Transformers Prime: Broken Sparks (AU)

Kaon… the new capital of the Decepticons. As mentioned before, it was a city located at the planet’s southern pole, bathed in an eternal crimson sunset. The Cybertronian sun on the horizon flooded everything in orange-scarlet light; the farther from it, the darker and deeper the red became. Above, rare stars shimmered — their light so powerful that it pierced through the planet’s atmosphere, visible to the naked optic. Four Vosians walked from Kaon’s spaceport toward the city’s center under escort. They had been brought here by Megatron’s personal order. And despite all four being fliers, they had not been allowed to travel on their own wings. Instead, they were transported aboard one of the Decepticon warships — the Nemesis. Starscream had visited other cities before, but always as part of an official delegation — not as a… prisoner? But was that truly what this was? They wore no restraints. Their wings were not bound. No weapons were aimed at them. They were simply… escorted. So why had they been taken at all? Different possibilities churned in the Lord of Vos’ mind. He calculated outcomes of the meeting with Megatron — why he had summoned them to his capital, what he would say, what he himself should answer… His processor hummed with thoughts and simulations. The silver Seeker lowered his head, lost in contemplation, barely noticing his surroundings. Since youth, he had possessed a sharp strategic mind, constantly running mental projections to find an escape from any situation and guide everyone toward the desired outcome. Of course… except in moments when his temper and emotions overruled logic. While Starscream was trying to figure out how to save all their Sparks, Thundercracker, Skywarp, and Nightfly were examining the changed Kaon. The militarized atmosphere shocked all three. Nightfly had witnessed horrors during his service, but even that did not compare to the savagery unfolding here. Thundercracker and Skywarp approached the railing of a bridge stretching across a lake of molten metal. Night remained where he was — he could see well enough. Decepticons were leading prisoners to the edge of a small island in the middle of that lake. Clearly, it was made of heat-resistant alloy, like everything surrounding this lake of death. The extreme melting temperature prevented the “lava” from damaging the structure or compromising the base’s safety. But if one were to fall in… the death would be agonizing beyond measure. Speaking of which… The prisoners were forced to their knees at the very edge. Then the executioner kicked them into the lake. When the first living Cybertronian fell in and began melting alive, muffled screams of agony escaping through his gag, the Seekers’ wings drooped instantly. A jolt of horror ran through their frames. Even Starscream’s deputy stared in shock, a lump rising in his throat. He was far more resilient than the others — yet even he could not remain unmoved by such a sight. Soon another bot was thrown in. No one wished to watch any longer. Skywarp began to tremble; it seemed another moment and panic would consume him. Would the same happen to them?.. Had they been brought here for this? Thundercracker tried to calm his brother, and only once they crossed that section — once the air stopped scorching and heating their armor — did the black-and-purple Seeker begin to recover. Skywarp lifted his head. Before them opened a vast arena resembling a coliseum. There were no spectators. At the bottom of the pit stood cages containing fourth-class representatives — beast-like bots, barely capable of reason or conscious thought. They circled the arena until reaching the central space where, among towering columns, upon a throne, sat the chief gladiator of this arena, its master and the leader of the Decepticon faction — his mercilessness, Megatron. All four aligned, and Starscream finally lifted his head. He looked at the mech seated in shadow. There was no neon upon him — only crimson optics glowing in the darkness, studying the newcomers. — Welcome to Kaon, Vosian nobility… — the gladiator said mockingly. — I’ve received some rather… interesting rumors. Allegedly, the four of you destroyed an entire Autobot defense system in Polyhex. Fascinating information, wouldn’t you say? I would very much like to hear this story from you. From Megatron’s tone it was impossible to tell whether he believed it. But one thing was certain — he was toying with them, savoring the fear he instilled in those who stood before him, scrambling for words. Nightfly’s attention drifted to the bots standing beside Megatron. He could not shake the feeling that the Decepticon leader already knew everything — that lying would be pointless. The jet studied the blank screen of the tall mech to Megatron’s right. Unlike his master, he was adorned with violet neon, yet he remained silent, his face concealed behind a visor-screen. To the left stood another mechanoid who seemed oddly familiar to Nightfly. Yet he could not quite recall the story of the former senator who had once lost his head and arm… Shockwave — now Megatron’s chief scientist — drilled the newcomers with his single red optic. Like the other lieutenant, he remained silent. After Megatron, Starscream spoke, deciding that prolonging the silence would only endanger them further. — If you permit, Lord Megatron… If… ahem… to be precise, we assembled a Seeker squad before attacking the Autobots. It wasn’t only the four of us… — And yet, as I understand it, you led them into assault without authorization, did you not, Starscream… Megatron narrowed his optics slightly. It took genuine effort for the fighter to keep his wings from drooping beneath the gladiator’s gaze. — That is… correct… — the Seeker answered, his voice trembling slightly before he forced himself to steady. — But I assure you, the mission was successful. Losses were minimal, and the enemy was completely destroyed! The fighter’s fervor amused Megatron. He smiled and rose from his throne, stepping toward them. When the gladiator straightened to his full height… all of them felt it. None of the “forged” had ever stood so close to a third-class representative like Megatron. He was enormous. Powerful. Terrifyingly dangerous. Now all three Seekers’ wings lowered involuntarily, while Night clenched his fists. Every instinct in his frame screamed danger, yet he held himself rigid, betraying nothing. — Ah-ah… yes… I’ve heard that a little bird like you sings quite well. But frankly, you hardly resemble someone capable of commanding even a platoon. You look exceedingly fragile… and useless… — Suddenly Megatron’s smile vanished. He stepped fully into the light and leaned dangerously close to Scrim, making him flinch. — You, Starscream, Lord of Vos elected by a pack of council lapdogs who were forever leashed to the “higher authority”… You were so desperate to keep your position, to sit on two chairs at once, that you allowed several traitor ships to leave Vos before my troops entered the city…Night narrowed his optics slightly. Megatron thought it had been Scrim’s doing? Bad… very bad… — You always preferred to sit safely in your citadel, you little staff rat, while others did all the work for you… — Megatron’s gaze shifted to Nightfly, a faint smirk touching his lips. — Especially you enjoyed piling everything onto your general… And he, like a loyal and obedient soldier, could never disobey you. A warrior like that would be very useful to me… The blue jet’s brow guards lowered faintly, nausea rising in his throat at Megatron’s words. His voice, his presence — everything about that silver mech repulsed Night so deeply that it took all his restraint not to reveal his true feelings toward the faction and its leader. — Nightfly is Starscream’s deputy and general! — Skywarp burst out. Thundercracker tried to hush him, but the Seeker pressed on. — He is loyal to his lord! He swore an oath — he couldn’t act otherwise! — Ahahaha! Of course! — Megatron laughed openly, baring his sharp denta. — Only your “righteous” little jet won’t have to worry about loyalty and honor… once his lord is gone~ Scrim’s Spark skipped. Had he heard that correctly? While shock froze them in place, Megatron gave the order: — The three of them — to disposal. The jet — to swear allegiance. Thundercracker and Skywarp were seized instantly. Scrim managed to dodge — he had been standing slightly farther from the guards. — Wait! MEGATRON! M-my lord! We can be useful to you! We… we are very— Megatron did not tolerate such audacity for long. Scrim’s words cut off as a crushing fist slammed into his abdomen. Something ruptured inside; energon spilled from his mouth, some of it spraying into his ventilation system and forcing him into a violent cough. — You pathetic, useless staff rat, incapable of even defending yourself! All you can do is hide behind others and order them to work for you! On the front lines you’d crumble within the first cycles! WHAT use could a wretch like you possibly be to me?! Starscream tried to answer, but pain reduced him to hoarse gasps. And Megatron… was entertained. Red optics fixed on the trembling wings of the fighter. His greatest advantage — the sky. But what would happen if he were deprived of it? While Scrim was doubled over in agony, Megatron seized him by the wing and dragged him closer. All the Vosians froze in horror. Was he truly about to— Yes. The gladiator grasped the thin wing with both hands and tore a piece of it off. Skywarp and Thundercracker cried out, imagining the pain of their leader. Scrim himself could not even scream — the shock locked him in place. Error messages flooded his vision. Structural damage. Energy loss. Critical failure. Blue luminous fluid poured from the severed wing. But Megatron did not stop. He grabbed the Seeker by the throat and lifted him off the ground. The massive hand crushed vital conduits, preventing energy from reaching the processor — suffocation followed. Scrim clawed at the huge wrist, but he couldn’t pry it away. — You cling so desperately to your miserable life… — the gladiator murmured darkly. — Tell me, Starscream… were you truly foolish enough to come here believing I would spare a representative of the old regime?.. Starscream… this was your final mistake. Night could not stand still any longer. Skywarp and Thunder were restrained — but he was not. Even if it was foolish, doing something was better than doing nothing. No matter how much he and Scrim clashed, Night would not stand aside. If there was even the slightest chance— He would take it. — DON’T YOU DARE, Megatron! — he snarled, lunging forward and drawing his blade. The guards swarmed him instantly. Where had so many come from? The jet was surrounded. He would have cut them down — if Megatron hadn’t addressed him. — Oh-ho-ho! Nightfly… you defend your master so fiercely? Your loyalty and devotion are truly priceless. — Starscream is strong! He is a capable fighter! He’s intelligent and calculating! He can be useful to you! And if you kill him — you won’t have me, nor any other valuable officers! — The jet bared his denta in a low growl, blue optics burning with fury as they locked onto the faction leader. Megatron was clearly amused by the quartet’s desperation. — Very well… suppose I believe you… — the gladiator said slowly, lowering Scrim back onto his feet. — I will spare all of you… if Starscream proves his combat worth. With that, Megatron hurled the lightweight Seeker down into the arena — into one of the cages. — SCREAM! — Thunder and Warp shouted in unison, struggling uselessly against the soldiers’ grip. Night rushed to the edge and looked down — only to be encircled again, several cannons trained on him. He had no right to interfere. It seemed Starscream was to fight alone. But when the three of them saw who his opponent was… They understood… They were all as good as deactivated.The Seeker had barely come back to his senses. He coughed, weakly pushing himself up on his hands. Scrap… It had been a long time since he had felt physical pain. Not since the… academy. Spitting out the energon that had pooled in his mouth, the fighter forced himself onto his feet — and finally looked at his opponent properly. This was no mere beast from Cybertron’s wastelands. It was modified. Enormous. Incredibly powerful. And its armor looked thick enough to withstand even a direct missile strike. Staring up at the creature from head to toe in sheer disbelief, Starscream’s wings drooped. — Oh, bolt me… — he muttered miserably. The beast roared and slammed both massive forelimbs down where the Seeker had just been standing. Scrim barely managed to leap aside — only to land badly on his shoulder. Metal crumpled. He rolled across the floor of the cage, scraping away paint and outer plating. Under stress, more energy surged toward his processor. Ventilation maxed out. His frame heated rapidly. It was Cybertron’s version of adrenaline — a survival protocol forcing itself online. And somehow, despite the damage, he kept dodging. He dashed across the enclosure, stopping sharply, changing direction at the last possible moment, while the slower beast demolished everything in the place he had just occupied. Time was running out. He was already losing energon from the torn wing. Critical energy loss. Engaging reserve power sources. That message meant he had perhaps five minutes before emergency shutdown. Frantically scanning the creature, he searched for weakness. The only unprotected area — the neck. He just had to reach it. Dodging another strike, Starscream landed on the beast’s arm and, using every last ounce of strength, sprinted up along it. The creature wasn’t stupid. It tried to swat the “little bird” like a gnat. But Scrim leapt onto its neck, clinging to the ridge behind its head. His hands latched onto exposed conduits at the junction between head and torso — and he began ripping them out in fistfuls. Some carried electricity. Others fed energon. The neck sparked violently. Energy spilled onto the floor. He aimed for the thickest lines. The beast roared, finally managing to grab the parasite on its back — and hurled him down. Starscream slammed onto the metal floor with such force that he dented it, a cloud of dust erupting around him. — KHH—! — was all he managed. His audio receptors rang. Vision blurred, doubled. Slowly, bracing himself on one arm, he lifted his gaze. The beast was bleeding energon. But not enough. Dropping to his knees, the Seeker activated his missiles and fired both into the creature’s neck. The explosion thundered through the arena. Still not enough. — WILL YOU JUST DIE ALREADY?! — he shouted in frustration. Energon poured like a waterfall. How much power did that thing even have? Without hesitation, Scrim drew his blaster and fired at the energon pooling across the floor. The plasma bolt ignited the fuel instantly. Blue flame raced along the trail streaming from the beast’s neck — surged inside — and when it reached the reactor— The explosion was colossal. Chunks of armor and flesh blasted outward, flying beyond the arena’s rim. Several of Megatron’s pawns were struck and hurled into the walls. Nightfly had just enough time to activate a shield on his off-arm, stepping in front of Thunder and Warp as a massive piece of mangled limb hurtled toward them. Smoke. Fire. Blue haze rising skyward. They searched desperately among the wreckage for parts of Scrim. There were none. The cage burned fiercely. Sparks crackled. The scent of scorched metal filled the air. — Well then… it seems your leader— — the gladiator began. — MEGATRON! The voice echoed from the arena floor. All heads turned. Covered in energon, soot, and scorch marks, Starscream stood barely upright, gripping the bars of the cage for support. — I’m still alive… — he said with a crooked smirk, locking his gaze onto the Decepticon leader. Megatron studied him for a long moment — then ordered that the Seeker be brought up. The escort pulled Scrim from the wreckage and lifted him by platform to Megatron’s level. In all their lives, even Warp and Thunder had never seen him so battered. He swayed on his feet. — Well now, Starscream… you’ve managed to surprise me. Not only did you destroy the beast — you survived. I don’t often keep my promises… but you intrigue me. Perhaps you will prove useful as a Decepticon… Release the others. The guards let Thunder and Warp go. They shoved past them, about to rush to Scrim — Emergency shutdown. Starscream collapsed flat at Megatron’s feet. The Vosians froze. Had he— Before panic could fully take hold, the silent one-eyed mech stepped forward. He knelt, pressing two fingers to Scrim’s neck. A faint energon pulse. He rose. — Stasis. Logical, given the critical energy depletion. Reanimation is possible — if proper assistance is provided within the hour. Megatron inclined his head slightly. — Thank you for the assessment, Shockwave. Have the body transferred to the medbay. There was something in his tone — respect. That alone unsettled the Vosians. Thunder and Warp lifted their leader themselves. They would not allow Decepticons to drag him like scrap. — Nightfly. The blue jet bared his denta silently, a low growl trapped in his throat — but when he turned, his face was calm. Megatron held the torn fragment of Scrim’s wing. He fanned himself with it briefly — then tossed it to Night. — Take that to the medbay. Starscream will be more useful to me with wings than without them~ Ha-ha-ha! Night caught it without a word and followed after Thunder and Warp. Shockwave led the way through long, cold corridors devoid of sunlight. Only overhead lamps lit the metallic gloom. Night looked down at the silver wing in his hand. So smooth. Perfectly polished. A Seeker’s wings were hypersensitive, aweak point, an erogenous zone. A source of balance, pride, identity. Now it lay lifeless in his palm. Something hardened permanently in Nightfly’s Spark that day… Hatred. Toward this faction, Toward Megatron. One day, he would answer for all of it. Very soon they left the arena and were already moving through a long metal corridor. It felt endless and cold — no external light reached this place. Only a row of lamps above their heads illuminated the dimness. Supporting beams lined both walls, stretching from floor to ceiling. Shockwave moved ahead of the procession, slowly and heavily shifting his massive legs. He said nothing. Asked nothing. He simply led them to their destination and, without lingering, departed. The scientist had warned the medic in advance, so the arrival of three Seekers at his medical domain was no surprise. After the one-eyed mech left, a short mechanist with small hands — clearly perfect for delicate operations — stepped out of the surgical block and looked at the disoriented flyers. His hands were stained with something black, most likely oil, shimmering with iridescent hues. The doctor meticulously wiped them with a special cloth woven from thin metallic threads. He glanced at Starscream, stepped aside from the entrance, and tilted his head — a silent indication to bring him in. — Take him inside. Lay him on the operating table. He spoke without enthusiasm and was about to follow when he noticed the fragment of wing in Nightfly’s hand. The med-bot took the torn piece of plating and entered the surgical chamber. — Out. All of you. He grumbled at Thunder and Warp, who clearly had no desire to leave the operating area. The medbay was divided into two sections: the surgical block and an improvised waiting area, where the three flyers now remained. Once Starscream’s wingmates left him alone with the doctor, the medic exhaled quietly, examining the stasis-locked body and estimating how much work lay ahead. He sprayed his hands with a cleanser that dissolved everything except metal and high-density rubber, then began connecting Starscream to various systems. He measured the rhythm of his Spark. The remaining energon levels. The probability of reactivation. And whether the patient was worth the resources at all. After brief preparation, the med-bot began the operation. The process was hidden behind the massive doors of the surgical block, so Skywarp, Thundercracker, and Night had no idea what was happening inside — or what to expect. None of them had ever fallen into stasis due to critical energy loss before. And the thought was… Terrifying. The two wingmates sat down on a bench, trying to steady their vents after everything that had happened, while Night leaned back against the wall, staring at a fixed point, silent and lost in his thoughts. No one else was there. For a time, a grave silence hung in the air, broken only by the faint buzz of the overhead lamps and the hum of ventilation. They all needed a moment to process what had happened. And while Skywarp and Thundercracker had never been good at restraining themselves, Night now looked utterly detached. — Phew… we were almost killed back there… — Thunder finally exhaled. He shuddered, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and lowering his head. The Seeker was the first to break the suffocating silence, deciding that conversation might at least ease the tension. Night’s voice came calm, almost flat: — It was expected they would try to eliminate Starscream as a representative of the old regime. I warned him. More than once. Naturally, he always does things his own way. He shrugged slightly, optics half-lidded. His blue gaze never even shifted toward the two mechs sitting in front of him. The tone alone made Thundercracker spring to his feet, optics flashing with irritation. — Do you even care about him at all?! He growled, hands clenching into fists. The urge to punch that emotionless face grew by the second. “I told him.” “I warned him.” Blah, blah, blah. Thunder couldn’t understand how Night could remain so calm right now. Yes, in the critical moment he had tried to protect Scrim. But it hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough. Nightfly had failed. He had done too little — if Starscream had ended up on the brink of deactivation. Deep in his Spark, Thunder even blamed Night for what had happened. It felt to him as though the deputy should be panicking now, praying to Primus for their leader to wake. And the jet? He looked like he didn’t care at all… But in truth, Night didn’t really know what to say. No, he didn’t not care. He worried about the silver Seeker no less than his brothers did. But in this particular situation, there was nothing he could do. Scrim’s fate was in the medic’s hands, and tearing himself apart over it now would change nothing. Still… the jet’s cold, distant demeanor was clearly beginning to irritate their commander’s wingmates. Even so, he didn’t rise to the provocation. He simply turned his head away and remained silent. Thunder was heating up — another few clicks and a torrent of “kind and pleasant” words would have spilled in Night’s direction. Skywarp noticed his brother was on the verge of snapping, so he caught his hand and pulled him back down onto the bench. Thunder didn’t resist. He dropped heavily onto the seat beside Warp. Slowly exhaling, forcing his anger down, he rested his head on his brother’s shoulder. They were trapped now. And none of them had the right to do anything that might displease their new leader. After all, Megatron was unlikely to grant them another chance — the first one had been ripped from him by force. — Shhh… calm down, brother, — Warp murmured softly, feeling how Thunder’s hands and wings trembled with nerves. Bad thoughts. Fear for their leader. It made Thunder’s Spark pace wildly inside its chamber. He restrained his emotions better than Scrim or Warp ever did — but even so, they manifested in that faint tremor. Running his fingers gently over the back of Thunder’s hand, the purple-and-black Seeker shifted his gaze to Nightfly. He studied him closely, optics narrowed, scanning his frame and face for the slightest sign — any small detail that would betray nerves, worry, something. But Night stood motionless. Like a statue. Few Seekers were capable of reading the micro-expressions in his face — and Scrim’s wingmates were not among them. Warp’s lips twisted in faint displeasure. He lifted his chin slightly, looking at Night with a touch of arrogance. — Our leader’s strong. And stubborn as scrap. He’ll get out of this and lead us again. Like before. He gave Thunder a small shake and smiled — whether from nerves, or from memory and hope, it was hard to tell. But hope was there, audible in his slightly hoarse voice. — I don’t give a bolt which side we fight for. As long as you’re with me. That’s all that matters. He wrapped an arm around the blue-gray Seeker’s shoulders and leaned into him, swaying them gently side to side to make sure Thunder truly heard him. Thunder gave a faint smile in return. His Spark felt… a little steadier. Warp might love black humor, teasing everyone around him, talking nonsense and doing reckless things — but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to comfort those he cared about. The three of them shared a bond unlike any other. They felt and understood one another far better than others ever could. That astonishing closeness helped them find common ground in any situation. It even guided them in flight — their coordination, their synchronized maneuvers happening almost without words. They simply knew what to do and when. But such a tight triad came with a terrible cost. If one of them were to join the AllSpark… The loss of even one could shatter the others completely. That was why they were so afraid… That was why they worried so fiercely for their leader.Suddenly, the massive doors of the surgical block slid open with their characteristic mechanical hiss. All three turned their optics toward the medic stepping out to meet them. This time, he was wiping not oil from his manipulators… But energon. He remained silent for several long seconds, stretching the tension to its limit. After everything they had just endured, their nerves were already wound tight — and he was deliberately letting it linger. — Well… I’ve done everything I could… — he began. All three of them felt their Sparks drop. — However, he won’t be able to fly for several days. Only then did he finish the sentence — and the tension finally broke. Warp nearly short-circuited from the release alone. — I welded the wing fragment back into place, straightened the major dents, and sealed the structural breaches across his frame. He lost a significant amount of energon — and with it, nanobots — so recovery will take time. Platform rest first. Gradual walking after that. No flight attempts for at least several days. His optics sharpened slightly. — Your responsibility is to make sure he follows those instructions. If he stands up, transforms, and attempts to take off now, the wing will tear clean off. I trust you understand that — and that you’ll make it clear to the patient. I have other matters to attend to and cannot monitor him personally. In a few hours I’ll transfer him to a general ward. For now… you may go inside and supervise his exit from stasis. The Decepticon medic, faction insignias gleaming faintly on his shoulders, finished his monologue and headed toward the exit of the waiting hall. It was almost generous of him to allow them to stay. Without wasting a single second, the Seekers rushed toward the operating chamber. Night followed — but without their urgency. Control. Always control. Inside the surgical room, Warp cast a quick glance around before unceremoniously climbing onto the platform beside his leader. Thundercracker did the same. Night took position on the opposite side of the berth and leaned one shoulder against the wall. Even after the repair work, Starscream did not look well. A visible welding seam traced along his wing. Across his frame were faint remnants of dents — signs of where the metal had been forcibly reshaped. Burns and areas of partially melted plating marked his arms, legs, and torso — scars from the explosion’s immense heat. Countless scratches covered him as well: some shallow, gathering faint beads of energon, others more severe and carefully sealed. He had been lucky. Lucky not to be torn apart. Lucky not to melt. He was stronger than he appeared. Multiple tubes were connected to his frame, feeding data to a nearby monitor: Spark pulse, energon pump rhythm, processor activity, internal pressure in energon conduits, electrical current levels, ventilation cycles, reactor and processor temperatures. Overheating could not be allowed under any circumstances. Two primary lines were attached to his arms: one pumping energon into his system, the other filled with a milky-white suspension — nanobots. Every mech possessed their own nanobots, maintaining internal systems, repairing minor damage, restructuring microscopic faults, combating oxidation and structural decay. But as the doctor had said, Starscream had lost too much energon — and with it, too many nanobots. So they were being replenished externally. An interesting detail: newborn Sparks — or protoforms awaiting reformatting — were immersed directly into nanobot suspension so the swarm could construct a frame according to their CNA coding. Once the structure was complete, the nanobots integrated into the body itself, leaving the remaining fluid yellowed and inert — destined for disposal. To function at peak efficiency, nanobots required the host to remain offline. Unfortunately, Scrim had never been fond of rest. Studying his brother’s peaceful, sleeping face, Skywarp shifted his gaze to the monitors. Ventilation was active — but nearly silent. Had he descended that deeply into stasis?.. A few minutes later, his faceplate twitched faintly — and then came a cough. Not surprising. The ventilation system was clogged with residue from ash and dust; small gray clouds puffed out through the vents along his cheek plates and abdomen. When the coughing subsided somewhat, the ventilation grew louder, pulling in deeper cycles of air. Slowly, the Seeker cracked his optics open. They glowed weakly, flickering, his gaze unfocused — fixed somewhere beyond the ceiling. It took him several seconds to dismiss the cascade of old system error messages still flooding his processor. Only after clearing the notifications did he finally register the figures beside him. Starscream had never truly been in a hospital before — never undergone surgery. Diagnostics, yes. And, of course, reformatting from beta into an adult frame. But this? This was his first experience. And not a pleasant one. Thunder shifted closer immediately. The look in his brother’s optics was painfully soft. — Starscream? How are you…? — he asked quietly, mindful that audio receptors could still be sensitive after a concussion. With a faint rasp, Scrim exhaled and attempted to push himself upright, trying to orient himself — but Warp placed both hands firmly on his shoulders and guided him back down. — Don’t. You’re not allowed to get up. Starscream raised a questioning brow ridge, glancing at his brother — then looked around, finally noticing the abundance of medical equipment attached to him. — Huh… From the outside, this probably looks pretty pathetic, doesn’t it? I’m fine, Thunder. More or less… Could be better. Heh… — It’s not pathetic at all. Don’t be ashamed of your condition, — Warp said firmly. — Not many Seekers could survive something like that. Well… aside from him. At that, Starscream turned his head slightly and looked toward Night. — Well, well… I’m surprised you decided to come. I thought you’d already gone to swear your oath. — There was a faint teasing lilt in his voice, but the smile he gave was gentle. He didn’t wait for an answer, turning his gaze back toward the ceiling. And none came. Night remained silent, lost in thought. He was already calculating what life would look like under Decepticon insignia. Yes, he could attempt to defect to the Autobots. But he would never abandon the Lord of Vos. That silver Seeker was the only thing tethering him here. They might clash. They might argue. But Night would now do everything in his power to ensure this war did not take from him the last Seeker he held dear. He would have to bury his thoughts — his sense of right and wrong — even deeper. Because if Megatron disliked something, he would not hesitate to eliminate Nightfly… or any member of the triad… simply to tighten his grip. And Night would not allow anyone to discover that Starscream was his only weakness. If Megatron — or anyone — learned that, they would exploit it without mercy. Let them talk. Let them assume what they wished. They would never know what truly burned inside the deputy’s cold Spark. Right now, the blue-opticked mech looked as though he didn’t care what fate awaited Starscream. Perhaps that was for the best. The familial bonds of the triad could be explained. His attachment could not. Night was pulled from his thoughts by his lord’s voice. Blinking, he focused on him. Unfortunately, he hadn’t caught what Scrim had said or asked. — So… I’m glad you’re alive. Brief. Controlled. Nothing more. And then he fell silent again. Starscream didn’t dwell on it. He interacted with Night far more often than the others did. He was used to his deputy’s way of expressing emotion. Or rather— His lack of one. — I hope this all ends soon… — he murmured tiredly into the quiet of the operating room, closing his optics and finally allowing himself to rest.