Chapter Text
Starscream crashed onto the ground, the powdery sand of the Cybertronian wilderness crunching beneath his weight. The heat of the sun beat down on him on what was probably the hottest day he had experienced before landing on Earth.
“Are you alright?” a pleasantly deep voice asked.
The jet pushed himself onto his pedes and scowled, brushing the particles away from his hinges. Primus knew what a pain it would be to clean them out without help. “I’m fine,” he said, the words flowing out into the air without him willing them. “My thrusters short circuited.”
Starscream’s head turned without his permission to where a large white shuttle stood over him with a concerned expression. Skyfire. He tried to force himself to lunge and scrape those stupid faceplates off, but his frame only shifted awkwardly.
“I think I’ve seen you before,” the stupid traitor continued. “You’re in my astrophysics class, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” Starscream heard himself respond, dumbfounded. “You like it?”
“Yeah!” he responded enthusiastically. “I mean, it’s only my minor, I’m majoring in xenobotony and xenobiology. Did you know that on most planets, plants are made of an organic fiber instead of metal? It’s fascinating, really. They eat sunlight, too. I really hope I can learn more about how that works. Maybe a plant from one planet won’t react well with the sun of another planet? I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out!”
Panic and rage filled his processor as he felt his spark overflow with fondness. No! he thought. Kill him now, you idiot! This will only lead to sparkbreak!
Past-him nervously interrupted his future enemy’s endless rambling. “Your name is Jetfire, right?”
No! Fly you fool!
“Skyfire,” the shuttle corrected. “And you’re U1-K72, right?”
The two began to walk out of the wilderness together. “I’ve been thinking about finding a name that isn’t my serial designation.”
“Uh, found anything you like?”
“I was thinking Silver Viper,” Past-Starscream responded, waving a servo dramatically. “It’s fierce, don’t you think?”
“Oh,” the large bot said, disappointed. “You’re a military scientist, aren’t you?”
Past-Starscream narrowed his optics at his tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Skyfire put his servos up in defense. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have made assumptions! Just, military scientists tend to be focused on destruction rather than finding the truth.”
The jet glared, his pride flaring up like a supernova. “That doesn’t make it lesser. I’ve discovered more than you have while waiting for a permission slip. I’m the one who figured out how to successfully turn fusion particles into weaponry.”
“I’m just saying that I personally think it’s better to try and communicate with the stars instead of just screaming at them while waving around explosives like a mad-mech.”
Starscream frowned internally as his past self quickly stomped away. Life certainly would have been easier if that had been their only interaction. But of course Primus had been cruel and had them assigned to a project together. The project that had ended with Starscream ‘convincing’ the dean to allow Skyfire to stay at the Academy. He wondered if the shuttle still didn’t know that the ‘little talk’ he had had with her was him simply revealing all the dirt he had scraped up on her.
The ground abruptly shifted, and everything blurred as it whirled around. Tall, white walls came into focus as Starscream’s world slowed down to a normal rate. The air was pleasantly cool, automatically making this a far better memory than the previous one.
“Ah, there you are.”
Starscream turned to see the blue and orange figure of Sentinel Prime approaching him. He scowled internally.
“Do you need me for something, sir?” his past-self asked, manipulating his voice to that of a caricature of innocence. The future jet winced. Primus, he had been laying it on thick.
“I am simply looking for good conversation,” the Prime said in a tone that came across as lighthearted to an untrained eye. “The Decepticons might actually be becoming a threat.” He laughed like the very statement was inconceivable.
Meanwhile, standing across from him, the gears in past-Starscream’s processor were turning. “I have heard rumors,” he began carefully. “Of senators going missing. Senator Shockwave, I believe, was the name of one of them. It’s strange, he publicly showed support for reform.”
Starscream allowed a smidge of panic to build within Sentinel before continuing. “I can’t imagine how these so-called revolutionaries can be so nonsensical as to go after someone who could have found compromise.”
The jet watched from his past-self’s optics as Sentinel visibly relaxed, happy that he wouldn’t have to kill another employee. Especially one he actually liked. It had taken the longest time to craft a mask that would allow him to get close to the Prime, but it had ended up being fairly simple. Sentinel Prime wanted to be worshipped like a god. Not necessarily feared, but certainly intimidating. All Starscream really had to do was put on the performance of someone who was simply honored to be in his presence.
“It isn’t sensical,” Sentinel responded. “Nothing about this so-called revolution is.”
“Still,” the assassin insisted, carefully rearranging his features into something that would read as embarrassment. “I worry for your safety, sir.”
The blue bot chuckled and waved his servo dismissively. “I doubt anything will befall me. But if it calms your silly little helm I will allow you to guard me while I recharge.”
Relief washed over Starscream as he dropped to the ground, kowtowing. This time he allowed his true emotions to be visible, knowing that Sentinel would interpret his relief as worries for him being soothed instead of happily confirmed. “It would be my honor,” his past-self said in a voice that made Starscream cringe. There was certainly no doubt that he had gotten better at this over the years.
Sentinel, however, seemed absolutely taken in by the lackluster performance. He simply smirked in amusement before plucking the Seeker off the ground with his Matrix-endowed strength and height. The Prime swiftly tapped the jet’s nose (causing present-Starscream to momentarily forget his immobility and try to bite that stupid blue servo off) before turning heel and exiting the room. The world began to spin the moment he was gone.
When everything finally stilled, he was trapped in a cramped Autobot cell, his arms, legs, and wings chained to the wall behind him. Dread filled his tanks. He remembered this day.
The door to his prison stood open and Megatron walked in, his facial expression one of pure fury. Starscream felt his shoulders sag in relief, causing him to internally shriek.
“Lord Megatron, sir,” he said. “I’m so happy to see y–”
A fist smashed into the wall just left of his face, scraping the side of his helm. The wall was made of stone instead of metal, so instead of denting, the part that had been hit crumbled under the warlord’s fist. Small bits of stone went flying and scratched off thin lines of carefully applied paint.
Starscream just hung there, frozen in shock.
“Do you know,” Megatron began. “How humiliating it is for your second in command to get captured?”
The Seeker hung his head, slipping on his leader’s favorite mask with instinctual ease. “I do not, my lord. But I promise that upon my release I will make it up to you ten fold. I killed a Prime before. I can do it again.”
Starscream felt like wincing as he heard the words spilling from his younger self’s mouth. He distinctly remembered the strategy he had been utilizing. Remind the target of your past accomplishments so they remembered your usefulness, and therefore, kept you online. Unfortunately, this had been the wrong offer to make.
Megatron grabbed him by the throat and tugged him forward, straining the jet’s limbs against the restraints. “No one,” he growled. “Kills Optimus Prime but me.”
Past-Starscream merely whimpered from the pain of being in his grip before letting out a surprised gasp of relief when the warlord let him go.
Megatron began to walk out of the cell, but stopped at the door. “We have taken this base. So, as I see it, there is nothing to stop me from leaving you in here just a little bit longer.”
Everything snapped back to the present like a switch had been flipped. Starscream was back in the tunnels. He turned his head around frantically, trying to take in as much as he could.
He found himself trapped in vines of purple crystal that had emerged from the spring, leaving only his helm and one arm free. Starscream, as always, fought against his binds. Even as the shadowy smoke of Unicron took form in front of him.
“I am aware enough to admit where I have made fault. You may not be one of Primus’s children, but you are designed to be like one. It was too much to expect of you to follow me with complete and total cooperation. Especially since I know your nature.” A smokey servo gave his captive a demeaning pat on the helm. “It was a mistake on my part to expect a conscious champion, like my brother has.”
Starscream struggled more in his hold, causing the Unmaker to laugh. He swung out his one free hand, even though he knew it would ultimately accomplish nothing, and the apparition caught it. Unicron examined the claws that had just attempted to swipe through him with bitter amusement.
“When my brother defeated me, he bound me to this planet. I was there when you and your friend stopped by the first time.” Starscream stopped trying to pull his hand back from his tormentor and stared at him in surprise. “I remember recognizing you as cut off from Primus. There was a connection, but it was far, far weaker than your friend’s. What a happy coincidence that it should be you who was the first of your kind to fall near my prison.”
“Then you know how horrendous it is to be trapped,” Starscream hissed.
“You killed a Prime,” he said, continuing to ignore his follower. “I can’t lie and say I’m not impressed.”
“Of course you’re impressed! Now release me!”
The crystals melted back into crystal form and Starscream collapsed into the puddle, cursing under his breath as he pushed himself to his feet. Primus, he needed to find a way out of this.
“I have a gift for you.”
Starscream paused.
Unicron held out his servos, where a crown formed before him. It wasn’t the crown from the throne room Unicron had shown him; tall and strong. This crown was a circlet made of black metal that stuck up occasionally like four sharp fangs, a purple jewel sitting on each tooth.
Starscream kneeled before the shadow and allowed it to place the delicate diadem onto his head, where he melded to his helm with the odd sensation of rain trickling through his plating and into his processor. The rain weaved and dodged his cunning, dramatic personality and intellect. But it seeped into formerly well protected crevasses that housed his apostasy and resentment for the Unmaker and warped it into something that Starscream hadn’t possessed in a long time.
Loyalty.
The jet rose to his pedes, dazed, with the shadowy figure holding him steady. Starscream’s optics stared out at nothing as Unicron pulled him into an embrace, his new puppet hanging limp like a ragdoll in his arms. “My child, there is only one thing left you must do to prove your devotion.”
The Seeker hummed in response. It would be a joor before he came back to himself.
“ Give me your wings .”
“My wings?” Starscream felt dread roll around in his spark and Unicron’s control flickered like a trick candle in a hurricane. “I would be far more useful with my wings.”
“I’ll make you a new pair,” he responded, the evil voice softening into a parody of empathy. “A new set of wings, far better than the ones on your back.”
Starscream nodded and pulled away. The jet began to walk over to his throne with the grace of someone high on engex. He grabbed one of the stones and held it above his head, hesitating for only a moment before bringing it down on his wings.
Back at the Ark, Bumblebee sat in the medbay for repairs while the Autobot HC interrogated him about the failed excursion. Optimus Prime and Elita had already given their report, which of course only left the member of the trio who had gotten separated from the rest of the team.
“Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?” Optimus asked for what felt like the one hundredth time.
“I’m good,” Bumblebee insisted. “He threatened me a couple times, but he didn’t try anything.” Looking back, the yellow bug wondered if the threats were more of a twisted kind of formality than anything the Seeker had actually been considering. “He was kind of weird, though,” Bumblebee amended.
Prowl and Elita glanced at each other. Jazz leaned his elbows on a nearby table; hands folded in front of his face plate. “I assume you mean weirder than normal?” the sabatour asked.
He nodded. “He seemed almost– lonely. I’m not how long he’s been down there.” Bumblebee contemplated for a moment before turning to where Ratchet was looking him over. “I think he might be suffering from an energon infection, though. He had a cut on his arm, and it was bleeding purple.”
“Purple?” Ratchet snorted. “Energon infection doesn’t cause color change. It was either a trick of the light or you might be suffering processor damage.”
Prowl, Jazz and Elita seemed to be satisfied with this conclusion, but Optimus looked disturbed. His joints had stiffened and his optics paled as he remembered the last encounter he had with Starscream. How he had been frozen, captivated by uncanny optics. How the Seeker had gone for his spark, poised to kill, but had torn his servo away in pain when his claws had gotten a little too close to the Matrix.
“Optimus?” Elita asked, concern evident in her voice. “Are you all right?”
He recalled his archivist days, sorting through and translating texts, some as ancient as the Quintesson's rule. One in particular had spoken of a theory created by a Praxian philosopher who had speculated that if Primus was able to choose who became a Prime, then it stood to reason that Unicron, who had near-equal power, should be able to choose a champion of his own. A sort of anti-Prime. He had written it off as simple alarmism at the time, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“We only ended up separated because he wouldn’t move out of the way of that fusion cannon blast,” Bumblebee continued.
“It was probably a trap of some kind,” Prowl scoffed. “You’re lucky you didn’t get hit.”
“Yeah. He was super dodgy about the whole thing when I asked him about it, too.”
The Prime cleared his vocalizer and shifted awkwardly. “What exactly did he say?”
The small car kicked his pedes a little bit and tilted his helm back. “I think his exact words were ‘the Unmaker was goofing’ or something like that. I wasn’t paying much attention.” Bumblebee dipped his head in shame. “Sorry.”
Optimus slumped down onto an empty medical berth. No. No no no no no. Nope. This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t dealing with this.
“Optimus Prime,” Elita said, tone dancing between authority and concern. “If something is troubling you, we deserve to know.”
He bowed his head. “Yes. You are right.” He took a deep breath. “I believe, based on an abundance of evidence, that Starscream has become a servant of Unicron.”
The room fell into suffocating silence under the weight of words as heavy as one hundred mountains.
Jazz awkwardly laughed but was silenced by a glare from Prowl.
“But why not Megatron?” Elita asked, finally attempting to cut through the tension. “He’s bigger, stronger, and already your nemesis.”
The Prime shook his head. “I do not pretend to know the inner workings of the Unmaker’s mind. What I do know is that if Starscream truly has allied himself with pure evil, we must consider him to be the bigger threat.”
Jazz whistled. “Never thought I’d live to hear the day that was said with a straight face.”