Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The geology laboratory at the Iacon Academy of Sciences was a sanctuary of silence, broken only by the low hum of equipment and the gentle click of analysis tools. The light from the monitors cast a bluish glow on the metal plates of the room, reflecting off Starscream's red wings and Jetfire's imposing white chassis.

Starscream was hunched over a crystalline rock sample from a newly explored world. Inside it, perfectly preserved, was the fossil of an alien flora, with filaments that seemed to capture the light.

"The cellular composition is incredibly complex," Starscream murmured, his red optics focused on the digital microscope. "The way the structure adapted to the geothermal pressure... it's fascinating."

Jetfire smiled softly, sitting nearby as he analyzed the data on a panel.

"Or perhaps the rock is the guardian," he countered, pointing a digit at the main screen, where the mineral composition was displayed. "Look at the way the silicates formed around the organic tissues, protecting them from decomposition for eons. A tomb and a vault, all in one."

Starscream moved away from his microscope and went to Jetfire, leaning over to get a better look, resting a hand on his chair. The space between them diminished. Starscream could feel the pleasant, faint magnetic field emanating from his friend.

"A tomb and a vault." Starscream repeated, his voice a little lower. He was no longer looking at the screen. His optics were fixed on Jetfire's profile, on the curve of his helm and the soft light that shone in his blue visors.

Jetfire stopped analyzing the data. He felt Starscream's gaze and slowly turned his head. Now, their faces were mere centimeters apart. The hum of the laboratory seemed to disappear, replaced by the soft sound of their own ventilation systems, which suddenly seemed louder.

Jetfire could see every detail of Starscream's face, his sharp gaze, his well-drawn lips. Starscream, in turn, was mesmerized by the calm and strength that emanated from the shuttle, a strength that had always made him feel safe.

One of Starscream's servos moved, almost of its own accord, ready to touch Jetfire's face. The larger bot tilted his head.

"Starscream..."

VROOOSH!

The laboratory door hissed open aggressively, flooding the room with the bright light from the hallway.

Starscream and Jetfire sprang apart in an instant, a brusque and awkward movement. Starscream raised his wings and straightened his posture, feigning a sudden interest in metamorphic rock samples. Jetfire cleared his intake, his blue optics blinking as he turned to the door.

Standing there, with a huge grin visible even under his mask, and a smudge of grease, was Wheeljack, completely oblivious to the moment he had just ruined.

"There you two are! I've been looking all over for you! You're not going to believe what I managed to do!"

Starscream crossed his arms.

"Wheeljack, what did you blow up now?"

"Nothing! I mean, not today," Wheeljack said with a lively wink, gesturing for them to follow. "It's my new project. A portable teleporter! A way to transfer objects and goods from Iacon to Altihex in seconds! It's my masterpiece! Come on, come on, I need to show you before I turn it on!"

He was already turning and heading back down the hall, not even waiting to be followed.

Starscream let out a frustrated and resigned sigh. He looked at Jetfire, who was looking back at him. For a second, the moment from before hung between them again.

Jetfire was the first to look away, clearing his intake.

"We'd better go." Jetfire said, a small smile on his lips. "At least to make sure he doesn't blow the whole Academy sky-high."

Starscream snorted.

"Engineers and mad scientists."

They followed their friend out of the lab. Starscream glanced at Jetfire's profile. When his friend had called his name, and they were so close, Starscream was sure he was going to say something important. But no, one or the other always had to back down when they were just about to get somewhere.

Ratchet had already told Starscream that this song and dance with Jetfire was ridiculous and everyone knew they liked each other. But Starscream wasn't sure. Jetfire was kind and nice to everyone; the seeker had no reason to believe he was special or that his feelings were reciprocated.

Speaking of Ratchet...

"You didn't call Ratchet?" Starscream asked.

Wheeljack, who was already further down the hall, hesitated for a microsecond before turning around. His fins blinked.

"Ah... no. I thought I'd call you two first," he said, his tone a little too quick. "I wanted a more... technical opinion before presenting the final project. You know, make sure the energy parameters were stable before bothering the busiest bot in the Academy."

Starscream stopped walking, a slow, sharp smile spreading across his faceplate. Jetfire stopped beside him, smiling awkwardly, already anticipating what was coming.

"Busy? Please, Wheeljack," Starscream scoffed, his tone sadistic. "Alpha Trion himself could be having a spark failure, and if you called him to see a new type of screwdriver, Ratchet would drop everything and come running. We all know that."

The engineer shrugged, looking away.

"It's the first version, I can still make improvements, I didn't want to..."

"Ah, so that's it!" Starscream snapped his fingers, approaching Wheeljack with a theatrical air. "This invention is special. You didn't call him because you want everything to be absolutely perfect before you show it to your favorite doctor, right?"

Wheeljack's chassis seemed to heat up visibly.

"It's nothing like that! It's a matter of scientific procedure!"

"Scientific procedure, of course." the seeker hummed, backing away with his hands up in mock surrender. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with us. Just don't take too long. You know how grumpy Ratchet gets when he thinks he wasn't included in your explosions."

Jetfire finally intervened, his voice deep but tinged with laughter.

"Star, that's enough. He gets it. Let's go, before Jack changes his mind and decides it'll be more interesting to blow everything up. We're eager to see your 'masterpiece'."

Wheeljack mumbled something unintelligible about annoying seekers, but the distraction worked. He turned and resumed his path to his laboratory with renewed determination, perhaps a little too quickly.

"Wheeljack, I swear, if you brought us here to blow up one of your inventions in our faces again..." Starscream punctuated as he followed his friend through the white metallic corridors of the Cybertronian technological academy.

"Not all of my inventions explode, Screamer," Wheeljack defended himself as he typed the code on the door.

"Certainly, only 3 out of every 4 creations explode." Jetfire commented, trying to be lighthearted, but it wasn't enough to hide the apprehension in his voice.

"You're talking about prototypes." Wheeljack waved his hands dismissively. "The improved versions have higher success statistics."

He opened the lab door, revealing laser equipment, humming consoles, and a circular platform in the center of the room. The platform was surrounded by three tall, thin emitters that pointed towards the middle, connected by a web of thick cables that snaked across the floor to a main control panel. The air vibrated with the hum of contained energy.

"Wow, Jackie. You've really outdone yourself with the mess this time."

Starscream commented, his optics sweeping over the organized chaos of tools, spare parts, and datapads scattered across every available surface.

"Science requires the use of entropy to happen!" Wheeljack retorted, going straight to the control panel. His fins blinked with intense lights, matching his excitement. "Ignore the mess and behold the future!"

He pressed a few buttons, and the three emitters began to glow with a pale blue light, focusing a trembling point of energy just above the center of the platform.

"The principle is simple," Wheeljack explained, unable to hide the pride in his voice. "The emitters create a stable dimensional rift, dematerializing the object on the platform and rematerializing it at a corresponding receiver. I've installed the receiver in my storage unit in Altihex. Let's start with something small."

He picked up a torque wrench from a nearby bench and placed it carefully in the center of the platform.

Jetfire took a step closer, scientific curiosity overcoming his apprehension.

"The stability of the rift is the main issue. How do you compensate for quantum fluctuations?"

"Ah! With my new phase modulator!" Wheeljack exclaimed, pointing to a piece that was buzzing loudly on the console. "It recalibrates the teleportation matrix 1.7 times per nanosecond! It's perfectly safe!"

Starscream snorted. "You said the same thing about the 'Perfectly Safe Toaster' that melted half the refectory."

"Technical details!" Wheeljack dismissed with a wave. "Are you ready? Observe... science."

His fingers danced over the console. The hum in the lab grew louder, turning into a sharp, piercing whine. The blue light in the emitters intensified, and arcs of white electricity began to jump between them. The torque wrench on the platform started to vibrate.

With a blinding flash of light and a sharp wop sound, the tool disappeared.

"I DID IT!" Wheeljack shouted, raising his servos in triumph. "I DID IT! IT WORKED!"

But his celebration was premature. The sharp sound didn't stop. On the contrary, it rose in pitch, becoming a shrill wail that made their plating vibrate. The emitters, instead of shutting down, began to glow an alarming red. The energy rift above the platform didn't close; instead, it began to expand, distorting the air around it.

"This isn't supposed to be happening." Wheeljack's triumphant voice gave way to growing panic as his digits rapidly typed commands on the panel.

"Shut it down, Wheeljack!" Jetfire yelled, instinctively extending a servo in front of Starscream to protect him.

The seeker, however, was paralyzed, not by fear, but by a terrified fascination. He could see space tearing itself apart right in front of him. It was chaotic, terrible, and surreally beautiful.

"I can't.... IT'S GOING TO BLOW!" Wheeljack announced as he ran towards the lab door.

Jetfire and Starscream exchanged a look before running towards the door. It was a matter of seconds. Starscream knew Jetfire wasn't fast enough to make it in time. But seekers are known for their speed; he could make it.

With one movement, boosted by the thruster in his pedes, he kicked Jetfire's aft, causing him to fall right behind Wheeljack. The kick sent Starscream staggering back a few feet, closer to the collapsing teleporter. He didn't give in to his curiosity to look back. The seeker ran towards his friends, towards the desperate look Jetfire was giving him.

"STARSCREAM!"

Then came the white light.

Starscream felt as if his frame was being unraveled into molecular filaments, undone in microseconds. Colors he had never seen before flooded his optics, sounds he couldn't comprehend tore through his audio sensors as an invisible force pulled him away from his friends.

And then everything vanished, covered by the black veil of darkness.

When he opened his optics, he was no longer inside his engineer friend's laboratory. He was under a blue sky, filled with floating white clusters of H2O linked by hydrogen bonds — clouds.

This wasn't Cybertron.

Before he had the courage to check the integrity of his frame, Starscream moved his digits to feel the ground he was lying on.

It wasn't the smooth, cold metal of his home. His tactile sensors sent a cascade of information. The surface was soft, yet fibrous, yielding slightly under his digits. There was moisture, a sensation of organic cold. He closed his hand, and green fibers caught between his fingers, along with particles of a dark, granular substance — land.

The shock of that tactile sensation finally propelled him to sit up.

The world spun for a moment. His systems took a moment to recalibrate, and then the landscape came into focus. He was in a clearing of vibrant green, a color so intense it almost hurt his optics. Around him, tall, brown structures rose up, crowned with a canopy of the same green. Trees. He recognized them from xenobiology data files, but seeing one, smelling the life that emanated from them, was magnificent. The air had a complex odor of dampness, decay, and something sweet.

"Systems diagnostic," he ordered in a low voice, the sound of his own vocalizer strangely loud in the surrounding silence, broken only by a soft whistle of wind and the clicking and chirping sounds of the local inhabitants.

A series of translucent text appeared on his HUD.

WARNING: GRAVITATIONAL VARIANCE DETECTED. SYSTEM INSTABILITY.

ARMOR STATUS: 92% 

INTEGRITY. SUPERFICIAL DAMAGE. NO PENETRATIONS.

ENERGON LEVELS: 68%, MODERATE.

FLIGHT SYSTEMS: ONLINE.

He was functional. Dizzy and disoriented, but functional. The relief lasted only an instant, soon replaced by a growing anxiety.

Starscream was never the religious type, but he felt compelled to say:

"Primus, where am i?!"

He sent communications to his friends, his Trine, his professors, the mech who sold energon sweets next to the academy... nothing, no response. He must be far out of range.

Right, time to work up the courage to get up and find a long-range beacon. Or at least some location that would tell him which intergalactic system this was.

He could move his pedes, a good sign. He tried to stand, supporting his servos on the damp grass. The gravity here was different, weaker. Every joint felt too light, every movement exaggerated. He lost his balance on the first try, falling and hitting his aft on the ground with a muffled thud and a muttered curse.

"Pathetic." he snarled at himself.

On the second attempt, he was more cautious. He used all his concentration, adjusting his center of balance, like a sparkling learning to walk for the first time. Finally, with a groan of stressed metal, he stood up. The world swayed dangerously, but he steadied himself, his wings instinctively adjusting to maintain balance.

Standing, the scale of the place was even more impressive. He was an anomaly of red and white metal in an organic sea of green and brown. The vastness of the sky, the height of the trees, the complete absence of any structure made of metal... the loneliness was a crushing pressure.

If only Jetfire were here.

Starscream had to push away the memory of his friend's horrified face just before he lost sight of him in the explosion.

Starscream was definitely going to deactivate Wheeljack this time. If Ratchet wasn't faster, since the engineer always ignored his advice about adding safe distance limits and using PPE.

"No, focus!" He forced himself to think about the present and not the wish to not be alone. "First, i need to collect data. Analyze. Act."

He was about to activate his thrusters to gain altitude and get a better view of the area when a sound cut through the air. A blaster shot hit the grass right beside him. A near miss.

"Whoa. What?!" The seeker looked in the direction of the sound's origin.

Two bots emerged from behind the trees, blasters pointed directly at him. They were Cybertronians, by their design, from Velocitron, probably. One was a vibrant red, with a sleek design and a conceited smirk on his face.

The other, a dazzling yellow, had an expression of pure contempt, his armor so polished it reflected the sunlight. Both bore a red, angular symbol on their chests, one that Starscream did not recognize.

It was the yellow one who spoke first, his voice dripping with venom.

"Look what the scrap dragged in. Lost, Screamer?"

The red one took a step forward.

"Hands where I can see them, Decepticon!"

Starscream blinked, his processor struggling to keep up. He knew that nickname but not these two strangers. And that word.

"Decepticon?" he asked, genuine confusion in his voice. "What are you talking about? Who are you? How do you know me?"

The yellow bot let out a harsh, cruel laugh.

"He's playing dumb. How pathetic. It must be tuesday."

"There's been a mistake." Starscream insisted, raising his hands slowly. "My designation is Starscream, I am a xenobiologist from the Iacon Academy of Sciences. There was an accident with a teleporter."

The red one laughed even louder.

"Academy of Sciences? The only science you know is how to backstab your commanders! Do you think we're stupid?"

Starscream rethought how he could prove his identity. He remembered.

"I have my academy ID, one moment." Starscream brought a servo to his subspace.

After the sound and the light, the next sense Starscream registered was pain. They had shot him in the shoulder.

"Ow! Scrap, that hurts!" He brought a hand to the wound, feeling the hot, sticky Energon leak between his digits. 

That's when he saw the glint in the optics of the two bots in front of him. They weren't listening. There was no hesitation, no doubt. They were going to shoot again. They were going to deactivate him.

Panic seized his spark. Starscream transformed into a cybertronian jet and flew.

"He's running, the coward!" the red one shouted as he transformed into a strange ground vehicle, soon followed by the yellow one.

Blaster rays cut through the air around Starscream. He zigzagged, flying low, but the open terrain offered no cover. He was almost across the prairie when a direct hit struck him squarely in the right wing.

The shock of the pain was so intense that his flight systems short-circuited. The transformation came undone in mid-air. He brutally reverted to robot mode, falling from the sky without control. Inertia dragged him across the ground for several meters in a hideous screech of grinding metal, covering his red and white armor with dirt and grass.

The two grounders stopped a few meters away, transforming back and keeping their blasters aimed at him.

"Enough, stop, I'm begging you. Please..." The seeker curled up, feeling the pain of the impact, his shoulder and wing were pierced and leaking energon. He was going to be deactivated in cold blood for no reason.

The cold, hate-filled gazes of his captors did not waver, nor did they lower their blasters.

"End of the line, Screamer."

Chapter Text

Starscream felt coolant leaking from his optics, his spark spinning in desperation at the fear of imminent deactivation.

"Please... Please..." Starscream begged again, raising his hands in surrender.

The yellow bot, Sunstreaker, watched the miserable seeker for a long moment. Then, with a snort of pure contempt, he finally relented.

"Pathetic," he spat. Turning to his partner, he gestured with his head. "Sideswipe, cuff him. Jazz will want to interrogate."

Sideswipe nodded, approaching the cowering seeker. Starscream flinched as the red bot roughly grabbed him by his injured arm, clamping a pair of stasis cuffs on his wrists. There was a metallic click, followed by a low hum. 

"Sideswipe to the Ark," the red bot spoke into his comm. "We've caught a big one. I repeat, we have Starscream in custody."

Sunstreaker circled the fallen prisoner like a predator, his optics assessing the damage with satisfaction.

"Doesn't look so impressive all dirty and dented, does he?" he taunted. "He's going to need a good polish."

Ignoring the comment, Sideswipe hauled Starscream to his feet with a jerk, wrenching a groan of pain from the seeker. His right wing hung at an unnatural angle.

"Move!" Sideswipe ordered, shoving him forward.

Starscream walked, one pede after the other, trying to ignore the sight of his beautiful frame, dirty and dented. After his right wing, his vanity was the worse thing at the moment.

Right, he could also be deactivated at any click by his captors. 

The red one was called Sideswipe, apparently.

Starscream reset his intake a few times. It was hitched with fear and crying.

"Where... Where are you taking me?" His voice trembled.

"Still playing dumb?!" Sideswipe complained again. "You're going to the Ark, to be interrogated by Jazz, and believe me, that's a fate worse than being killed like a pig in a prairie in the middle of nowhere!"

Starscream's intake hitched again. He didn't know what a "pig" was, but the threat was clear. Not deactivating him immediately was a strategic choice, not mercy. He wasn't safe, far from it. He couldn't ignore that the yellow one was following a few steps behind, blaster still charged.

Starscream wanted to ask questions, scream for help, maybe cry a little more. But his captors seemed very impatient and eager for him to make another false move so they could shoot him. So, the seeker followed them in silence.

The walk seemed to last an eternity. Every step was agony. His right wing bent, his shoulder throbbing. Energon continued to leak slowly from his wounds, a light-blue trail he left behind. The sun of this planet seemed to mock him, heating his damaged armor and making his systems work harder to cool down.

His thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind. 'Ark.' The name suggested a ship, probably their base. 'Jazz.' The name of his interrogator. Sideswipe's threat left no doubt that this Jazz was someone to be feared.

He forced himself to analyze, to turn fear into data. He was on an alien planet, captured by Cybertronians who mistook him for another bot. They weren't from the Academy, not scientists. They were soldiers. The way they moved, the efficiency of their pursuit, the absence of mercy... it all pointed to a mentality forged in battle. A war? Was he in the middle of a war? The idea was so absurd that his processor almost discarded it.

Cybertron was a place of peace, of discovery. The last Great War had ended ages ago. There were some governmental instabilities, but nothing that couldn't be resolved with parliamentary meetings.

The memory of Jetfire's face, contorted in horror, returned to haunt him. Would he be okay? And Wheeljack? Had they survived the explosion? The possibility that he was the only survivor, only to die on this strange world, was terrifying.

After what felt like an entire cycle, Sideswipe finally stopped.

"We're here."

They had left the prairie and entered an area of rocky terrain. And there, embedded in the side of a colossal mountain, was the most magnificent and saddest thing Starscream had ever seen. It was a starship, one of the largest he had ever imagined, but it was broken. The bow was buried deep in volcanic rock. It was a sleeping, wounded giant. The Ark.

An access ramp was lowered, and other bots, all bearing the same red symbol, stood guard.

When they saw the trio approach and recognized the prisoner, a murmur ran through the ranks. Looks of shock turned into expressions of pure hatred. Blasters were raised.

"Easy, bots," Sideswipe said with an arrogant grin, clearly enjoying the attention. "He's under control." Sunstreaker pushed Starscream forward with the barrel of his blaster.

"Walk, trash. We don't want to dirty the entrance."

The interior of the ship was a labyrinth of metallic corridors. The lighting was functional, not decorative, and the walls bore battle scars that no one had bothered to fix. It was an environment that made it clear that supplies were used only for essentials.

As they dragged him through the corridors, other Autobots stopped to stare at him, some with muttered curses, others with a heavy, threatening silence.

Starscream had never felt so hated, and he had no idea why. He didn't raise his head, staring fixedly at the floor, not only because he didn't want to trip but because he feared one of those glares could actually shut him down.

Finally, they stopped in front of a large, white door with a red cross painted on it. A medbay.

"Prowl wants him checked out before the interrogation," Sideswipe informed Sunstreaker, as if Starscream wasn't there. "Make sure he doesn't deactivate in Jazz's chair. It'd be a waste."

The door hissed open. The interior was sterile, clean, and filled with medical tools that Starscream could recognize. A gruff, impatient voice echoed from inside the room.

"What did you two break this time?"

From the shadows, a white and orange bot emerged, with a permanently grumpy expression and tools in his hands. His blue optics widened for an instant upon seeing the prisoner, before narrowing into slits.

Starscream's world stopped.

That face. That chassis design. That voice. It was different, but there was no doubt.

"Ratchet..." Starscream was so relieved to see a friendly face. He took two steps toward him. "A familiar face, finally..."

His words were cut off as another blow struck the side of his helm. He was held up to keep from falling. He was dazed, but he could feel the hot tip of the blaster on his face.

"Who told you to move?! Are you trying to kill our best medic?!" That was the red one's voice, shouting in his audial.

Starscream now felt pain in every part of his frame. He looked at his friend, wanting him to intercede on his behalf, but the medic only gave him a cold look. Ratchet sighed.

"First Aid must feel so valued every time you say that." He pointed to one of the med-berths. "Put him there. I'll patch him up enough so he doesn't pass out before the interrogation."

Sideswipe roughly moved Starscream to the indicated med-berth.

"Ratchet, what's going on?" He would ignore the coldness and distance. 

He needed answers. Later he would find out why one of his friends had joined his new horde of haters. 

"Wheeljack was showing off a new teleporter, but, guess what, it exploded. Big surprise, right? But then there was a white light and then I appeared here. Where are they? Wheeljack and Jetfire?"

Ratchet didn't deign to answer him. He didn't even look into his optics. Starscream's spark sank. Even Ratchet hated him for no reason?! Why?!

The medic approached him with a welder.

"Wait, wait, an anesthetic — AH..!"

The seeker screamed, his body arching against the searing pain of his circuits being forcibly cauterized. Ratchet worked with a brutal, dispassionate efficiency, ignoring the prisoner's groans.

"Music to my audials." Sideswipe said with an amused air.

He finished the last patch with a final hiss. The Energon leaks stopped, replaced by ugly, uneven weld marks. Starscream wanted to cry.

"There, he won't deactivate during the interrogation anymore. His energon levels are still acceptable." Ratchet put away his welder. "Dismissed."

Ratchet's betrayal hurt more than the hot solder. The last spark of hope he had nurtured, that this was all a big misunderstanding that a friendly face could resolve, was extinguished.

Starscream was led away once more by his captors, casting one last look at Ratchet before the door closed.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker led him in silence to a door, opened it, and descended the stairs towards what Starscream recognized as prison cells.

"I... I'm staying here?!" He knew he was hated by everyone there, but he didn't think they would be that cruel to him.

"Yeah, stay quiet in there," Sunstreaker huffed as he pushed him into one of the cells. Still in the stasis cuffs.

"Jazz will be by to have a little word with you later. Good night, Screamer!" 

He waved cheerfully as they marched to the room's door and left.

Starscream was finally alone with his thoughts to process what had happened.

A heavy, dense silence pressed on his audio sensors. The darkness was almost total, broken only by the faint status light on his cuffs and the intermittent glow of his own optics, which tried to pierce the gloom. The cell was small. Too small. The air was thin and smelled of old metal and loneliness.

For seekers, the punishment of being imprisoned, deprived of the sky, was the worst possible punishment, reserved only for the worst of the worst, the irredeemable. Seeker claustrophobia was horrible. Just as bad, seekers hate the dark, seekers hate being alone. And Starscream was feeling absolutely alone.

He replayed the traumatic events of the last few hours — the fall, the chase, the pain, and the hatred he faced. However, the most devastating blow was Ratchet's attitude. The version he found was not the friend he knew, but someone who treated him with coldness and brutality, as if he were an annoying insect. Would even his friend treat him like a monster?

A dry, metallic sob escaped his vocalizer, a sound that was swallowed by the darkness. His ventilation system hitched, struggling to draw air. He tried to contain himself, tried to force logic back in, but the dam of his self-control finally broke.

There was no logic, none of it made sense. Starscream had done nothing to receive so much hatred. Did Wheeljack hate him now too? And Jetfire... no, that thought was unbearable.

Starscream curled up in the corner. The cuffs prevented him from hugging his own knees, but he still tried to shrink himself as small as possible. His right wing hurt a lot. But he still tried to make his wings wrap around him, desperately wanting to feel safe.

"Well, well, well... you don't see this every day." A melodic, amused voice commented.

Starscream sniffled and tried to wipe his optics to focus on the owner of the voice.

The newcomer was predominantly white and black, with an enigmatic blue visor covering his eyes. He wasn't holding a weapon. His movements were fluid, relaxed, and he leaned casually against the opposite wall, crossing his arms. The posture was so relaxed it was disconcerting.

This is the feared Jazz??

"The ambiance down here isn't the best, is it? No music, no view. Lousy." Jazz's blue visor tilted slightly, assessing the scene.

"So, let's start right here," he said, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "No formalities. Now, let's start easy. Where is the Nemesis?"

Starscream's mind searched for the term without success.

"Nemesis?" he repeated, his voice hoarse. "I don't know what a Nemesis is. Is it some kind of science project?"

Jazz let out a slow sigh, but there was no anger, just a calculated boredom.

"Okay, Screamer. Let's skip the games. It gets old after the first million years."

"I'm not playing!" Starscream's voice rose, bordering on hysteria. "I don't know what you're talking about! I'm a scientist! I was in a lab in Iacon with Jetfire and Wheeljack!"

Jazz froze. The relaxed posture finally tensed with confusion.

"Jet... fire? Who the is Jetfire?"

Starscream blinked, the other bot's confusion mirroring his own.

"What? He's my best friend! A geologist! A big, white shuttle... we were together when Wheeljack's machine..."

"You mean Skyfire?" Jazz interrupted him, his tone now sharp, analytical.

It was Starscream's turn to be confused.

"Skyfire? No, his name is Jetfire. I think I would know my own best friend's name."

Jazz stared at him for a long silence. The atmosphere in the cell shifted from an interrogation to something... strange. Starscream's story wasn't a lie that Jazz could recognize. It was something fundamentally wrong.

"Look, Screamer," Jazz said, his voice now devoid of any lightness. "I don't know what kind of mind game you're playing, or who this 'Jetfire' you've invented is. But Skyfire is alive, a few corridors away on this ship. And I highly doubt he'd be happy to see you right now."

Starscream's world stopped. That was impossible. Jetfire, here? With another name? And why wouldn't he be happy to see him? It was a lie. It had to be a tactic to confuse him, to break him.

"That's a lie!" he screamed, his voice breaking. "His name is Jetfire! Why... Why do you all hate me? Why?! What did I do to you?!"

"I'm tired of this," Jazz stood up in one fluid motion. "Last chance. What is Megatron's plan?"

"I don't know!" he screamed one last time, his voice threatening to shatter.

That was the last straw. The story was too insane to be a coherent lie. It was a complete delusion.

"Right. Plan B," Jazz said to himself.

Suddenly, a high-pitched, low-frequency sound emanated from him. 

It wasn't loud, but it penetrated the metal, making every circuit and every joint in Starscream vibrate painfully. He screamed, a muffled sound of agony, as the sonic dissonance overwhelmed him.

"...let's see if we can tune in a different station," Jazz finished, his voice cold as ice. "Where-is-the-Nemesis?"

Starscream just babbled, repeating his impossible truth about science and a friend with the wrong name.

Jazz watched him, his blue visor impassive. The story didn't change, no matter the pressure. With a frustrated sigh, he opened his subspace and took out an energon cube. He extended it through the prison bars.

"We're done for today. Drink your meal." He stood up and offered one more look at Starscream lying so pathetically and fragilely on the floor, not even moving to touch the cube. 

If Jazz didn't know everything the Decepticon second-in-command was capable of, he might even feel sorry for  him.

"It's medical-grade energon, has a nanite supplement to help with your recovery."

And he closed the door without waiting for an answer.

"Prowl," he called on his comm. "Leadership meeting, now."

Chapter Text

The table in the Autobot council room was nothing more than their largest room, with a round table featuring an interactive holographic map of the Earth. Seated at the table were the second-in-command, Prowl; weapons specialist, Ironhide; head of security, Red Alert; and the chief medical officer, Ratchet (who seemed particularly more sullen today), and of course, at the head of the table, the leader, Optimus Prime.

"...and even after I activated my resonance to hurt his audials, he just repeated the same absurd story," Jazz finished reporting his interrogation with Starscream. He was standing at the end of the table opposite Prime.

A second of silence passed as everyone processed the absurdity they had just heard.

Ironhide was the first to speak:

"What a load of scrap."

"Starscream is lying to get us to let him into the Ark. And we fell right into his trap!" Red Alert shouted, already alarmed.

"It's complicated," Prowl said as he turned on a datapad and skimmed its contents. "Sideswipe and Sunstreaker wrote in their report that after they shot Starscream in the shoulder, he transformed and tried to flee, but they followed him, shot his wing, and when he crashed..." He paused, wanting to ensure everyone was paying attention. "...Starscream started crying and begging for mercy."

Prowl's revelation hung in the air. The ensuing silence was broken by a harsh, incredulous sound: Ironhide's laughter.

"Hah! Good one, Prowl," he scoffed, slamming his fist on the table. "Starscream? Crying and begging? He'd rather have his wings torn off and shoved up his own exhaust pipe than show that kind of weakness to Autobots."

"It's not a joke," Jazz intervened, his light tone gone, replaced by absolute seriousness. "I saw it when I got to the cell. It wasn't an act. The bot is terrified."

"IT'S PART OF THE PLAN!" Red Alert screamed, the lights on his shoulders flashing in alarm. "It's a psychological tactic! A performance to generate sympathy, to make us hesitate! He wants us to think he's broken!"

"That reinforces my theory," Prowl said calmly, drawing everyone's attention back to him. "Cowardice is one of Starscream's core traits, but his pride always overcomes it in public. Such a complete breakdown and such an elaborate, illogical story do not point to a simple lie. They point to programming. And if what Jazz said is true and Starscream genuinely believes his own lies..."

He projected a file onto the holographic map. The words "MNEMOSURGERY" and "SHADOWPLAY" glowed in red.

"Shadowplay," Prowl continued, his voice cold and analytical. "A deep brainwashing, implanting a false personality and memories. It's complex, highly illegal, and has Shockwave's logical signature all over it. He creates a persona of a confused scientist, gets us to bring him inside..."

"...And then a trigger is activated and he tries to kill us all!" Red Alert completed, the paranoia in his voice at its peak. "It's a Trojan Horse! He's waiting for the right moment!"

Optimus Prime, who had been listening to everything in silence, finally turned to the last member at the table who had yet to speak.

"Ratchet," Prime said. "You examined him. What is your medical assessment?"

Ratchet stood up, sighing as if he wished to be anywhere but there, and took Jazz's place as the head of special operations took his seat beside Prime.

"My assessment of Starscream is that his injuries are considerable but superficial. While I was patching him up, I used no anesthetic, and he screamed quite loudly."

He deliberately avoided his leader's gaze. Prime repudiated this kind of torture. The only one he tolerated was Jazz's sensory torture.

"I don't know about you, but I've seen that bot take down others twice his size with a ruptured tank and a crushed servo. But at that moment, it seemed like he'd never felt pain or been patched up on the battlefield before."

Those at the table seemed to ponder that fact.

"Indeed..." Ironhide added. "The twins reported that he surrendered after one shot to the shoulder and another to the wing, but I've seen that bot refuse to give up a fight even with a broken pede. And he's a jet, his thrusters are in his pedes! And he still kept going."

Red Alert continued to mutter about how this was all part of Starscream's devious plan.

"His easy and collaborative surrender is indeed very suspicious," Jazz added.

Again, everyone in the room fell silent, processing all the available information and trying to guess the Decepticons' plan.

Ratchet cleared his intake, indicating he wasn't finished and drawing everyone's attention. He continued:

"After Starscream left my medbay, something was bothering me. He said he was with Wheeljack and Jetfire—who Jazz believes might be Skyfire—in the Cybertronian science academy's lab when Wheeljack's invention exploded."

"Yes, that's exactly what he reported to me as well," Jazz confirmed.

"I don't know if everyone in this room is aware, but I, Wheeljack, Skyfire, and... Starscream... were friends back in the academy."

"WHAT?!" Red Alert jumped. "How?!"

"He and Wheeljack were in engineering, Skyfire and I took some classes together... anyway, that's not relevant." He waved a servo as if he didn't want to think about it. "My point is this, observe."

He typed commands on the panel and in front of each person at the table, a photo of the four aforementioned friends appeared, looking like they were celebrating something. So young, the medic even seemed to be smiling. Ratchet cropped the image to focus solely on the frame encompassing Starscream.

"This is a photo we took together millions of years ago."

He typed more commands, and another photo appeared. Starscream, having just transformed while firing, looking like a destroying angel.

"This was taken in a confrontation weeks ago, and this one here." Another photo appeared, showing a beaten and frightened Starscream. All the photos showed his complete frame from pedes to helm. "And this was taken today in my medbay."

Ratchet fell silent, thinking they would see the same thing he did. When everyone remained quiet, looking at each other and then back at the medic, he huffed in indignation.

"Seriously? Are we going to play a 'spot the difference' game like human children?! Look properly!" First, he focused on the image taken millions of years ago and the one from weeks ago. "Starscream has always been a vain piece of scrap; his finish is always perfect. Whenever he's injured, he doesn't just fix it enough to be functional. No, he replaces the entire part. Look at the servos, the chassis... He's practically a Ship of Theseus, as the humans would say."

Now the image from weeks ago and the photo from today were aligned.

"Can you see it now?"

"Starscream has the exact same frame from millions of years ago..." Prowl was the first to point it out.

"Exactly! He could have changed his frame to be consistent with the Shadowplay, but where on Earth would Starscream find replacement parts for such an outdated seeker model?!"

The meeting room plunged into a heavy silence as everyone stared at the logical impossibility the images presented.

"Your evidence, Ratchet," Prowl admitted, his tactical mind recalculating the facts. "Complicates the probability of the Shadowplay hypothesis. It makes no sense to perform a brainwashing and a frame reconstruction..."

"Then it's a clone!" Red Alert nearly leaped out of his chair. "A perfect duplicate of the pre-war Starscream, created in a lab and activated now to infiltrate! It's the only remaining explanation!"

"An unlikely explanation," Ironhide retorted, scratching his chin. "Why would the 'Cons waste so many resources cloning their second-in-command? If they wanted to infiltrate and appeal to our nostalgia and sympathy, they'd clone one of us or our fallen brothers. Every Autobot wants Starscream dead."

"And how and why would they use an old model? It makes no tactical sense," Prowl muttered, writing his report draft.

"Whatever it is, clone or shadowplay," Jazz intervened, his tone serious. "He believes his own story. I felt it. There's no deceit in his voice, only panic. I've never heard Starscream sound so genuine."

Optimus Prime observed the face of each of his officers. They had exhausted their most logical theories and were now faced with a paradox. They had a prisoner who shouldn't exist, telling a story that couldn't be true. Even Red Alert had run out of his repertoire of slightly plausible paranoid theories.

The leader finally spoke:

"The conclusion is: we do not have enough data to form a precise hypothesis," Prime said. "Acting on speculation would be reckless. Our priorities now are containment and observation."

His gaze moved from one bot to another, distributing orders.

"Red Alert, Prowl. I want constant surveillance on the cell. Monitor every sound, every energy signature. I want to know if he deviates from this 'persona' for a single micro-klick."

Both strategists nodded, already forming new ideas.

"Ratchet, run diagnostics on Starscream. Look for traces of Shadowplay or anything that indicates he is not who he claims to be."

Ratchet nodded in reluctant agreement.

"Jazz, take some of your mechs and check the location where the twins found Starscream. There might be a clue there."

He gave a thumbs-up and a smile to Prime.

"You got it, OP."

"Ironhide, you will guard Starscream while he is in our custody. You can switch shifts with the twins after they return with Jazz."

Ironhide gave a salute.

Prime offered one last look to each of his officers, wanting to convey a sense of security.

"For now, this is what we can do. Dismissed."

The officers left one by one, their minds already working on the new directives, leaving a heavy silence behind.

"Ratchet, a moment."

Optimus Prime's voice was calm but held a note of authority. Ratchet turned, his already sour expression seeming to deepen. He would rather be in the medbay dealing with a rust plague than have this conversation.

Optimus approached, his steps heavy and deliberate.

"Your presentation was... unexpected, Ratchet," Prime said, getting straight to the point. "That photograph. You never mentioned you had such a connection with Starscream back in the Academy."

Ratchet shrugged and crossed his servos.

"It wasn't a 'connection.' It was just... circumstances. The file is old; I only brought it up to support my argument about his frame."

Optimus didn't move, his blue optics observing the medic with a gentle intensity.

"You referred to them as 'friends.' Your words. You, Wheeljack, Skyfire, and... him. In all our cycles of service together, you never spoke of this."

The medic huffed, a harsh sound of frustration.

"Because it was never relevant, Optimus! It was eons ago. You already knew Wheeljack and I were friends at the academy, what else was I supposed to say? That one of my friends died on an off-world expedition, and they said my other friend, who was on the expedition, killed him?" Ratchet continued to grumble about his history, and Prime listened patiently.

"At the time, I didn't believe Starscream had actually killed Skyfire. Primus, and when Starscream found out he was being accused of it, he lost it."

Ratchet paused for a moment, the weight of the memory silencing him. Optimus remained quiet, giving his old friend the space he needed to continue.

"He became hysterical," Ratchet continued, his voice lower, rougher. "Screaming about how Skyfire was his best friend, how he would never hurt him. Wheeljack and I defended him. We told the Academy council it was an accident, that Starscream could be an arrogant aft, but he wasn't a murderer."

The irony of the situation was almost laughable, if it weren't so tragic.

"But he didn't make it easy. He became bitter, angry. Accused everyone of framing him. Pushed me and Wheeljack away. He isolated himself, rotting in his own paranoia until the Academy finally expelled him."

The medic sighed.

"We lost contact. The next time I heard his designation, it was on the news saying that Starscream of Vos was going to be tried before the Senate on charges of terrorism... well, you know the rest." He shrugged as if it meant nothing. "It's been a long time. I don't even remember much from back then."

Prime was silent for a few seconds, processing that part of his friend's life and Starscream's past.

"I understand," was the only response that seemed appropriate. "In that case, I trust in your professionalism to provide a good and impartial report on his current condition."

Ratchet nodded.

"Yes, Optimus."

He turned to leave.

"Ratchet, one last thing." The medic turned back to his leader, his gaze serious. "We all know what kind of terrible being Starscream is. But if a prisoner is surrendered and in our custody, it is our responsibility to ensure he remains alive and whole."

Ratchet practically growled back.

"Starscream himself tortured Mirage when he was a Decepticon hostage. Now that their second-in-command is our hostage, we have to show civility?!" His tone was indignant.

"Yes, Ratchet. Don't misunderstand me, I also hold grievances against Starscream and the Decepticon high command, but—"

"I was the one who had to patch Mirage up," the medic interrupted, anger and resentment poisoning his reasoning. "I had to see the extent of his injuries, see and hear everything they did to him. And that wasn't even the first time, Optimus!"

"—but that does not change the way we, the Autobots, act," Prime continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Upholding the laws, the right to freedom, and the life of all beings..."

"The Decepticons have never cared about any of those things," he grumbled in response.

"And what are you, Ratchet?"

Silence. The medic understood his leader's point. This was the determination and diligence that had made Ratchet follow him millions of years ago and remain until now.

The silence stretched in the room. Ratchet lowered his head for an instant, the engine in his chest rumbling in a sigh of pure frustration. The anger still burned, but the logic of Optimus's question was irrefutable.

"I am not asking you to forgive him, Ratchet," Optimus said, his voice now softer but no less firm. "I am ordering you to remember who we are. That is what separates us from them."

Without another word and without meeting his optics, the medic turned and left.

Back in the prison cells, Starscream was still huddled, trying to keep his wing still while sipping the energon cube. He could already feel the nanites working on his injuries and helping with the pain.

Looking around, it wasn't very encouraging to see that all the cells were empty. It meant his captors didn't keep prisoners.

Besides what was evident before him, Starscream had no more ideas. He didn't understand anything that was happening, and no one wanted to explain it to him.

What are Decepticons, Nemesis, and this Megatron? And why did that Jazz think Starscream should know these things?

Could this be related to Starscream being a Warframe? There's a war, so they assume he's in it. Supposedly on the enemy side?

But that didn't answer everything either.

Why did Ratchet treat him that way, and why did they think Jetfire was named Skyfire? More importantly, why wouldn't he be happy to see Starscream?!

To make matters worse, the seeker was dirty, ugly, and injured. There was nothing left.

That mess Jazz made in his audials hurt a lot, but Starscream had the slight impression that they could be much worse if they wanted to.

The cell door hissed open, flooding the dark space with the bright light from the corridor. Starscream flinched. This time, the silhouette blocking the exit was even more imposing than the twins'. It was a robust red bot, with heavy armor and a cannon mounted on each arm. His expression was a mixture of irritation and deep contempt.

"On your feet, Screamer," the bot's voice was a low growl. "The Doc is waiting for you."

Starscream supposed the "Doc" was Ratchet. He stood up slowly, still apprehensive, his wings lowered to show he wasn't a threat (getting a rifle-butt to the head for no reason from Sideswipe was enough). The stasis cuffs still bound his wrists, forcing him to walk with a precarious balance.

The guard led him through the corridors and, to Starscream's relief, the path was empty.

Arriving at the medbay, Ratchet was waiting for them with his back turned, and he spun around when he heard the door open. He shot a disgusted look at Starscream and pointed to the med-berth.

Starscream looked over his shoulder to ensure the big red bot was aware of his next movements. Starscream then went to his spot, painfully climbing onto the med-berth.

They could at least remove these cuffs.

Ratchet fiddled with medical tools on a tray beside him. Starscream couldn't see, but from the noise, there seemed to be several. He felt apprehensive. He might have his disagreements with Ratchet sometimes, but his friend always stood by his side. Even when he was bullied by functionalists.

Starscream decided to risk a question:

"What are you going to do to me, Doc?"

Starscream saw a shiver run through the medic's body, and he gave him an irritated look.

Starscream smiled. This Ratchet also hated that nickname. A hint of familiarity.

"Our leader ordered me to fix you," he practically growled.

Starscream tried to suppress his happiness at the prospect of some relief. He didn't hide it very well; his expression remained impassive, but his wings fluttered in joy. Ratchet hated that he recognized the pattern.

"Ironhide, take off his cuffs. I need his shoulder in the correct position."

The big red bot, Ironhide, moved from his guard position and went to Starscream, removing the cuffs.

"No funny business, Decepticon," Ironhide said in a tone that suggested he wished the prisoner would make a wrong move.

Starscream glanced at Ironhide by the door and at Ratchet, who was already preparing the materials. To the seeker's surprise, the medic was holding a needle of anesthetic. He felt the liquid enter his circuits, shutting down his pain receptors. The relief was immediate.

"Wow, that was nice. Thank you."

Ratchet seemed to choke upon hearing the compliment but composed himself and began to work on the patient's shoulder in silence. He used a solvent to undo the grotesque weld he had made earlier and redid it perfectly.

Starscream remembered that his friend was never good at hiding what he was feeling or thinking. Even if he tried to disguise it, he was simply terrible at it.

Starscream's processor generated an idea.

"Ratchet, what does 'Decepticon' mean?"

Ratchet didn't answer. His optics remained fixed on his work, but Starscream, a master of observation when his life depended on it, noticed. The medic's fingers tightened around the welder for a fraction of a second. A micro-expression of... disgust? Anger? flickered across his face before being suppressed.

Starscream found the reaction interesting. The word itself was a trigger. Whatever it was, he hated it. And since they call him that, is it perhaps a classification? A division? If there's a war, it must be the enemy, right? Yes, that must be it.

Is that why everyone hates Starscream? They mistake him for an enemy?! He doesn't even know what this war is about.

The medic moved on to the shoulder's internal mechanism, his tools moving with precision to realign the actuator plates, gently holding the patient's servo in the proper position.

Starscream took advantage of these few klicks of peace.

"And Megatron?" Starscream ventured, watching intently. "Jazz seemed to think I should know who that is."

This time, the reaction was stronger. Ratchet's hand faltered, and the tool he was using scraped against an internal armor plate. Starscream lamented how much that would hurt when the pain came back online. The medic cursed quietly, a sound like grinding metal. He shot Starscream a glare, a look that screamed "shut up."

Bingo. Megatron. An important name. The leader of the Decepticons, perhaps? The anger in Ratchet's expression was pure. They were certain Starscream knew that name and seemed to get even more irritated at the thought that the seeker was feigning ignorance.

Ratchet finished the shoulder repair with a final, though still visible, weld. He then moved to Starscream's damaged right wing. This would be a more delicate, and therefore more painful, job. A seeker's wing structure was a complex network of sensors and actuators.

As the medic began to align the bent supports, Starscream took a deep intake.

"Jazz said that... Skyfire... is here," he said, his voice a little softer, testing the waters. "He said my friend wouldn't be happy to see me. Why? And why do you call him Skyfire? His name is Jetfire."

The effect was immediate and profound. Ratchet froze. For a full second, all his actions ceased. Starscream didn't need to see his optics to know what was happening. The medic's energy field wavered, a ripple of pure, unfiltered emotion that the seeker could feel in the air. It was pain. A deep, ancient pain.

When Ratchet finally resumed his work, his movements were stiffer, more controlled. He didn't look at Starscream. He said nothing. But the silence was more telling than any shout. The story about this "Skyfire" was a tragedy, and somehow, Ratchet believed Starscream was at the center of it.

The rest of the repair was done in a tense, heavy silence. Ratchet worked with a cold efficiency, the earlier anger replaced by a grim distance. When he finished, Starscream's wing was functional, though it really needed a polish. And a solvent bath.

"Optimus wants a report," Ratchet grumbled in a low voice, picking up a scanner and pulling out a contact cable. "He wants to know what you are. Turn around. I need access to your access port."

The medic braced himself for a logical refusal. No Decepticon in their right mind would let an enemy Autobot access their processor.

"Finally, a real diagnosis," Starscream murmured, as if he were talking to the medic he knew, not the enemy. "Maybe you can tell me what that machine did to me."

The seeker spread his wings, exposed the nape of his neck, and a small click was heard as he opened the access port.

Ratchet froze for a few seconds at the lack of resistance. Was Starscream actually... trusting him?

Ratchet had to suppress Optimus's voice saying 'and what are you, Ratchet?'

"Don't move." he growled, more to himself than to the prisoner.

On his monitor, streams of data began to appear. Ratchet initiated a scan, looking for the tell-tale signs of mnemosurgery: corrupted memory blocks, psychic scars, Shockwave's elegant and brutal code overlaid on the original programming.

He found nothing.

The seeker's processor was as clean and pure as it could be. No traces of fragmentation, no overwriting, and no signs of tampering.

Ratchet sighed in frustration and let it slip:

"Nothing."

Starscream turned his optics to him, a spark of hope behind them.

"Do you believe me now?"

Ratchet looked at his optics, irritated. A bot responsible for the deactivation of so many shouldn't have the right to such an innocent look.

"No." He stood in front of Starscream and held the seeker's helm by the chin, forcing him to look him in the eyes. "Open your intake."

Starscream opened it without much thought. He didn't understand where the medic was going with this, but he would cooperate.

Ratchet activated a finger on his other hand that transformed into a small light with a magnifying lens in the middle. And there, at the back of the intake, he could read Starscream's serial number.

He took a step back, his processor struggling to find any logic.

Ironhide, who had been watching silently near the door, frowned. The medic's reaction was atypical.

"What's the verdict, Ratchet?" he asked, his deep voice cutting through the tension. "Is he a clone? Brainwashed?"

Ratchet let out a harsh sigh, running a hand over his face. He turned to Ironhide, ignoring Starscream's presence on the berth.

"No," he said, the word coming out reluctantly. "He's not. The processor is clean, no trace of mnemosurgery, no reprogramming, so it's not shadowplay. And he has his serial number, even his internal structure is standard and completely untampered with. He is definitely not a clone."

A stunned silence filled the medbay. Starscream looked from one to the other, trying to understand the conversation.

Ironhide simply stared at the medic, his processor struggling to reconcile the facts.

"So... he's telling the truth?"

"The data says he believes he's telling the truth," Ratchet corrected, frustration evident in his tone. "But it doesn't make sense! None of this makes any sense!"

BIIWOOON! BIIWOOON! BIIWOOON!

The piercing sound of a battle alert echoed through the corridors. Teletraan I's voice announced over the sound system: "Battle alert. Decepticons attacking the Sherman Hydroelectric Dam. All available personnel to combat."

Ironhide straightened instinctively, his cannons whining as he prepared for action.

"That place again," he grumbled. "They never give up."

The next sound Ratchet heard was his comm beeping with a priority call.

'Ratchet, this is Jazz,' the special ops specialist's voice came through, full of urgency and battle static. 'I need visual confirmation, now! Where is your prisoner?!'

Ratchet frowned at his comm and glanced at the seeker who was trying to cover his audials to muffle the alarm sounds.

"He's here in the medbay, right in front of me. Why?"

'Then explain this to me, Ratchet...'

There was a burst of static, Ratchet heard a few explosions, and then the shrill and excited voice of Starscream.

'Megatron has fallen! I, Starscream, am now the new leader!'

Chapter Text

The alarm assaulted Starscream's already injured audials. When he managed to recover and the alarm ceased, Ratchet was staring at him, haunted. Ironhide looked the same.

The seeker must have been left out of a conversation, because the two bots looked at each other, and Ironhide ran out of the medbay while Ratchet ran to lock the door. Leaving the prisoner and the medic locked in together.

"Huh?!" Obviously, he received no explanation. "Ratchet, what is it?"

Ratchet finally turned to him, his expression a mixture of horror and rage. He marched toward him. The seeker was afraid and looked around for an escape, but there was none. Ratchet grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to look into his blue optics.

"Decepticon..." His tone of voice was a threat, as if the word itself were a curse. "...what is your plan? Tell me right now!"

Starscream tried to think of an acceptable answer, but only managed to babble glyphs.

There was no defiance, no spark of cunning or challenge that Ratchet knew. There was only fear. Honest, primitive fear, utterly devoid of any deception. It was the same look Ratchet had seen in dozens of young cadets in their first days of the war.

The realization hit Ratchet with the force of a physical blow. The monster in that room, the source of that genuine terror, was him.

His angry expression wavered, and his grip loosened. The seeker looked at him, confused, but still afraid.

He released Starscream as if the contact burned. Ratchet took a step back, unable to keep staring at the seeker he had just terrorized. He turned, his back to the prisoner, and rubbed a servo over his faceplate as if he could clear his processor.

"Kid..." the medic looked up to face his patient. "...what are you?"

A few hours later, again with the entire Autobot high command. The mood was tense.

"Jazz." Prime's voice cut the silence. "Your report."

"Yes, Prime." Jazz stood up, his formal tone matching the unusual seriousness in his speech. "I gathered Hound and Bumblebee and we went to the location where they found Starscream. At first, we didn't find much. But we noticed there seemed to be strange marks on the grass. Bumblebee climbed one of the trees, and we could see this."

He typed on a panel, and a hologram of an image was displayed for everyone at the table. It showed the grass with a black circle.

"What's inside that circle? I can't see." Ironhide spoke, frowning to strain his vision.

"No, Ironhide, it is the circle." He pointed emphatically. "It's a perfect circle, approximately 9 meters in diameter. The grass was burned uniformly, with no point of origin or central blast. It's just... a burned ring."

Prowl analyzed the image.

"The geometric precision is disconcerting. If it were an attack, one would expect a more irregular damage distribution. If it were a landing, there would be impact marks."

"Hound ran a full scan of the area," Jazz continued. "There's no Space Bridge energy signature, nor any Decepticon tech we know. It's as if the ground was superheated in a perfect pattern by an energy source that left no trace."

Red Alert leaned in, alarmed. "It's a code! A message! They burned a symbol into the ground to confuse us!"

"A circle isn't a very complex symbol, Red," Ironhide grumbled. "It makes no sense."

"The only other thing we found," Jazz said, opening his subspace to retrieve a torque wrench. "Was this. Right in the center of the circle. A common tool, without any modification."

The room was covered in a contemplative silence. None of them could think of any connection between these signs and the fact that there were two Starscreams.

"Is that all, Jazz?" Optimus's voice cut the silence.

"Oh, no." Jazz seemed to snap out of a trance. "As soon as we picked up the tool, we received the warning from Sparkplug that the Sherman Dam was under attack, again. So we moved out. Other Autobots were already in the area, fortunately. And then the usual happened. Megatron was attacked, was down for a few minutes, and in that time, Starscream tried to take command of the Decepticons and failed. Like every Wednesday." He chuckled at the end.

"Yeah, that's what we heard," Ironhide added. "You should have seen the look on mine and Ratchet's faces when Starscream tried to take control of the Decepticons while Starscream was in the medbay."

"That brings us to the next point of our meeting. Ratchet, how was Starscream's examination? Did you discover anything?" The leader tried to convey control and calmness in his voice, but he must have been as confused as the rest. "This is much more important now than before."

Ratchet stood up and began his report. He typed on the panel, and information began to appear for each of them, along with a wireframe of Starscream.

"With the prisoner's consent, I scanned his processor for traces of Shadowplay, mnemosurgery, fragmentation traces, or overlaid code... nothing. I found nothing. The processor is clean." Now a photo of what was supposedly the inside of Starscream's intake appeared. "In this photo, we see Starscream's serial number. Clones do not have serial numbers."

He omitted how terrified Starscream had seemed by the medic's threat earlier.

"That is..."

Ratchet was about to conclude his report when hurried footsteps were heard outside, before the door was thrown open by a bot with bright blue fins.

"Is it true, Ratchet? Are there two Starscreams?!" Wheeljack entered like a hurricane.

"Head of Research and Engineering, Wheeljack," Prowl cut him off, his voice cold and annoyed. "You are disrupting our meeting."

"I am a chief, I have the right to be in this meeting," Wheeljack exclaimed as if formalities really weren't important to him, walking over to Ratchet's panel and quickly reading the report.

"I thought strategy meetings were too boring for you, Jackie," Jazz said from his seat, amused, and laughed when he received a censoring look from Prowl.

"Yes, they are indeed boring, but I heard what everyone saw. We have one Starscream in our cells and another with the Decepticons." He closed Ratchet's panel.

"You could have your own report if you came to the meetings, you know?" Ratchet complained.

"But your meticulous and detailed notes make everything much easier to understand." Wheeljack smiled under his mask as he went to the front of the room, pulled out a digital whiteboard, and began drawing lines.

Ratchet was embarrassed by the compliment.

"Wheeljack, what are you doing?" Optimus asked what everyone was wondering.

"I had studied this before, but I never thought I'd see a real-world example of it."

He continued in his manic episode while the other Autobots looked at each other as if none of them understood. They looked at Ratchet, who just shrugged in acceptance. They decided to do the same.

"Here, look here." He pointed to the lines he had drawn. "Imagine that the space-time continuum is like a river; each reality is one of its flow lines. However, the lines don't run at the same speeds, and if they are all a-like or similar, it's possible for a drop from one stream to go to another. In that way, it's as if all things are happening in all places at the same time!"

He spoke as if it were the discovery of the millennium. Again, everyone in the room turned to Ratchet, thinking he could explain what his friend had said.

"Jack..." He cleared his intake. "Can you just get to the point?"

"Yes, yes, of course..." He huffed as if it were absurd that everyone wasn't as excited as he was. "The point is, if we have two Starscreams, and according to Ratchet's report, he isn't a clone, it means he is, in fact, Starscream, right? But he says nonsensical things, that Skyfire is named Jetfire, that he doesn't know what Decepticons are or who Megatron is. But... what if, in fact..." He erased the flow between some lines, drew two circles, and a line connecting two flow lines. "...he comes from another reality? One consistent with his story."

The room fell silent as everyone processed that information. Wheeljack's theory was so fantastic, so outside of any war protocol or tactical analysis, that for a moment, no one knew how to react.

Prowl was the first to break the silence.

"Your hypothesis, Wheeljack, while... creative... lacks empirical evidence. It fits the anomalous facts, but there is no precedent for such an event."

"Precedent?" Wheeljack laughed, a sound full of energy. "Prowl, we are looking at a bot who exists in two places at once! We are already far beyond any precedent!" He turned to the whiteboard and, with a quick motion, drew a crude circle. "The burned circle in the forest! It's not a code, it's the mark of the rift! The energy signature left by the rupture in the fabric of reality when he arrived!"

He then pointed to the torque wrench that Jazz had placed on the table.

"And this!" He picked it up, holding it as if it were a treasure. "This isn't just any tool. It's an artifact. An object from another reality! The proof that he's telling the truth!"

"It's a well-tied-together story, Wheeljack, I'll admit," said Ironhide, crossing his arms. "But it could still be the most elaborate lie we've ever heard."

"Exactly!" Red Alert agreed, the lights on his shoulders flashing frantically. "The 'other dimension' theory is the perfect distraction while the real plan unfolds!"

Wheeljack looked at the skeptical faces around him. He sighed, the manic excitement giving way to stubborn determination. A slow, daring grin spread under his mask.

"Oh, you want empirical proof, Prowl? You want something that can't be an elaborate lie, Ironhide?"

He turned to the leader, giving a salute as if speaking only to him.

"Leader Optimus Prime," he said with a seriousness that Ratchet knew meant he had a plan. "...I ask that you allow me to bring the witness to testify."

Optimus took a few seconds to realize who his friend was talking about. He cycled his optics a few times.

"Starscream?"

"Yes, Prime," Wheeljack confirmed, without a hint of hesitation in his voice.

The room exploded.

"Have you gone completely insane, Wheeljack?!" Ironhide snarled, slamming a closed fist on the table hard enough to make the holograms flicker.

"Bringing the Decepticon Air Commander into the heart of our command center? That's suicide!"

"Prime, with all due respect, this is an unacceptable breach of all security protocols," Prowl intervened. "The probability of it being a trap is too high to ignore."

"He is not the Air Commander!" Wheeljack retorted, his voice rising above the chaos. He didn't look away from Optimus. "He is the living proof of my theory! You want empirical evidence? He's the only evidence we have! The rules of a normal war don't apply when reality itself has been broken!"

"Enough."

Optimus's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a weight that silenced the room instantly. He remained seated, his blue optics moving from one officer to the next, assessing Ironhide's fury, Prowl's rigid logic, and Wheeljack in his manic episode. His gaze finally landed on Ratchet, the only one who had remained in tense silence. The medic met his gaze and gave an almost imperceptible nod, a silent confirmation that the situation was, indeed, as extraordinary as Wheeljack described.

Optimus Prime leaned back in his chair, the decision made.

"Ironhide. Prowl."

The two officers straightened, their attention fully on their leader.

"Bring the prisoner."

A shocked silence settled over the room. Ironhide opened his mouth to protest, but Optimus raised a servo.

"He will remain cuffed and under your armed guard at all times," Prime continued, his tone leaving no room for debate. "He will not touch any panel. Wheeljack, you will ask the questions. Any hostile movement, any sign of deception, and this hearing ends immediately."

He looked at the engineer. "The responsibility for this, Wheeljack, is yours."

Wheeljack nodded, determination visible in his optics.

With a reluctance that was almost palpable, Ironhide and Prowl turned and marched out of the command room, their heavy footsteps echoing the gravity of the order they were forced to obey. Those left behind remained silent, waiting.

Ratchet looked at Wheeljack, wanting to ask several questions. Deep down, he knew Wheeljack's motivation was for the science and the validation of an old scientific theory. But he wondered if there was something more.

Wheeljack met his gaze and nodded his helm. The medic knew him well enough to know he'd given him a discreet smile under his mask, a gesture that said, 'trust me.' Ratchet just sighed, crossing his arms. Trusting Wheeljack when he was in the middle of a manic discovery episode was always a calculated risk.

The wait, though short, was fraught with tension. The only sound was the low hum of the Ark's systems. Jazz drummed his fingers on the table, Red Alert looked about to short-circuit, and Ratchet kept his gaze fixed on the door.

Finally, the door opened.

Prowl entered first, his blaster in hand, moving with cold tactical efficiency. Right behind him, Ironhide pushed Starscream into the room, a heavy hand on the prisoner's shoulder, the other holding his cannon, ready to fire at the slightest pretext.

Starscream stopped in the center of the room, blinking in the bright light, his wings low in a sign of submission or fear. He was cuffed, the energy links humming at his wrists. His red and white armor was dirty and scratched from the fall, with Ratchet's repairs visible on his shoulder and wing. For the Autobot officers, accustomed to the impeccable and arrogant Air Commander, the sight was disconcerting.

Starscream's eyes scanned the room, trying to process the new threats. He recognized the open hostility of Ironhide beside him and the cold posture of the white and black bot near the door. His gaze passed over unfamiliar, suspicious faces at the table, until it met Ratchet's. For an instant, a mixture of fear and a hint of confused hope shone in his optics.

Finally, his gaze was drawn to the imposing figure seated at the head of the table. The bot was enormous, emanating a silent authority that unequivocally marked him as the leader. Starscream instinctively flinched under that intense, indecipherable gaze.

"So," Wheeljack's voice cut the tension, sounding unusually calm. He approached the witness, stopping at a safe distance. "For the record, please state your designation and affiliation."

Starscream realized it was his friend Wheeljack, and he didn't seem to want him dead. Was he smiling under his mask?! Was someone finally really going to listen to him? The seeker forced himself not to show his relief and just answered.

"My name is Starscream." He didn't know whether to look at the engineer or the leader. "I am a research scientist in the field of Xenobiology at the Iacon Academy of Sciences."

The seeker hesitated, the weight of all those hostile glares pressing down on him. But Wheeljack's calm voice, an echo of his friend's, gave him the courage to begin.

"I... I was in the geology lab with Jetfire," he began, the mention of his friend's name causing a ripple of tension in the room. "We were analyzing a crystalline rock sample when you arrived. You..." Treating Wheeljack this way felt wrong, but he didn't know why. He just wanted his friend to back up his story since he was present at the time. "...you were euphoric. You said you had created your masterpiece. A portable teleporter. A circular platform... with three emitters."

Wheeljack's response was silence, his optics cycling a few times.

"The circular mark we found..." Jazz commented, reflective.

"How convenient," Ironhide snarled. "A story that perfectly explains the mark on the ground."

"Exactly!" Wheeljack intervened, turning to the weapons specialist. "He had no way of knowing about the mark! He was in the medbay the whole time! This proves he's telling the truth!"

Prowl raised a hand, silencing them both. His gaze remained fixed on Starscream.

"Describe the malfunction."

Starscream's voice wavered; he only had a few flashes of memory from the explosion.

"Wheeljack turned on the machine." Starscream directed a few glances at the engineer, wanting him to tell the story so they would believe him. "The torque wrench he was testing... disappeared, but... the machine didn't shut down. The sound got louder. A twisted... colorful space appeared in place of the platform."

He paused, his fans working to regulate his system temperature.

"Wheeljack shouted it was going to explode. We ran for the door."

"A seeker should be able to escape something like that," Ironhide interrupted and was censored by a look from Optimus.

"Jetfire... he wasn't fast enough."

Starscream's eyes grew distant, reliving the moment.

"I pushed him. Kicked him toward Wheeljack, so he could get out in time. The kick threw me back, closer to the machine..."

A silence fell over the command room. The idea of Starscream—any Starscream—performing an act of self-sacrifice to save someone else was so fundamentally wrong, so contrary to millions of years of war experience, that it shattered everyone's composure.

Ironhide simply stared, confusion written on his face. Prowl narrowed his optics, his tactical processor struggling to reconcile this new data with the enemy's established profile. Ratchet closed his eyes for an instant, the weight of that revelation hitting him harder than anyone else. Wheeljack shot him a look, knowing what he was feeling.

"...then came the white light," Starscream concluded in a whisper, his voice broken. "And when I opened my eyes, I was in a green place, surrounded by organic life... those two of yours... they found me shortly after."

He finished his account, trying to maintain a confident posture so as not to be so intimidated, but his lowered wings betrayed his emotions.

"Wheeljack, help me! You were there, just tell them what happened!" Since the seeker was the only one in cuffs.

Wheeljack took a step forward, but his expression was one ofscientific triumph, not corroboration. "Starscream, I believe you. But the Wheeljack who was in your lab... isn't me."

The confusion on Starscream's face was genuine, before it twisted into a sneer.

"Oh, of course," he said, rolling his eyes. "And I suppose you're his less talented twin."

"Exactly!" Wheeljack exclaimed, turning to the command table, ignoring the insult. "Don't you see? His confusion is the proof! He remembers me being there because, in his reality, a Wheeljack was there!"

He pointed to the digital whiteboard where his reality-stream diagrams still were. Starscream raised an optic ridge. How had he not seen that until now?!

"His story fits all the evidence we have: the burned circle, the torque wrench from the Academy, the act of self-sacrifice completely inconsistent with the character of 'our' Starscream!"

Starscream watched the spectacle, perplexity replacing his anger. What was this talk of "our Starscream"? And what were those diagrams?

"This... makes no sense," Ironhide exclaimed, running out of rhetorical ideas.

"It's not a lie if it's his truth!" Wheeljack insisted, his voice filling with passion. "He's not a spy. He's a dimensional refugee!"

The room plunged into a shocked silence. The theory was insane. Starscream looked at Wheeljack as if he had just suggested that the planets were moved by cosmic gears.

"Dimensional refugee?" Starscream scoffed, the sound harsh and full of disdain. "Everyone knows you can't travel between dimensions."

"The proof is you!" Wheeljack retorted, pointing at him. "The proof is that your story, while impossible in our reality, is the only logical explanation for your existence here!"

Starscream's mockery faltered. He looked at the faces in the room. The hostility, the mention of an "other" him, the insistence that Jetfire was named Skyfire... It all began to connect in a terrible, illogical way.

Optimus Prime leaned forward, the intensity of his gaze pinning the seeker in place.

"Starscream," Prime said, testing his inventor's impossible theory. "In your reality, where you come from... the Great War... has it begun?"

Starscream's disdain finally crumbled. He looked at the soldiers, the weapons, the tension in the room. The leader's final word wasn't a riddle, but the missing piece to a puzzle he didn't want to solve.

"War?" he repeated, head tilted in genuine perplexity. And then he got angry. "No... There is no war. I am a Warframe—seekers created only to defend the planet in case of war." His tone sounded bitter on that last part. "If there was one, I would know."

The leader looked deep into his optics, as if he could read his spark just by looking through his lenses. Starscream wanted to look away from the discomfort, but if this was what was necessary to finally prove his innocence, so be it. He gathered the few remaining fragments of his pride and fixed his gaze on the leader.

Optimus nodded, as if he had confirmed his hypothesis. Starscream was surprised. Was the leader smiling under his mask?

"I understand," Optimus confirmed and continued with his ruling. "I have decided. For now, Starscream, you are not our prisoner. We will grant you 'refugee' status, and you will be treated as such. We will provide a habsuite..."

"But Prime!" Red Alert protested, though with less conviction than before. "You can't be serious! 'Another dimension'? And this 'Warframe' talk?"

"Exactly, Red," Jazz added. "After everything we've seen today, with our Starscream and this one... multiple dimensions is the only alternative we can accept as the right one."

The room fell silent, the weight of that distinction hanging over them.

"So... I was right!" Wheeljack buzzed, unable to contain himself, shaking the medic by the shoulders. "I was right! He's a living quantum paradox! The implications! The study of parallel universes! Ratchet, do you have any idea what we can learn?!"

"I have an idea of the size of the headache we've just imported," Ratchet grumbled, but for the first time, there was no hostility in his tone, only exhaustion. He didn't push the engineer away, merely allowing him to finish.

"I suppose then..." Prowl came from behind Starscream and raised a key. "...we should remove the cuffs, seeing as we've rescinded his prisoner status."

Starscream still felt the hostility in that grounder's gaze and gestures. He still had questions he wanted answered. What are Decepticons? Megatron? Why did they hate him? And more importantly... They said 'our Starscream'... that meant there was another Starscream in this dimension. That was probably the answer for the hatred directed at him and for their calling him a Decepticon.

The click of the cuffs releasing him pulled him from his reverie. He massaged his wrists, feeling the freedom and the tingling sensation leaving his frame. Sky-hunger and claustrophobia were already setting in. He wanted to ask to leave, but if there was a war, wandering around wouldn't be a good option. Wheeljack seemed friendly toward him, so maybe he would answer his questions.

"Alright." Starscream conceded and gave a salute. That was probably what one should do for a military officer. "I will cooperate."

Optimus nodded. Starscream was now sure he gave a friendly smile under his mask.

"Forgive our previous posture. I hope you will understand soon." He rose to his full, enormous height, but in that moment, the seeker did not find him threatening. He didn't even flinch when a hand was extended to him. "Welcome to the Autobots,h Starscream."