Chapter Text
His steps echoed throughout the empty halls of the facility as he approached his destination. Starscream was nervous for days, but he hid it under his usual demeanor. When he finally stopped in front of the door he hesitated for a moment before opening it. Who knew what will he see after going through it? What kind of misshapen freak of nature will greet him? He swallowed the knot forming in his fuel intake and donning his most convincing confident face, he walked in.
The facility’s existence was a secret he guarded closely by eliminating anyone ever being on location unless he chose the bot to be permanently serving there. He kept a list of those Decepticons and a convenient cause for their tragic demise up his sleeve in case they prove to be a liability or got too much knowledge. After all, he couldn’t be too careful.
His feet took him through a lab with large tanks containing protoforms and nearly fully formed armatures of sparkless Cybertronians. Starscream knew he was close to his destination when the bare endoframes got replaced by fully formed Seekers floating inside the mixture of energon and nanites giving the last brush strokes to their platings. Starscream stopped in front of one of the tanks and examined the bot inside.
“These ones are ready to harvest.”
The sudden voice startled him, but he hid it well. Starscream turned his head from the frame in the tank and greeted the scientist approaching him.
“How many are they exactly?”
The smaller bot stopped next to the jet and handed a datapad over to him.
“This is the latest batch, numbers 63, 64 and 65. Previous batches developed complications and had to be terminated.”
Starscream raised an optical ridge.
“Complications?”
“The subjects were psychologically unstable, number 50 tried to escape the facility, and we had to send subjects 51 to 62 to try and restrain him. Needless to say it ended badly for all parties involved.”
“But the previous clones were stable enough, yes?” Starscream didn’t watch the videolog to its end; he didn’t have to see the jet looking just like him getting dismembered by his own mirror images. It didn’t sit well with his current mental state.
“I would say that this psychological discrepancy only manifested in one out of ten subjects.”
Starscream nodded and gave the datapad back to the scientist.
“Give me the sparks, and let’s get this over with.”
The tanks were drained and opened, so the three Seeker clones now stood defenseless against the world. Starscream stepped closer to them, back to the one whose features he was examining before the scientist – if he could recall his designation was Voltdrive – interrupted him. He found that he liked how his latest clones looked. Sleek, built for speed and effectiveness while their paintjobs evoked due fear and respect. Something he always craved but seldom gained. He reached out and touched the midnight black finish of the inactive jet and pulled his fingers back wet. They didn’t have time to dry properly yet.
Voltdrive returned with a cart containing several frozen sparks Starscream managed to salvage from another cold-construction facility back on Cybertron. He immediately saw an unusual one. Three, to be precise. A triplet of sparks looking like a star in the process of forming or going nova, as veins of red and orange and violet energy coursed through their blue core.
“Are these stable?” He picked up one of the unique sparks. He felt the jolt of electricity through the photonic crystal.
“I believe so.” Voltdrive answered. “I assume they are point one-percenter sparks. Or just ones that got colored funny from the freezing process.”
Starscream stared at the spark in his hand, watching as it thawed and its colors swirled livelier as the frost dissipated from its container.
“Let’s try these then.” He decided and opened up his own spark casing.
“I recommend you put the sparks to that diagnostic station.” Voltdrive closed the cart and pushed it out of the way. “You wouldn’t want to crush it accidentally, would you?”
Starscream rolled his optics, but complied, placing all three sibling-sparks into slots on the diagnostic device before sitting down to the assembly slab’s edge.
“Ugh, I hate this…”
Voltdrive stepped next to Starscream holding an extractor with long spikes and sharp edges.
“I know, but I need CNA for the procedure. Now lie down, and try not to yell too loudly.”
Starscream was proud that he did all he could to barely produce a sound while the extractor tore a part of his spark out. He couldn’t give CNA too often for it could end in life-threatening complications, so Voltdrive always made sure he cut a large chunk out of the freely offered crystal ball. The first time he donated his CNA to the procedure, he proved to everybot in hearing distance that he is worthy of his name. Also he was sure about expanding the Cybertronian language with curses that never existed before. There is such a level of pain where hissing and muttering “you naughty spawn of a gun” just doesn’t cut it.
“We’re done, crybaby.” Voltdrive patted Starscream’s chestplate after letting him close it. A large part of the jet’s spark was in the extractor, much larger than Starscream remembered from before.
“Give me that!” He grabbed the device and wobbled over to the diagnostic station holding the three fresh sparks. He began to inject his own spark’s material into the spheres, which reacted in a strange way. As soon as Starscream’s CNA entered theirs, another, black swirl began to form inside the sparks.
“Huh. That’s weird.” Voltdrive commented.
“Let’s insert these into their final place and power them up.” Starscream ordered and picked the sparks up into his hands. He stopped in front of the 63rd clone tank and waited until Voltdrive manually opened the chestplates of all three clones.
“Will you give them names?”
If he was going to be honest, Starscream didn’t really think about it until now. He already had several clones serving under Megatron’s olfactory sensor, and he suspected that they have names, but to give his clones a designation himself… That indicated something he was afraid to face. A sort of intimacy he abhorred and craved at the same time.
“You know what? I just might.”
He stepped over to Nr 63 and placed a spark into his casing. Then he went on to 64 and 65, waiting until their optics flared up and their confused expressions made way to the blank stare of a protoform obtaining necessary data and sort through their basic programs.
“I like this one’s paintjob.” Starscream went back and touched his clone’s wing again. “Dark blue and black, it’s becoming of him. I shall call him Vigilante.”
Hearing his designation, the clone perked his head up and followed Starscream’s form as he stopped in front of the next clone. This one also had a majorly black paintjob, but a large part of his plating kept its natural metallic grey.
“This one looks like if whoever did his paintjob ran out of paint.” Starscream jested.
“I don’t know, the nude metal parts seem pretty terrifying.” Voltdrive answered. “Also, I’d like to inform you that all of their paintjobs are infused with cloaking technology.”
“If only this ugly silver-grey wouldn’t remind me so much of Megatron…” Starscream shuddered. “But I guess I know his name now: Ironstrike.”
“Sounds good. And the last one?”
Starscream spent a little longer with this one after the other two clones stepped out of their tanks on wobbly legs and immediately began to explore their surroundings. The last clone seemed terrified. It was leaner and aesthetically pleasing with a monochromatic paintjob. The only things breaking the black-and-white color scheme were his crimson optics, fearfully darting to and fro.
“Look at me!” Starscream ordered and the clone complied. He remembered the spark he inserted into this frame was the one he first held in his hand. “You’re kinda pretty… Too pretty.”
Voltdrive scoffed, prompting Starscream to turn his ire towards the scientist.
“Why did you design him like this? He’s supposed to be a soldier, not a poster-bot.”
“He’s you.” Came the sardonic answer.
Starscream wanted to riposte with something vitriolic but he stopped. “He’s you”. Had he forgotten the young and dashing bot that could twist anyone he wanted around his digit? The handsome and devious conman who could cheat himself into the Academy, and land himself a job as a researcher under the Functionist regime? The one that had his hulking co-worker head over thrusters for him? He vented dejectedly.
All of a sudden, the rage and jealousy he felt towards the newborn bot had been pushed into the back of his processor. Yes, this was him. Before the war. Before Megatron had laid a hand on him.
“I know your name now.” He turned back to the clone, taking his hand and gently helping him out of the tank. “Solarwind.”
The clone’s optics flared in acknowledgement of his new designation, and flashed a smile at Starscream that made the jet’s spark send a jolt of pain through him, stronger than what he felt while the extractor was cutting a chunk out of it.