I am the eye of the storm.

Her grin widened as she heard him laugh, it was a funny sound, but genuine. Almost as if he wasn’t used to doing it as much. “That’s so cool! Do you download them? Or do you learn them?” It seemed for each question he answered, she had ten more ready and waiting. But it wasn’t every day you saw a giant sentiant robot was it?

“Not government then? Aliens!” She was practically vibrating where she stood. “That’s fair our government is pretty messed up. If they got you I bet they’d only take you apart, or, try to anyways.” Lile in the movies!

“Starscream?-” She repeated. “Sounds badass.”

Did she fully comprehend it all? No. Shock and adrenaline were two hell of a drugs on your mind. All she could think about was that she was here, talking to an alien, a robot alien, one that spoke her language and had a badass name an was the boss of a bunch of other alien robots.

“A warship? Are you guys gunna blow up earth? Take it over? Are you fighting other aliens? Abandoned your home planet?” Oddly the warship part didn’t seem to concern her much as she tossed up various alien movie tropes.

Was he trying to scare her off with this show? Well he’d have to do better then that! She’d just followed aliens back to the mother-war-ship and he thought he could spook her now?? No way!! Besides. Miko was pretty sure he didn’t plan on wasting a missile on her. That seemed beyond unnecessary for her tiny self, and the chance of her getting her with a missile was low. They were fast but not thatfast. The chance of missing was too high.

The teen remained stubborn and, instead. Ran closer to him. “Awe come on please please please lemme join you!!” She bounced around his feet like an excited puppy.

“I bet I could be helpful!! Wouldn’t having a native human on your side be a good idea! Someone who knows how stuff works here?” She continued. Miko was here, she’d found them, they’d found her, whatever. All the teen knew was one thing.

She wanted in.

That was not the reaction he had been expecting. In the slightest. It had in fact been his intention to scare her, for he knew well that in the short-term, fear was a powerful tool for control--to trap, and to play tricks with. He’d groveled himself at terrors inflicted upon him, the threats, and the raised voice or fists, which always seemed to weigh more than his wits. What power, and persuasion, lay in pure terror seemed to speak for itself, but then again, not all would drown in those darker seas.

The valor Miko possessed, the level of dedication was almost admirable--something that could not exactly be taught to every soldier. There were fires built and tended by hand after the fact, and those that came from somewhere within, and which could not be so easily smothered. He knew a rebel spirit when he saw one. 

And she was serious. 

All things considered, she wasn’t wrong. A similar thought had crossed his mind, and he’d toyed with it, not so seriously, but with a latent curiosity. Indeed, she could be helpful, for insider knowledge was invaluable--he could study the humans all he wished, but would always do so at a distance. Never would he fully understand their ways, or their infrastructure, or their cultures, as would one from within. Yes, he knew her language--that had been downloaded, simple enough, for that saved him time and resources, but for the patches needed at times to supplement basic materials. But there would always be pieces missing, the whispers of a place alien to him. 

His optics narrowed as she drew closer. The fragility of her species, being flesh and bone, was one of the little details he had hung himself up on, but she was ever bold, and filled with something more than being mortal. She’d the heart to stand in his presence, unflinching, and smile. And she’d held herself together, in the face of what could only have been an exceptional series of events--her excitement spelled it all out. He’d long ago expected screaming, and tears streaming, and a cracked voice begging for a life to be spared, but there was no such show here. 

Plus, she’d successfully called his bluff, which said something for her perception of things. Rash, perhaps, but he took a certain delight in seeing, firsthand, her resolve to keep pushing him. And she’d so many questions, all cast in a space too small.

Now then. “You’re a persistent one,” he said it smoothly, and closed his claws toward his palm, leaving the missile in tact. “Nevertheless, I find your enthusiasm most... intriguing.” 

He would not answer her inquiries just yet. He had no real reason to tell her of the war. Or of Cybertron. Heavy were those memories, and he set them aside, in the dark places, and something in his face revealed it, with secret pain or a tilt of the lip that hid chasms beneath. All of it gone, lost, to the tides that turned a thousand ways over, and then, washing away, took the whole world with it. There was dust, trailing him, even here, the halo void of meaning as his voice escaped, barely audible, and barely a hiss. 

“Tell me again, what exactly would you have to offer?” As he spoke, his wings flickered, just as a candle flame might through stained glass. “And what you would hope to gain from such an arrangement?” 

The King lay prone on the ground, forced to by the bindings and chains wrapped tightly around his form. Only a few inches were given for him to turn his heads this way and that, none of them having the chance to stretch, much less allowed to relax. For the crimes they’ve plagued upon the world were too great to risk any sort of kindness, as it could be easily exploited had they the chance to find escape. Everything was limited, and they had to be administered nutrients and whatever else they’ve decided to give him.

Ghidorah was frustrated, as he would always be with these humans, and the moment the center head was able to focus on the individual that was coming nearer, he let out a low hiss. The other heads were still resting on their sides, unable to react as much as the center did. Ichi’s golden gaze locked with the approaching human, and even with the drugs pumping through his veins, he could tell something felt off about this one. It was unmistakable, the difference between this one and the others that have come before.

Whatever the intentions may be, the great King could only guess it was to do more harm to his being. So, he reacted with the slightest turn of his snout towards this one, hoping to one day rip through the binds that had his mouth closed tight. Another hiss was given, and the otherworldly power inside started to glow at the base of his long neck. Yet, nothing was able to come of it, for these cretins had found a way to keep even his magnificent strength at bay. The bindings and metal on his heated scales were what had everything in check, and he grew all the more angry at his situation.

With his abilities still rendered useless, he could only huff and sound off his ill-tempered mood to this one. Though, as the other moved ever-closer, his gaze could take in more of that appearance, and curiosity slowly crept in to override the hostility. King Ghidorah did not understand what it was seeing, for eyes like this were never on the likes of the other’s. Perhaps, I am truly going mad… He had to wonder to himself, even if that was a ridiculous thought.

| @soleresistar​ |

At first, he did not speak. Both hands, empty and palms facing forth, rose steady before his holoform’s chest. It was not to harm or even touch creature, but a gesture of peace, the drawing of a boundary, between the two of them. This meant in offering, a sign that he would honor a certain distance, however he could, in the confines of the cell. Then fast as a hawk dives, the arms were lowered, and clasped behind the back, between layers of hair and what seemed to be the stiffer cloth of the uniform. 

The blood eyes spelled disaster, and swore, though with no sound, that he was not one of them. 

“King Ghidorah,” his voice a whisper. It did not need to be anything more. “If I am not mistaken?”

He saw the glow across the titan’s neck, the tight hold of the restraints, the rage. As if unfazed by each bitter hiss, for he could withdraw his consciousness at any moment to safety, he bowed; and his shadow, with the movement, swayed and deepened. While metal twinkled low in prison light. How terrible he thought, to be caged in such a place, and estranged from one’s own power. There was something in the files about regular sedative administration, necessary in order to control such a creature--and he could only guess that the senses of all three heads had been dulled because of it. 

And they were magnificent. Golden and crowned, quite unlike anything else on Earth he’d seen. Then again, his research had suggested that Ghidorah was not of this planet at all, but like him, alien, from some world beyond the scope of human dreams. They’d something in common then. And such ominous designs, the dragon dressed with chains and the twisted look of death on the Seeker’s fake face; his gaze fell gently to the captive, kept here against his will, and resenting every second of it.

Likewise, he was not at all at ease with his avatar form: the being so minuscule, and so outstandingly fragile, nevermind the burden of pretending to breathe. Air about him, cold and lonely, haunted the outskirts of his silhouette, how steady--how silent. He stood colder than it, somehow, masking all bouts of suspicion and dread, the little sounds in the corners of the dark his head warning that something could go wrong. 

But he’d every intention to try, and it was thus with purpose that he spoke again. “I have come to request an audience.” Words of silver linings, or of ruin, but his goal had been stated either way. In waves, in the midst of his bow, his hair began to gather over the shoulder, and he swept it aside when he rose. 

Pale eyes drifted to the grey grim sky. Not that she expected it had changed, but more to give it one last look as she packed away the last preparations. A heavy cloak was draped over her shoulders and her bag was stuffed with a coil of rope, a knife, a bottle, a journal, a pen and some bread. All that was needed for travel. With a sigh, the pale mage drew the knife. Skilled fingers twisted and turned the blade until she was satisfied with the grip she had on the handle. It wouldn’t do if she dropped it mid-travel. That was a very good way of permanently losing the knife.

Stretching out an arm she pressed the metal into the soft skin on the inside. In just a few practiced movements a series of cuts were placed. Elise didn’t even winch as she cut the spell into her skin, waiting until all the lines were evenly red before she put the spell into motion. Red flared from the wounds before it delved inwards. It felt like ants and water crawling under her skin.

Between one blink of her eyes and the next, the void was gone.

Thus she drifted through darkness the feeling akin to that of drowning. Except when the air tried to escape her lungs it was forced back into them as if a powerful wind was blowing right into her face. Meanwhile, the wounds on her arm were slowly growing shut and when they finally did…

The smell of dirt and rain hit her as she took a deep breath, stumbling as she found her footing. Grass, she was standing on grass. And it was raining too! The pale mage laughed in delight as she looked up at the stormy sky. Yes, it was still grey but it was a better kind of grey. Looking into her closed hand, the one not holding the knife her fingers curled around the red almost-gem in her fist. It was a decent size, but small enough to fit into the pocket of her dress for now. Shoving the red stone into her pocket and the knife into the bag she drew up the hood of her cloak to protect against the rain.

Looking around she saw nothing but grass for miles and pine trees in the far distance. What direction to go… The woman spun around herself a few times, not quite sure what her decision should be. East perhaps? Just as she was about to go in that direction the sound of…plane engines? broke through the noises of nature. Stopping in her tracks she craned her neck in an attempt to spot the craft, though with the heavy sky-cover it was an impossible task. Hmm maybe if she could see what direction it was going she’d get a hint of where to go?

The sun did not stay above him, but fell behind a shade of grey, and lost itself in the veil. Many miles, forlorn and untouched by human hands, passed below, all without written history. But the trees, when he saw them at last, spoke of sacred things, and the horizons that had died long ago, when no names were needed to put things in their place. And what place was this? Where had he wandered off, sent by a secret none had known, into a wilderness where it seemed any soul could be lost, and every word found? 

Rain. A rhythmic word indeed. He came across the sound of it against his canopy that seemed to settle in him a foreign calm. It was in the flying that he could be free, even with the shower around him, and the wind going through it and through him. The sky stopped for no one and it did not--it could not--define him. 

The fog thickened, obscuring the Earth and all that turned in silence below, and it was by the promise of his instruments that he flew when all was silver and dark as his very own armor. The tempest roared, then softer, and was steady the rest of the way. In the thick of it, he wondered again toward what exactly he was bound, and if indeed he would have to hail the warship, or call his Seeker’s into formation behind him. But all he could do was fly, for now, and try to get a visual--at the very least, determine whether or not there was an immediate threat to be dealt with. And if he had to fight, then so be it, for he was ready and armed, with the strength of an army to support him. 

Hopefully, it would not come to that. Starscream was tired, of the war and of having to manage what was left of 'Cons in spite of all his Master’s outlandish demands. Balance broken too many times, and the blame always on his shoulders. He smothered a curse as it ascended to challenge the order of things, for now was no the time. Busy as always, he broke below the cloud ceiling for a better view, and it was in between the trees that he spotted what was supposed to be the source of it all--where he’d seen the surge and from where the sensors had picked up a second energy source.

And it was, much to his disbelief, a human.

He circled round, once or twice, trying to decide what to do. There was nothing else--just the tree line, and the rain--no signs of Cybertonian life, or really any other, save for the smaller things that shuffled among the roots of the forest. A system and coordinate check, just to be sure, that he had indeed reached the destination. And while the numbers ran, he eyed what he could of the woods, the way it shuddered and sighed and obscured the better parts of itself. How exceptional, he thought, that there was nothing else among the foliage--not that he could see. And was it a trick, or a dream? They did not seem to be dangerous, affiliated with the Autobots or not. In either case, he could not draw whatever answers he sought out of thin air alone. It was a gamble of sorts, for sure, but he knew better than to return to the ship empty-handed. So it was with simple poise that he dipped to gravity’s will and rushed down. 

Eyes on the sky, as they say. For falcons always keep careful watch.

The scanners had not picked up anything of interest for many cycles--no Autobot activity, no new energon deposits, not even a human disturbance, in the way of their surveillance craft that might wander too close to the warship. All was in order, and all was calm, as the clouds chased each other in the upper atmosphere, and the blue of the air was washed bright with sun. While the planet swayed, a sharpened claw tapped foreign keys, in languages unspoken by any native life-form below. Such checks were mundane, but necessary, and in all honesty, Starscream would have preferred the abeyance to having to answer any signs of trouble. 

It was in instances like these were he was, after all, afforded the opportunity to plot, and to measure and check the resources, the state, of his army. Earth was not a place he was all that fond of, but for its faults, it had at least provided him with the fuel for the war machine, so that he could keep everything running smoothly. He took great pride in that, nevermind that his efforts went unnoticed to a certain Master. A frown. He cared not for theatrics as much as he did the deadly efficiency of a hunter, which he was, and the way night crept so routinely in Earth’s atmosphere. And other than that to look forward to, he’d the newest reports from the mines, the schedules, the yields, and sometimes news from the scouts when they returned to the ship.

 But daylight reigned still. That was fine; it gave him time to reconsider how to best snuff a spark. The claws curled, and slashed the keys with witty speed, all to call up a set of data points. He was double-checking the details when a warning went off, with a surge of energy that confused even the most refined of the instruments. Another tap with his talons, and the readings overtook the screens, and the eyes, frigid and afire, set about tracking the source.

A burst of that intensity was consistent with the levels of a space bridge launch, and yet he knew neither his own forces, nor the Autobot scourge, possessed such capabilities at present. A second glance and the figures suggested an alternative: something like a space bridge. But not exact. Another clack or two across the console and a series of inputs seemed to confirm his suspicions, though the origin of the phenomenon did not appear to be Cybertronian. 

And that was a bit bizarre. 

His species was not, of course, the only life-form capable of interplanetary travel, but he found no tracers of other alien occupation in this sector, nor did he particularly want to deal with any at the moment--not with a war already weighing over him. For all they uncovered, the scanners could not tell him why the portal had been opened, or what had come over from the other side. To launch an invasion, or by accident , or a mere test of tearing open space-time? No sooner did a second energy signature--this one fainter, but constant--register with a pulse, and the commander rolled his optics as if to curse it. 

He could not ignore this, threat, or trap, or otherwise. With the coordinates memorized, he turned from the bridge with a target in mind, and went like a high tide, receding. No sooner did the gates to the flight deck fall away, revealing sky, and wind, and the static, deep cold found only at altitude. Orders issued over the coms, for his Seekers to remain on stand by, and for a team to take up his task of monitoring the systems for any other signs of activity. Contact him if the need arose. And there was no more to be said about it, or secrets kept in this case, for as urgent as the situation was, his word, as Commander, was the last across the channel. 

Besides, some things were tasks for him--and for him alone. This was one such mission, and thus it was with a certain graveness, yet without wasting time, that he took his falcon form and flew.

Orange irises burned brightly, whenever they slowly blinked open, and the three heads were slumped on the cold floor of their confinement facility. The humans that were in charge of this magnificent, graceful King, were also the ones who had managed to subdue one of his size and might. They had pumped him full of substances that would leave him as a horrible mess on the ground, wings tucked in tightly to his form, trapped by steel were his appendages and three snouts. There would never be room for him to fly again, not with the current situation he had been forced to stay in.

Somehow, these two-legged beasts had worked with the likes of their greatest foe, Godzilla, along with technology he hadn’t been prepared for was used to reduce his size so that he’d fit in an enclosure that was more manageable. Now, where his form had stood taller than any earthly structure, had been reduced to about the size of a semi-truck. Either way, no matter what size he took, he knew that he would be able wreak havoc and destruction if ever he were to get free.

For now, the taste of metal and blurred visions of humans walking by the nearby window were what his life had become. The center head could just barely keep up with the visual overload of fuzzy images, and his two brothers were not faring any better or worse. This was misery at it’s greatest level, and for once in his long lifetime, he was experiencing it full-force.

Bitterness was in his cold heart, and he would hiss whenever their fleshy hands would touch his golden scales, checking to see if the fastenings were holding, or administrating more substances into his body. All of this was to keep him in a near-constant state of sedation. To control him, until they were to figure out how to make him mobile, yet still under their command. He would fight them every step of the way!

| @soleresistar |

Time was ticking. And whatever urgency a clock could command was masked by metal-tipped heels over a polished floor, for even in secret there was a record to keep. He had covered his tracks, spent ample energy getting all the pieces in place, to even execute a simple infiltration. So far as he knew, he had one chance, and he intended to make it count. Faces past him by, never stopping, and for no one did he ever stop his march beyond the hall.

He resented using the holoform, but it remained, all things considered, the best way of making contact with this creature. Whatever--whoever they were. Still, even after the research was done, and the plan constructed, he was uncertain about the details. Intel was constructed of whatever he could gleam from the databases, or what whispers he heard from within the facility. Some called them Monster Zero, or Ghidorah, but the names meant very little to him now. What he was most interested in was the power such an entity was rumored to possess, what fear they conjured, all which drove the humans to capture and contain them. Something in the files about size discrepancy, and the particulars of facility protocols. 

All curious, thought Starscream, who had not his claws, nor his wings, but at least his wits still about him in the avatar state. The uplink held firm, and the eyes, blood-colored even on his projection, scanned the interior while his footfall advanced. Suppose he was from some managerial circle, coming to check the quality of the restrains, and the makeup of the sedatives... Suppose some poor soul dared to stare into his face, where they would find all the grimness of eons given up to dust, and of pain he had outlived. The eyes were then, not so unsettling.

It had been no real chore to crack the backdoor of the system codes, and to give himself the clearance to proceed. He flashed an ID to some and a crooked glare to others, but in the end it was the inputs on the keypads and security card scans that gave him the run of the place. So in shadow, so in fabricated flesh and bone, he moved, with majesty that was not quite mortal, and the particular bitterness of one aged by war. 

Patience was in order. It was surprisingly easy to hide in plain sight. So he went, not so much unnoticed as he was unquestioned, though he did not belong there. He never could. And it was not until he came to the final gate that he, for a moment, paused. He faked a breath of air. 

For was that not a life measure for creatures of blood? He had never needed to breathe that way, and it was strange to think about, to try to mimic, as if to be ordinary. Even has he tapped the little card to the console and struck with fingertips the string of numbers that made up the code, and even as the doors came open, he was always a stranger. The sound of the cold, as it drew breath of its own and withered, seemed to remind him of that, then guided him inside the cell. There, golden and chained, the great King lay. 

Despite having no eye on the battle at hand, the battle that had disrupted their otherwise peaceful quest to savage parts and energon needed to survive, he could not perceive the two autobots had bothered to radio just yet. Depending on their level of friendliness with the small army that had won against all odds they could have decided to keep their arrival a pleasant surprise. More so when they found but one lone Decepticon scouring the skys- a trophy to bring back. One less Decepticon skulking about and surely only planning the impossible demise of hope from the Autobots. At least, these were the presumptions that Shockwave would choose to stick with for the time being, there was no need to add the stress of other Autobots incoming to their location to the situation. Handling these two alone in their more equipped battleship was already putting their skills and synergy to the test. How much trust either of them were going to place in each other for the rest of however long being held at a lethal point. It was now or never for either of them to decide this partnership bandaged and banged up three times over would work for a long time coming.

If, by some small percentile, the two reckless rebels on the other side of this planning did not at all recognize truly who they were dealing with, it weighed in a greater place for the abandoned two. A stupid pursuit without exactly knowing who they were pretending to play cat and mouse with, showed a young vulnerability. Potentially born into the war, and not having known much outside of it except for rage and fight. To tear with claws, and fight for the only two options they’d ever been given or told. Manipulative in unfair in either sides campaigns to garner more hands into their armies.

Thankfully any inklings of information that he was able to gather about the two commanding the ship that would soon no longer be theirs, indicated an even brighter outcome for his partner and himself.

As is normal routine for the Autobots, they had made some foolish decisions with or without Optimus Prime to goad them on in any fashion.

In comparison, the two Autobots confined within their ship moved as three. Starscream and Shockwave were moving in tandem of a single emasculate machine.

Making his way all the more deeper into the Underground, so to give their pursuers less area and time to turn tail and run, he quickly took note of and stowed away all information and schematics his partner had gifted him with. Weak spots, Weak spots. Weak spots. There was hardly even a single strong suit to this poor airship, considering the two that were piloting it- it had hardly any chance to serve a good purpose in it’s most prime state. A shame, but Shockwave would give it a second chance of it’s own by himself. In parts or in whole, it would serve a purpose to him and Starscream sooner or later. Even if it were only as a coffin for these idiots choosing to cross them in such a dire spot.

[ “I assure you, Starscream, I will not miss,” ]

Emotionally inept left his words feeling scarily confident, vacant even of condescendants, but if you reconsider it- it’s less a level of confidence as it is certainty. In a processor where emotions could not survive and only numbers resided, it left a hollowing promise of guarantee to his duties and actions. Even as he’s racing through the Underground’s initial hall, scanners are taking in every piece of rubbish, every low hanging cable. Assigning it to positions and factoring it in for later. For Soon. When he would bring down that airship with one blow. Keeping in touch, but no new updates to give, Shockwave pinged his falcon friend once more. Blind reassurance, despite whatever was going on outside, that he is still here. Still waiting. Getting closer and closer to the most advantageous point within the Underground to be at the ready for Starscream to lead the final chase into.

Finally, the tank comes to a stop, swiveling the lethal canon that sits atop his vehicle mode to be pointed proper. Aligning and calculating to the most likely position for the spot he needs to be in and comparing against all the information that his partner had so kindly provided him with among the daring chase and acting.

[ “I’m in the final position, Starscream,” ] perfect timing that he could not see or ever truly appreciate considering the difference in either of theirs standings at the very moment. A signal given just at the right moment for Starscream to swoop and take the path that would lead him to the Underground. To the path that would lead the Autobots to their dooms.

Not too long after the sounds of Starscream’s familiar engines echos deeply through the Underground. A klik later, the larger airship’s engine came barreling in, drowning out Starscream’s, but being all the signal he really needed. Watching from all the maps he’d made on the way in the exact position that they were at based on their sound and passing time. A countdown to their ends.

For the Autobots inside things have most certainly been confusing, giving chase to a commander of the air- where he ruled and outdid anyone- through the vast open sky. To follow deep into the underground where hardly any of them belonged with the exception of Shockwave. For white noise to suddenly overtake their radio as their defaulted frequency is interrupted,[ “You Autobots have made an illogical decision,”] There’s hardly any time for them to think even once about the message, who it was, or what it was to mean, before a couple of large canon shots make direct contact in the worst places on their airship. Wearing down it’s armor, breaking it, and destroying the engine that lays beneath.The Autobots had made the mistake of thinking they were anything greater than mere imbeciles that operated only on the idea that they are right, and yearned for the praise of their comrades. ‘We defeated Ex-Second In Command, Starscream!’ is not a sentiment they would get to celebrate, and judging from how effortless it had been for the before mentioned to handle them on his own, they are vastly undeserving of even the thought.

The airship was heaving behind him, trying to catch up. The roar from the engine ricocheted with all consumed wrath across the walls, bellowing exhaust. And try as it might, the noise could not swallow him, not while he flew, deeper below the surface, where no light of the sun could reach. Within him, greater stars faded out for all he had seen, and all he must do, for there was always more. And the air around him shattered.

Outlast. It was written in every line of the code, how his wings brushed air, and how silver went streamlined and unblemished, within the corridors they crossed. Every second, every flicker of his spark, approaching the checkpoint. The finish line was dead ahead, and it was towards death the aircraft raced, though he knew he would not die. Free of capture, of that fear that commanded him to terrible deeds–no more. Not now–he hadn’t the time for that here, and there was nowhere to go but further, to where Shockwave was waiting.

He beamed with ready confidence, in himself, and in his partner. The transmissions spoke for themselves, he needed only to ping back to acknowledge reception. It was in the final moment he sped ahead, and the ship, large and caught unaware, could not match him. Shockwave’s assurance was all he needed, in in those words he had cast his next set of maneuvers, for all had come together, and at last the deed was done.

The flash of the scientist’s cannon announced the extinguishing of the ship’s engine, biting through metal and rivets. Shrapnel flew. And as the thing on his six bawled and wobbled, unable to fly anymore, he started to descend ahead of it. It took but seconds, though the look on his face seemed to last much longer. Soon they would know–they had never been masters, and they had been brutally deceived.

Starscream transformed again, turning fully to face the great machine. Quick as lighting both his heel struts slammed straight into the cockpit, leaving tear-sized cracks. With his claws and a few well-aimed blows, he turned streams into rivers. And he saw, through the visor of the ship, the faces of his enemies as they stared into his soul, swallowed entirely in a panic, and powerless to stop him. Only pure terror could meet the crash of his talons, only pain could make sense of his strikes, all while pieces of the fuselage splintered, and they tumbled down, down, toward the darkness that was the bowels of the chamber. Such a course suited only for fallen angels. And yet there were no angels here.

Damned fools. He thought, what end do I resemble?

Then he leapt, and aimed, and fired his missiles into the glass, so at last the canyon cracks opened up, and shards of the stuff shivered just like acid rain into the blast. They were but a few hundred feet above the bottom of the pit when it happened, and there was nothing either Autobot pilot could do, being blinded and frozen still with dread. The ship itself only seemed to accelerate in the wrong direction.

With the momentum, the Seeker passed over the dying thing, and as a falcon, flew strong as it twisted, and screamed, and fell. Smoke was the only shadow to pursue him, and he escaped the reach of it easily. It took him a short while to retrace the flight path, back to his partner, and beside whom he assumed his robot form once more. The sudden click of his wings in place completed the transformation sequence, and he clasped both hands behind his back.

“Well done,” his voice, drawn out in almost a hum, was dark as the space around them. A collaborative effort, planned and executed. Both had dedicated precious energon to see their project through–but they were alive, and unscathed, and presented even in their setback, with a host of new opportunities. It was a testament to their combined ferocity, and their wit, and their strength. Adaptability. Against all odds, they persevered, and in the ash of defeat, after losing a war, they’d won another battle.

In the ruins was the rising of a new age, so he towered over the wreckage from their place in the underworld. To a swifter rhythm, his spark pulsed below his chestplate, caught still in the rush of the flight, and the fight to stay alive. When time slipped, it settled, and he glanced from the ship to Shockwave, with whom he’d smothered the thing and the terrible sound it had shaped. No more room to rest–the next steps of action were in order, and it was with resolve that Starscream shifted his weight, from one heel to the other, and his attention as he stared into that crimson eye.

His own eyes were intense, and tired, and alight with a sentiment that could not exactly be formed with words. He did not know if Shockwave would understand–or if he even could fathom it himself, if given the chance. In the interlude, it could have been pride, or serenity. It dove deeper than what brevity could offer; but it was not so covert. He made no effort to conceal it, though he had no name for it, past the sense of accomplishment and necessity of survival that came from destroying a foe. Perhaps it was the fact that they had, whatever the requirement, emerged in unified victory, or perhaps it was that he’d every justification now for choosing to return over choosing to run.

But it was hardly appropriate, he thought, to dwell much on it now. Not so far from them, the Autobots lay in the mangled heap of their ship, either wounded or slain outright by the impact. He had to check their status–it would be unwise to merely assume their demise, or to leave the wreckage without scoping it for resources: those useful in the moment, or in the long-run. Whether or not they could scavenge directly from the fuel tanks was one of his most immediate concerns, nevermind the potential of rebuilding, or re-purposing a space-worthy vessel. As for the Autobots themselves, if Shockwave wanted to keep them, for his experiments or for performing a Patch, Starscream would not stand in his way. In that case they could likely strip some piping from the ship to tether them.

One step, for goals yet unspoken, and over unholy ground, Starscream went softly. If for nothing else, to reconsider what options were now available, and for what else they might have to calculate. Caution told him to prepare for the worst, or for disappointment at least, but whatever lay in wait, he had settled on the fact at last that he was not down here, in the dark, all alone.

“Pardon?”

Thirsty for what, exactly? Power? Yes. Revenge. Undeniably. The confusion began to recede as he considered the most literal interpretation of the term--for energon..? Well, not really. At least not enough to possibly justify accepting handouts from a stranger at this time. 

Someone’s idea of a joke. It had to be. Or a not-so-subtle attempt to slip a toxin into the mixture to knock him offline--either way, he was increasingly suspicious. The eyes narrowed, and flashed, and all-too-sudden as if scouring the very proposition itself for the answers. “... No.” Quiet, but firm. “And though I can hardly guess at your intentions, I’d suggest you avoid testing my patience.” 

That was very likely too harsh--for who was he to say for sure whether it was but a kind gesture, or a trick?--but he wasn’t about to let his guard down. After some contemplation, he allowed his tone to soften, though every tension in his frame read still on alert. 

The Autobot gave a firm nod, he may not be the biggest fan of working with a Con, but he was smart enough to know their cooperation might be their only way out off here, there was no need making things more difficult.

“I’ve opened one for you,” he announced after a short moment, “I only hope the frequency won’t be scrambled,” perhaps the fact they were both within this odd space was enough to keep the line stable, in comparison to the comm lines used to speak to their respective team mates.

The Prime readied himself, lowering himself to the ground while simultaneously shifting into truck mode. With his engine idling he spoke to the Seeker again.

“Likewise I will transfer anything of interest to you.“

With the opening of the line, he rose into the air and flew toward the sun. Or was it a moon? Halo-plated, and without warmth, though the light of it crossed his path. Higher, the spark within him flickering, higher till the air thinned, and all of the ground fell away into haze. 

Still, nothing made sense. Ill-composed and fighting the way his flight instruments strayed, unsure of time, or space, or the heading he’d chosen. He sent whatever visuals he could gather--the forest, vast and deep, scattered every which way, making up the horizon. What could have been mountains, or even city limits in the distance, or another distortion, set up by the light and the shadow that leaked out in places where it did not belong. There were clouds, far above him--or something that resembled them, and the whisper of the trees below, making clearings, and galleys alongside the rifts of shattered space. It was disturbing, again, to see this place from his wings. And as he sailed, he shuddered, for this was not the same sky he had ruled.

“Prime?” Even the files could have corrupted itself. His voice rang true despite it, “I’m forwarding you the data. Confirm transfer, if able.” 

He could not be sure if the transmission would go through, or if it was fated to be swallowed in static. On the surface, there seemed to be nothing, and between the lines, quiet shots in the dark. 

With his warning taken, and so far respected, Optimus crossed his arms over his chest and listened as the Seeker revealed his observations and ideas. He too had had little luck finding out where they possibly could be, their very surroundings seeming so unstable and hazy, nothing truly solid like Cybertron or Earth. Yet somehow there were ground to stand on, but he could not help but wonder if it too would shift at any moment, dropping him into some kind of surreal maw.

“No objections,” he said, his voice a little less hostile. “So far all I have seen has been very much the same no matter where I go. You’d have an advantage point finding a landmark from the sky.”

“I doubt I’d have much luck, but I can cover the surrounding area by ground. Perhaps there is something out there, hidden in all this-…” he turned his helm to the forever shifting, vaguely forest-like, surroundings, “… Stuff.”

The truce stayed firm. Starscream was content with that, and with the Prime’s approach. He too was wary of the surrounding space--of crumbling earth and shattered sky, with some means to possibly swallow them both. If all was consumed, if they could not escape the prison pit, he could not begin to fathom what exactly would become of them. Doomed to be phantoms, maybe, of lost place, sand scattered over winds unbounded--that idea circled him tight. And yet they were not quite convicted. 

“Then we are in agreement,” he said it with a bow of the head. The Autobot was right; while the Seeker had the vantage of reaching over a larger distance from the air, Optimus indeed had the edge when it came to scouring for the finer details. There was so much that he could not see from on-high, blocked by the forest and the strange shadows, masking the world in contortions. They would have to put both their skillsets to use, as they’d each a role to play here, and a most particular way of seeing the world. 

They had to be missing something. Whether hidden out there in the shadows or in plain sight, he refused to resign himself to a state of misery. Fear would drive him off the deep end, and he turned away the notion at once. Now was the time to embrace his finesse, and the advantage he had gained in an ally. 

So his gaze rose, skyward, to where the sun was suspended somewhere in the haze. “We should remain in contact. I may be able to provide you with some topographical data, at the very least,” resolve stayed strong in his voice. “Would you care to open a comm line?” 

// My Sunshine!! ❤ not if i die for you first

I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you and your encouragement, support, and inspiration (among so many other things!). Really this has been such a wonderful thing in my life, I cannot express how grateful I am not only for you and your kind words but for the chance to write with you and Shockwave, and to come into this wonderful RP community! And it moves my little heart to tears of joy to read this, and to think about how blessed and thankful I am everyday to have you in my life, and that we met in the first place! This is more special than I could ever express, and I want you to know I will always treasure every single bit! Because it really does mean so, so much. You know how much Star means to me and how much I love talking about headcanons and shenanigans with you, and I promise I will always try my very best to write him. Thank you kindly for your message and for all the light you bring wherever you go!

If those who knew him so well could be considered Starscream experts, Madison’s psychic powers perhaps counted as a cheat code. Even missing the twitching wings or the downturn of his lips, she felt his fear, paranoia, disillusionment, and fragility as easily as they were her own. The girl kept herself from wincing at the pain of it.

Subsisting like this created no kind of life anybody should have ever lived. This looked and acted like a dystopia sprung to life. For all that the Autobots suffered from the hit to their numbers, she never saw them living like this. Not once.

Still, when Starscream offered to show her around, Madison smiled. It was kind of him. For one thing, most mecha on the ship despised humanity and considered them nothing more than miniature meat bags that happened to gain sentience. Like mosquitoes that could talk. Those opinions stung her with both the sheer malignancy and ignorance needed to fuel them.

“Actually, watching the flight deck sounds fun,” she replied. “On Earth, we love to speculate about spacefaring ships like this one, but we don’t really have the technology to go beyond our own solar system. It’s always enlightening when Soundwave invites me up here.” The closest experience one could get was visiting one of the space centers in the United States, but this was by far cooler. The Nemesis was covered in glyphs she couldn’t understand and tools that defied her imagination. Why wouldn’t she have wanted to explore it a little?

“Oh?” an arc of the brow signaled interest again. Though he really was enjoying the opportunity to enhance his understanding of the human species, that no longer was his prime objective. Wary as he was of them in general, Madison was proving to be good company so far, and he was more concerned with getting to know her, both as an associate of Soundwave’s, and as her own person. It seemed worth it.

So many interactions aboard the warship were sung to the tune of interrogations, from one side or the other--or at the very least, heavily scripted. With so much expected, the ceremonies and formalities and the regiment. As much as Starscream strove to maintain order, even he had to admit that the prosaic nature of such protocols was utterly mind-numbing. Efficiency had always been an objective of his, but the two didn’t always equate. Even stars tire out if they burn for too long.

Seeing the smile was like a break in that banal routine, and from the burning of things: bridges and ambition and possibilities. He returned the look, briefly. It overtook his face like rain, collected, and then washed silently away.

But not entirely. Where there were shadows maybe it stayed. “Then by all means, I hope our visit will prove as educational, and entertaining, as those past.” 

Was it a quest for knowledge that drove people to move past gravity’s pull? The temptation of all that was dark and the unknown? The humans were, comparatively, a very young species. It did not surprise him that they had not yet developed the technology necessary to move between star systems. But the allure of it was very real--he knew vaguely that they possessed, in some capacity, space programs, and shuttles, and little satellites that orbited Earth. They’d escaped the surface, and were no doubt working towards greater heights. 

To him, Madison seemed the sort that could pull off something like that--greater heights and better ideas. Means of escaping old ways. And besides, if Soundwave had invited her to the flight deck before, then he had little to fear in the form of rebuttal. So it was settled.