriers died due to complications during emergence," Starscream explained, carefully looking away. "It is said their death were caused by Unicron's interference."

"Sounds like nonsense."

"Nonsense!?"

"Yes, nonsense," Megatron affirmed, expression now grim as Starscream snapped his helm back to glare up at him. The warlord shifted to retake his position resting against the guard rail of the tram cart. "Make no mistake, I am not discounting whatever pains it has caused you nor the gravity of an entire populace placing such a dark label on a newspark. I simply doubt the unmaker paid so personal a visit to mark your arrival unto existence. Or anyone else, for that matter."

For a few kliks, Starscream stared at him - uncertainty in his field as he tried to figure out what exactly to make of this development. Slowly, he moved to sit up as well, aware that the warlord was watching him close for any sign of bolting. That impulse had vanished and was futile at this point anyways - his alterations to the tram controls had caused it to accelerate much faster than his initial estimate. His ankle protested as he pulled his leg up, pain flaring from where Megatron had gripped it.

"I'm not sorry."

"Limbs can be repaired," Starscream stated, a dull and less certain echo of the other mech's earlier attempts at reassurances. Crawling out from the wreckage of the tower seemed ages and ages ago rather than just a few joors. "Though I doubt I'll have the luxury of being repaired before the Winglord demands I return to Vos."

"And why would he do that?"

"Because...the base that was to be my assigned post was attacked - he will see that as a failure."

"Failure?" Megatron echoed, shaking his helm. "Did I not already tell you the attack was not your fault?"

"The Winglord will not care."

"The Winglord's opinion has no sway in determining fault in this matter."

"His opinion certainly had sway when you promoted me," Starscream snapped, optics narrowing back into a glare. "Did you even consider ignoring his demands? Or no...he probably didn't even demand it, did he?"

"...Starscream."

"What's changed since then? Have I gained your pity? You can keep it."

"How is it that you manage to shift from being the epitome of woe to being so caustic as to cause all sympathy to evaporate instantly?"

"I don't want your sympathy either."

Megatron heaved a sigh,, the stutter of his vents exaggerating the irritation in it.

"What do you want, then?"

Silence sank to fill the air between them, for Starscrean had no immediate answer to such a question. He shifted uncomfortably, pulling his knees up to his chest again and casting his gaze to the floor. The ache in hiss midsection was becoming familiar in the way it flared with every ventilation cycle. The anger he'd summoned for that brief snappish back and forth faded, unable to remain rooted when other more terrible feelings were waiting to bubble up.

"What I want has never mattered," He said softly, clawed digits absently tracing over a groove in the floor. "I've never mattered enough for anyone to care what I want. And...every time I think that someone does..."

He trailed off, an uncertainty seizing hold of him to bleed into his field before he could stop it. Casting a sideways glance towards the edge of the tram cart, he wondered if maybe it wasn't too late to fling himself off of it. The results might actually hurt less than the ache in his spark right now.

"Arech drak gar dreg gech."

It was a needle to the spark to hear those words come from Megatron's vocalizer again, though the tone now was far and away from the harshness that had been infused in them the first time that sentence had been uttered. even so, he winced, pulling his knees closer and wrapping his arms once more around his shins.

"...who would ever want you," Starscream repeated, hunching his shoulder and staring at the floor. "You're not the only one to say those words, you know...?"

"I had surmised as much," the warlord said in the most measured of tones. Those sharp red optics were still watching him, burning against his frame. "Do you know why I said them?"

"...I can guess."

"No, no guesses, Starscream. I said and a number of cruel things to you that orn, any of which you could have taken to spark. But those words...the lone bit of my own codex in the midst of it..."

"...you taught me."

"Yes, I did," Megatron stated, gaze unwavering. "Just as you taught me Caerullux, or at least a version of it."

A pause, in which Starscream thought that he might be spared further contemplation on this line of conversation. Alas the silence lasted only as long as it took for the warlord to shift and lean forward into his space. He didn't turn his helm to look, but could not help but flick his optics to the side to see the way the other mech was staring him down.

"Do you know why I said those words?" 

Chapter Text

Leaning forward in such a way put a strain on his injured shoulder struts - Megatron knew that if he held that position for too long there was a chance of causing further damage. He also knew that this subject was one that Starscream desperately did not want to confront. There was probably a better way to force the seeker to address it rather than intimidation, but it was the more immediate of the means available to him at te moment.

It was effective, in that he felt the uncertainty and dread flood the other's field in response to his intentional looming. He did not miss the sideways glance that Starscream cast his way without so much of a twitch of his helm - yet still there was silence. Shifting the balance of his weight onto one arm, Megatron lifted the other up with very deliberate intent. The seeker flinched back in alarm, but he was quick enough to catch the other's chin, turning his helm to face him.

Starscream's optics were not the bright crimson that so many of the denizens of Kaon sported. Their color set was somewhere on the spectrum between red and orange, at time seeming to shift between one or the other. In the dark of the tram tunnel, with barely any outside sources of light to interfere with or affect their glow, they were solidly in the middle and still very much avoiding his gaze.

"Look at me," Megatron commanded, keeping a hold on the seeker's chin. It was a few kliks of those optics flicking about to look everywhere else before eventually settling, the seeker's shoulders falling into a solidly defeated slump. "We have existed in proximity to one another for some time now, Starscream. I have spent a large chunk of that time under the assumption that you were naught but a spoilt little prince."

He saw that wing flit upwards a few centimeters at those words as the beginnings of indignance went snapping through the other's field. He continued on, before the seeker could muster a biting retort.

"But...I am willing to admit that my assumptions were wrong. I suggest you reflect on that...and on what you may have assumed to be true of me."

He released his hold on Starscream's chin and sat back, watching the confusion that overtook the seeker's face.

"I...I don't know how to respond to that," Starscream said, a hint of panic seeping out alongside the words. "What do you want me to say? Do you want me to account for all the things I thought I knew for certain? Or just the ones that hurt the most?"

That panic that had started to brew in the seeker's field again was of a different flavor than the previous bouts. It wasn't the same as that spurred by physical damages or immobility, nor even that prompted by the potentiality of the enemy hunting them down. No, this was different - it had tinges of fear and pain and sadness mixed within a desperation that was near all-consuming.

"Will anything I say make you hate me less?"

"Sa, gech tarag koor," Megatron exvented with a slow shake of his helm, finding the notion that he had ever reserved so strong of an emotion for the seeker to be absurd. Though it did give him an inkling as to how to proceed. "My hate is reserved for those who forged my chains and keep me in them. Were either of those you?"

"...no?"

That uncertainty was all at once both bewildering and somehow amusing - he found himself chuckling despite himself.

"Slave coding was developed well before you were ever sparked, Starscream."

The seeker's helm snapped up, those optics widening and the panic vanishing in an instant to be replaced by shock and the slow seep of a dawning horror. That was all the reaction that Megatron needed to ascertain the extent of Starscream's knowledge concerning Tarni social structure. Perhaps it shouldn't have been surprising - for all the vorns he had spent in the sector, his exposure to it had been very much filtered and controlled.

"There is an example," Megatron stated, putting on the ghost of a rueful grin. His field kept close, there was no way the seeker would discern his own feelings on the matter - hollow disappointment and bitterness mixed with a number of other things he did not care to name. "I had assumed you had known."

"How could I have possibly known that!? Who would have told me?"

"Dredge? Any number of the bots clinging to his arms? That idiot of a mediator? The Winglord?"

"We don't have slave coding in Vos," Starscream snapped, though there was no bite to it. "And Dredge avoided even looking at me after that first orn. As did the bots around him - you know that. You know the only one I regularly interacted with was you."

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I am something to be pitied," Megatron snarled at him. Perhaps this had been a mistake - having Starscream of all mechs feeling sorry for him had not been his intent. "You have learned but a fraction of what has molded my life, do not think this gives you that right. Keep your pity and your sympathy, I have no need for either."

"Now who's being caustic?"

He growled, optics narrowing to glare at the seeker - Starscream flinched visibly, bent wing falling to its lowest angle as he looked away again. Silence descended after that, the tension almost a tangible thing, bolstered by the wild static mixture of things swirling in his Sky Commander's field.

"How long?"

"What?"

"When was it installed?" Starscream asked, tone that of one trying to keep their voice from shaking. "How long did...did you have it?"

"Why? What possible use is that information to you?"

"It certainly would be good propaganda to point out that Iacon condoned the use of it to further their interests."

"Do you think any of their supporters would care?" Megatron asked with a scoff. "Do you think this practice was limited to just Tarn?"

"...it's not?"

"In Tarn, orphaned sparklings become wards of the Sectorial Guards. If they go unclaimed into adulthood, they become...dberat."

"Debtors...?"

"Yes, you must serve until the cost of raising you is paid. Most do not escape it."

"And that...that was what happened to you?" Starscream asked, hesitance never more evident in his field than now. "...but you...escaped it?"

"No. After your departure from Tarn, my debt was sol and I was shipped to an off-world mine. It is only sheer luck that saw me freed."

"Luck."

"New arrivals were set to have their coding updated for the mines," Megatron explained, shifting to lean further back against the guard rail. "But the mnemosurgeon assigned there had developed a conscience. He was secretly removing it instead."

He remembered well those first few moments of freedom, the shakiness of limbs and thoughts unfettered by the checks the slave coding had forced on him. Being sent to the mines had suddenly transformed from a curse to a blessing - he still had to work, still toiled under orders, but it was with a promise of a different future than what he had been sentenced to. Mining was a novelty then, and he had been so very eager to learn anything and everything he could.

And learn he had.

The innards of the various monstrous excavation equipment on the site went committed to
memory alongside a list of every sector that used any form of slave coding to subdue and
control the population. Geological structures were cataloged in tandem with dossiers of those
responsible for maintaining that particular status quo. The proper storage procedures for
unrefined energon went filed away next to comms codes for every mech on site with skills
that might have been of use to a plan that had only just begun brewing.

The momentum of the tram shifted, stirring Megatron from this brief recollection. He glanced
up with a frown, listening to the change in that rolling rumble. The tracks were curving - a
lengthy curve, most likely barely perceivable had the platform been moving at its usual pace.

"If we head south at this rate..."

...we will be in Kaon within three joors," Starscream finished, wing bouncing to a more upbeat angle. "But where in Kaon?"

Megatron shrugged, then winced at the pain the action caused his shoulder struts. Yes, he had definitely strained that injury further. He was not too worried for it - most of the damage he had sustained was superficial. Dents and bent struts were not overly concerning, though his right leg definitely had a torn tensor or two.

Starscream, on the other servo, did not have such a dense armature protecting his internal components. That hole in his torso would require surgery to fix and both of the seeker's wings would need to be rebuilt. Resources were not yet a problem, but medics certainly were - Kaon had been short on them to begin with and even counting those gained recently via treaty, they were spread rather thin.

Vos had supplied a contingent of medical specialists to compliment their section of the aerial forces, which at first he had seen as a boon. Having flight frame specialists should have - at the very least - freed up his own medics to work on other cases. In practice though...their refusal to treat non-Vosians had resulted in a large number of complaints. He had planned to address the matter, had even asked Soundwave to run some numbers for him prior to his visit to Borell - it seemed that now the issue would become of a higher priority.

"Starscream."

The seeker glanced over, apprehension returning to his posture and field at the sound of his designation.

"You said the Winglord will attempt to recall you to Vos," Megatron said, reciting the claim the other had made mere breems ago. "By what means?"

"Why?"

"Because I have a notion regarding the restructure and expansion of our medical infrastructure that he will not be happy with, and I need to know how he will react."

"He's never happy about anything," Starscream retorted witha huff. "Everything involving the Vosian wings gets back to him through Silverlight. Anything concerning changes to the structures he set up will have him demanding a meeting and showing up late with no apologies but plenty of prettily worded threats."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Tell me, would any of his specialists fix your current injuries?" Megatron asked, watching the seeker closely. "Without notifying him of them?" 

"They would ask him before even touching me, and I would bleed out before he even deigned to acknowledge the query."

"The word 'no' is in fact one syllable and far easier to say."

"You think I'm being over-dramatic?" Starscream hissed at him. "That I'm overstating things?"

"I think that he has hurt you a great deal."

"Hurt me? He tortured me!"

"Elaborate," Megatron commanded, putting a sternness to the word to emphasize that he would not at all tolerate it if the seeker chose to try to deflect. "I appointed you the rank of Sky Commander because you are by far the most brilliant flier I have ever seen. It is what was needed, and yes, I agreed to the Winglord's terms in order to placate him."

"And what exactly did he tell you those terms were?"

"He claimed your return to Vos was necessary for some religious purpose...sanctification of your promotion..."

"The Rite of Purification."

"Yes."

"You don't know what that entails, do you?"

"No, I do not," Megatron bit out, feeling his impatience rising at the evasiveness of the seeker's tone - he was not about to let the other even think of goading him into a derailment of the subject. "Why don't you enlighten me before I lose interest in being cordial?"

For once Starscream didn't seem particularly phased by the implied threat, or at least not in any way that he could tell. The seeker shifted, uncurling just enough to brush a servo down a large patch of missing paint on his thigh. Megatron followed the motion, watching those thin digits trace the most prominent of the weld marks - the way they curled resembled the glyphs used in the script form of Caerullux, but he could not decipher the meaning at this angle.

"The Rite of Purification was designed specifically for the ma-laes," the seeker told him, his tone gone void of even a hint of emotional inflection. "To purge them of Unicron's corruption."

Megatron kept silent, waiting and watching as Starscream continued to trace those marks as they wound themselves down and around his leg.

"You start in the Temple of Myrac, first progeny of Ventus. And the acolytes chant and chant and chant, all while they carve denouncements into your armor."

"...carve?"

"From there you walk," Starscream continued, ignoring the his half-vented echo of the word. "because to walk is to humble yourself, to lower yourself...and you go to the next Temple...of Aerox - second progeny of Ventus. And you try to hold still as the acolytes blot the denouncements in carving the cleansing."

"How many temples are there?"

"Three - the last is Verrus. Where you swear oaths of purity and service and faith, which are carved over all the rest. And then...then you walk to the palace, to be declared purged by the very one who declared you tainted in the first place."

Another silence descended between them, as cold and as solid as a wall of ice. Starscream let his servo fall away from his leg, resting his helm on his knees and shuttering his optics. The seeker's field was reeled in for once, barely perceptible in the gloom. Megatron watched him for a few breems more, gaze traversing what he could see of the weld marks beneath his paint.

Yes, a revisit to his terms with the Winglord was definitely in order.

Chapter Text

Starscream wasn't certain when he had fallen into recharge, but he knew exactly what had woken him - there had been a downshift in the tram’s forward momentum. The platform was slowing as the now familiar injury reports began their persistent scroll across his visual centers. He dismissed them, not really needing an itemized list when the feedback from his sensory net was more than enough for his anxiety already. His joints felt stiff and achy as if he had stayed out far too long in the midst of a cold snap, not hunched up in a corner with his knees pulled to his chest. He stretched his legs out slowly, wincing at each ping of pain the motion sent flaring through his systems.

By the time he was certain he could move without much hindrance the tram had rolled to a stop. This might have been worrying save for the speed they had been traveling previously. His chronometer reported that he had been out for nearly five joors, which put them solidly underneath Kaon now. They were safe from potential pursuers, at least in theory.

Glancing about, he saw that the spot that Megatron had been occupying against the rail opposite him was vacant. Alarmed, Starscream climbed to his pedes as quickly as his injuries would allow, looking down the tracks behind the platform for the other mech. There was no sign of the warlord, though admittedly the darkness of the tunnel and the current state of his scanners meant he couldn’t see very far.

"Over here."

Starscream spun, or at least turned as quickly as he could to find the mech standing off in front of the tram, off to one side. There was another platform similar to the one they’d been using, though its control box looked to be unpowered. That explained at least the reason for their own tram being stopped, though it did nothing to elaborate the stopping mechanism. 

“...how-”

“Stairs.”

“I know how you got down, ychta ,” he snapped, rolling his optics. “How did the tram stop?”

“Some form of obstacle detection mechanism, I assume,” Megatron responded, walking back from the side of the other tram. “Rail systems of this type tend to have them.”

“Usually there’s a warning alarm.”

“Yes, well usually there’s not a panicked seeker rewiring the controls.”

Starscream glared at him for that reminder, but managed to restrain himself when it came to firing back a snappy retort - it wouldn’t have helped, and despite having recharged for several hours he still felt rather exhausted. Grasping the rail for balance, he slowly made his way over to the steps on the side of the tram. They looked steeper than he recalled, though he forced down any mounting trepidation about tripping in order to focus on actually making his way down them. 

He must have taken too long, for by the time he reached the bottom Megatron had limped back over.

"You're bleeding again," the larger mech pointed out with a gesture towards Starscream's midsection. "Where's the torch?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know."

"I set it aside when I went to adjust the controls," Starscream told him, looking back up the stairs of the tram. The floor of it was devoid of anything even resembling the welding torch. "It..it must have gotten knocked out when..."

He trailed off, shoulders sagging downwards - glancing down at his middle, he spotted the tiny trickle of energon that was seeping out from the hole there. One of the lines he had cauterized must have ruptured again, though it didn't seem to be as catastrophic of a leak as before. It would probably be alright, at least for a little while and so long as he didn't strain himself further.

Still holding onto the rail with one servo, Starscream moved to step off of the bottom step. As soon as his weight went onto his injured ankle it buckled and gravity sank its claws in to pull him forward. The inevitable meeting of his face with the ground was postponed, however, by Megatron snapping his arm out to catch him.

"...this is your fault."

"Yes, it is," the other mech agreed, no amusement in the words. "Still not sorry."

Gripping the warlord's arm, Starscream stood back up straight, keeping his weight on his good ankle. Unfortunately, without his wings to act as a proper counterbalance, this had him tipping over in the opposite direction as soon as he let go. He caught himself on the tram rail after a brief bout of flailing, collapsing on the bottom step.

"...do you want me to carry you?"

"Carry me?" Starscream echoed, helm snapping up to look at the warlord. "You're limping too!"

"Limping, yes? Falling? I have yet to do so unintentionally."

"...just leave me here for now."

"No," Megatron flatly denied. "Stop being dramatic."

"I am not being dramatic, I'm being practical!"

The warlord frowned down at him, as if debating the best way to go about pressing the issue. In the end it appeared he decided not to argue further and just act - before Starscream could react, he was being scooped up. Sputtering in shock, he found himself once again with his face pressed against the larger mech's chest plates.

"Put me down!"

"No."

Starscream didn't dare squirm, holding as still as possible for fear of throwing the warlord off balance. It would definitely exacerbate his injuries further if Megatron happened to trip and land on top of him, and even the thought of that had him panicking more than a little bit. He cast his gaze about, trying to distract himself but there wasn't very much to look at save for the emblem etched into the warlord's chest plates. The spiky purple symbol had managed to remain relatively unmarred against the scuffed up silver.

That same sigil had been painted on the wings of every Vosian seeker, Starscream included - a declaration of alliance, though one as temporary and replaceable as paint. He wondered if the Tetrahexi seekers had also opted to use paint instead of engravings, or if their attempts to one up all things Vosian had resulted in the embrace of that avoidable pain.

He wondered as well what previous injuries had prompted reconstruction of Megatron's upper torso - he had noticed long before, the different angles of the other's plating. Now, with naught but the warlord's frame filling his field of view, he could not help but recall how different those chest plates used to look from this position. He remembered too, the way he'd felt back then in the other's arms.

"...please put me down."

Megatron stopped, looking down at him with another frown - he carefully avoided meeting that gaze.

"Has your ankle miraculously repaired itself?"

"I will reroute the pain sensors," Starscream told him, trying to keep his voice level. He was sure his field was betraying his turmoil enough without his vocalizer joining in. "I would rather risk injuring it further than be carried right now."

"That is incredibly foolish."

"And I am a fool, we've established that. Please...put me down."

Sighing, Megatron lowered him back to his pedes - the hasty cut off of his sensors worked, though it forced him to take on an awkward and undignified shamble in order to make any forward progress. The warlord watched him for a moment, before shaking his helm and returning to his own unsteady gait down the tracks.

"I thought you liked being carried."

Starscream said nothing to that as he followed the other down the tracks. There was nothing to say, no way to explain just how complicated that simple act could be. Their forward progress was slow and near silent save for the creak and click of injured components that came with each step. After several breems he began to wonder exactly why they hadn’t simply rewired the other tram to continue onward. He was about to voice as such when the answer became evident through a shift in the gloom.

Further down the tunnel the rails ended abruptly at a very solid looking wall.

"We're trapped."

"How very optimistic an observation," Megatron said dryly as he continued heading towards the wall. There was what looked to be an alcove off to one side of the blocked tunnel, also filled in with what looked to be a very solid barrier of sheet metal.It was towards this that the warlord's trajectory lead, posture portraying the confidence of one with a plan. "We are not trapped."

Starscream shuffled back to watch as the other mech stood before the alcove, observing him as he looked it over - this inspection lasted a grand total of three kliks. The sound of Megatron's fist impacting the metal registered quicker than the visual of it.

"What the frag!?" Starscream snapped, stumbling slightly as he flinched back. His exclamation went ignored as the warlord punched the barrier again. "What are you doing!?"

The third blow from Megatron's fist had the metal buckling, revealing a near pitch black passageway beyond it. Just a little more prying had the archway unblocked, the now brutalized panel discarded to the side. Only then did the warlord turn back to look at him, a faint smirk on his face - it vanished almost instantly, replaced by an expression akin to alarm.

"What?" Starscream asked in irritation, glancing back the way they'd come to find nothing to warrant such concern. He turned back with a frown, shifting his posture to tilt his head to the side in annoyance. "What is it? Why are you-"

He froze mid-question, feeling something dripping down from his middle onto his leg - with a shaky vent, he glanced down. The entirety of his torso beneath the hole torn in it was covered in energon.

"...oh."

Chapter Text

"Koor-ta tarag yreg-ker."

Megatron strode forward, scooping up the seeker again despite all protests from the smaller mech or his own frame. The latter was easier to ignore - his shoulders did not whine in his auditory receptors to be put down or threaten to stun him with another null ray blast. He highly doubted that Starscream could manage to allocate the energy needed to knock him out again at this point anyway.

The passageway he had found was much smaller than the tram tunnel, most likely an access corridor of some sort. He had a suspicion as to why exactly the larger path was blocked, and the further he walked the more certain he became that his guess was correct. There were only five major structures in Kaon that had a substantial amount of their mass partially underground - the arenas. 

Like everything else in the sector, they had been repurposed from other structures long disused. He knew from the anecdotes of various other gladiators he had met across the vorns that most had been warehouses at some point, used to store ore and recycled materials from the smelting pools. It was only after a large portion of those facilities had been moved north to Kalis and Uraya that the suddenly empty space had been converted.

"Sulos."

"Yes, I am stubborn," Megatron agreed, carefully adjusting his grip on the seeker as he shambled through the darkness. "I think we may be under one of the arenas."

"How did you figure that out?" Starscream asked, sounding weary. His helm fell tiredly against Megatron's chest plates in a manner less endearing and more worrisome. "Echolocation?"

"No, though such a skill would be rather convenient down here."

"...so how?"

"We found similar tunnels, Soundwave and I. It was where we hid weapons before the uprising. If I'm right, then there will be a hidden opening up ahead."

"If you're right."

"We're not far south enough for Kolkular," Megatron told the seeker, reasoning it was better to keep him talking. "Nor west enough for Melkor or Kellox. That leaves Beldox and the Gauntlet at its center."

He paused mid-step, having reached the count he'd set in his processor. Shifting Starscream's weight to one arm, he reached out to feel along the wall to the right - there was a depression there just wide enough for a mech of his size to duck through. He allowed himself a small amount of smugness at having guessed correctly. The opening was blocked off by a set of lockers in one of the prep rooms - he recalled keeping watch as Soundwave had meticulously loosened the bolts keeping them anchored to the floor.

In the past, it had been a simple task for him to lift or push them out of the way, but with his arms taken up by holding Starscream there was really only one option to remove this particular obstacle from his path. Megatron took a half step back, adjusting his stance before lifting up a pede and slamming it as hard as he could against the metal. The lockers went flying, striking the opposite wall with a deafening clang and a cloud of dust. 

Light poured into the tunnel, stinging his optics with the sudden contrast. 

Squinting, he stepped through without thinking, only to find the barrels of three separate blasters pointed his way as his visual centers adjusted to the light. He kept still, gaze flicking over the mechs, their weapons, and the rest of the scene before him. A portable table was upturned on the floor, cards and credits were scattered across the tile alongside a mess of shattered glass and spilled energon. It only took three kliks of waiting as the dust began to settle, but it felt longer.

"...Lord Megatron?"

He turned his gaze on the one who spoke, taking note of the bulky white and blue armor for future reference. 

"The garrison medical bay, how far is it from here?"

"Not far," the mech responded, blaster quickly holstered. The rest of them lowered their own weapons, though an air of general puzzlement flickered through their fields. "I'll escort you."

The section of the lockers he had kicked in gave a creak, one of the doors falling off its hinge to the floor with a clatter. Megatron glanced towards the hole in the wall he'd just left and the void of the tunnel beyond it.

"The rest of you, stay here and watch this passage," he commanded, turning towards the locker room doors. "Raise the alarm if anything else happens to come through."

He moved to follow his self appointed escort, Starscream still cradled against his chest. The seeker had not said anything at all during this exchange, which was more than worrying - he had at least expected there to have been some minor panicking. The smaller mech's field wasn't nearly the chaotic open swirl it had been in the previous joors, instead it seemed to have retracted near completely.

Megatron hazarded a glance down at the seeker, to ensure he was still functioning. Those red-orange optics were only half shuttered, their glow only just bright enough to make out under the lamps illuminating the corridor.

"The medic stationed here?"

"We have two," his escort responded as they rounded a corner. "Arcweld and Knockout. They've both worked on seekers before, but I'm sure they can comm for a specialist-"

"No," Megatron said firmly, grinding his denta together as a twinge of pain shot through his leg struts. He was not going to be able to continue at this pace for much longer. "The medics you have will suffice. I'll need to speak to your commander before any messages go out."

"Yes sir."

Another corner and the medical bay doors loomed ahead, snapping open as a mech with bright red armor came rushing out to meet them with a scanner in servo. Megatron kept moving forward as the medic proceeded to scan both him and the seeker curled in his arms. They passed through the doors and he angled towards the nearest medical berth, setting Starscream on its surface and trying not to dwell on the amount of energon now coating his frame.

He made to step back to give the medic room, but a clawed servo snapped up to clamp onto his arm - glancing down he saw the seeker's optics, as frantic and fearful as his field now projected.

"...stay with me."

Megatron stared at him, frozen for a klik in a moment half present and half past - he jerked his arm out of the seeker's grasp and moved back as the medic swept in to hook up a transfusion line. He glanced back towards the med bay doors where his escort stood, looking apprehensive.

"Your commander?"

"Not answering his comms," the mech replied worriedly. "I think I know where he's at, but it will take a bit longer to reach him."

"Have your communications officer contact Soundwave," Megatron commanded, turning to shamble towards the medical berth opposite from where he had placed Starscream. "I will need a report on what has happened in Helex. Then go and fetch your commander from wherever he has wandered off to."

"Yes sir."

The mech hurried out.

Carefully, he hefted himself onto the medical berth and positioned himself to sit on the end of it. Once certain he wasn't going to fall off in any way, he turned his gaze towards where Starscream was being worked on - locking optics with the seeker was purposeful. The panic in the other's field started to subside upon seeing that he had not truly left the area.

"Smart move, burning the lines shut," the medic commented as he worked. "Wish more mechs would remember that damn torch is for more than spot welding."

"A shame it was damaged," Megatron stated, still holding the seeker's gaze. He saw the shift to surprise in the other's expression and gave him a small smirk. "I suppose he'll live then?"

"He'll be out of commission for nearly a quartex."

"And my wings?" Starscream asked, his voice shaky. It was very clear that he was trying extremely hard not to even think about what the medic was currently doing with his energon lines. "...don't forget those."

"I'll forgive the assumption that I would ever neglect such an important repair, just this once."

A few breems passed before the medical bay doors snapped open again, admitting a slim mech with dull green and gray armor. He hurried over to where Megatron was sitting, pulling out a scanner.

“Apologies, my lord,” the mech said, field projecting some anxiousness. “I got the comm and came as soon as I could.”

“Were you expected to be on duty?”

“No, it is Knockout’s shift this evening.”

“And he is treating the one with the worse injury,” Medgatron said with a nod towards Starscream. “No apology is necessary in this case.”

“What happened? We’d heard something of a bombing out in Helex, but not much else. And your injuries…”

“Long range missile attack,” Starscream answered, sounding strained. He had tilted his helm back to stare resolutely at the ceiling, face plates holding an expression of extreme duress. Considering that Knockout was in the middle of replacing the damaged components within his torso, it was warranted. “A building fell on us.”

“...ah, yes...I assume you were pinned for a bit. That accounts for most of this.”

Arcweld set aside the scanner and motioned for Megatron to lie back on the berth. He did so, keeping his gaze on the seeker all the while. A transfusion of his own was set up, though this was less medical grade energon and more an infusion of repair nanites. Previous injuries had instilled in him the ability to tell the difference between the two - energon didn’t tingle when it was injected.

“You’re lucky,” the dull plated medic informed him. “Any more weight pulling on those shoulder struts and you may have snapped something. As it is...I recommend restricting unnecessary movement for at least three orns, though I recognize that may not be possible.”

“That would depend on what movements are considered unnecessary.”

“Transformation, heavy lifting...walking. Your internal repair systems will take care of the damage, it just needs time to work without having to compensate for further strain.”

Megatron nodded his helm in understanding - unless something worse had happened with Helex, there was no point in rushing off right away. He supposed he could afford to rest a bit, at least until Soundwave was able to apprise him of the situation. The medic soon brought over a cube for him to drink, no doubt pre-mixed with some of that awful tasting medigel meant to help speed along the repair nanites. 

He drank it without complaint, watching wearily as Starscream was repaired. The seeker remained resolutely silent as his midsection was welded back together - Megatron doubted this lack of reaction was from shock. Given the extent of his injuries, the medic had most likely added some painkillers to the little flier’s transfusion.

Cube drained, Megatron passed the empty container back off to Arcweld before leaning his helm back against the medical berth. 

For now, there was nothing left to do but rest and wait.

Chapter Text

Awakening to a semi-detached floaty lack of sensation was a nice change of pace, Starscream decided. The fresh welds to his torso were only vaguely noticeable amidst the candied fog curled around his sensory network. Someone was shouting, but the sound seemed muffled by distance and perhaps a wall or two - he couldn't make out the words, but the tone could definitely be categorized as infuriated.

Something unpleasantly cold touched his ankle and he shuddered, blinking open his optics to the glaringly bright lights of the medical bay. Lifting his helm off the berth, he squinted at the end of the berth and the exceedingly red colored blur that was hovering there. He frowned as his vision slowly sharpened, revealing a vaguely familiar looking mech standing there with what looked to be a brush in one servo and a paint tin in the other.

Except his olfactory sensors were not reporting back the smell of paint.

"That...is not paint."

"No, it is not," Knockout agreed in a tone that could only be described as cheerfully sarcastic. "How are you feeling?"

"...my processor feels like it's made of energon jelly."

"That would be the painkillers."

Starscream nodded shallowly at this explanation, letting his helm fall back against the berth again with a quiet thump. He kept frowning, fighting with the saccharine fog in his processor to try and place the odor of what was in that tin as the medic continued to coat the armor of his shins with it. It was only once his knees were reached that the answer bubbled up and he raised his helm again.

"Paint stripper?" he asked, peering down at his legs. "...why?"

"Because you have, oh...about a dozen or so spots of misapplied welds that need to be touched up else you might start to rust."

He shuddered at the very notion of that possibility.

"I am, of course, exaggerating," Knockout informed him, setting aside the tin and picking up a small towel from the end of the berth. "But only a little."

Starscream stared at him, watching as the medic started wiping off the solvent. His optics wandered to the mech's own armor, pristine and glossy and so very, very bright.

"You are very red."

"Yes."

"I like red," he announced, looking past Knockout's frame towards the medical berth opposite the one he was currently occupying. It was, disappointingly, empty. "...where did he go?"

The medic tossed a brief glance over his shoulder, as if to confirm where exactly it was that Starscream was looking. The red mech turned back to regard him with a vague smirk that probably would have been infuriating if it weren't for the continuing presence of painkillers in his system making it difficult to coordinate his thoughts with the appropriate emotions. He did manage to muster up an approximation of a mildly annoyed frown to aim at the medic - it backfired, as Knockout simply chuckled and returned to his current task.

The muffled shouting that Starscream had so abruptly woken him had now dissipated, leaving them alone in silence save for the beeping of the spark pulse monitor setup next to the medical berth. He turned his helm to look at it for a moment, then the IV stand, optics flowing along the transfusion line back to where it was currently fastened on his arm. Slowly, he lifted his other servo with the intent to poke at it only to have it swatted away.

He snapped his attention back to the medic, optics wide at this novel indignance.

"Don't touch it."

"You swatted me!"

"And I'll swat you again if you mess with it," Knockout informed him, aiming a deliberately stern looking frown his way. "Do you know how hard it is to site an injection on lines like yours? If I have to do it again because you messed with it, I will strap you to the table and paint you the most obnoxious shade of green I can find."

"...I don't like green."

"Then keep your servos off the IV."

Starscream let his arm fall back on the berth with a huff, resigning himself to watching as the medic continued to remove the paint from his legs. The metal underneath was an unpleasant looking patchwork of hastily done welds, some of which had only just barely healed over when he'd arrived in Helex to take up his assignment. The majority of the marks were illegible - curved and curled carvings on carvings.

But here and there a glyph or two stood out enough to decipher.

"Could I get a bit more of these painkillers?" he asked, rolling his helm back to look back up at the IV stand again. The elasticene bag hanging from it was a little over half full of the pale blue glow of medical grade energon. "I think this might be wearing off."

"I highly resent the implication that I don't know how to dose a mech of your size properly."

The doors to the medical bay snapped open with a hiss, readmitting the still towering form of Megatron - the scowl on the warlord's face was probably something to be concerned about. The larger mech lumbered over to stand next to the medical berth, those sharp red optics flicking over the portions of Starscream's legs now devoid of paint. He shivered under that gaze and glanced away, uneasiness rising past the buoyant whimsy the painkillers had been providing.

"This med bay, does it have any individual rooms?"

"We do have one for post-operative recuperation," Knockout answered, looking only mildly puzzled over the question. "From all that shouting, I assume something's gone awry."

"You assume correctly," Megatron agreed, a tinge of acidity to his tone. "Would you be so kind as to prepare a room for use?"

The medic nodded, setting aside the tin of paint thinner and brush on the little table next to the medical berth. The warlord waited, watching in silence as the red mech hurried off towards the back of the medical bay before turning his focus back to Starscream.

"The Winglord knows you are here."

Anxiety brought on by dread was unpleasant to experience on its own, but having it war with the giddy disconnect of the painkillers was quite possibly worse. Someone was giggling - it took a moment for Starscream to realize that said sound was coming from his own vocalizer. He quickly snapped his servos up to stifle them, only for his shoulders to start shaking against the berth.

This absolutely was not a reaction he wanted to be having, especially with Megatron still staring down at him. He clenched his optics shut, trying to steady his ventilations - it was noticeably easier to do so now that they weren't clogged with dust. Having one's ventilation system flushed of particulate build up was not a very fun experience, so he was more than a little glad that he'd been unconscious for that. It felt like several breems before his intakes steadied out - several excruciatingly long silent breems.

Cautiously, he cycled his optics back open.

"Are you done?"

"No."

" Dechta ."

" Se'sem-eva araza."

"Yes, I am entirely insensitive to your plight," Megatron responded, tone as dry as the local rust field. The larger mech leaned forward, resting his servos on the edge of the medical berth, the very tips of his claws ending up scarcely a millimeter from the scuffed armor of Starscream's thigh. Any and all thoughts on the current situation vanished upon realization of this proximity - his stare drew the warlord's attention and earned him a frown. "...what?"

"...nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," Starscream repeated, glancing away quickly. The silence that followed was both brief and far too long - he broke it almost immediately. "Your knuckles are scuffed."

"The commander for this garrison needed to be reminded of his duties."

"Oh...right, I had forgotten that's how things are solved in Kaon."

"Yes, yes, Kaon is so very uncivilized," Megatron commented, slowly and deliberately lifting one of his servos up to poke at a patch of missing paint on the plating of Starscream's thigh. The welds there were visible and just distinct enough for glyphs that had been carved into that particular spot to be decipherable - those red optics focused on the marks, brow ridge furrowing ever so slightly. "Zos etova maera'es mureza-vera..."

"...vo etema."

He shivered again.

The memory of standing in the first temple as the high priest read the rite and the acolytes repeated each word in chorus was not one he wanted to revisit. Only one of them had actually done the carving, the rest had simply existed to hold him still while it was done. He remembered the glint in that one's optics and the way those servos had lingered on the sundered metal afterwards. 

Without looking or thinking, he raised his arm up to push Megatron's servo away.

"Suppressing the incursion in Helex will take some time," the warlord informed him, letting his servo drop back to the edge of the berth without protest. "The Winglord has already sent a request for your return, however it will not be safe to travel to or from Vos unless Iacon's forces are pushed back. As such, I have tasked a number of the Vosian led flights to join Soundwave's counter offensive to ensure a swift end to the hostilities there."

"You sent Silverlight to Helex?"

"Do you think it will keep him busy enough that he'll be unable to meddle in your recuperation?"

"But the Winglord sent a request," Starscream repeated back at him. The fog of the painkillers had cleared somewhat now, making it a bit easier to process the information presented. "He'll try to have me dragged back even with the fighting in Helex."

"Which is why I'm having Knockout prepare you a room."

"...oh."

He glanced towards the back of the medical bay, where the bright red medic was attempting to busy himself with setting up a stretcher and definitely not listening in on the conversation at all.

"Do you wish for me to summon your trine?"

Starscream snapped his helm back around to look at Megatron again, bewilderment overtaking everything else for the moment as he tried to figure out exactly what that question meant. He didn't have a trine - no seeker in possession of a working processor would ever dare risk forging such a connection with him let alone establishing the familiarity required of it. There were maybe three mechs he'd met in all of his life that he could even cautiously label as 'friend' and of them, one was probably dead.

At least it was easy to narrow the field of possibilities as to who the warlord was talking about.

"Those two are not my trine," he informed the larger mech steadily. "They are just...friends."

"I see, my mistake. Do you trust them?"

That was a question that had Starscream frowning more than a little bit as he tried to parse a response. The two of them were petty criminals from the lower platforms of Vos and had been diverted into the Aerial Guard as an alternative sentence. Considering their records, it was not exactly a surprise why they'd been chosen to fly with him.

"They don't like my sire very much," he said after a moment's more contemplation. "Skywarp even has an entire folder in his permanent record detailing all the different vandalism charges he accrued stamping obscene graffiti all over the place. And Thundercracker...has broken several flight zoning laws so..."

He trailed off, becoming aware of the expression Megatron was aiming his way.

"What?"

"Vandalism and trespassing," the silver mech commented. "What dastardly criminals."

"What crime were you sent to the stockades for again?"

Megatron shook his helm at that, giving no answer as he pushed away from the berth to stand up to his full height once more. A number of the scratches on his torso and chest plates had been buffed out, though his paint had yet to be touched up. It was at that point that Starscream began to wonder exactly how long he'd been in stasis for, that the larger mech's most major dents had already been fixed.

"I'll have them sent here."

"You're leaving," Starscream said as the realization dawned. "For Helex?"

"Yes."

"But your injuries..."

"Will be no hindrance," Megatron informed him, tone taking on a darker tinge that was hard to place. "When I return, we will discuss what is to be done about the Winglord."

On that ominous statement, the warlord turned away - Starscream watched him stalk off back through the med bay doors feeling uncertain if he had done or said something wrong. The painkillers were definitely wearing off as this time when the anxiety reared up it did not lead to giggling but rather more like a severe clog in his fuel tank. He stared at the now closed doors, barely noticing the medic as he rolled the stretcher over.

"He does have a rather exemplary backside," Knockout commented nonchalantly. "The legs are good too."

Starscream slowly turned his helm back to gape at the medic.

"What?"

Chapter Text

Half clotted energon coated Megatron's plating as he strode through the wreckage of the Helex outpost, his gaze on the portion of the tower that was still standing. Soot and dust kicked up with every step, clinging where it could. The sound of blaster fire rang out in short sharp bursts, sporadic and distant - the enemy was falling even further back.

The troops that had accompanied him from Beldox had done well enough despite the failings of their garrison's commander. A promotion was in order for at least two of them - he was not going to be leaving Castwire in charge there for much longer, not with the newfound access to the tramways running under the sector. If they were going to take full advantage of the tunnels then someone more reliable would need to be placed in command at that site.

On his left, Soundwave maneuvered silently into his field of vision. The slim blue mech had managed to avoid acquiring as thick a coat of viscera splattered on his armor as Megatron had. This was more due to fighting style than any sort of aversion - he knew good and well just how vicious a warrior the comms officer truly was.

"Silverlight's strike force has cleared the western perimeter," Soundwave reported, visor glinting in the light as he tilted his helm upwards. "He will reach our position in three breems."

Megatron nodded, moving to take a seat on a particularly large chunk of fallen wall. He was not about to admit it aloud, but ignoring the medics had not been a particularly wise decision on his part. His shoulder struts burned and his leg had started to ache again, though he was careful to show no sign of complaint.

Not that his present company would have commented on it.

Once upon a time, he had stood on the opposite side of the arena floor from Soundwave. They had stepped out to stare each other down as the noise from the crowd morphed from raucous cheering to utter silence. He had not needed to make a speech that orn, had not needed to say a single word until the end.

The first strike of the revolt had not belonged to him, but the last - the last was a moment still savored even now.

"Have you determined where the attack was launched from?" Megatron asked, raising his gaze from the rubble to the sky. "I've a mind to pay them a visit."

"Ground forces arrived via vaporex."

"And the missiles?"

"North Hydraxi Islet - Hyrux Minor."

Magtron snapped his gaze to Soundwave, allowing his surprise to briefly show.

"You are certain?"

"All trajectories track back to there. The margin of deviation is too small to originate elsewhere."

"Maximum range?"

"Unknown," Soundwave answered, visor flickering rapidly through various calculations and projections. "Reconnaissance unit deployed. Updated data, pending. Estimated time frame - three joors."

That was enough time to finish securing this site and evacuate the wounded at the very least, but it left little leeway for assembling a counter operation. Not to mention, if Iacon decided to launch another missile strike in that time there was little that could be done to counteract it. As of right now, aerial defensive capabilities were severely limited, relying greatly on the prowess of the wings and support Vos had pledged to his cause.

"If they could strike Kaon, they would have," Megatron stated, shifting back to scan the skies once more. "What other outposts are within striking distance if this is their maximum range?"

"Most of the northern Stanix Border. Proximax. Glibax. Petrohex."

"Not exactly a plethora of targets."

"Vos and Tarn are also well within range."

There was nothing to be said in response to that information, as no doubt Soundwave had drawn the same conclusion as he had. Any construction within the Hydraxi Islets would have been highly noticeable from observation points in both sectors and such intel had not been shared. That this outpost had been the one targeted first was absolutely not a coincidence.

The sound of engines preceded the visual arrival of Silverlight and the strike force he had been placed in command of for this operation. They circled the area once before the prince and his trine broke off from the main wing to land among the rubble several meters away - Megatron could not help but contrast their descent with his own past observations of a certain other seeker. Both were utter show offs, but where Starscream made ground contact with a natural ease, his brother touched down with a posture of barely disguised discomfort.

This carried through most prominently in the way that Silverlight walked - deliberate and measured, as if distrustful of his own pedes. It was a trait that seemed to be shared among a certain subset of the Vosian seekers he’d encountered, this aversion to anything that involved touching the ground. Though perhaps that was not exactly the best term to apply to it. 

Distaste or disgust would have been more apt.

"To walk is to humble oneself," Megatron muttered, in echoing recollection of Starscream's words. So much seemingly odd behavior could be explained away by that prevalent belief these seekers had in their aerial superiority. "Soundwave, send a message to Tetrahex. Have Skyquake and Dreadwing put their squadrons on stand by for a counter strike."

The comm officer nodded his acknowledgement as Silverlight and his trine approached.

"I take it you've identified where this attack originated," the prince stated, wings tilted at such an angle as to appear larger than he actually was. It was an amusing stance given the slimness of his frame - one of a number of traits shared with Starscream. "What is our target?"

"We are awaiting more detailed reconnaissance," Megatron informed the seeker, taking note of how relatively pristine his armor was. White on silver that gleamed when the light struck it - there was no indication at all that Silverlight had been anywhere even close to the fight. "I've another matter that requires addressing in the meantime."

"Another matter?" asked the seeker to the prince's left - pallid blue and lavender armor looking just as untouched. Her intonation was constructed of carefully crafted indignance, with just the barest beginnings of anger loitering on the edges. "What matter could possibly take priority over this attack? A member of the royal line was stationed here!"

"I assure you, Mistrunner, I am as concerned over this incident as you are."

This statement was a lie - made so only because Megatron knew damn well that neither Silverlight nor the members of his trine were actually concerned. It would be exceedingly difficult for them to call him on it without revealing their own carefully crafted facade of feigned care. The prince's wings shifted in angle - just a minor twitch downward, hardly a few centimeters.

Megatron had enough of a general knowledge base for the body language of seekers to know that wing movements were always an indication of attitude. He also knew that conscious control over those movements took extensive practice and no small amount of concentration. Which explained why the fields of each of the seekers standing before him were radiating the type of tension and stress associated with such concentration.

"I have had a number of concerning reports from the medical division," he stated, deliberately keeping his tone level. "Missed assignments. Hoarding of supplies. Denial of treatment. Insubordination."

"Such things are concerning, though hardly appropriate to address out here."

Silverlight made a vague gesture towards the debris surrounding them.

"Oh, I disagree."

Megatron pushed himself up off the slab of wall and to his pedes, standing to his full height. He did not miss the apprehensive shift in the prince's field at this movement, nor the faint hum of engines on stand by. With all their attention on the ambient menace of his bulk, not one of the seekers before him noticed the silent steps of Soundwave stalking up behind them.

"This is the perfect place for such a discussion," Megatron stated, mimicking Silverlight's gesture in a wider sweeping fashion. "After all, it is in the field that these incidents keep are occurring."

He took a step forward, pretending not to notice the half-hop dance the seekers did to rearrange themselves. 

"When the Winglord told me he was sending a contingent of medics alongside the wings accompanying you, I had thought it a boon."

Another step, another apprehensive reshuffling - only now did they notice Soundwave standing stoically behind them. The control slipped just a fraction at the realization, wings flicking down and out in time to the nervous pulse of their fields. If they chose to flee, not all of them would make it out.

"More medics could only be a benefit and yet...every garrison, every outpost reports the same."

Megatron clasped his servos behind his back, ignoring the strain this position put on his still sore shoulders. It was a measured deception of faux contemplation to adopt such a posture - those wings flicked back into more confident angles in response, exactly as he had expected of them. If they thought this stance nonchalant, then no doubt not one of them truly understood the circumstances they had found themselves in.

"Tell me, Silverlight," he said, adding an edge to his tone so that the words were more command than suggestion. "Why are your medics hoarding supplies? Why are your medics missing from assignments? Why are your medics refusing to treat even simple injuries?"

"I'm sure you are mistaken."

"Am I?"

"My medics follow every procedure, every protocol," Silverlight argued, stance shifting to match the defiance in his voice. "So yes, I am sure you are mistaken."

Megatron stared down at him until those wings started to twitch in agitation again. Then he turned, servos still clasped behind his back as he started off down a path through the rubble.

"Let us verify that your confidence is not misplaced."

He did not check to ensure that they were following - Silverlight may not be as clever as his brother, but he was not entirely without sense. After all, his sway here was limited - Soundwave had made certain the majority of the strike force had been composed of mechs whose loyalties did not lie with Vos. Only the wing directly under the prince's command and their medical unit had been called upon to join this particular pushback effort, which left the rest of the Vosian aerial forces at their posts well away from here.

It was not all that far a walk to the little command post that had been hastily set up once Iacon's soldiers had started to fall back. It was situated in the more intact of the ruined buildings that had once made up the bombed outpost. Quite a bit of the rubble had been cleared to create a landing space for the evacuation shuttles, with an area along the wall set up for the wounded awaiting treatment. Megatron stopped a few meters away from where the medics were tending the injured and gestured for Silverlight to step up beside him.

"Please, point out which of the medics here are yours."

The prince looked more than a little hesitant as he moved forward, helm turning to survey the haphazard field hospital. Megatron watched him closely - Silverlight may have been far less emotive than his sibling, but they panicked much the same.

"Squadrons are still in the air," the prince snapped, turning to glare at him. His narrowed optics were a sickly gold color, far from the warmer reddish orange hues of Starscream. "Your own troops are still in the field."

"The call for medics to move in went out within the last joor. Yours should have been first on the scene given their speed, and yet they are nowhere to be seen."

"Perhaps they saw they were not needed-"

"Perhaps they saw no Vosian injured, you mean," Megatron interrupted, allowing just the barest tinge of his anger over the matter to leak through. "Perhaps they relayed this information to you, and perhaps you had them return south. Perhaps you are arrogant enough to think that masking your commands in Caebrux is clever."

He looked down at the seeker with a scowl, allowing his field to extend just far enough to convey his disgust for the aforementioned actions. The shock that appeared on Silverlight's face at this was well worth it - the brat wasn't used to others being repulsed by him.

"You and your trine will return to Kolkular and remain there until further notice. No patrols. No leisure flights. No transmissions of any kind."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I will be forced to conclude that you have been colluding with the enemy and working to sabotage our efforts," Megatron told him darkly. "You will be declared a traitor and I will be burdened with informing your sire that this attack was a deliberate attempt on the life of your brother."

"Lies!" hissed Mistrunner as he stepped up beside the prince, wings hitched high. "You would feed the Winglord such falsehoods, after all that our wings have risked for you?"

"Do not speak to me of risks when the only thing that mars your armor from battle is the dust from landing after it is done."

The third member of Silverlight's trine stepped up then, the plasma bolt launcher attached to his arm crackling. It cast an array of wild snapping shadows and gleaming light flares across the seeker's midnight blue armor.

"You're calling us cowards?"

Megatron looked down at the weapon, tilting his helm slightly before drawing his gaze back up to lock optics with its owner. All around them came the hum of various guns and blasters powering up as the soldiers guarding the command post took aim. Even a few of the wounded had snapped up their weapons in anticipation.

"You are either a coward or very, very stupid," Megatron stated, optics narrowing. "The choice in flaws is yours, Nightstreak. But only one of them leaves you alive at the end of this orn."

The whirling panic from Silverlight's field, accompanied by the downward sweep of his wings tore apart any and all illusions of dignity the prince had been trying to maintain. He hissed out in Caerullux a barely audible plea for his trinemate to stand down. For a moment it seemed as if Nightstreak would not listen, wings fanning out in defiance - it was only when Mistrunner reached over to grasp his shoulder that the obstinate seeker powered his weapon down and looked away.

Megatron allowed himself the barest ghost of a smirk as his soldiers moved in to secure the trine.

"Coward it is."

Chapter Text

"I think I'm gonna purge."

"Shut up, Skywarp," Starscream hissed from the med berth. He couldn't actually see the purple miscreant from the angle he was currently at, but he could picture in perfect detail the exaggerated faux expression of nausea that went along with that declaration. It wasn't hard to imagine the entire scene either, as it probably hadn't changed much in the two breems since he'd climbed up onto the table. Thundercracker was still sitting in silence in the corner, optics glued to a datapad with a stylus in servo waiting for the right words to arrive, all while blatently ignoring Skywarp's bids for attention. Neither of them were going to show any actual sympathy to the poking and prodding that he had to endure to have his wings reinstalled. "...how long is this going to take?"

"Every time you ask that, I'm going to go slower," Knockout responded dryly from somewhere to the left. The medic proceeded to tap at one of the sensory connection nodes within the  exposed junction where his left wing was supposed to be - Starscream couldn't help but flinch a little at the sensation. "Stop fidgeting! You do not want me to get this part backwards, trust me."

Starscream sighed in irritation, but forced himself to hold still as the rest of the sensory nodules were prodded, fixing an annoyed glare at the wall and its unevenly applied paint. After several kliks more of the medic fiddling about with his wing junction in ways that were not at all pleasant, he began to wish for blissful unconsciousness. Instead, he got Skywarp slowly shuffling into his field of vision only to crouch down so that they were at optic level.

"So...what happened?"

"What do you mean 'what happened?' You were briefed!"

"Yeah, we were just unindated with details," Skywarp responded with an exaggerated roll of his golden optics. It was exactly three and half kliks before those same optics flicked to the side, back towards the corner. The expectant expression on the idiot's face slowly morphed into disappointment. "...not even a glance."

"Are you deliberately mispronouncing words to annoy everyone?"

"Not everyone, just TC."

"Well, you're annoying me," Starscream informed him with as menacing a glare as he could muster. Its effects were blunted by the rather nonthreatening and prone position he was currently in - Skywarp remained absolutely and obliviously unphased. He supposed lying flat on your front atop a med berth was not exactly the best posture for terrifying someone into silence. "...what were you told at the briefing then?"

"That you were injured and we were being sent over to keep you company, except...you know...in ruder terms 'cause it was that slagger Snapback telling us. You know how he is."

Yes, Starscream was very familiar with the aforementioned commander's attitude when it came to bots he didn't like - which included anyone and everyone whose formative vorns occurred at an altitude lower than the one that he had matured in. The tiered platforms that made up the base foundations of Vos were a large part of the strict class divisions in the sector. Both Skywarp and Thundercracker were platform brats, though the latter was from two tiers higher than the former.

To purposefully leave out details on assignments for low class mechs was definitely something Snapback would do - not that he'd ever treated Starscream any better. The commander was both an adherent to tradition and a suck up to Silverlight, so he'd had to suffer through just as many insults as his wingmates. Their collective dislike for the fragger had been a solid connection between the three of them, at least until he'd been promoted and reassigned.

"Borell Outpost in Helex was hit by a missile strike," Starscream recited dully, not really wanting to recount the incident but knowing that the purple nuisance would pester him about it if he didn't at least summarize it. "Three of the missiles struck the main tower just as I was coming back from patrol."

"You didn't spot them?"

"Yes, I deliberately let myself get blown up, buried, and trapped underground with only Megatron for company for joors on end. Because being impaled and having my wings stripped off is so much fun!"

"Wait, wait, wait," Skywarp said, waving his servos about and nearly knocking himself off balance in the process. He took a moment to readjust his crouching position before squinting pointedly at Starscream. "Megatron was there?"

"He inspects every outpost upon completion of main construction."

"Ugh, I thought it was for something exciting. Inspections are boring!"

"So sorry having a building collapse on my helm is boring for you," Starscream hissed at him, optics narrowing. "Next time, I'll be sure to find some errant soldiers for him to shoot just so I can entertain you about it later."

"You left out a fascinating number of details in your little tale there," Knockout commented, just as Starscream felt his left wing junction go completely numb. "But I’m sure trams and tunnels aren’t nearly as interesting as explosions. Attaching the substruts."

"Thanks for the warning."

"I can't watch!"

Skywarp quickly hid his face in his servos in an overly dramatic fashion, only to peek out for a glimpse between two digits. Starscream scowled at him, though all irritation with the purple seeker dissolved a moment later - the newly installed strut established connection with his neural net. The sudden sensory feedback made him shiver, a movement that earned him a swat from the medic.

"Ow!"

"Keep still!"

Yet another glare went aimed at Skywarp as the nuisance giggled at his predicament, though if anything this caused that amusement to be less stifled and more pronounced.

"Ya za sara-es uvex yaro soya."

"Ooh, I got a fancy insult!" Skywarp chirped in far too giddy a manner. "Did you hear that, TC? I think he cursed my house!"

"He must be feeling better."

With another frustrated sigh, Starscream shuttered his optics and tried to block off his awareness of Skywarp's proximity. This was made difficult as the purple one's field was so obnoxiously buoyant and obliviously cheerful, especially for one purportedly disturbed by the sight of the ongoing medical procedure. It was almost as if he were simply pretending to be upset by it.

The remaining sensors in his left wing came online and he fought hard not to give in to the urge to flex it. He felt the faint hum of a scanner being passed over the area and heard Knockout murmuring as the medic turned to tap out his notations on the nearby medical terminal. It was only when he felt something poking at his newly installed wing that he dared move.

"Cut that out!" Starscream snapped, twitching it out of reach. Unfortunately, the offending digit followed - optics shooting open, he raised himself up on his elbows to snarl at Skywarp. "Do you want to keep that servo!?"

The nuisance frowned in consideration of the question, still poised to resume prodding.

"Kindly stop antagonizing my patient," Knockout told Skywarp, rolling his cart around to the right side of the table. "I'd rather this be the only limb reattachment on my schedule for today."

"It looks really good," Skywarp commented, slowly lowering his arm. "Like a real professional did it!"

"I am a real professional."

"Right, sorry. I meant-"

"I know what you meant ," the red medic snapped sourly. "Your special type of ignorance is hardly rare."

"I-"

"Go sit down."

Skywarp's expression fell and his wings drooped as he shuffled off out of sight, field deflating with dismay. Normally bearing witness to the nuisance getting scolded for his uncouth behavior was a source of amusement, but Starscream didn't quite feel like piling on to the chastisement right then. He did not want to do anything that might aggravate the medic further, especially not when his right wing had yet to be reattached.

The next several breems of sensor tests were not as silent as he would have liked them to be, as Skywarp's inability to keep still for too long had led the purple menace to tapping out a rhythm against the side of his chair. Knockout appeared to be trying and failing to ignore the sound, though his irritation manifested in somewhat sharper prodding. Starscream kept quiet, even when a sensor was jabbed particularly sharply - he couldn't fully hide the discomfort though, his field giving him away.

"Sorry," the medic muttered, hurriedly picking up the numbing agent to begin applying it. The gel took effect almost immediately, soothing over any residual discomfort. "I'm attaching the substruts now."

"How soon after you're done can I go flying?"

"I always advise a full orn of rest after a reattachment, but I know from experience how twitchy you seekers get after this kind of repair, so..."

The medic trailed off for a moment, the sensors on the right side reactivating in a sudden snap of sensation. Starscream exvented a sigh of relief, no longer feeling so constrained by the lack of reported feedback - not being able to feel his wings had been a lot more anxiety inducing than he'd ever imagined. Not that he had ever actually imagined losing them, not even in the worst of his nightmares.

A few more breems had the rest of the wing structure installed and even in that short time Starscream was already starting to feel antsy. The air circulation in the medical bay was just enough of a tease against the edges of his wings that it took everything to not move as the medic finished attaching the very last bits.

"One joor," Knockout stated sharply as he finished scanning the wing. "That is the absolute minimum amount of time needed for your systems to re-acclimate and re-calibrate. Then - AND ONLY THEN - can you go on a SHORT flight."

"How short?"

"Ten breems. Just circling. No fancy maneuvers."

"Only ten breems?"

"You are still in recovery," the medic reminded him bluntly. "Or did you forget that you had to be carried in here after nearly bleeding out?"

Starscream made no comment on that as he carefully flexed his wings - he did not at all want to discuss the exact manner of his arrival to the medical bay. Unfortunately, both Skywarp and Thundercracker had heard the medic's comment, as evidenced by the cessation of that annoying tapping and the sound of a datapad dropping to the floor. As he sat up on the med berth, he shot a glare over towards the corner at the two of them, already leaning their helms together to trade hurried whispers.

"Any word from Helex?" Starscream asked as Knockout went to type up his notes on the medical terminal, ignoring the gossip mongers for now. "Or...elsewhere?"

"No."

"That's rather...definitive."

"Our garrison commander was caught slacking," the medic said in faux nonchalant tones. "As such we are not exactly high priority when it comes to relaying information right now."

Starscream sighed, wings falling ever so slightly - he wasn't certain exactly why he felt so disappointed by this. Had he really expected to be kept informed of the situation? It wasn't exactly as if anything had really changed about his circumstances, other than having his wingmates' reassignments rescinded.

"Right, well, they are probably still busy fighting," he muttered, fidgeting slightly as he fished around for something else to distract himself with. "...are you sure I have to wait a joor?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Knockout gave him a very stern look as he turned off the medical terminal.

"Okay, fine."

"One joor, ten breems. And then you can look through my paint catalog."

"Ooooh, paint catalog," Skywarp commented, hopping up from his seat excitedly. "I love paint catalogs!"

"It's for body paint not spray paint, idiot."

"I know that!"

"Do you?" Thundercracker asked, scooping up his fallen datapad. "Do you really?"

All of them looked at Skywarp, who liked to take his personal collection of paints to cover up the various scuff marks and scars he had acquired throughout the vorns. The result was a patchwork of nearly matching purples and blacks across his entire frame, only vaguely resembling a coordinated color scheme. Knockout gave a little shudder, moving to quickly push the cart with his tools out of the room.

As soon as the door snapped shut behind the medic, Skywarp bounced back over to the medical berth to stand in front of Starscream with a grin.

"So..."

As per usual, glaring at the idiot did nothing.

"Who carried you into the med bay?" the purple nuisance inquired, leaning in with wings angled obscenely and tilting his helm to the side just a little bit. "Follow up question, how attractive is this mech? Follow up, follow up questions - when is the conjunx ceremony and is it going to be an open bar?"

"Oh, frag off."

"Oh come on, tell us!"

"No," Starscream snapped at him, as Skywarp moved to climb up on the med berth next to him. He tried to shove the purple seeker away, but only succeeded in nearly falling off the edge himself. He was saved from having his face meet the floor only to wind up with his torso draped over the other's lap. "...I hate you."

"Nah, you don't...I'm too great to hate. Ohh, that rhymed! TC write that down!"

"I am not writing that down."

Groaning in frustration, Starscream pushed himself off of Skywarp and back to the half of the med berth he had been sitting on previously. He hated to admit that the medic was right - his balance still felt off even with his wings reinstalled. As torturous as it would be to wait the full joor before flying, crashing his first time out again would be worse.

"Back on the topic of you being carried in here," Thundercracker said after a moment's pause. His datapad and stylus were now tucked away and he was standing, blue wings flexing in a back arced stretch. "Silverlight will have a fit if he finds out."

"If he finds out, I'll know exactly who told him."

"You know the names of every mech on this base?"

"I...do not," Starscream admitted, field contracting in dismay. He didn't know how many had witnessed him being carried in, though he did recall that the Winglord had found out near instantly where he was being treated. If it was a seeker relaying the information, then his sire almost certainly knew the manner he'd arrived here as well. "Oh frag...this is a mess."

"Yes, it is a mess. Though it could have been bigger."

"How? How could this possibly be a bigger mess?"

Thundercracker stepped up to the med berth and climbed up to sit on the other side of Starscream, which necessitated some minor shuffling. The blue seeker's field was a lot more calm than his own right now, which was only slightly reassuring. It at least kept his anxiety from spiking as much as it would have been were he left to dwell on this alone.

"You were carried into the medbay," Thundercracker outlined, gesturing slightly at the room with one servo. "Medical necessity negates social protocol."

"You think the winglord cares about medical necessity?"

"No, but he's less likely to comment on it based on who carried you in here."

"...who..."

Starscream looked down at his servos, a hazy recollection of resting his helm against sturdy armor bubbling up. It was entirely too optimistic a suggestion that the Winglord would be less aggrieved by the circumstances due to who was involved. His sire very plainly wanted him dead, preferably in as painful a manner possible - being carried about by the leader of the Decepticon Army was probably more offensive in that he wouldn't be able to so openly enact retribution for it.

"Yes, who!?" Skywarp cut in, sounding impatient. "Who is it!?"

"Skywarp, you dense block of lead. Did you not pay attention at all to him telling you what happened at the outpost? About who was there!?"

"...oh...OHHHHHH!! MEGATRON !?"

"Shut up!" Starscream hissed at him, trying to shove the purple seeker away from him. "I was bleeding out and couldn't walk! I told him to just leave me, but he is as stubborn as you are an idiot!"

"Okay, first off - I'm a genius so that makes no sense," Skywarp retorted, flopping back onto the berth itself so that his center of mass made it harder to be shoved off. "Second - that means it will be an open bar!"

"I am not bonding with Megatron!"

"You sure about that? He has some really nice thighs..."

Chapter Text

The war room of the Citadel at Kolkular was dark save for the faint glow of the holo-table on standby at its center. Megatron leaned against the back wall of the chamber, optics shuttered as he waited. He had been there for a joor already and was prepared to remain there for as long as it would take to spring this trap.

His return to Kaon had been purposefully underwhelming - Soundwave had already reported his injuries ahead of time and so he had simply acquiesced to being shuffled onto the second evac shuttle among the lesser wounded. The comms officer had only begrudgingly accepted the plan upon an agreement to allow a medic to look at the injury afterwards. So officially, he was in the medical bay having his leg injury inspected and repaired - well away from the secondary comm station installed here in the war room. While the communication hub for the Citadel always had at least three mechs on duty at any given time, this particular station was typically kept offline until needed.

The list of those who had the access codes was going to be trimmed very shortly.

With a near imperceptible hiss, the door slid open and shut again - light, hurried steps darted towards the center. Remaining still and silent in the shadows, Megatron sent a pre-coded command for the chamber to enter into a specially designed lock-down mode as his newfound company began to boot up the comm system. The glow from the holo-table flared up, shifting from the soft blue of standby to the brighter greenish hues of an active display.

The tap of digits across the console screen was the rapid rhythm of one practiced with the particularities of the system. That coupled with the perpetrator's field was an indicator of just how regular an occurrence this was - not at all apprehensive of being caught out. It was more than irritating, the arrogance of Silverlight to send one of his trinemates out to break the ordered comm silence.

As if he could avoid the consequences of this on mere technicality.

Megatron sent off a silent ping to Soundwave to move in on the other two targets as his quarry finished typing and began to power down the comm system. The holo-table dimmed once more as those light stepping pedes turned and headed back towards the door. With the lock-down settings that had been programmed in for this instance, they did not open on command - instead the control panel flashed red and the central console lit back up to match.

The alarm that filled the seeker's field was delicious.

Snapping his optics open, Megatron pushed away from the wall and stalked out of the shadows at the back of the room. He heard the distinct crackle of that plasma bolt launcher as it charged up, but the seeker spun in panic and fired without taking the time to aim. The blast struck one of the nearest chairs, knocking it over and searing a hole through the back.

"Megatron!?"

"Good evening, Nightstreak," he greeted, glancing briefly at the upended chair before moving to take his customary seat at the head of the holo-table. That weapon shifted to train on him, though from the sound of its power cycle it had not yet built up enough of a charge to fire again. "You had best be certain that your next shot will kill me. You will not get a third."

Hesitance swirled through Nightstreak's field at this, mingling with the heightened apprehension the initial panic had brought on. After a few near silent kliks, he lowered the arm the launcher was mounted to and adopted an affronted looking glare. Not entirely an acceptance of his fate - the weapon was still cycling power in preparation for another shot.

"Let me leave," the dark seeker demanded. "Let me leave and I promise I will not tell Silverlight of this."

"How very gallant an offer."

Megatron tapped in his own access code for the comm station, pulling up the logs of all recent activity - as expected, there had been an attempted purge of the last few breems of input. It was very fortuitous that someone had possessed enough foresight to install a data collection sub-protocol some time ago, to prevent accidental deletion of important information. All purges that were not accompanied by a specific access code resulted in the deleted data being rerouted to a special sub-folder that could only be viewed by either Soundwave or himself.

"Three orns ago, it was brought to my attention that someone was using this station to send out unauthorized transmissions," Megatron said, selecting the most recent of the collected files. As part of the lock-down protocol he had initiated, the message had been prevented from actually being sent out. "And I wondered two things - firstly why? And secondly..."

A row of glyphs appeared - the precise curling glyphs of Caerullux hovered elegantly in the air above the projector.

"...secondly, who would be idiotic enough to do so?"

He turned his gaze back over towards Nightstreak, taking in the way the seeker's face had morphed to reflect the growing anxiety in his field.

"I suppose we have the answer to at least one of those questions now."

"I can explain!" Nightstreak cried, panic with a dash of terror pulling the words into a slightly higher pitched version of his usual tones. "This...this isn't what it looks like! I was just-just looking to keep it private. My trinemates...they don't know I'm seeing anyone!"

Megatron stared at the seeker with half narrowed optics, very much imagining his fist closing tightly around the mech's throat.

"Really."

"Really!"

The return ping of Soundwave having completed his portion of the plan arrived at that moment, though acknowledgement of it was made only begrudgingly. They had both agreed that whatever happened, the culprit would not be harmed until the extent of the Winglord's involvement could be established. With Nightstreak’s decision to front a defense of an extremely obvious lie, Megatron was very much considering reneging on that agreement.

"Very well," he said, managing to keep his tone even and restrained for now. Leaning back in his chair, he pinned the seeker with a very pointed look. "Read it to me."

"What?"

Megatron gestured at the glowing glyphs.

"Read it to me. If it truly is a love letter as you claim, then its contents will not leave this room. You have my word on that."

Nightstreak was not nearly as good an actor as he thought himself to be - there was a half klik of glee that crossed his face and field, ecstatic at the thought that his little ruse had actually worked. He replaced it quickly with an expression of hesitance, weapon powering down fully as he took a step closer to the holo-table. He glanced about, putting on a little show of being embarrassed and even going so far as to cough out a nervous chuckle to complete the charade.

"A-alright," the seeker said, glancing over the glyphs then back at him. "You promise you won't tell them?"

Megatron just continued to stare at him, unamused in the slightest at the display.

"Sorry it's...just embarrassing."

"Would you like me to read it for you?"

Upon processing this offer, Nightstreak's optics widened and his field became a static blizzard.

"For the preservation of our wings ," Megatron began translating, leaning forward to brace his left arm on the edge of the console. This put his right servo in reach of the chair the dark seeker had so carelessly shot, digits going to grip the underside of the seat. "That is how each of your messages begins, is it not? Helex clear. Forced to return to Kolkular. Medical orders compromised. Tetrahexi strike force summoned. Target unknown. May your wings stay true. "

There was silence as Nightstreak stared at him in newfound horror.

"How very romantic."

The dark seeker seemed to recover from shock slightly at that statement, wings snapping upwards to that defiant stance of their previous confrontation. His expression shifted into a mixture of resignation and determination, with a little bit of that arrogance for flavor.

"I acted alone," Nightstreak declared in measured admission. "My trinemates knew nothing of this."

"They knew nothing," Megatron echoed, studying this absurd display of noble posturing the idiot before him had decided to put on. He dug his claws into the broken chair under the table, feeling the metal start to crumple in his grip. "You have lied to me enough already tonight."

"I'm not-"

In one motion he rose to his pedes, flinging the chair with as much force as he could muster - it hit the wall with a deafening crash, breaking into multiple pieces. The seeker ducked his helm with a yelp, reflexively hopping back and to the side. It took three and half steps to catch him, claws biting into thin shoulder plating and eliciting a further cry of pain from the mech.

Megatron turned, shoving the seeker onto the holo-table and holding him in place with one servo while the other snatched the edge of a wing. Nightstreak's initial struggling ceased, his entire frame freezing up - fear clogged his field.

"I am going to ask you a question. If you answer truthfully, I will consider allowing you to keep your wings."

The words emerged in a fashion much calmer than the fury currently broiling within his systems. The seeker's optics were bright and wide, but they were locked on him as if petrified of any movement. The jolt of further terror was telling - he had most definitely chosen the correct threat of harm.

"W-what do you want to know?"

"The missile platform. You know where it is.”

"Nyon," Nightstreak told him after a half klik pause too long. As panicked as he was, the seeker still tried to lie - his field betrayed him and by the looks of it the idiot had not even considered the possibility the truth might have already been known. "It's in Nyon!"

Megatron glared down at him a moment, digits tightening on the edge of that wing - just enough to see the panic start to truly take hold. Behind him the door hissed open, the override code for the lock-down having been entered by the very mech who had designed it. Soundwave entered with well practiced silent steps, followed by the heavier pedes of a number of the citadel guard that had been selected for the task at servo.

With a growl, he pulled Nightstreak up from the holo-table and shoved him towards the Guards.

"Escort this one to a holding cell."

The guards stepped forward, one of them producing a set of cuffs - for a moment it looked as if the seeker was going to object to being restrained. One over the shoulder glance back at the expression on Megatron's face was enough to make him think twice on that impulse. His wings sank as the cuffs were secured in place.

Waiting for the guards to leave and the door to snap shut again was a trial of patience that was only just barely being maintained. Soundwave remained behind, standing off to the side - a pillar of absolute silence. 

Silence that was broken the klik the door was closed. 

With an infuriated growl, Megatron seized another chair and flung it at the same spot on the wall as he had the broken one. It made a satisfying cracking noise, falling to the floor in three pieces and leaving behind a sizable dent.

"Have your scouts finished mapping the tunnels?"

"Negative," Soundwave answered, stepping deftly over the broken furniture and up to the holo-table. One of the cables he stored in his chassis uncoiled itself, twining up to plug into the console. A map of the planet appeared a short moment later, with a highlight pattern corresponding to the underground rail system overlaid atop the sector lines. "Side tunnels : numerous. However - Main line accounted for."

Megatron turned to study the overlaid lines with a frown - the broadest and longest of them ran up through the Cinnebreous Range, with no blockages until midway through Tarn. It seemed his prior musings on the Sectorial Guard training grounds had been correct. After a moment, his gaze flicked over the hologram to settle on the border marks for Nyon.

"Send an official communication to Vos," he said a few kliks later, optics still tracing the perimeter lines of that equatorial sector. He wondered exactly why this location in particular had been chosen for the traitor’s lie when by all reports there was nothing there save a few small settlements. "I wish to discuss the positions of the Sky Commanders he sent me, in regards to recent events. As the situation in Helex has been resolved, it is now safe for him to travel. I will be sending an escort however, as I understand that maintaining his safety is of paramount importance."

He paused, considering exactly what else to be added to the message in question - his gaze drifted down to Kaon, to the minuscule glowing dot marking the garrison at Beldox. 

"I offer my assurances that the Princes are both in good care after this most recent incident. I very much look forward to discussing how best to enact vengeance on their behalf and what must be done to prevent such a strike from occurring again."

Soundwave nodded his helm, the holo-projector flickering to show the glyphs as he transcribed the message. They floated upwards as Megatron turned towards the door, grimacing slightly at the pain that suddenly flared through his leg. There was a pause in the sound of typing as that visor turned to aim his way - he grit his denta, very pointedly not meeting that stare.

"I know ."

Chapter Text

"I told you repeatedly not to over exert yourself, but did you listen? No! No one ever listens!"

Starscream groaned, half in annoyance at the medic's griping and half in frustration at just how sore every part of his frame felt right then. Flying had never left him feeling this drained before - not even his time being run through drill after drill during initial flight training had been so exhausting. He was not about to admit that Knockout had possibly been right, not when he had deliberately ignored the recommendations on staying out for only half a joor.

"This is Skywarp's fault," he muttered, cheek plate pressed into the side of the medical berth. "He just had to turn it into a race."

"You could have said no."

"And endure his taunting about it? He'd be annoying us all with jokes about my age even though he's only two vorns younger than me!"

"Yes, yes, I see your point," Knockout commented, the accompanied optic roll more than evident by the sarcastic edge to his words. Starscream grit his denta together as the medic prodded the junction of his wing on the right side. A slight bit of pressure on the area had him hissing, a brief snap of pain flaring from the joint only to fade to a dull ache a moment later. "Wounded pride is far more painful than a popped strut."

"Is that all it was?"

"This time? Yes...but you'll have to cut your next flight down by half if you want to keep your recovery on track."

With another groan, Starscream made a note in his processor to strangle Skywarp at some point in the future.

"Can we still do the paint session?" he asked wearily. They had discussed it the previous orn and after shouting down several unhelpful suggestions from his wingmates, he had decided on keeping his color scheme as close as possible to what it had been before. "Or will that be too much in your expert opinion?"

Knockout moved around the edge of the medical berth into full view, an unamused expression on his faceplates.

"Can you even sit up right now?"

With a grunt, Starscream maneuvered his arms to brace against the table and push himself up. It took far longer and a lot more effort than it should have to even get himself into a somewhat upright position. The red medic watched him with a raised optic ridge, arms folded neatly over his chest.

"You truly are a stubborn one," Knockout commented, though the words held no hint of continued admonition. "Tell you what - I'm going to grab you some energon. If you can stand after finishing it, we'll do paint. Deal?"

"Deal."

Starscream watched the medic leave, fighting the impulse to just let himself collapse back onto the berth again. He dug his digits into the edge of the table, very carefully not letting himself look down at his still stripped legs. Physical exhaustion was nothing compared to how tired he was of being able to see the weld marks on his frame.

Neither Skywarp nor Thundercracker had commented on his current appearance, though he knew that they were definitely aware of exactly what those scars meant. He wasn't sure if their lack of a reaction to it was a good or a bad thing - maybe it was just a case of them not knowing how to approach the subject. He was the first to undergo the Rite of Purification in over a century and certainly the first to survive it in over a millenia.

Granted, he wasn't entirely positive either of them were religious - they didn't really seem the type to even so much as step into a shrine let alone one of the temples during the times they were open to the general populace. Now that he thought about it, he was almost certain that Skywarp had some blasphemous graffiti somewhere in his portfolio. Thundercracker's disregard for the zoning between platforms and tower access probably placed him with a higher chance of having visited one of the holy sites, though most likely only out of spite.

Knockout returned as he was musing on his wingmate's possible lack of reverence for the religious, thankfully prevented him from thinking too hard on the implications of this in regards to trining. He knew for a fact that not a single priest would ever preside over a Trine Rite that had him as an included party member, even having been successfully purified. It hadn't been brought up in conversation yet and Starscream wasn't about to be the one to do so - the very idea of being rejected was terrifying enough to prevent him from ever mentioning it.

The medic brought over the promised cube of energon, passing it to him before proceeding to the nearby medical terminal. The access code was several characters long and Starscream had yet to figure it out entirely - though that was not for lack of trying. He was fairly certain he had about half the glyphs right, he mused as he slit open the thin film covering the top of the cube and took a sip.

"No additives this time?"

"No need," Knockout said without glancing away from the screen. "Your lines have healed up cleanly, the protomatter grafts have integrated seamlessly, and your fuel filters are back within the optimal range of function. All you need now is rest and minimal stress."

"Ha. Minimal stress."

Starscream drank with a little less hesitance, listening to the medic tap away at the terminal. It was just standard mid grade, but after so many orns of those foul tasting mineral additives meant to bolster his internal repair systems it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. Not that he was really capable of judging what constituted quality when it came to energon - his experience with different types was somewhat limited. 

In Vos, no one would have ever wasted anything better than low grade on the likes of him.

He hadn't tasted anything of higher quality until the Winglord had traded him off to Tarn to uphold that farce of a peace treaty. Tarni mid grade was barely a step above Vosian low grade, but he had been allowed as much as he'd wanted and to refuel whenever he had liked - that in itself had been a luxury. How exciting it had been then, to finally be able to function on a full tank.

The mid grade in Kaon wasn't much different than that found in Tarn, it just came from alternative sources. Those sources were either brought in from strip mines in Plurex and eastern Kaon, or holdings that had been appropriated through battle. Neither of those had particularly high yields and though their allied Tetrahexi forces were supplementing with supplies from their own reserve, Starscream knew that stock was finite.

Especially since the Vosian Wings had joined.

The Winglord had sent them south, but had not included any amount of rations in the deal - after all, it was far less suspicious to send mechs than supplies. The label of defector could be applied should any sort of questions of loyalties arise, while with supplies their pledged support would be far more obvious. But seekers consumed far more fuel than bots of a similar size, which in turn caused a further drain of supplies.

That's why Megatron had been working towards treaties with the Rust Sea border sectors, to secure a supply line from Tarn. Despite most of the mines in that sector having closed ages ago, there was still enough of a yield there that it would at least mitigate the effects of the additional number of seekers among the ranks. Obviously, Iacon would prefer that not to happen - their Prime would prefer if they all starved to death so they could be written off as just a minor inconvenience to his reign.

"Done?"

Starscream snapped his helm up in surprise - he hadn't realized that he had zoned out. Glancing at the cube, he saw that he had indeed drained the entire thing. Without a word, he held out the empty container for Knockout to take back only to have the medic step away and point at the disposal bin in the corner.

Sighing in a mock irritated manner, he carefully slid himself off the edge of the medical berth and onto his pedes. He still felt a little shaky, but at least he didn't have to compensate for injured wings to keep his balance any longer. Shuffling over to the bin, his exhaustion seemed to have faded a bit - refueling had helped immensely.

"Alright, so your main motor functions are working as expected," the medic commented as he turned back from disposing of the empty cube. "Flex your wings."

Starscream did so, arcing them from their lowest angle to their highest before letting them settle back into a more relaxed position.

"Any sharp pains or unusual discomfort?"

"No, just...general soreness."

"Great!"

"Great...?"

"Yes, great," Knockout repeated, gesturing for him to follow as he strode out the door. "If you had damaged yourself any further, you would be feeling a lot more than just general soreness."

"Hurrah."

Starscream trailed the red mech out into the main med bay and across the floor to a row of cabinets built into the wall. Arcweld was at the main terminal, engrossed in whatever project was currently being worked on - something to do with inventory, most likely. He'd overheard something about their medical supply routes that morning upon heading out with his wingmates, but he hadn't exactly given it much thought then.

Now though he recalled Megatron statement on restructuring the medical division, specifically where it pertained to those medics that had accompanied the Vosian Wings. If that plan was already being implemented without the Winglord's approval, then chances were that he was going to be highly upset. A familiar dread started to well up at the thought - Starscream had to fold his servos into tight fists to keep them from shaking, claw tips biting into his palms.

Knockout glanced back over his shoulder, looking him over with a slight frown as he unlocked one of the cabinets on the end of the row. The red mech said nothing, though there was a faint note of concern that entered his field as the cabinet door was pulled open. Inside was a sizable collection of paint tins in nearly every color imaginable, starting with warmer hues at the top and falling into cooler ones at the bottom.

"Why do you even have all this?" Starscream asked, glancing over the colors with a frown of his own. Most medical facilities just carried dull primers and primaries to cover any patches and spot welds, but here before them was nearly a full spectrum in various types of gloss and matte finishes. "Not exactly standard stock..."

"I used to run a frame workshop up in Detrona," the medic replied, plucking up a tin of silver and checking the label. "Made quite a tidy sum doing detailing on racers from all over the flats. Brought my stock with me when I joined up."

"You're a cosmetic surgeon."

"A field that takes vorns of study, not to mention ...you did not say that condescendingly."

Knockout had spun around, the initial look of indignation that had accompanied the first half of his statement fading into perplexity. Obviously he'd had encounters with more than a number who were less than kind regarding that particular facet of medical work. No doubt he had a lengthy and practiced speech intended to emphasize the importance of the field - Starscream felt almost sorry to have inadvertently spoiled the outburst.

They stared at each other.

"Um..."

"Most bots treat it as frivolous," the medic said after a moment, tapping his digits on the paint tin currently in servo. "As if popping dents, airbrushing, and waxing were all it entails."

"In Vos, cosmetic surgery is considered one of the higher class professions."

"In Tetrahex too. Or so I've heard."

"Appearance is an important part of one's health," Starscream recited sourly, his wings twitching downwards. Such a phrase had been often repeated when he was younger, usually followed by a thorough scrub and a scathing lecture. He might have been a blight on the royal family, but he had still been expected to look as immaculate as the rest of them. "...how many seekers have you worked on?"

"You are the twenty-third to end up in this particular facility, but before I was posted here? Maybe fifty or so more...there was a trend for a while in Tetrahex to mimic some of the detailing on the more famous racers up in Forza. They used to travel all the way out to Detrona, before Iacon enacted all the border toll legislation."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Hold this."

Two paint tins were passed over and Starscream turned them about to peer at the labels as the red medic continued to dig through the cabinet for a third. It was then that he felt a faint and familiar pressure shift, followed swiftly by the static snapping sound of Skywarp making an entrance. Turning, he saw the purple menace rush hurriedly into the isolation room they had just vacated without so much as a glance towards the main area.

Three kliks later, the idiot had teleported back out into the middle of the med bay, startling Arcweld at his terminal and nearly knocking over one of the supply carts.

"Over here, moron," Starscream called, catching his wingmate's attention. He had to hurriedly step back at the sudden lack of personal space when Skywarp spotted him and snapped over to appear right in front of his face. Glaring, he shoved the purple brat back with his free servo. "Stop doing that, you aft!"

"You told me to let you know if we got any word from Megatron," Skywarp said, unfazed by the name calling or being shoved. "Well, we got word!"

"And?"

"And he's sending a shuttle to bring us all back to Kolkular. Which is stupid, I could just teleport us back-"

"You nearly passed out at half that distance with Thundercracker on your arm," Knockout pointed out, still rummaging in the cabinet. "A third mech might do worse to your neural net."

"Did he say why we're going back to Kolkular?"

"Something about a meeting with the Winglord," Skywarp answered, his optics alighting on the array of paint on display in the cabinet. "I guess they must have pushed those fraggers out of Helex if the Winglord's coming down here..."

"Coming down here? The Winglord is coming to Kaon?"

Starscream knew the chill he felt had nothing to do with the ambient temperature - a shiver ran through his frame even so. Evidently Megatron had been entirely serious about having him advise on matters concerning Vos, he just hadn't fully realized exactly what that meant until just now. In official capacity, it was his brother who had been appointed as liaison with the Decepticon cause.

To place someone else in that position was to say that Silverlight had failed in his duties, a statement that was an insult on its own. No amount of platitudes would soothe the Winglord's ire at such a move - adding Starscream to the mix was liable to push that irritation into the realm of actual rage. His sire hardly ever left Vos, so something must have happened to convince him that this was a necessary move.

"Something happened to Silverlight."

"What?"

"How long until the shuttle arrives?"

"Two joors," Skywarp answered with a frown. "What do you mean, something happened to Silverlight? How do you know?"

"The Winglord is not bestirring himself on my behalf."

Turning to look at the paint cabinet, Starscream scanned the shelves with a determined expression and a new resolve forming. If Megatron intended to get the best of the Winglord, then there was a need for every advantage available. If he was going to be an irritant due to mere presence, then he would be one that was impossible to ignore.

"Knockout."

"Yes?"

"I have changed my mind in regards to paint colors," he said, delicately setting the previously selected tins back in place and plucking up one of a decidedly different hue from the third shelf down. "Let's go with your initial suggestion from yesterday."

"Oooh, excellent," the medic commented, the barest hint of a sly smirk sneaking its way onto his face. "I've a few stencils that look fantastic with those hues."

"No stencils, but..."

Starscream trailed off, turning the new tin around so that the label was visible and Knockout's expression expanded into an almost giddy looking grin. The medic snatched the paint away from him and whirled on his pedes to open up the next cabinet down, wherein he pulled out a drawer containing a line of brushes meant for small details. Selecting three of them, he snapped the drawer back shut and moved to grab the aforementioned colors up from their places on the shelves.

"Right," Knockout said, nodding off in the direction of the medical washroom. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Chapter Text

The broken chairs had been cleared away and replaced by the time Megatron returned to the war room, his leg repaired and the energon scrubbed from his frame. The dent in the wall remained - the only sign that anything had even gone amiss within the chamber. At the center console stood Soundwave, visor reflecting the array of glyphs arranged on the screen beneath slim servos.

The comms officer did not look up as he approached, glancing over the terminal and the progress that had been made in his absence. It seemed that nearly all of the captured messages had been deciphered in his absence, a factor that had him frowning across the table at the blue mech. That visor remained blank and that helm did not raise - that there was no reaction at all to being stared at was telling.

"You didn't recharge."

Soundwave did not acknowledge this statement, instead shifting his servo across the terminal to activate the holo-projector. Glyphs hovered above the table in two rows, with Caerullux on one side and what initially looked like a translation on the other - not into the expected Kaonite glyph set, but into the indelicate blocky stacks of Tarni instead. This had to have been a purposeful decision and upon reading over the lines on display, Megatron realized that it was actually a separate message pinned as an attachment to the first.

There were a number of mechs from Tarn in the sector, though most had chosen to stay in the north after Dredge's death rather than join the fight directly. It had been a blow to Iacon's production abilities, to cease exports of ore from the sector - the Prime had not been happy to lose that supply line. It would have been an ideal target for this new weapons platform, and yet they had chosen to strike Helex instead.

The mech receiving the messages was in Tarn.

"Such a fool I was, to have been so lenient with them," Megatron said softly, shuttering his optics against the glow of the holo-projector. He had thought himself inoculated against naivety at that point in his life, but the promises made to him then had fit so very neatly with his vision of the world he planned to forge. Servos slowly curled into fists at the console's edge as he glared at the projector, as if it were the fault of this equipment for his failure to see through those lies. "Have you determined exactly who it was sent to?"

"Affirmative," the comms officer stated, helm finally raising upwards. Soundwave tapped his digits across the screen, transitioning to display the profile of a mech with coal gray armor and sharp white optics. "Designation : Caliber. Former Sectorial Guard, Core District."

"Core District? I suppose that explains the why of it then. I should have had that entire division executed alongside Dredge."

"Reasons for retention of lives : numerous at the time."

Megatron huffed, shaking his helm at that reminder despite it being correct - there had indeed been many reasons not to kill everyone directly under the Archon's command. The Sectorial Guard had been composed of debtors and free mechs alike, condemning them all would have turned the entire populace against him. And now a mech that had no doubt seen comrades die by his servo was relaying secret transmissions to Vos.

How much would this mistake cost?

The door to the war room hissed open to admit the light and nervous steps of a certain seeker, nearly three joors later than had been planned for. Megatron grit his denta as the dossier vanished and his tardy Sky Commander approached the center console. Several steps later, Starscream appeared at the very edge of his field of view - keeping at a distance that could be estimated as out of reach.

He turned his helm, intending to rebuke the seeker for the delay that had been caused by him having held up the provided shuttle - the words did not make it to his vocalizer. When he had last seen his Sky Commander, the slim mech's frame had been stripped of paint and marred by welded over glyphs. Now that hatchwork of scars had been smoothed over and every centimeter of armor expertly airbrushed.

Those wings were no longer the pale silver of recent memory, but the color of carbon scoring on metal after being struck repeatedly by blaster fire. A thin line of red cut through it, following an otherwise unnoticeable seam. That same red adorned the more prominent plating of the seeker's chest and hips, with accent lines of gold that glinted even this dim light.

Everything about this paint scheme was meant to draw the optic from one feature to the next. It gleamed as if freshly waxed, which no doubt it was - there was a faint sweet scent to it that Megatron couldn't place. His gaze swept back to find a faint expression of worry had formed upon Starscream's face, mirroring the apprehension swirling about his field.

"Why?"

This was evidently not the expected question or reaction.

"You don't like it?"

"You did not choose that palette to please me," Megatron stated darkly - pointedly avoiding actually answering that particular question. He had to fight the impulse for his gaze to follow those wings as their angle shifted downwards. "Why?"

"We are to be holding a meeting with the Winglord, correct?" Starscream asked, tone now deliberately snappish as he turned to face the holo-table display. "He will absolutely hate it."

"I should have known it to be something petty."

"Pettiness is the main export of Vos."

"And here I thought it was perfume," Megatron retorted, turning back to face the console as well. "The Winglord will not be happy regardless of what hues you've chosen for your chassis and I have lost all incentive to placate him."

"Has...something happened?"

"We have uprooted some traitors in the ranks of the Vosian Wings and I intend to have the Winglord declare their fate publicly."

The surprise that snapped through Starscream's field was genuine, as was the fear - the latter emotion was a curious one. There was a near imperceptible tremble to those wings, drawing Megatron's optics to follow along the edges - something had the seeker worried. Given previous conversations, he had an inkling of what it might be.

"We are well aware that you had nothing to do with it, Starscream."

The worried expression on the seeker's face went diminished, a faint glimmer of relief flickering through that field. The fear didn't vanish entirely, but its quality changed - evidently his reassurance had been taken into account. His Sky Commander took in a deep vent and nodded, his gaze secured squarely on the holo-table.

"If there are traitors in the wings, they will have been acting on the Winglord's direct command," Starscream stated, sounding a little more confident with each word. "He doesn't trust very many mechs, so it is either Hailstorm or Silverlight."

"The latter."

"How did you catch him?"

"Unauthorized transmissions," Soundwave answered, tapping commands into the console. "Final analysis of intercepted messages completed. Unknown glyph detected."

The holo-projector flickered, displaying a singular glowing diamond of Caerullux.

"Glyph structurally resembles a designation."

"That's because it is."

There was a hollowness to that statement, accompanied by a shudder in Starscream's field.

"That is the glyph for my name or at least the formal version of it," the seeker said, a biting bitterness to the words. "They signed off as me . They were going to blame me if they were caught."

"Fortunate that they slipped up now rather than any earlier or later," Megatron commented, studying the glyph with a frown and trying to figure out how it equated to the seeker. He wasn't very familiar with Vosian formal naming structures - it appeared to be an overlay of multiple terms to form one symbol, a description rather than a literal name. He recalled the statement on pettiness and their conversations in the tunnels as he pieced the components together. "I assume this is a version that you do not tend to use."

"You assume correctly."

"That simplifies things."

"Does it?" Starscream asked, that bitterness still affecting his words. "The Winglord will wriggle out of it if you attempt to confront him directly."

"He can certainly try."

"Shuttle escort reporting," Soundwave announced, an alert briefly flashing across his visor. "Departure from Vos : imminent. Estimated travel time : five joors."

"Excellent. Alert Dreadwing and Skyquake that they may begin their strike in half that time."

"Strike?"

"Soundwave determined where the missiles were launched from," Megatron explained, moving to pull up the map and its accompanying markers. "Unfortunately, our methods of detecting such strikes remain admittedly subpar. Disabling the launch platform is currently our only way of preventing another attack."

"And you're absolutely certain you have the correct site?"

"Margin of error is zero point zero zero five eight percent," Soundwave stated, visor turning to face towards the seeker. Its surface remained blank and the accompanying posture of the slim blue mech remained loose. To anyone else, this might have read as him having only taken minor offense. "Acceptable?"

Megatron watched his sky commander out the corner of his optic - those wings did a slight twitch as the frown on the seeker's face became one of calculation rather than worry.

"Acceptable," Starscream echoed in a tone that did not rise at all to meet the challenge put forth by the communications officer. Instead the word seemed to be mixed in with a sort of distracted dread. The buzz of concentration in his field was enough to conclude that he was doing his own math concerning the matter. "Zesos elyoz-ha aeraso-lossa ferras."

"Such ire," Megatron commented, raising an optic ridge as he turned his helm to look the seeker over again. "Who exactly are you calling 'lying wingless fraggers'?"

"Altihex."

"The entire sector?"

"The Academy," Starscream clarified snappishly. "Though given the influence of that institution in the sector, you may as well condemn them all for it."

"Condemn them for what?"

"Altihex has declared for Iacon."

"An unsurprising development, given their proximity," Megatron stated, glancing back up at the map projection and the sector in question. "Though as of our last round of reports they were still adamant about their neutrality."

"I did call them liars."

"Elaborate."

"I attended the Academy directly after departing Tarn," Starscream told him sharply, wings twitching upwards. "I was assured that student lab work was purged from all data centers upon graduation, unless otherwise signed for extended use by the graduate - I did not sign my work off to them."

"Your work..."

"They are using my targeting algorithms."

There was a note of fury accompanying those words that mirrored itself in the seeker's field. Soundwave seemed particularly intrigued by this information, helm tilting to the right as several different calculations flashed rapidly across his visor. It was a deliberate visual presentation, meant to convey exactly what subject he would be addressing.

"Elaborate."

The shock that Starscream displayed was amusing enough to override any annoyance Megatron might have felt at the comms officer's reuse of his voice. It was unnerving if you weren't accustomed to it. He counted it as a relatively good sign that this was the only posturing that Soundwave was doing at the moment - such a minor intimidation tactic meant that the seeker wasn't marked as under suspicion in the blue mech's logs.

"That is creepy," Starscream informed the room, giving a slight shiver. "You know that, right?"

"Yes," Soundwave answered solemnly. "They are using my targeting algorithms. Repeated demand : elaborate ."

"I wrote triangulation programs during my studies. They...were meant for the automated borers used for sample collection on geological surveys. I had devised my own design for a higher collection yield, to be fired in sets of eight with a targeting margin of error of-"

"-zero point zero zero one five eight."

"Then there were eight missiles?"

"Correct."

Starscream nodded shallowly, looking slightly queasy at this confirmation - as if he had half hoped to have drawn the wrong conclusion. To come to the realization that his own work was being used, not just as a weapon but one that nearly killed him was no doubt more than disconcerting. The beginnings of despair starting to swirl through the seeker's field prompted Megatron to place a servo on his Sky Commander's shoulder.

The impulse proved to be an effective one - confusion and uncertainty replaced the bubbling depression near instantly.

"As the author of those targeting algorithms, what would be needed to design a counter-defensive?" Megatron asked him, keeping his servo in place for only a few kliks before lifting it to gesture at the map. "That is, provided our estimates on the weapon's range is correct."

Soundwave gave him a glance before swiping digits across the terminal. Soon enough the territories that required defenses were highlighted and potential launch sites were marked. Starscream lifted his helm, the light of the projection on his face plates making the orange color shift of his optics stand out. The uncertainty vanished as the seeker's expression became one of determination, gaze rapidly flicking across the indicated sectors. Megatron watched as his Sky Commander leaned forward, servos bracing on the edge of the console to peer closer at the display. The plates along Starscream's spinal strut had been painted the same gleaming red, with a thin line of gold at the inner edges that ran all the way down.

In his peripheral vision, Megatron caught the glint as Soundwave's visor turned to aim itself at him. Optics narrowing, he met that stare with a defiant expression, all but daring the comms officer to say something. A few kliks of silent judgment passed, broken only when Starscream absently tapped his digits on the holo-table in thought, oblivious to the exchange.

"We'll need sensor arrays for detection," the seeker mused aloud. "I can write aiming and tracking protocols, but designing rapid fire artillery is not my specialty."

"We have already re-routed the bulk of our existing artillery to our border sites," Megatron supplied, with a gesture towards the glowing line representing the edges of Helex. "We have some specialists who can be pulled in to design future systems, but for now..."

"...I could cobble something together quickly for what we have, but it will run the risk of inaccurate parameters."

"Meaning?"

"Shooting down things that aren't missiles."

Megatron frowned, considering this - despite the planned strike on Hydrax there was still a danger. They did not know if Iacon had more of these platforms yet. He was inclined to believe that they did not, given that Borell Outpost was all that had been struck thus far. Of course, that didn't mean that there weren't more under construction, to be installed elsewhere. 

"We will bear that risk for now," he stated grimly. "Compile a list of what you will need for this project, Starscream. Have it ready in three joors."

"As you command."

Chapter Text

There was a throne in the main hall of the Citadel that Starscream had only ever seen twice before. 

The first time, he had been kneeling alongside the rest of the Vosian wings to pledge himself to the Decepticon cause - he had only glanced up once, too afraid then of Megatron spotting him, so certain that his very presence might ruin everything. He knew better now, knew that they had been counting on the animosity the warlord held for him to bolster their own plans.

Fear had been intertwined with his second glimpse of the throne as well, when his promotion to Sky Commander had been announced. The bulk of it had been obscured by its occupant and he had once again spent the entire time doing his best not to meet the warlord's optics. The ceremony itself had been short - little more than a declaration on Megatron's part and the hollow echoed words of his own acceptance. 

Afterwards, Silverlight had quickly swept him off to a waiting shuttle, his wingmates already hurriedly assigned elsewhere. Social isolation had been a tactic used against him all his life - it wasn't as if he was supposed to be coming back anyways. His brother had spent the entire trip back to Vos voicing his disdain for the facilities in Kaon, trinemates echoing their agreement as if they were not playing escort to a dead mech.

He had already been a ghost to them.

It must have been severely disappointing when he'd emerged from the Rite of Purification with his spark still stubbornly pulsing. Only the public spectacle of the temple pronouncements had kept his kin from cheating and killing him outright. So much easier to arrange for his death afterwards, to make it look like it was the fault of his own sloppy betrayal.

Datapad clasped tight in one servo, Starscream now had his chance for a proper look at the throne of Kaon and all he could do was frown. Several thousand strips of metal, welded together into what could only charitably be called the shape of a chair. It looked as ugly as the weld marks beneath his own paint.

"Do you know what it is made of?"

"No," he answered with a half-sparked shake of his helm. "I don't."

Megatron stepped around him, shoulder coming within millimeters of brushing against the edge of his wing. He managed to just barely suppress a shiver at the near miss, optics snapping to follow the warlord's frame up the scant few steps of the dais upon which the throne was situated. The numerous scuff marks he had obtained in Helex stood out more in this lighting - he could even see a few flecks of dried energon here and there.

"Come and have a closer look."

Surprised flashed through Starscream's field at the gesture to move closer, his grip on the datapad he had brought with him tightening. Though the doors to the hall were open, no one else had arrived yet for the assembly that had been called - for the first time since Beldox, he found himself alone with Megatron. With cautious steps, he proceeded forward only to stop just shy of the edge of the dais.

It was not much closer, but he could better see where the metal had been welded and just how thin each strip of it was. There did not seem to be any pattern to the way the bands had been grafted together - some appeared to have glyphs carved into them though he could not pick out any that were whole enough to read.

"We tore down the stockades here in Kolkular and those all across Kaon," Megatron told him, resting a servo on the back of the throne. "The materials went towards producing weapons to liberate our immediate neighbors, and then to secure those sectors against any attempts at reclamation."

"I am aware of that."

The warlord turned to hold a servo out towards him, those sharp red optics burning down with an unidentifiable sternness. Starscream took it, inventing sharply as those claws closed over his own - he stepped up, that servo guiding him to stand next to the throne. He was certain that the quickening of his spark pulse was more than evident at this proximity.

Megatron seemed to take no notice of the apprehension in his field, adjusting his palm to place it down flat against the arm of the throne. He glanced down as the warlord's own servo lifted, the very tips of those claws brushing lightly over his knuckles. Underneath his own digits was a particular band of metal, the glyphs carved into it far clearer than any of the rest.

A chill passed through his frame as Starscream as tactile sensation revealed the marks for what they actually were - the numerical system was the one unifying codex of Cybertron. Identifying prisoners through the case number engraved into their armor was the one thing that Vos admitted to having adopted from the surrounding sectors. 

It was efficient, after all. 

He fought down the impulse to yank his servo away, keeping it in place as his gaze wandered the rest of the metal. This close he could see remnants of paint on some of the bands as well as the many variations to their sizes.

He wondered whose morbid idea this had been.

"Is yours a part of this monstrosity?"

"Monstrosity," Megatron echoed, servo slowly trailing its way up the back of the throne as he circled it. "An apt descriptor. Forged from the fall of a system that imposed such monstrous acts upon its subjects...but no. My brand was struck off in battle."

Starscream let his servo fall away then, though his gaze still lingered on the haphazard surface of the throne. It was hard to imagine - though he knew the numbers well - just how many mechs had carved off a portion of their own chest plates to fashion it. To purge oneself of an unwanted brand was an urge he was familiar with, but so small a mark as these glyphs hardly seemed worth the pain.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"You said yourself, it is a monstrous thing," he reminded, waving a servo over the throne. "I would think that this would be an exceedingly painful reminder."

"It is a reminder - a reminder of all the promises that I made at the onset of this war," Megatron stated, the tone of his words containing a grim severity to them that was far more unnerving than the topic under discussion. "Every time I sit here...every assembly, every ceremony, every declaration made from this throne needs to be made with that reminder...and the cost of keeping those promises."

Suddenly feeling rather foolish, Starscream took a half step back, his gaze sweeping over the throne once more. He had assumed the brands to be sheared off in some morbid declaration of loyalty, but now he realized that they had been taken from the dead - no doubt the casualties of the initial rebellion. His tank roiled, previous calculations repeating only to be centered on just how many must have died to be able to forge it.

"...I'm sorry...I didn't realize..."

"I do not require an apology for your ignorance," Megatron told him flatly. "Just your understanding...and your trust."

"Trust."

"The breach Soundwave discovered, the information that was passed...it has jeopardized the lives of ground and aerial forces alike. I can not allow that to go unpunished."

For what felt like several breems, Starscream forgot how his vents functioned.

"You're going to kill the Winglord," he finally breathed out, a slight dizziness overtaking his processor at giving voice to that thought. "This assembly...it's a trial isn't it?"

"It is."

"You'll lose Vos."

"As it turns out, I never had Vos," Megatron stated, casting a brief glance across the hall towards the open doors. "The Winglord's intention was never support, but sabotage. The wings he sent are all expendable to him."

"Silverlight-"

"Will be sacrificed to save his own chassis the moment it becomes apparent he's been caught out - you know that."

Starscream did not argue that point. It was a horrible thought, but there was no one the Winglord loved more than himself. If it meant saving face or clinging to some measure of control then he absolutely would let Silverlight take the fall. 

"Even if you manage to depose him, there will still be Skystrike to contend with," he said slowly, digits tapping idly against the data pad in his servos as he collected his thoughts. "He is volatile and does not think things through. It might be easy for you to goad him into a destructive course of action...but it would be just as easy for others to influence his decisions."

"Who is next in line after him?"

"The idiot that is Silverlight."

"I see," Megatron said dryly. "And where do you fall?"

"Very funny."

"I am being entirely serious."

There was a silence as Starscream raised his helm to stare at the warlord, trying to will himself to dismiss the idea. It would be a lie to say he had never imagined that crown upon his helm, but such imaginings had been but a fleeting and futile daydream of his youngling years. His want of the crown wasn't so much a desire to rule as it was a desire for all the comforts and acknowledgements that came with it.

"No."

"No?"

"You place a crown on my head and all of Vos will fall into chaos," Starscream stated, carefully looking away. "The noble houses would rebel on principle. You'd have at least three of them declaring their own Winglords within a quartex. And the platforms...even as fed up with the system as they may be...would be divided over who to back. There would be unrest for vorns."

"And we do not have vorns."

"No, we don't...but we don't really need vorns."

"Elaborate."

"Vos values its traditions," he said cautiously, wings twitching upwards as this idea that had bubbled up began to take on a more tangible form. "And as you said, the Winglord has endangered all of Vos - he must be held responsible for it. But if you still wish to gain support of the Aerial Forces, then his punishment cannot come from you."

"Am I simply to overlook his transgressions?"

At this Starscream broke out into a smile.

"Oh, very much the opposite. Proceed with this trial just as you've planned - I've no doubt you will be impressing upon everyone the severity of what has happened."

"Why do I have the feeling you have something vindictive plotted?"

"Because I do," he responded simply. He held out the data pad for the warlord to take, tilting his chin up ever so slightly. "Here is what you asked for earlier."

"You're not going to share, are you?"

Starscream hesitated then, the smile faltering somewhat at the frown that had overtaken the Warlord’s face. He invented, considering how his evasiveness in supplying information might be seen as a source of frustration. Given how much was at stake, he couldn’t very well blame Megatron for pressing for more information.

“There are…limited ways in which someone in a position of power can publicly express remorse for their actions as an apology to the ones over whom they hold that power. The Rite of Repentance is one of them.”

“The Rite of Repentance,” Megatron echoed, that frown deepening ever so slightly. “Does that happen to involve carving an inordinate number of glyphs into one’s armor?”

“Coincidently...yes.”

Chapter Text

On one half of the assembly hall stood the entirety of the Vosian contingent of the Aerial Forces, arranged in accordance with a nebulous hierarchy that had initially placed Starscream and his wingmates well out of sight. The protest at the alteration of this formation was minor, though Megatron kept note of exactly which of the other Sky Commanders had taken offense. He heard the hiss of Caebrux that issued forth the moment he had turned away - it was amazing just how confident they were that he would not be able to understand their words.

The rest of the chamber was filled with the mechs stationed there in Kolkular, as well as a group of Tetrahexi wings. The latter group stood there trading glares with their Vosian counterparts. The animosity was not unwarranted - it was one of the Tetrahexi Sky Commanders who had sounded the alarm on the actions of the Vosian medics. The refusal to treat only their own number had led to at least ten casualties, with at least half that number among the Tetrahexi wings.

Megatron rested a servo on the back of the throne, digits briefly brushing over the welds. He raised his gaze to the back wall of the chamber and the holo display mounted there, the panels the pale green glow of standby. Several small camera drones hovered nearby, their lenses glinting impassively under the lights of the hall. The stage was set and the doors were shut - the only way was forward now.

"As you all are very aware, Iacon launched an attack on Borell Outpost at the northwest border of Helex and Vaporex," he stated, voice at a level meant to carry even with his back currently turned against the assembled mechs. To be heard no matter the angle against the background noise of the crowd was a skill acquired in the arenas, where oftentimes appealing to the audience's favor meant life or death. "In doing so, they violated the terms of the Ceasefire agreement forged less than two vorns previous. There has been no response to attempts to contact Iacon's command liaisons to engage in negotiations and recent surveillance indicates that they have begun moving troops into the flats."

Megatron paused, lifting his servo from the throne as he turned to face the assembled mechs. Their optics were all on him - he was used to such attention, though this did not bring with it the thrill of the arena crowds. The camera drones had followed his movements, adjusting their positions and altitude accordingly.  

"The missile strike and the incursion that followed it, coupled with this silence on the part of Sentinel Prime shows that he and those who serve him cannot be trusted to uphold the promises they have made...but I did not gather you here to speak on the failings of Iacon. This assembly is not a rally, to convince you of the troubles we will face. Nor is it a memorial for the fallen, for what use is a eulogy when justice has yet to be served? How can the memory of those who fought for this cause be upheld when the ones responsible for their deaths remain unpunished?"

Whispers and restless movement passed through the crowd - shoulders squaring and nods of agreement. Fields mingled and snapped, a fierce concurrence that radiated through the crowd. Even among the Vosian ranks he spotted wings flicking to approving angles, far more than he had anticipated.

"I have gathered you to hear and bear witness," Megatron told them, holding his arms out the servos open in a gesture to indicate not just those within the assembly hall but those who were monitoring from across the sector. "I bring this matter before you - that a number of mechs within our ranks and among our allies have been found to have passed information into the servos of the enemy."

A faint but tangible ripple of surprise passed through the combined fields of the mechs in the hall.

"This includes - among other things - information regarding the movement and assignments of the aerial forces, the construction of and commands of outposts along the Helex border, and the schedule of my inspections of those outposts."

The volume of the mutters increased, especially among the Vosian ranks - somewhat unsurprising, given that their number made up a significant chunk of the Aerial Forces. He saw wings flutter nervously and fought to keep his gaze from a certain pair near the corner edge of the dais. A number of the Sky Commanders were glancing back and forth as hurried remarks were shared between them.

Others in the hall still had their optics locked on Megatron, expressions gone grave at having processed the implications of the third portion of the information he had presented. That the most recent attack itself had been more than just a break in the ceasefire but meant to target a specific individual, namely him.

An assassination attempt.

"Sky Commander Hailstorm."

The named seeker moved to stand before the dais, any alarm at being called forward only evident in the nervous twitch of storm gray wings.

"Sir?"

"As a senior ranking member of the Vosian Aerial Forces, you will act as arbiter and representative of Vos for these proceedings."

A very brief look of shock passed over Hailstorm's face as Megatron gestured towards one of two chairs that had been placed before the dais, his wings twitching back several centimeters - it was gone a moment later as the seeker straightened his shoulders and adopted a more controlled expression.

He made no move to be seated at all.

"I thank you for the consideration, Lord Megatron," the Sky Commander stated solemnly, though the sharp tilt of his wings suggested that he was not in any way at all thankful. "However, I cannot act as representative of Vos. That is a station that can only be held by a member of the Royal Family."

"The attack caused injury to a member of the Royal Family, Sky Commander. To appoint one of them to oversee these proceedings would be rather biased, would it not?"

"To act as an impartial judge in all matters is one of the duties of the Royal Family, Lord Megatron. Even if it deals with one of their own."

"Very well then," Megatron assented, in a tone that conveyed that he had expected as much. He gestured for Hailstorm to return to his formation, receiving a curt nod as the seeker moved to rejoin his trine amidst the murmuring of the Wings. It was with great deliberateness that he locked optics with the storm gray flier when he called forth his next candidate for the position. "Sky Commander Starscream."

The previous shock that had adorned Hailstorm's face was nothing compared to the look on it in response to this.  

With wings hitched at just the right angle to catch the light and his helm held high, Starscream stepped forward to stand before the dais. The mutterings within the Vosian ranks were a mixture of panicked Caebrux and biting Caestellar - from what Megatron's auditory sensors could decipher of it, the latter half were rather pleased in the pettiest of ways at this development. Looking down at Starscream, he could see the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at the corners of the seeker's lips.

"Yes, Lord Megatron?"

"As a ranking member of the Vosian Aerial Forces, as well as a member of the Royal Family, you will stand as arbiter and representative of Vos for these proceedings."

"As you wish."

Starscream gave a bow of his helm that was only slightly deeper than a nod, before moving to take the proffered seat on the right. Those of the Vosian ranks nearest him fell silent and still, a palpable apprehension bleeding into their fields. The other Sky Commanders did not seem at all pleased, but as Hailstorm's grievance regarding representation was technically addressed, not one of them was willing to break ranks to protest this appointment.

"Sky Commander Suncrest."

The Tetrahexi flier stepped out from the row of bombers standing at attention across the hall, her helm held high as she moved to stand before the throne. Engraved into the jet black plating of her upper chest was the angular sigil of the Decepticon army - his army. However, unlike the Kaonite ranks she had chosen a golden yellow for the emblazon to match the secondary accents of her armor.

"My Lord."

"As senior ranking member of the Tetrahexi Aerial Forces and current representative of Tetrahex itself, you will stand as arbiter for these proceedings."

"Yes, my lord."

She took the remaining vacant seat without any hint of reservations on display. While Starscream was no doubt highly biased but clever enough to at least pretend he wasn't in order to exact a poetic revenge, Suncrest was known to be fair and honest to a fault. Field reports from her were prompt and tended to be very, very thorough. There would be no arguments from the Tetrahexi contingent about this choice and no obligations to royalty to get in the way of her judgment.

"We shall begin," Megatron stated, turning his helm to glance towards where Soundwave was currently idling. "You may present the material evidence."

The comms officer calmly moved to stand before the assembly and appointed arbiters, visor blank of all identifiable facsimiles. The holo-panels mounted upon the walls lit up, remotely activated and shifted to angles so that all present could see clearly.

"Detection of unauthorized transmissions occurred approximately two orns prior to attack on Borell Outpost," Soundwave intoned, as time stamps of transmission data scrolled over the holo-projections, casting the assembly hall in a striated glow. "Transmission log capture initiated upon detection. Identification of transmission origin and content deciphered within half an orn of detection."

The holo-projections shifted to show those precise curls of Caerullux that were now starting to become so very familiar. There was an iciness that washed through the fields of the Vosian ranks, a number of them contracting - the posture of the ranking officers became noticeably stiffer and less readable, whereas their subordinates let their wings show their dismay. The content of the messages was more than evident to them, though Soundwave had a ready translation in the more angular Kaonite writing system for the rest of the hall.

"Translation commenced and concluded within one orn's time. Severity of breach established."

"And you are certain that this translation is accurate?" Suncrest asked, leaning forward slightly in her chair, optics on the holo-projections. "Who exactly did the translating?"

"Lord Megatron."

That seemed to surprise some of the Vosian ranks, judging by the amount of wing movement that occurred. Suncrest turned to glance up at the throne, a golden optic ridge arced - evidently this was a surprise to her as well.

"I was unaware that you were fluent in Caerullux, my lord."

"I learned it some time ago, when Vos struck its first non-aggression treaty with Tarn," Megatron informed her. "Given the circumstances, it seemed prudent that the translator be of non-Vosian origin to establish the contents of the transmissions."

"Are they accurate, Sky Commander Starscream?"

"Yes," responded the seeker in question, those optics seeming more orange than red in this light. His gaze was locked on the messages, wings as stiff as the other commanders in the Vosian ranks though his field held none of the icy shock of his compatriots. Instead there was an ire blooming there, his servos having clenched onto the armrests of his chair. "The translations are quite accurate."

"Did you know of these?"

"No...no, the closest I've ever been to even operating a comms station was upon my arrival in Borell. But...the pattern of diction indicates someone of rank."

"You think an officer?"

"My initial impulse is to reject any such accusation against a member of the Vosian Aerial Forces," Starscream returned with a cold edge to his voice and a sharp look in the direction of the other arbiter. "Our oaths of service bind us against knowingly taking any action that would cause Vos and its citizens to be harmed. I have flown with the commanders here for the past fifty vorns and I know well that they take these oaths very seriously. However...I can not dismiss this evidence so easily."

He gestured at the messages still displayed upon the holo-projector and looked towards Soundwave.

"The content seems to focus mainly on matters that could be construed as medical sabotage. What measures did you take to verify the information gleaned from these?"

"Medical inventory discrepancies and treatment inconsistencies noted by medical officers in several garrisons," Soundwave supplied, the projection once again shifting to display the mentioned reports and notations. "Investigation ongoing prior to transmission interception."

"You had already suspected sabotage then?" Suncrest asked of the communications officer, her own wings angling a tad higher. "So these transmissions merely solidified that suspicion?"

Soundwave nodded his helm.

"The last message, can you pull it up again?"

The holo-projector flickered, the transcription  returning to glow in the air over their helms, Caerullux hovering alongside the Kaonite translation. Suncrest looked over it again, expression solemn as she read through the glyphs once more.

"This seems to indicate that the one sending the transmissions was a part of the reinforcements sent to Helex. As you stated before, you started to capture the messages prior to this. Given the volume you have presented, is it safe to assume that it took time to pinpoint where they were being sent from?"

"Assumption: correct."

"So where were they being sent from?"

"Transmission origin: Citadel War Room."

That got a rather voluminous response from the assembly hall, with hissed conversations striking up as all through the crowd the mechs gathered speculated on how exactly such damning transmission could have been made from such a secure location. Megatron watched silently as the theories darted about and slowly, one by one, they all realized that a certain other member of the Vosian Royal Family was conspicuously absent from the proceedings. His optics flicked over to Hailstorm, who seemed to have been the first of his ranks to have come to that very disastrous revelation.

"If it originated from the Citadel War Room, then only those with the access codes could have sent it," Suncrest stated, raising her voice just a little so as to be heard clearly above the speculative whispers still flitting about. "Can we account for the movements of all members of High Command?"

"An accomplished slicer might have been able to gain access," Starscream pointed out, casting a brief sideways glance towards the throne. "It need not have been a member of High Command."

"Is there such an accomplished slicer among our ranks as to breach the security systems of the War Room?"

"Admittedly...I do not know."

"Then we must conclude that it was a member of High Command," Suncrest argued with a note of severity creeping into her tone. "As Soundwave is the one who discovered this breach, and Lord Megatron's movements in this time period can most definitely be accounted for, that leaves Chief Medical Officer Scythe, Citadel Security Commander Bulwark, and-"

"-and my brother, Aerial Commander Silverlight."

The bitterness in which Starscream spoke his elder sibling's name and military title was rather convincing. One could almost believe he truly was reluctant to cast suspicion upon Silverlight - even his wings were tilted at the appropriate angles, displaying a control over them that Megatron was certain he hadn't seen in the seeker before. Evidently his Sky Commander knew more than a little bit of how to act when under the optics of a crowd.

"I understand your hesitance, Starscream," Megatron said evenly, focusing a grave expression in the seeker's direction.  "If you cannot maintain impartiality in this matter, I will not fault you for recusing yourself."

"No," Starscream responded sharply, looking over the Vosian ranks with a carefully crafted expression of determination upon his face. "As Sky Commander Hailstorm has said, to act as an impartial judge is the duty of the Royal Family."

He sat up slightly straighter, chin raising slightly and wings fanning out just so.

"Included in those duties is the defense of Vos, from dangers outside and in. I have had that impressed upon me most severely throughout my life and I know that Silverlight has been likewise instructed. If he has so deliberately rejected this mandate then it is my duty to see that he faces punishment for endangering Vos, its citizens, and those under his command."

"Very well."

The seeker’s little speech seemed to have struck a certain chord within the Wings, for quite a number of them were looking his way with expressions that were a mixture of confusion and wonder. Their fields reflected that the words had made a rather positive impression, with even a number of the other Sky Commanders nodding along in agreement. Across the aisle, a good amount of the Tetrahexi contingent appeared to be adopting postures of approval as well.

"Then we will proceed," Megatron stated, looking towards Suncrest. "Do either of you have any more questions regarding the evidence Soundwave has presented?"

"No, my lord."

"I suppose that we can assume the other members of High Command were investigated, then?" Starscream asked, his gaze fixating upon the slim blue mech. The communications officer gave a short and sharp and very definitive nod. "Given that I can see both Scythe and Bulwark are present for these proceedings and not currently in shackles, then there is really only one conclusion to be drawn."

He paused, shifting his posture and inventing heavily as if to steady himself. At the forefront of the crowd, the named officers shifted - the exchange of glances between them was telling. Neither of them had even known what they had been questioned concerning, but were relieved that it had left them blameless in this instance.

"We may as well keep going."

Soundwave tilted his helm ever so slightly, remaining motionless for just a moment longer than was truly necessary.

"Investigations concerning Chief Medical Officer Scythe and Citadel Security Commander Bulwark concluded one joor prior to the strike on Borell," he continued rather abruptly. "Attention turned to response and reinforcement. Lord Megatron was informed of investigation findings upon recovery in Beldox. Suggestion to catch the culprit in the act was put forth and enacted."

"You caught Silverlight sending the transmissions?" Suncrest asked, shifting forward in her seat. "He is in custody?"

"Negative. Nightstreak caught sending transmissions. Silverlight and Mistrunner were detained upon confirmation of access codes used to gain entrance to Citadel War Room. Analysis of initial message trajectories, recipient, and forwarding trajectories concluded a joor later."

"...forwarding trajectories? You know who received the messages?"

"Affirmative," Soundwave responded, his helm tilting once again to make it seem as if he were staring straight at Starscream. "Initial recipient: Caliber of Tarn. Messages forwarded to Vos and Iacost."

"Vos and Iacost..."

"But message transmission in and out of Vos is highly regulated," Starscream protested with a frown. "Unregistered activity is screened thoroughly."

"Transmission relayed along a registered channel."

"No."

The holo-projector flickered as the various metrics and tags that allowed for identification of communication channels to be made. Encryption could mask such things, but Soundwave's reputation as a cryptographer bordered on legendary - it most definitely was the channel he claimed it to be.

"That's the palace missive line!" blurted out Hailstorm, optics wide. All attention in the hall turned towards him once more and his expression became a tad more than panicked. "We were only ever authorized to use the military line, to report to High Commander Nightscar."

"And who does this line connect to?" Megatron asked despite already knowing the answer - it needed to be said aloud. He saw Hailstorm's wings fall in dismay, the Sky Commander's expression morphing to one of despair. "Well?"

"That line is used for direct communication to the Winglord. It...it is only for dire emergencies or...matters of secure intel. Only a few actually have the protocols for it."

"I see."

Hailstorm cast a quick glance at the other Sky Commanders, before turning his gaze towards where Starscream was seated. For his own part, the look of dread upon the princeling's face appeared to be at least partially real. Perhaps he had not truly realized the extent of the evidence that Soundwave had accrued, or maybe he had not expected his idiot of a sibling to have been so sloppy.

The seeker turned his helm from the holo-projection to lock optics with Hailstorm for a moment, before glancing over the rest of the hall. He was watched by the crowd, half of which were beginning to realize that they should be angry. The glares were starting up and their fields were crackling outwards aggressively - if something was not done, demand for sparks to be ripped out would no doubt begin.

Starscream pushed himself up to his pedes, clawed digits having left gouges in the arms of his chair - he turned to face the throne, a grim expression on his face.

"Lord Megatron, given the evidence presented here it seems certain now that this alliance was forged under false pretenses," he said steadily. "It shames me to admit that my own kin would shed their honor so recklessly."

He paused, casting a brief glance over his shoulder at the Vosian Wings. Their optics were all on him, not a single one straying from their place - the worry and apprehension in their fields was nearly tangible as he turned back.

"I ask that you forgive our wings for their ignorance of this plot. We placed our trust in my brother, and by extension the Winglord. It is not our fault they betrayed  it."

Megatron stared down at the seeker, remaining silent for the moment and relishing just how quiet the chamber had become as it awaited his response. It was a masterful play on his Sky Commander's part to plead for mercy on behalf of the Vosian ranks - a move that was no doubt meant to endear himself to them. It also laid the foundation of gaining the loyalty of the wings present for both of them.

"No forgiveness is necessary, Starscream," he said after a few kliks pretending to mull it over. "I ask only that you and your fellow Sky Commanders uphold the oaths you have sworn. And in turn, I shall see to it that justice is done on their behalf."

"Thank you, Lord Megatron."

Starscream bowed his helm and stepped back, turning slightly to glance back once again at the Vosian ranks. An insistent wing flick and a stern look directed at Hailstorm had the storm gray seeker swiftly moving - the rest of the Sky Commanders followed, formations shifting until all of the Wings were facing the dais. Thundercracker and Skywarp dashed up to take their places on either side of the princeling, both trying very hard to hide their shock at the way things were going.

As if choreographed, Starscream knelt at the foot of the dais with his wings flattening out and his helm bowed. Once again that thin line of gold along his spinal struts was made prominent by the angle - Megatron could see the little notched mark of it at the nape of the seeker's neck. The rest of the Vosian Wings mimicked his posture and in chorus recited their fealty, tandem voices filling the assembly hall as the camera drones circled above them.

When the chamber fell silent once more, Starscream's helm raised to look up at him with a smile planted on those lips for his optics alone.

Chapter Text

"Rise."

Starscream did so with no real haste to the motion, letting his wings fan out in an arc that was one degree shy of overtly prideful for half a klik before making a slow turn to watch the Vosian seekers - his seekers now - return to their places. There were no more whispers exchanged among their ranks, the only mutterings his auditory sensors picked up came from the grounders in the room making mumbled commentary on the dramatics. He ignored them and moved to retake his seat, settling back into it with wings held at the formal angle reserved for attending to matters of state.

It was with an acute awareness of the optics upon him that he cast a glance across the way towards his fellow arbiter. Suncrest regarded him with a thoughtful expression for a moment before dipping her chin in an approving nod. A faint sense of pride at having won the approval of the Tetrahexi representative washed through him, though he was careful not to let it affect his posture - instead he returned the nod, then turned his helm to look towards the dais.

“Let us continue.”

Megatron sat back against the throne, raising his chin to look beyond the crowd towards the back of the assembly hall and the group of mechs standing guard there, awaiting his command. A slight turn of his servo signaled them into action - they moved from their positions on either side of the doors to roll them open, exposing the main corridor beyond and those that had been waiting just outside. The entirety of the hall fell deathly silent, the crowd’s combined fields fluttering only briefly in shock before collectively reeling in - a mass reflection of the sudden realization of just how this situation was going to progress.

The Winglord strode in, with his chin held high and haughty, the amaranthine fabric of his cape flowing dramatically behind him. In the bright and glittering towers of Vos, the burnt orange and gray hues of his armor had always made a striking impact, especially with the polished brass accents designed to catch and cast the light. However, in the shadows of Kaon - where there was no energy to spare for decorative excess - the resultant effect was less impressive and more bordering on ridiculous. 

His trinemates hardly looked better - walking a half step behind him on either side, their paint immaculate and just a little too bright for practicality. On the right, Skyfall’s collection of blues had a pearlescent sheen to them that in this light made him look as if he had deliberately coated himself in axle grease. Meanwhile on the left, the reflective neon yellow embellishments that Thunderwing had chosen to decorate himself with looked severely faded against the darker gray of the rest of him - if it weren’t for the glow of his optics and the fact that he was still moving, he could have been taken for a corpse.

The three of them were followed closely by the Winglord’s personal guard, who were meant to keep their own appearances unobtrusive and unnoticeable - they looked far better for it. Taking up the rear of the procession, was the collection of guards that Megatron had chosen to act as escort from the shuttle bay to the assembly hall. They trailed after their charges - stone faced and silent and exactly three steps behind.

A familiar knot of dread began to form in Starscream’s fuel tank as his sire walked down the center aisle toward the dais, oblivious of the enmity his arrival had stoked in the crowd. It took no small amount of effort to not avert his optics when the Winglord’s gaze fell on him - instead he tilted his wings into a slightly more antagonistic angle and stared him down. He spotted the twitch heralding the beginnings of a snarl before his sire caught himself and turned away, schooling his face plates into an amiable expression.

Starscream watched as the Winglord cast an expectant glance between the seats he and Suncrest currently occupied, wings taking on an angle displaying obvious annoyance that neither of them had made any sort of move towards genuflection at his arrival. Skyfall and Thunderwing exchanged a brief hiss of Caerullux between them, expressing an unsurprised disdain for such incivility. Their postures remained strictly formal, giving no hint to those behind them that there was even a conversation to be had, but their way of whispering was crafted specifically for the airy halls of Vos. They did not at all seem to think that their words would escape the confines they had set.

At the corner of his peripheral vision, Starscream caught one of Soundwave’s camera drones maneuvering into a more advantageous position. 

The dread that had been welling up suddenly twisted into something new. He was well aware that Megatron often had his speeches and assemblies broadcast throughout every sector within his control and sometimes those without. He also knew that the task of making certain that every one of those broadcasts reached their intended audiences belonged entirely to Soundwave. That Kaon was watching was a given, but the Decepticon Army was already fully entangled in the cause - no, this particular transmission was aimed at a different audience entirely.

To anyone watching on the outside, for the Winglord and his trine to be escorted into the trial by armed guards after all of the evidence implicating him had been presented, it would appear as a clear declaration of his guilt. Not only that, but it would show just how far of a reach that Megatron’s power and influence truly had - to be able to pry out the Winglord from the midst of all the security measures that Vos could muster. Starscream had known going into this trial that they were going to be setting a trap, he just hadn’t known that the extent of it would be this delicious.

It was so very difficult to keep himself from smirking.

“Winglord Stormflare, before we-”

“It is customary to speak the full title when first addressing the Winglord,” Skyfall interjected sternly, his wingtips flicking upwards in admonishment. “Especially in an assembly of the lower ranked such as this.”

“Thank you for sharing that information.” 

The ice that clung to every word in that statement was colder than any burst of a polar gale Starscream had ever encountered. He canted his helm ever so slightly towards the throne, drawn by the movement of Megatron rising to his pedes to stand to his full height, looming over Winglord and his trine. They clearly did not know what to make of this shift in his position, their wings dipping in an involuntary display of uncertainty.

“Winglord Stormflare of Vos,” the warlord began again, that cold edge still more than evident as he spoke. “First of House Vel, Champion of the Skies, Grand Marshall of the Aerial Forces, and Proctor of the Faith - before we continue further with these proceedings, there is but one question I must pose to you.”

There was a hesitancy to Stormflare’s expression now, his optics flicking about the chamber as if only just now registering the low grade tension in the fields of the assembled. His gaze returned briefly to Starscream again, expression clearly trying to calculate all the possible implications of him sitting there in his brother’s stead. He could practically see the spark of synapses firing through the Winglord’s processor as he came to the entirely wrong conclusion - that Silverlight was injured and the sabotage had been partially discovered. 

It took barely a klik for Stormflare to shift his posture to better fit the situation as he perceived it.

“You may ask your question,” the Winglord said, giving a cordial dip of his helm as if he were dispensing permission for someone of lesser status to speak. “And I shall, of course, do my best to answer it.”

Megatron gave a curt nod in acknowledgement of this, stepping down from the dais as Soundwave coordinated holograms of the attack in Helex to orbit alongside the data assessments of the damage and injuries done to hover in the air over their helms. Starscream glanced at the pair of camera drones that floated after the warlord as he stood between his seat and Suncrest, pinning the Winglord with a stare as he spoke.

“We have heard a great deal of evidence here today, of mechs who colluded with our enemies to bring about the destruction and deaths of many who were stationed at the outpost in Borell near the Helex border. Thirty-nine of my soldiers are dead and dozens more injured - including a Prince of Vos.”

The warlord paused, as if taking a brief moment to ensure the next few words that left him did so in the correct order.

“My question is this - what is the penalty for treason in Vos?”

“That is a very grave charge level at anyone,” Stormflare stated, drawing his shoulders back and putting on a show of acting surprised and appalled by the images on display. “There would have to be a trial-”

“There has been a trial,” Megatron interrupted. “Typically sentencing takes place at the end.”

There was a half klik in which the shock of parsing this statement could be felt in the Winglord’s field before he clamped down tight and adopted an affronted posture. His guards exchanged glances, then turned their helms to note that every mech in the room was watching Stormflare with an irate attentiveness, as if waiting for him to make a wrong move. Starscream saw them shift in their stances to place their weapons into rapid deployment positions - if Megatron spotted this as well, he gave no indication.

“I ask again - what is the penalty for treason in Vos?”

“The accused is of Vos then, I assume? And you dared to proceed with some farce of a trial without my presence?”

“Yes and yes,” Megatron answered tersely, clawed fingers flexing behind his back. The movement drew Starscream’s attention, though it seemed for now he was the only witness to this physical display of the warlord’s impatience. “Since you seem so resolute in avoiding the question, shall I ask one of the Sky Commanders in your stead, Winglord?”

“Seeking clarification is not-”

“Sky Commander Hailstorm.”

The named seeker stepped out of the formation and turned to face front, determinedly avoiding looking in the Winglord’s direction as he approached the dais. 

“Yes, Lord Megatron?”

“What is the penalty for treason in Vos?”

“The penalty for treason in Vos is the same as it is here in Kaon,” Hailstorm answered, squaring his shoulders and flicking his wings to a deliberately defiant angle. “Death, my lord .”

That posture along with the emphasis on the last two words had Stormflare looking askance at the Sky Commander’s breach of protocol. One of his guards whispered something in hurried Caebrux, too low to catch - too late to be a warning. The Winglord took a step towards Hailstorm, indignation and anger radiating through his field for all to pick up.

“Yar zera saz va za vayas yaro azel mo ela-al? ”

“Tom mo ela-al sa yar taveha, ” Hailstorm responded, turning to face down Stormflare with an expression of revulsion so prominent that the Winglord was forced to back away. “Three of our wings are among the dead, ya za aer-es eraz yaero eromae. Stationed there alongside Prince Starscream at your insistence, or have you forgotten that?”

“You dare accuse me-”

“LOR ZERA! ”

The shout was startling and Starscream found himself looking at Hailstorm in a new light - whereas previously he had regarded the other Sky Commander as one of the Winglord’s most staunch supporters in their ranks it now became abundantly clear that it wasn’t reverence for the crown that had kept him so stubbornly adherent to procedure. The fury radiating off the seeker was that of someone whose trust had been completely and irrevocably shattered.

“You sent them there to die,” Hailstorm ground out, his wings flicking back. “You sent us all here to die. Oz yar avez tar?”

“Ya avez tar,” Stormflare spat back, pressing his own anger into the lie to try and mask the fear that was starting to burble up in his field. “Va esuya loro le zes soval."

Hailstorm lunged.

Starscream did not hear his own gasp of shock escape his vocalizer - there was no room for any sounds at all as he watched his sire stagger backwards, servos clutching at his own neck as if that would stop the sudden deluge pouring from it. The Winglord only managed three haphazard steps back before his knees gave out and he fell to them, cape pooling around him. As if in slow motion, Skyfall ducked to his side to brace him and press another servo to the injury, mouth forming words of distress that did not parse.

Energon struck the floor - one drop, then two, then more and more.

The Winglord’s guards rushed to restrain Hailstorm and the knife the Sky Commander had used clattered to the ground as they grabbed him, dragging him back and away from where Stormflare was bleeding out. Starscream looked down at the blade, still wrestling with his own shock as energon slowly dripped from the metal. At the edges of his vision, he saw that Megatron’s own guards had made no move to assist and the warlord himself had remained motionless as he watched the scene unfold.

“Don’t just stand there, call for a medic!” Thunderwing cried out, having moved to support the Winglord’s other side. When no one made a move to do so, he looked about in alarm - the silence of the assembly hall was palpable. He locked optics with Starscream, fixing him with a desperate look. “Yar loya oz solee sa yaro ersa zes eleer-laes?”

Slowly and deliberately, Starscream bent down to scoop the knife from the floor, his claws curling around the hilt. He drew himself up, wings angled back as he held the blade out at such an angle that the energon still coating it could be clearly seen. It took only two steps to place himself at Megatron’s side - a clear enough declaration of his allegiance for all to see.

He looked down at his sire and soaked up the fear that infected the Winglord’s field as they locked gazes. Stormflare’s last ventilation cut itself short mid-cycle with an abrupt series of burbling clacks, his frame stilling and his servos sliding loose from his neck - they did not fall completely, instead caught and pressed back by Skyfall with a warbled incoherent wail as the light faded from his optics. This was not the death that Starscream had imagined for him - it wasn’t even the death that had been designed, but it would serve just as well.

“The penalty for treason is death.”

Chapter Text

Long after the trial had ended and joors past the command meeting that had followed on its heels, Megatron remained in the war room, servos braced on the edge of the holo-table as he stared down the delicate glowing lines of the projected map. His shoulder ached  in protest at the hunch of his posture, the ebb and flow of the pain a reminder that this ordeal was far from over. If anything, the events of the past orn had been nothing but a preamble of what was to come, but something about it was troubling his processor.

Death did not - had not - disturbed him in a very long time, not when he had been steeped in it for most of his life. He had watched a number of mechs bleed out in much the same way as the Winglord and to say that this particular death had been satisfying was an understatement. To witness such arrogance transition near instantly into the chill of fear was sweeter than the finest flavored high grade.

The silent inaction of the Vosian wings had been unsurprising. Having just learned how little worth their lives had to a mech they had once held in so high regard - doing nothing as he bled out was truly merciful. Megatron had borne witness to the rage of the masses before, he knew well that it could have been far uglier. No, it was something else that gnawed at him with the irritating methodical needling of a single scraplet strayed from the swarm.

As unexpected as Hailstorm's impulsiveness had been, he could not deny just how effective it had been in binding the Vosian wings to his command. Starscream's plea for mercy on their behalf and the subsequent renewal of their oaths had provided excellent kindling for the fire that now burned for his cause. He could not deny his Sky Commander that victory - the amount of sway over them the seeker had managed to pull while playing his part was impressive.

Megatron shuttered his optics, but it was not that bow or that smirk that he found himself replaying in his processor. It was the clatter of the knife, the delicateness of those claws closed over the hilt, and those deliberate steps that had brought the seeker to his side. The words uttered might have been nothing more than an echo of the sentence passed, but they had been spoken with such a stern finality. They had felt like an oath, dripping with dark promise just as energon dripped down that blade.

The penalty for treason is death.

He wondered briefly what other oaths he could coax from Starscream's lips.

Megatron gave a snapping shake of his helm to free himself of distraction, optics snapping back open to glare defiantly at the holo-table and its display of the Hydraxi Archipelago. There was a singular bright red dot decorating the northern most islet at the very edge of the map projection, indicating the former location of the missile platform responsible for this entire chain of events. He had received confirmation of its destruction a few breems after the end of the command meeting, along with a datasheet detailing the information his bombing squadron had gleaned in the operation - Soundwave was nothing if not thorough.

There was no cause or time to celebrate this accomplishment, not with the near certainty of additional sites being brought online. The hurried  installation of anti-air artillery along the borders - coupled with the new defense protocols cobbled together by Starscream - were a stop gap measure at best. Even with new systems being designed, there was no surefire way to prevent another attack, save one.

They needed to find and destroy any other sites, ideally before they were brought fully online. Fortunately, they had the parameters - targeting Borell Outpost first had been a critical mistake on Iacon's part. Not only had it revealed the treachery of the late Winglord, but in the midst of the subterfuge lay a singular exposed data-point that betrayed the truth of Sentinel Prime's true plan. That fool Nightstreak had been lying on the location of the launch site this attack had originated from, but in his desperation to keep his wings attached to his frame he had given up the game.

It had taken the length of the interim between the trial and the command meeting for all the pieces to click, a time during which Megatron had instructed that the Winglord's corpse be moved to the morgue under heavy guard. It was to remain there, untouched until such time arrived to return it to Vos. Skyfall had refused to leave the body and had to be sedated prior to its transport - he was now being held in one of the isolation rooms down in the medical bay, no doubt exceeding unhappy about it.

Both Thunderwing and Hailstorm had been consigned to the brig, joining the traitor prince Silverlight and his trine in lock up. All of them were being kept far apart from one another to prevent any provocation or communication - separate cells in separate blocks. Each of them would be questioned more thoroughly on the morrow, though just how cooperative they would be remained to be seen.

After all, the sentence had already been passed.

The penalty for treason is death.

The last he had seen of his Sky Commander was a glimpse of that freshly painted frame as the seeker followed the rest of wings out the assembly hall doors. Megatron had instructed the ranking officers to convene, giving them five joors before the command meeting to choose a new Aerial Commander. He had not known for certain who they would select, and had been loathe to admit even to himself that he had a preference. He had very pointedly avoided looking in Soundwave's direction when it was Suncrest who joined the proceedings, but he had felt the blue mech's gaze on him all the same.

The Tetrahexi flier was not a poor choice - she definitely took to the role with an understanding of the gravity of the circumstances they would soon be facing. She had arrived with her field stern and steady, presenting a plan for a restructuring of the flight and wings that would forge greater cohesion among them. It included a rotating assignment roster, quick assessments of each Sky Commander with placement recommendations, and a tentative schedule for training drills pending his final approval.

Those assessments sat stacked nearby, alongside several other datapads supplied by his officers that required attention - all untouched since meeting's end.

Lifting a servo, Megatron tapped the holo-table controls - the Hydraxi Archipelago vanished, replaced by a singular small isle hundred of kilometers away. The jewel of the Mithryl Sea, Nyon sat off the coast of Ky-Alexia, well away from the strife the skirmishes on the borders of the southern sectors had wrought. That it had been named was no accident, but a part of a ploy meant to sway its neighbors to Iacon's side.

It always came down to energon.

Every possible site along the southern shores of the Mithryl Sea put the bulk of the mines and processing facilities under Decepticon control within the range of one of these new platforms. Destroying just one of them would cause severe damage to the internal supply chain of the entire territory and hinder any efforts towards expansion. But only one of those sites could feasibly target Borell Outpost as well - Nyon would have been the perfect feint, if it weren't for the primary export of Vos.

Such poetic irony, that the ridiculous superstition that had plagued his Sky Commander's existence had led to this. So offended at Starscream's perseverance over a rite designed to kill him, that the Winglord had exposed his own deceit and doomed not only himself, but likely all of Vos as well. Even if the heir to the crown managed to temporarily placate Iacon, they would still be blamed for the destruction of the Hyruxi site, as well as for what Megatron had planned for his next step.

A flashing red alert blinked insistently into and out of existence on one of the side panels of the holo-table, drawing his attention away from his musings on the fate of the city-state - someone had just entered the brig using a flagged access code. He quickly pulled up the security feeds, tapping through them until he found the culprit casually strolling down the third block corridor, wing flexing to match every step. Even in monochrome, he could make out the glint of those golden accents catching in the light with every movement.

Megatron watched with a growing fury as Starscream stopped before the last cell in the row, posture defiant - did the seeker think he would not be caught? Or did he know and this was simply a show put on for whomever might have seen the alert? He glanced at the cell assignments for an answer and found his immediate guess to be correct - though for what reason his Sky Commander would be so foolish as to speak to his brother without leave remained a mystery. He received a ping and a query from Soundwave for permission to investigate just as he reached to turn the projector off, plunging the room into darkness.

A brief denial was all that he sent in reply - this was his matter to confront.

Chapter Text

"What do you want?"

The cells within the brig beneath the fortress had been designed to hold mechs of a far bulkier build than Silverlight's slight frame. He sat hunched over on the bench at the back, the lighter parts of his armor taking on the reddish hues of the containment field. There was a sizeable dent in his right pauldron and an ugly scrape across his chest, no doubt incurred upon his imprisonment. The question was the only indication that his brother had even noticed the approach, as his optics were closed and his helm was bowed.

"To talk."

"And why would I ever want to talk to you, rota."

"Traitor?" Starscream echoed with a snort, canting his wings forward in a show of amusement. "I've kept every oath I've ever sworn, meto - can you say the same?"

Silverlight scoffed, shaking his helm as if the very notion was absurd.

"My loyalty is to Vos and its crown."

"Is it? Is it truly?"

"No surprise a pitspawn like you would not know what that entails," his brother groused, finally raising his chin to look out at him. Starscream saw the fleeting expression of shock at his appearance, before he managed to re-affix the scorn upon his faceplates. If it had been possible to catch even a brief bit of Silverlight's field through the shielding, he was certain it would be burning with contempt. After all, how dare someone so lowly stand there looking immaculate whilst his brother sat there suffering. "You should be dead."

"Yes, I should."

His agreement must have caught Silverlight off-guard, for his wings flitted briefly upwards and optics darting about as if trying to decipher the intent behind the statement.

"Why aren't you dead?"

"I don't know," Starscream admitted with a shrug. "Perhaps the unmaker has other plans for me."

"Emaval-ras!"

He fought back a smile, feeling an almost giddy thrill at the shouted epitaph. If it had been even just a few orns ago, being accused of blasphemy would have had him cowering in fright or pleading to atone, but now - now  that particular chain had been shattered, never to be reforged. Turning his carefully helm to the side, he took in a deep ventilation as he stared down the corridor back the way he had come, giving an approximation of a nervous twitch to his own wings. To anyone who might have been watching, he would look as if he were apprehensive of being caught.

In truth, he knew well that he would be - he had used Silverlight's own access code to get in, after all. It hadn't been too difficult to obtain, any accomplished slicer could set up a sifter to automatically cache data stamped with a specialty flag. He had done so while helping Suncrest compile assessments of the other Sky Commanders, and had written up a counter for the technique to present once he was confronted over it. He had reasoned it was worth whatever trouble it would cause for him down the line, especially if he managed to needle something useful out of his brother.

"There is very little time," Starscream said, keeping his voice at a light low lilt as if fearing that he would be overheard otherwise. "I shouldn't be here at all, but - but you needed to hear this from me and not someone else. After all, you're still my brother."

Silverlight gave him a look of disgust, his posture and wing cant denouncing that familial tie with every atom of his being.

"Open the cell then, meto," he commanded, gesturing towards the containment field. "If your loyalty truly lies with Vos, then you will free me and mine trine. Call on our wings to see us safely back home and maybe - maybe - I will plead with the Winglord for leniency."

"Leniency?"

This time Starscream could not help but laugh, so absurd was the notion.

"I am not some fool fledgling you can convince to take the blame for your indiscretions," he informed Silverlight darkly, stepping close enough to the shielding that he could feel the current crackling through it. "Not this time nor ever again. You and your idiotic trinemate were caught in the act...and the Winglord - he already declared your sentence."

"What...?"

"Lord Megatron called him down to personally address the extent of your meddling."

"Yar hera elyoz-ha!"

"He insisted on a trial, actually," Starscream continued, folding his arms over his chest-plates, not bothering to refute the accusation. It wasn't worth addressing - his brother did not need to be appraised of the order of events for this ploy to work. "The evidence of your treachery was laid out for all to see, and brother - it was damning."

"There is no proof - you have no proof I was involved! Nightstreak-"

"Whatever instructions you gave him to shield you obviously did not work - all of your fail-safes were clumsy and stupid and I am honestly astonished that you weren't caught sooner. The damage you caused, the lives that were lost...our sire had no choice but to name it treason."

"Our sire would not condemn me," Silverlight protested, finally standing. His wings flexed wide, betraying his uncertainty. "He wouldn't."

"Why not? Clearly, you acted without his leave-"

"I didn't!"

"You...what?"

Feigning shock, Starscream took a half step back as his brother crossed the cell floor to stare him down through the shielding. The desperate manic gleam in Silverlight's optics revealed that the seeded doubts had already taken root. He quickly glanced away and back up the corridor again, as if to reassure himself of the emptiness. Something creaked in the dark, the discordant echo of it making it seem a far worse a noise than it probably was.

Either way, it made his brother jump. 

"I-I was merely relaying the welfare of our wings," Silverlight told him shakily, mimicking his glance with a growing worry in his expression. "Whatever evidence was presented was clearly fabricated. Our sire would know that - he'd see that, surely."

"Relaying to who?"

"Skystrike, who else? He's the one who convinced the Winglord to even agree for this folly of an alliance to move forward - he was supposed to keep our sire informed..."

Starscream watched as his brother swiveled to begin pacing his cell, following the frantic movement for a moment before flicking his wings in anxiousness. He checked the corridor again and did a quick calculation on his chronometer - someone should have noticed his presence here by now. That the conversation hadn't been interrupted was a cause for his nervous display to become genuine.

"The relay - the evidence that was presented said it was forwarded to two parties," he said carefully, adding a tinge of uncertainty to the words. "I...want to believe you - that this was all for the welfare of our wings, that the bombing was all some horrific mistake, but then...where else would it be sent to?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"I am trying to help!"

"You can help by letting me out to speak with our sire."

"He's a bit busy at the moment," Starscream hissed, not at all needing to feign annoyance. "After all, you've left quite a mess to clean up with your idiocy. Rerouting medical supplies? Recalling medics from the field while there were injured? You're lucky I'm the one who broke in to see you and not any of the ones whose lives you endangered."

"I-"

"They are debating execution methods and you want to quibble over whether you can trust me? I am the only one able to intercede on your behalf, and I am seriously beginning to question why I should have ever risked being held complicit by being here!"

"And yet you are here," Silverlight said, stopping halfway through another circuit of his cell. He looked up at the ceiling, optics closing for a few kliks as he took in a few steadying ventilations. "You are here when you should be dead."

"We established that already."

"No, you don't understand - you are supposed to be dead. That was the deal."

"What deal?"

Silverlight sighed, wings dropping as he turned back to face the containment shield.

"Skystrike met with Sentinel Prime," he said, with a shallow shake of his helm. "In exchange for shielding the construction of the their missile platforms and relaying intel on potential targets, he would be allowed to direct the first strike."

"And...the Winglord knew of this?"

"I thought he did...now though - it's possible he did not know the extent it. I only know because-"

"Because you were meant to be supplying him with targets," Starscream concluded bitterly, stepping fully away from the cell. Having his suspicions as to why his post had been targeted was not at all satisfying, but at least he had some useful information now. "Just so I've got this right - you have an operative in Tarn standing by to relay your intel directly to Stormstrike and Sentinel Prime. Intel on key locations of a territory you not only had claimed an alliance with, but were actively stationed in alongside dozens of our wings and you claim this was all to protect Vos?"

"That's...you make it sound-"

"I make it sound terrible because it is terrible," Starscream said, tone going sharp. "Where else are they building platforms?"

"I don't-"

"Don't tell me you don't know - if you knew they could target Borell, then you know the ranges and what's in them. Could they reach Vos?"

Silverlight gaped at him, an expression far more akin to horror taking over his face as the danger of the situation finally struck him. He could almost see the conclusions being drawn inside that processor - that the part of sacrifice for the sake of safety and appearance had already been cast. Shoulders and wings slowly sagging as the defeat set in, Starscream almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

"There's three so far," his brother told him. "But only Hyrux can reach Vos. The other two...Nyon and Zarrex can't."

"So far...?"

"They want one on the south of Hydrax, on Arrox, and on the Ferrous Ridge, near Praxus."

Starscream nodded grimly at that - if Iacon managed to secure those sites for construction, there would be very little on the planet they could not hit. He dropped his arms to his sides, flicking his wings in deliberate apprehension, as if deciding whether to ask something else or not. There wasn't really anything left to ask, or at least not anything that would garner more information than he already had.

"I have to go."

"Wait!" Silverlight called out, approaching the shielding again. "Please - tell our sire to come speak with me!"

"I'll do what I can."

With that parting nothing of a promise, Starscream turned and hurried back up the brig corridor, waiting until he had rounded the corner to allow himself a smirk. He slowed to a steadier gate as he headed towards the exit, detaching a small recording device from the inside of his forearm. A small bit of thievery involving Skywarp's collection of paints had let him match it to his armor and while the color wasn't an exact match, it had done well enough to keep it hidden in the low lit environment.

Tucking it into his subspace pocket, he paused just before the door to the brig - he had deliberately used his brother's code and yet, there had been no interruption. He highly doubted that there was no one monitoring the brig, after all he'd had to sneak past the guard station in the upper hall. The code itself had been flagged for an alert, so whomever it would have sent to had to have deliberately decided to let him continue.

Soundwave - he reasoned.

The creeping comms officer was no doubt waiting on the other side of that door, visor accusingly and carefully blank - he probably had an entire slew of voice snippets at the ready to demand an explanation. Starscream shook his helm as he reached towards the keypad to open the door only to freeze as he caught a glimpse of movement reflected on the sensor panel. The main corridor of the brig lay directly behind him, and with no one assigned to the cells down that way it the power had been rerouted to conserve energy for those that were still active.

Before he could even act on the impulse to turn, clawed digits were digging over and into his shoulder, dragging him backwards into the dark. Pain lanced through his collar strut as he was lifted, pedes breaking contact with the ground for a scant half a klik before he was slammed face first into the floor. Starscream yelped, scrabbling at the grated tile in a futile attempt to upright himself - only a warning growl and a firm grip on his left wing got him.

"Explain yourself."