#raud writes

Starscream, unbeknownst to anyone including himself, has a spark immortality outlier, and after being killed by the Predacons at Darkmount was revived by it in conjunction with the shard of dark energon that remained in his spark chamber from when he tried to use it to revive Skyquake. A scouting team of Autobots find his corpse and witness his deactivated spark reignite firsthand and decide to bring him back aboard the nemesis to try to understand what exactly caused it to come back. They begin to float around the idea of potentially cloning his spark to reproduce the outlier, and plan to keep him online to further study the anomaly.

Knock Out is enlisted to repair him, as he knows how to do it best with what parts are available, and in doing so, discovers the early signs that something isn't quite right. Starscream is not retaining any of the energon being drip-fed into his lines. He seems to have lost nearly all of it from his systems, and yet still remains online.

When Starscream eventually wakes from stasis and is able to communicate with Knock Out, the first thing he notices is the purple color of his optics. Starscream becomes aware of a new extrasensory perception; everything around him seems to be in heightened definition, his senses are sharper, and he can 'see' others' sparks through their frames. This revelation especially unsettles Knock Out. He knows he has heard of this phenomenon before, but is unsure where. It isn't until movie night with the Autobots that it dawns on him: Starscream is a vampire... well, not exactly. His symptoms are exactly in-line with the early stages of a sparkeater transformation, and as it progresses, so will his need to consume the sparks of others. Knock Out knows that he must keep this revelation a secret from the rest of the mechs on board, otherwise who knows what they might do to Starscream.

Starscream grows fatigued, lethargic. Energon makes him nauseous, and he's having a hard time staying awake. He needs to feed on sparks to replenish his energy levels. Knock Out lures an unsuspecting vehicon into the medbay and the sparkeater strikes, acting on instinct and tearing through the spark chamber to devour the spark within. Knock Out watches on in disgust, resigned to his fate of having to do this on a regular basis, and works to clear up the mess and dispose of the remains.

The Autobots, primarily Ratchet, set to work on their plan to study Starscream's spark and work to clone it with the hope that the knowledge they obtain from their research could potentially be used to reignite Optimus' spark. They discover the odd state of his frame and the strange readings as the mutation progresses.

The pair come up with a lie: Starscream's frame is no longer dependent on energon due to the nature of his outlier, and he can subsist just fine on the energy transfer of a spark merge! The intimate nature of the explanation keeps the Autobots from asking too many questions. Starscream(aromantic) hates this explanation, but plays along regardless because it benefits them both and buys them privacy to continue their secret meetings so he can feed.

Time passes, and the mutation continues to transform Starscream's frame. His optics grow more light-sensitive, his faceplate splits and he develops the signature pharyngeal jaw of a terrorcon. He grows taller, sharper, practically growing out of his old plating as a new, larger jet mode presents itself when he changes modes. The final elements are the cables, six in total, each tipped with serrated blades for harpooning prey from short distances. He becomes more and more of a threat to the Autobots with each passing day.

Eventually, the Autobots begin to catch on. Vehicons have been going missing at an alarming rate, and the patterns are all leading back to Starscream and his strange mutations. Knock Out can't cover for him forever, and knows he will eventually have to come clean...

All he had to do was some simple math. Just find the estimated totals based on the list of requested materials, write it down, and move onto the next datapad and do it again. Something was distracting him, however. He could tell that the Autobots had been acting strangely all morning, sparing him concerned half-glances as he passed through the halls and whispering when they thought he was out of earshot. Soundwave had been rather quick to usher him into their shared office once they finished the morning briefing, which had been thick with an underlying tension never once addressed. His visor prickled with excess static. What exactly were they keeping from him? What was going on?

Laserbeak was perched on the corner of his desk, watching him work with the same intensity that Soundwave would have. He reached over to stroke her back. She trilled warmly as his digits ran down her plating, fluttering her wings happily.

He had grown accustomed to her presence over the last few stellar cycles. She was as much a constant in his life as Soundwave was, and he couldn't say he minded having her around, especially at times like this. 

He managed to calculate the next few estimates, the pile of finished datapads only slightly taller than the unfinished one now. The questions still stirred in the back of his mind. Was there anything that would warrant being kept from him specifically? The only thing that came to mind was that-

The sound of heavy pedesteps in the hallway reached his audials, and they were drawing closer. Old instinct had him on edge, and he straightened in his seat. Laserbeak flew back towards her host without warning. Soundwave quickly detached his cables from his console and strode to the door as she docked back to his chest, but not before turning to him and sending a private comm: 'Go to the back room and lock the door.' 

Fear raced up his spinal strut. The datapad he'd been holding slipped from his grasp and clattered to the desk as he stood. He did as instructed without question, entering the command for the door to slide shut behind him and locking it from the inside. The supply room was big enough for him to move around inside of without bumping his wings on anything. It mostly contained shelves of empty datapads and old equipment awaiting repair. He kept the lights off, the dim of the room only lit by his visor and biolights as he felt around for the old office chair he'd stashed here. He needed to calm his nerves, already the static was building and soon it would start to affect his frame if he didn’t settle down. Soundwave was protecting him from whoever was out there. He sunk down into the chair and allowed that thought to play on repeat like a mantra as he regulated the air flow through his vents.

He tried not to think about who could be outside the door, but a part of him already knew, and the other part desperately hoped it was wrong. 

It was difficult to make out the words being said in the other room, but he definitely recognized that voice. Primus, why was he here? What did he want? Why did he always have to show up to ruin everything?

He found himself alone in his quarters once again, and it was a feeling he had once been so used to. He had spent much of his run-time alone before Breakdown, and then again after him, but it never seemed to get any easier once there was a taste of something more. Breakdown had quelled it for a time, and then Starscream had done the same upon his return from the dead. The guilt was eating away at him, knowing that below, deep within the remaining bowels of the Nemesis, Starscream’s hunger was doing the same to him. 

Accusations had flown and digits had been pointed in a heated debate that ended with the sparkeater in their midst being found out and locked up in the one remaining brig cell tucked away on the lower deck. He had been down there for over five decacycles, likely having lost himself to the intense hunger pangs. The Autobots would offer him cruelty and call it mercy, withholding the sole source of replenishment he needed to survive because of the moral and ethical quandaries that consuming sparks presented. 

A life for a life wasn't all that enticing of a deal when one of them was Starscream. Majority of the remaining Autobots were more than happy with the current arrangement, agreeing that leaving him to rot in a cell was better than losing more innocent vehicons.

Would their Prime have done the same?

Despite the nature of Starscream’s condition as a sparkeater, it wasn't his fault he had become one. It wasn't like he had known he could return from the Well, nor could anyone have known the dark energon within his chassis—the blood of Unicron—would corrupt the very nature of his spark upon its spontaneous re-ignition. It wasn't even known if he could die. There was just too little information to go off of. 

In their brief time together over the course of Starscream’s mutation, Knock Out had attempted to fill in some of the gaps in available knowledge on sparkeaters. He had been documenting his findings, kept in a datapad that had been confiscated once their whole situation was exposed, and he highly doubted he would ever be getting it back.

He had learned so much about Starscream and his new anatomy and habits. The way his frame now suited the needs of his nature, perfectly designed for hunting and killing prey while keeping them online to preserve the spark within. The cables he now utilized were for spearing and anchoring victims in place like harpoons. His internals had shifted to match the change in diet, now incapable of processing energon and solely devoted to absorbing spark energy from within. Even the changes to his processor, still sharp as ever, but now fine tuned to sense the presence of every spark nearby and being capable of differentiating between them without even seeing who they belonged to. It was all so fascinating. It was a shame the Autobots would never see it that way.

To them, he had always been a monster, and the transformation only served to further the truth.

He would be able to pay the seeker a visit soon. There was a team patrol scheduled for the following morning, and it would be so easy to sneak out of his quarters and down to the brig when most of the bots were out of the ship. It would have to be a worthwhile trip. He needed to find a way to get Starscream fed in order to ensure his own safety. Having gone this long without a spark to sate his hunger, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t turn on the first spark to enter his enclosure, regardless of who it may be.

The night cycle seemed to drag on as he remained sequestered in his quarters. It was only once he was certain the bots on the ship had departed for the day that he put his plan into motion.

The basement level of the ship was incredibly dark. Most of the power down here had been rerouted to energize the bars of the single intact cell. Nothing moved, nothing but the creaking and groaning of the derelict vessel they lived in. It was eerily quiet as Knock Out made his way over to the glowing bars, dragging an unconscious vehicon guard with him as he went. 

A pair of violet optics were barely visible through the darkness at the back of the cell. They were so dim and low to the ground he almost missed them. They locked onto him, true to Starscream’s predatory nature as he lay curled up on his side. 

He had been abandoned down here for so long. Abandoned by the Autobots, and even by Primus, rejected from entering the Well and cast down into the belly of the ship to spend his remaining cycles suffering the curse Unicron had corrupted the nature of his very spark with.

Starscream slowly hauled himself to his pedes, standing unevenly on shaking struts. He took slow, unsteady steps forward, using his cables and a servo braced to the wall to aid his balance as he approached the glowing bars. Even with one arm wrapped tightly around his middle it was obvious he had grown thinner, armor now ill-fitting on his protoform and overlapping in some places. Emaciated as he was, he looked like a walking corpse.

He appeared to be in his right mind, glaring intently at Knock Out with some strange mixture of unfamiliar emotions behind his dull optics. Most of all, he looked worn and weary, lacking the energy to do much more than lie on the ground wasting away cycle after cycle. The way he uncomfortably swayed on his own pedes was proof enough that this was the most he'd moved in a while.

He said nothing as Knock Out shoved the vehicon up against the bars of the cell. Famished, Violet optics traced up and down its prone form with an intensity henceforth unseen.

"Brought you a spark, and I have some news to share, as well," he said into the hollow silence of the brig.

Their optics met only for a moment before the sparkeater descended upon the unconscious vehicon. His frame slumped to the floor as cables slipped between the bars, their sharp tips piercing straight through plating and protoform. The surgeon watched on with fascination as the vehicon's chassis was wrenched open, spark chamber exposed and then cracked apart to reveal the bright glow of the spark within. Energon spilled forth and pooled on the ground.

Only once the spark had been greedily devoured, his hunger now temporarily sated, did Starscream speak. His voice crackled with disuse and static as he asked, "What kind of news?" Suspicion weighed heavily in his tone.

Knock Out found himself hesitating. The scrutiny of Starscream's gaze had him rooted in place, unable to fully articulate his answer.

Starscream had done a lot of misdeeds in his life, but was this truly the kindest option? It seemed the Autobots would do everything in their power to avoid confronting their ugliest problems head-on. Once again, they were more than content to hide them away and bury them forever than try to work towards a proper solution.

There were two peculiar signatures he became aware of one evening. One ran at a high temperature, a steady pulse with an even pattern. The other spun rather quickly, faster than most he had sensed before. They were meandering around the lower floors of the building, moving between the lobby, elevator shafts, and outside areas surrounding the place. Initially, he had brushed it aside as maintenance workers just doing their jobs, servicing some system or another. They would even loiter outside, hanging around for joors at a time in one place before moving on to the next one. It was only when the two signatures returned again and again, repeating the pattern for a decacycle, that his suspicions arose into something greater. 

There was no maintenance scheduled for the residence on this lunar cycle’s bulletin. There could only be one other possibility: they were casing the building. They had to be. The signatures would even register on his radar as he was waking up for the night, likely having been monitoring the area for joors already. Knock Out was none the wiser to his comings and goings being watched. Those two definitely knew his schedule by now.

He didn’t know exactly what those suspicious sparks had planned, but it couldn’t be good. Were they after Knock Out? Or did they just want to break into the penthouse? He wouldn't deny they led a rather opulent lifestyle up here, with a massive TV and nice furniture and the occasional luxury brand fashion accessory bought here and there. The silk robe he was currently wearing definitely wasn't cheap. He began to fidget with the platinum tag dangling from his collar, feeling its engraved surface and diamond pavè between his claws. Perhaps motive for burglary wasn't out of the question.

If it came down to it, he was more than capable of handling two common crooks on his own. Until then, he would keep an optic out, doing a little spy work in the meantime.

The next several cycles saw the same routines play out. The two spark signatures would hang around the building and leave when Knock Out returned home, almost like clockwork. It was about another decacycle after his suspicions were raised that something different took place.

Knock Out wasn’t home yet. He awoke from recharge a little earlier than usual, the setting sun was still visible on the horizon through the window when he poked his helm out from under the covers. 

He clambered out from his berth, untangling himself from the many duvet comforters and weighted blankets as he went, leaving them in a messy avalanche of warmth that eventually fell to the floor as he got to his pedes. A lazy stretch of his arms above his helm and wings out to the sides helped shake off some of the residual sleep still clinging to his frame. He was still drowsy and slowly coming to his senses, only just becoming aware of his peripherals when he sensed something that sent a shiver up his spine. 

The high-temperature spark was standing just outside the front door. 

He stood frozen in place, sensing as the spark remained there. There was no indication that this was just an uninvited guest, or even a delivery mech dropping something off. No knocks, no buzzing of the door comm, nothing. Just a silent, lurking threat. There had to be a reason. Maybe this mech was listening in, checking to see if the penthouse was truly unoccupied during the daytime while Knock Out was away at work. 

Moving as silently as possible, he crept out of his room and down the hallway, carefully placing each pedestep on the soft floor runner to dampen any sound. Cables freed themselves from their housings as he went. He would be prepared to strike, if necessary. 

Stepping onto the area rug once he made it to the living room, he continued his quiet approach with practiced ease. His frame had been restructured into that of a stealth hunter. He moved silently, joints cushioned and steps dampened to avoid spooking potential prey. Being undead meant that his systems were quieter than those of a normal mech; many of his internals had restructured themselves during his transformation, now made to process the sparks he fed on rather than energon. They ran on pure spark energy, and had much less work to do than normal energon-based systems.

As he made it to the far wall where the door was, the intense hunger he had been avoiding thinking about for cycles now hit him all at once when faced with an unfamiliar spark so close by. His last meal had been two decacycles ago, and the mere thought of a fresh spark was so enticing that his intake started to water. He was locked in an unending stare with sensors transfixed on its tempo. It was just out of reach, and he could feel his own spinning faster just thinking about snatching it up and shoving it down his throat. He slowly planted his servos on the wall, gazing intently through it as if that would draw it any closer to him. 

He had been so focused on the tantalizing spark that he almost failed to notice Knock Out’s familiar arrhythmia approaching the building from afar. It seemed the mech outside had been alerted of this, and he sensed as the spark made its way back to the elevator, down several floors, and eventually out through the lobby. Knock Out would have crossed paths with them, none the wiser to what had just taken place. 

The two mysterious sparks were out of his sensor range now. For their sake, he hoped they stayed that way. 

The last thing he needed was any unnecessary trouble. His life since the war’s end had taken a marvelous turn for the better, and he was nestled deep into the lap of luxury, sitting pretty in a penthouse with a fabulously wealthy benefactor providing for his every need. It would only take one slip-up to lose everything. 

He just wished his refueling schedule wasn't so dependent on Knock Out’s work schedule…

With the temptation now gone, his jaw clacked closed again. He hadn’t even realized it was opened like that. Not knowing what else to do, he withdrew his cables back into his frame and took his spot on the couch, settling in for a long TV marathon just as the surgeon arrived home for the night cycle. He heard the familiar chime of the elevator landing on their floor. The door code was entered into the keypad and Knock Out made his appearance at last. 

“Oh, you're awake already,” he said, locking the door behind him once he entered. He set down his datapad on the countertop and went over to see what was on TV for the night.

Through the sounds of The Great Praxian Bake-Off, he hummed in acknowledgement. He shifted a bit to allow Knock Out to claim his favorite spot beside him. The red blanket he was wrapped in was big enough to share. He lifted a corner, gesturing for Knock Out to join him. 

“Long day?” He asked as the surgeon collapsed against his cold frame, leaning his full weight into Starscream’s side as he draped the throw blanket over them both.

“You could say that…”

The atmosphere was cozy and relaxed as Knock Out rambled on about the events of his day at work to him. It was more of the usual; office drama, problem patients, and high-profile clientele stories, but Starscream listened regardless. They only had these few joors to spend together before the surgeon got tired and headed off to recharge. 

Once their little gossip session had reached its end, Knock Out turned to ask, “Are you doing all right?” 

“Fine,” he replied noncommittally, “Tired, hungry, fighting to stave off boredom… You know how it goes.” He gave the same answer he usually did, electing to omit the part about the two sparks he had been studying these last several cycles. What Knock Out didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Probably.

—

It was far too early in the day for him to have woken up under normal circumstances, however something was off. He'd only been recharging for about two joors, during which Knock Out had already left for work. Sunlight still streamed in from behind the edges of his blackout curtains as he dragged himself from the berth. There were strange sounds coming from outside. He needed to investigate.

Before even exiting his room, he realized what was amiss. The two meddling sparks he had been monitoring were just outside the front door, and he could hear the sounds of some kind of laser being used. The air faintly smelled of burnt wiring and metal. 

Hmm, definitely not maintenance. This was a break-in.

He opened the door just a crack, enough to peer down the hallway and catch a glimpse of the intruders as they cut through the door locks and barged in like they owned the place. The security alarm blared from the broken door panel, no doubt alerting the authorities. One was smaller, a two-wheeler with red paint. This was the fast-paced spark, he could sense it spinning in excitement as the mech took in his surroundings. The other was a large, green ground-pounder, the one with the hotter spark. He recognized this one from yesterday's loitering.

Little did they know, he was absolutely famished, and they had broken into his home as if to serve up their own sparks on a silver platter.

He stepped into the hallway and approached the living room, keeping to the shadows. The lights were all switched off, and the only light came through the blinds in front of the balcony doors. He watched in silence as they rifled through the drawers and cabinets in the room, struggling with the locked filing cabinet for a brief moment like buffoons. It was only once the short one recalled the laser cutter left by the front door and went to retrieve it that his presence in the dark corner of the room was acknowledged. 

“Hey, what the-”

Pupils opened wide inside purple optics. The two were staring at him now, unsure of what to think about someone actually being home when all their careful surveillance and planning indicated the penthouse would be empty during the day. 

He took advantage of their confusion, lunging at the larger of the two, barely managing to dodge a bullet fired from the smaller one’s pistol. Scrap, one was armed, and with bullets rather than laser rounds. It whizzed overhead, embedding itself somewhere in the wall behind him as he brought the green intruder to the ground. His cables shot out from his frame to clamp the mech’s wrists and ankles in their vice grip as he crouched atop him, the sharp ends digging into the flooring like anchors. The mech struggled beneath him, trying desperately to free himself to no avail. Starscream’s faceplate split open in a threatening display, hissing loudly and snapping his secondary jaws.

“Oh scrap!”

“What the frag?!” 

“Shoot it already-!”

The second and third shots from the pistol struck true, piercing the armor of his back and side. He shrieked, jolting with the sudden impacts. The momentary distraction gave the mech beneath him an opportunity to reel back and headbutt him right in the faceplate. One of his jaw plates was knocked out of alignment with a loud, sickening pop, and his vision was obscured in one optic by a new crack cutting across the outer lens. Primus, that fragging hurt.

He leapt back, dragging the trapped mech with him as he staggered to his pedes and regained his footing. Half of his face now hung loosely from its hinges, swinging freely as he whipped his helm around to face the mech with the gun.

The trigger was pulled again, this time puncturing his wing. In retaliation, he flung the mech still tied up in his cables at the shooter, sending them both flying into the balcony doors and shattering them with a crash. 

The two quickly scrambled to untangle themselves and get to their pedes, and he took the time to pop his jaw back into place as best he could. It was still out of proper alignment as he stalked towards the pair, cables at the ready. The smaller mech was standing in front of the other now, still kneeling on the ground, dripping energon from where his cable claws had cut into his joints earlier. He knew he felt something crunch when the mech was in his grasp.

“W-what in Unicron’s name are you?!” The red one asked while taking a few paces back. He had lost the gun in the scuffle, but twin blades extended from his forearms. Drops of energon from his friend were smeared on parts of his frame. 

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he answered with a hiss, cables shooting forward to catch the intruder as he leapt to the side. 

His attempted jabs were parried, the sharp clang of metal on metal echoed throughout the room as his claws were deflected off the blades. One lucky swing connected with the side of a cable and got caught between its segments, digging deep into the sensitive wiring inside. That hurt more than he thought it would. Sparks flew from the wound as the claw at the cable’s end fell limp and its points clinked against each other uselessly. He growled in frustration, jerking the affected cable closer to him and drawing the red mech along with it. Having lost his footing, the mech was pulled towards him and couldn’t react fast enough to avoid his next move. He snagged the mech by the ankles, lifting him up in the air as two more cables grasped his remaining limbs and spread them apart while he hung suspended. 

Starscream could see the fear in his optics as he dislodged his damaged cable from that damned blade. The way his captive’s spark beat rapidly within his chassis was so enticing, ripe and ready to be eaten. The mech squirmed in his hold. He smirked as best he could with his crooked jaw, tracing a sharpened claw tip over the mech’s chestplate and leaving a scratch on his windshield. 

Movement out of the corner of his optic drew his attention to the larger mech, now holding the pistol and shakily aiming it directly at his helm. He was still kneeling on the ground, unable to put weight on either of his pedes, it seemed. He'd cut him good when he had him pinned earlier.

“You don't have the bearings to kill me,” he japed, fluttering his wings. “Your friend tried, and look where that got him.” He ran his claws over the two-wheeler's windshield once again with a shrill squealing.

The green mech faltered just slightly, enough for the cable that had slithered close to him amid the distracting dialogue to easily catch its target. It gripped the mech by the leg and yanked him closer. The gun went off as his frame was jerked about and put a bullet through one of the overhead lights, bursting it instantly as glass shards rained down upon all three of them.

Now with both mechs before him, he could work on getting rid of that gun. He put the upside down two-wheeler between him and the mech on the floor as a living shield. He gripped the red mech by the throat with his servo, sharp claws drawing deep scratches into the metal while he maneuvered his cables around.

 He stepped forward, planting a heeled pede on the mech's hip as he squeezed the red one's throat just enough to draw energon. “Drop it, or your little friend gets skewered,” he said firmly, shaking his captive a bit in his hold to get his point across. 

The gun clattered to the floor and the green mech raised his servos in surrender. He wasted no time in ensuring the pistol couldn't be used against him again, picking it up in his claws and pulling the magazine out, letting it fall from his grasp. He kicked it away, sending it skittering across the ground. It came to a stop by the broken balcony doors. 

He looked back down at the gun in his hold, pulling the slide to reveal the round primed in the chamber. Hmm, time for a little payback for his jaw. 

The trigger was pulled. The gun fired with a bang. Energon bubbled up and spilled out from the gaping hole through the lower half of the green one's faceplate. Starscream tightened his grip as the frame below him jerked about violently. 

Payback achieved, he tossed the empty pistol to the side. He had to work fast now, the processor was already losing energon thanks to that last shot, and if it went offline, the spark would dissolve. 

He crouched down and dug in with his claws, reaching in to pry apart the mech's chestplate piece by piece to expose the spark chamber hidden within. Metal screeched and cracked as it was peeled away. The spark chamber walls were exposed now, the small, tantalizing little light was waiting just beyond. Using one of his sharpened cable barbs, he jabbed through the hard exterior casing and split it open along the top seam, exposing the innermost energon and the spark membrane nestled within. The mech's weak thrashing sent drops of blue spilling out over the edges.

Reaching in with utmost dexterity, he lifted the membrane out from the pool it sat in. He had to be careful during this part, one wrong move could burst the spark and risk contaminating it with energon. One gentle, precise slice with his claw freed the plasma core of the spark from its jelly-like casing. He held it in his servos, hot and still beating as the movement below him ceased. Now for the best part.

Unfurling his jaw plates once again, his pharyngeal jaw extended from within his throat and engulfed the spark, swallowing it whole. It tasted of fear, electric and tangy, and the intensity of it spread across his entire frame. He could feel its warmth within him as it settled in his tank. He sighed in relief. After nearly two decacycles, the gnawing hunger was alleviated. 

Now without a spark, the green mech’s chassis was rapidly greying on the floor beneath him. Energon overflowed onto the porcelain tiles, already a mess with broken glass and paint transfers from their earlier scuffle. His servos were still stained with innermost energon and gunshot residue. Steadily rising back to stand, he released his hold on the deactivated frame, the cables retracting back into their housings within his chassis. All but one. 

There was still a second spark in the room with him, and he wasn't about to let it go to waste. 

The barbed tips within the center of each cable claw were serrated, made to pierce and tear and not let go. As he learned and adapted to his frame, he had discovered one of the best ways to utilize them was to immobilize his prey by targeting the t-cog. He had the red mech at his mercy now, stabbed right through the center of it and pinned to the floor. The entire time he'd been busy devouring the first spark, he could feel the red one struggling to free himself on the other end of the cable like a fish on a hook, to no avail. The pain must have been immense.

He’d once been in a similar predicament, hadn’t he? Dissected, stripped of a Cybertronian’s most vital mechanism and left alone to suffer without it… Well, at least MECH had no plans to devour his spark when they took his t-cog. He definitely couldn’t say the same for his own motivations.

As his shadow loomed over the mech, his spark rate shot up, rapidly turning over itself as his writhing intensified. 

“P-please,” he begged. 

He lowered himself to hover over the two-wheeler, close enough to whisper in his audials. “Do you think your begging will accomplish anything?” He asked. “You're the fool who broke into the home of a sparkeater.”

Claws gripped the edges of the mech’s chestplates and wrenched them apart as the mech began to scream. He dug in quickly, making short work of getting to the spark chamber and tearing it open, not caring for the mess it made in the process. The second spark was just as heavenly as the first. He was left feeling pleasantly satisfied as its warmth traveled down his throat and the room fell quiet at last. 

He pulled his cables free from the deactivated frame, rising back to his full height as the red faded to an empty shade of grey. Energon dripped from his cables and claws, puddles of blue staining the floor around him.

Now left to stand there in the aftermath of the massacre, things began to settle into place within his processor. He had just been attacked in a home invasion and gotten thoroughly roughed up, even despite taking care of the perpetrators on his own. His spark was still spinning fast, fans running on high after such an exertion. 

Knock Out had to have been alerted the second the alarm went off. Where was he? He should be here by now... 

Ugh, he was starting to feel dizzy. It was hard to focus on anything. 

His audials barely registered the sounds of approaching sirens. Ah, there he was. Primus, he needed to sit down. The world was spinning around him. He gingerly lowered himself to the floor, mindful of his many wounds as he came to rest on his back on the soft rug in the living room. The cables retreated back into his frame. The sensation of warm sparks filling his tank was only marginally distracting from the full-body ache catching up with him. His midsection hurt, and he could feel tiny pieces of the light fixture beneath his wings as he laid there. 

The elevator chimed when it landed on their floor, and in charged a pair of enforcers, guns drawn. Great, more idiots with firearms… 

He spotted Bumblebee right away–even with his vision impaired, the garish yellow was unmistakable. The second enforcer was a blue and white bot he didn't recognize. They both secured the scene, ensuring the penthouse was free of any further threats before turning to the frames on the floor. The new bot scanned the greyed husks, checking for identification and documenting the very obvious causes of deactivation.

Bumblebee immediately recognized him lying there, stepping forward and leveling his blaster at his chestplate. “What have you gotten yourself into this time, Starscream?”

He didn't have time for these idiots. “Where is Knock Out? I need medical attention,” he demanded. He grit his dentae together, feeling the way they didn't quite line up in his mouth.

The former scout brushed his remark aside, continuing to wave the rifle at him. “He's in the hallway, I'll let him in after you tell me what happened here,” he stated haughtily. He preferred it when Bumblebee still lacked a working voice box.

“Seriously?!” He tried to sit up to make his point clear, and a wave of pain had him back on the ground before he could even think of completing the motion. He winced. “They broke in and shot me! This,” he waved a servo at the state of the room, “Was all self-defense!”

“Shot?” It seemed that it finally clicked in the yellow bot’s processor. “Right, no energon... I’ll go get Knock Out.”

Before he even made it back to the entrance, the surgeon’s argumentative shouting could be heard from just outside. “I demand to be let through! I live here! I have the right to enter my own home!” 

Bumblebee promptly waved him through, and he rushed past into the living room to see the massacre laid out before him. He had his med kit with him, expecting the worst once he got the comm call from the enforcers, and he was right to do so, spotting his seeker in such rough shape.

“Primus, Starscream, are you okay?!”

“Hmm, not sure. I think I have bullets in me,” he confessed, still lying on the floor. Now that the fight was over, the adrenaline rush was wearing off fast. Every new dent, scuff, crack, and bullet wound across his frame was on fire, and he was feeling woozy. His broken faceplate was spattered with innermost energon, alongside most of his frame. It wasn’t his. He was lucky he didn’t bleed anymore, otherwise he might be in a world of trouble right now.

Shards of broken glass crunched as Knock Out stepped closer and knelt beside him, already utilizing his wrist scanner to find out for himself. The results were concerning, to say the least.

“Two abdominal shots from the back: one is a through-and-through, and the other bullet is still inside you, just below your tank.” One of his digits prodded at the area in question, prompting a hiss of pain from the injured sparkeater.

He groaned in resigned frustration, covering his optics with a servo. Through a grimace, he asked, “Does that mean you’re going to cut me open?”

“Yes, sweetspark.” He felt a reassuring touch on his shoulder. The sounds of the surgeon preparing tools and equipment reached his audials. “I need to see just how much damage it did on the way in.”

“Fine,” the seeker sighed heavily, really feeling the events of the day collapsing upon him. He’d been shot, sliced, and had his faceplate bashed in, and all while running on less than two joors of recharge. He just wanted this to be over already. “Can you at least get Bumblebee out of here first?”

The surgeon looked over to the enforcer who was peering over his shoulder like he was part of their conversation. “You heard the mech, get out!” Knock Out didn't hesitate to get up and start pushing the yellow mech towards the door.

“Hey, wait-!” He began to protest, but was quickly silenced as the surgeon continued shoving him away from his patient. Even despite digging his pedes in and reaching out to grab nearby furniture in an attempt to resist, he couldn't best the strength of a trained medic (especially one who regularly worked on a flight frame). “This is a crime scene! You can’t just-!”

“Haven’t you heard of patient confidentiality?” Knock Out cut in, used to situations like these from centuries of experience. Enforcers were always sticking their helms in where they didn't belong. “Last I checked, Starscream’s internals need not be a part of this investigation, so out with you! Go guard the entrance or something!” 

Bumblebee’s shouts of indignation could be heard even as the surgeon shut the damaged door behind him. He then returned to Starscream’s side and set to work right away, applying a local anesthetic and instructing the seeker to keep his optics closed and air flowing through his vents while he made the first incision. 

The enforcers had taken their statements over comms as the surgery progressed, then cleared the scene of the bodies thereafter. Knock Out had called in a favor and had both of their information stripped from the record and the case covered up. The last thing they wanted was for any of this to go public.

It didn't take too long for Knock Out to remove the bullet and patch him up afterwards. The lack of energon in his systems cut the operating time in half, and he was back to lying on the couch by the end of the joor. He had a new weld line on his belly, just below his cockpit, plus a few patched bullet holes in his back and left wing, and it still stung when he tried to move. His face had been properly set back into alignment, as well as the wiring in his cable. The cracked lens in his optic would need to be replaced once Knock Out got a chance to sneak one home from work, but for now, he could go back to lazing around comfortably without worrying about any more potential danger.

He had done his job, and done it well. Nothing had been taken during the break-in. Any damage to their penthouse was easily fixable; the doors could be replaced and the holes in the walls and floor could be patched up. Not to mention, he had earned a free meal out of it. It probably wasn’t worth getting shot over, but he hadn’t been in a fight like that since the war, and perhaps he was a bit rusty.

That last part, he would never admit to out-loud.

His helm rested in Knock Out’s lap. The surgeon was touching up the shallow scrapes left on his face with a handheld buffer, smoothing the area back to an even finish. This was nice, he thought tiredly. This was where he was meant to be.

He still couldn't see all too well, so Knock Out was describing the events happening during the episode of Unicron’s Kitchen currently airing to him as he laid still for the buffer. By now, his faceplate was almost back to pristine condition, but Knock Out was a perfectionist and wouldn't allow him to go around with even the tiniest of scratches left over after today. After all, he had just defended their home, he deserved it.

He held up the bullet that had just been removed from him between his claws, turning it over and gazing intently at it. As he relaxed into the surgeon’s touch, struggling to stay awake, there was just one thing on his mind:

“I'm so glad the TV didn't get shot.”