Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Choice has always been an illusion, the real crime behind it is offering false hope.

Iacon – heart of Cybertron. 

A city built on hope, where dreams can thrive no matter who you are or what you are destined to be. That’s the ideal, anyway. 

Functionism – a system that organises Cybertronians based on their natural alt mode – still exists. It lingers all over Cybertron, quietly shaping lives with false destinies, assigning value to sparks, and deciding the place in society before anyone could say anything about it, or even worse, before having a choice. Even though the 13 Primes rejected the ideology, that doesn't mean it disappeared. Cybertronians still look at each other and see roles instead of sparks. Success here can only be achieved by following the system, but the higher ups use the ideology to climb higher while pushing others deeper into the pit. 

The Primes reside in Iacon, and within its shining spires, ideals like freedom and individuality are preached. For Iacon, functionalism feels like a relic – a discarded system of the past, and openly promoting fucntionism or using it is in fact punishable. But just a few steps outside of the city’s radiant and warm glow lies the cruel reality: functionism doesn't just exist, it is the norm. Especially in cities like Kaon and Vos, the ones that are on the other hemisphere of Cybertron – far from Iacon – functionism is not only alive, but is the foundation. If anyone decides to go against functionism there, they will be labelled as a failure, as a threat to society. The Primes may have denounced the dull ideology, but it still roams across the land of Cybertron, lurking in the minds of the ones that can't do anything but follow it. 

While Iacon was covered with gold and wealth, Vos – the city of fliers – has a character of its own. It is calmer and more steady compared to Iacon’s fast-paced, energetic lifestyle. The peace in Vos is something deeper than mere silence. It wasn't just the stillness of the air – it was the freedom woven into every building and every flier in the sky. Peace here meant freedom, the ability to soar without fines, to move in any direction without following a rigid path, the only time where functionistic ideology doesn't touch anyone. 

In Vos, flight is not a function, but a right and a gift. Logically, one of the top military flight academies in all of Cybertron is located here, the Vos Aerial Command Academy (VACA). At the academy, the core focus is on military operations, from strategic planning to tactical aerial assault. Even when every flier had their own dreams and talents in other fields, in order to succeed they had to follow the system, none of them wanted to become an outcast, especially seekers. 

Seekers were among the fastest fliers ever created, and while most of them hated to admit it, they performed better in groups. Because of this, seekers were assigned to trinemates — essentially unrelated brothers, usually grouped into sets of two or three. It was an unspoken rule: any seeker without a trine was automatically an outcast, no matter their rank. Even when a loner – lone seeker – is “adopted” by a trine, others will judge, because they know a loner is meant to be alone and laughed upon, nothing else. This made seekers fiercely protective of their trinemates — which was the point. The system was designed to condition them to work together from a young age. 

Coneheads on the other hand didn’t give a shit. Literally. They somehow collectively decided that they can essentially choose to either be by themselves or in a group. Coneheads are just a different breed of fliers, they did whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, and however they wanted. They were still bound by the same rigged system, but they had more freedom than most seekers ever dared to wish for.

The Primes had some control over VACA, they were the ones who assembled the academy, but that didn’t make academy grounds fair. Mechs made all kinds of deals there, including ones that let fliers leave Vos for good. But every deal came with a price. Agreeing to one was never a win/lose scenario. It was always lose/lose. If a flier couldn’t fulfill their end of the bargain, they didn’t just walk away empty-handed, the Negotiator now knew what they wanted, what they desperately wanted. That kind of knowledge was dangerous. It meant that the flier had already turned their back towards the Negotiator, having no power to turn around. And in the end, it always led to blackmail from the Negotiator. 

--------

“Ulchtar,” a voice came through the helm’s comm.

“Ulchtar, wake up…”

He groaned. A peaceful and a complete recharge cycle was something Ulchtar was begging for at this moment. Every time when he was about to be in the zone, the voice appeared. All the time, it's just there, never leaving him alone. Ulchtar would’ve gotten a full recharge cycle, if he actually wanted to stay at Vos Aerial Command Academy. Sure he was at the top of the VACA leaderboards, but his spark was never drawn to combat drills or command simulations, it was drawn to science. Ulchtar wanted to change Cybertron for the greater good with science not violence, and the only way to do that is to get into Iacon Research Syndicate. 

Getting into the IRS wasn’t easy. Officially, all you had to do was pass the entrance exam—but everyone knew that was just a fairy tale told to give aspiring mechs a sliver of hope. The truth was more complicated. You couldn’t just show up and take the test; you had to apply to take it. And not just apply—you needed a recommendation letter, proof that you were worth the time and resources it would take to evaluate you. Ulchtar knew if he wanted to get in he had to ace the exam, be at the top of the percentile. 

“Is he alive?” the voice came again, right when Ulchtar was about to drift off. 

As for the recommendation letter, he made a deal. That is how VACA worked. Deals, not dreams. So Ulchtar struck one with him , the Negotiator. It was agreed that if Ulchtar stays at the top of the VACA leaderboards by every evaluation day, that happens every stellar cycle, then he will get his recommendation letter from the VACA, if not he will not only not get the letter, but will have to follow Negotiators orders and stay at Vos for the rest of his vorns. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a chance, a slim one, but still a chance, a kind of chance that some seekers would give everything for. 

“ULCHTAR, WAKE THE FRAG UP!”

The shout finally ripped him from recharge, sending him crashing to the floor.

His ice-blue optics flickered weakly. Systems struggled to boot. For a moment, everything blurred—but one thing was clear: he was still at VACA, still in the dormitory.Morning light streamed through the high window, casting golden beams across the berths and floor. It was a beautiful sight, a peaceful one. Which meant one thing. They were late.

“Oh great you are up!" said the voice, this time attached to a tall blue seeker, already hauling Ulchtar upright and shoving an energon block into his hands. Or more accurately, into his face , “I don’t want to know how long you stayed up this time.”

“Thundercracker, stop,” Ulchtar muttered, wiping energon residue from his optics. His systems were still lagging, coolant pressure low, targeting subroutines barely online, but he forced himself upright, steadying against the berth frame.

“You were unresponsive,” Thundercracker said flatly, shoving the energon block into Ulchtar’s hands, this time more gently. “Skywarp thought you were in stasis.”

“I wish I was,” Ulchtar mumbled, biting into the energon and wincing at the bitter synthetic taste. VACA-grade, as always—engine sludge dressed up as nutrition.

Thundercracker was already walking towards the door to leave. “We're supposed to be at the sim chambers in five. You know what happens when the Negotiator files a tardy report.”

Ulchtar dragged himself up and picked up the data pack with his unsolved and half finished calculations from last night putting it out of the way. “Maybe I should just take the penalty.” 

“That’s a good one,” Thundercracker smirked without looking, trying to unlock the dormitory door. No one knew why VACA would make passcodes to get out of the dormitory, but they did. 

“And can you be any slower?” Ulchtar said, pushing Thundercracker out of the way to get the passcode. It was funny that VACA was one of the most advanced academies on Cybertron, behind IRS of course, but still has problems with the locks. Finally the door opened, and both Uchant and Thundercracker rushed to the sim chambers. 

“You studying again last night?” Thundercracker asked, voice quieter now. It was still flat, still too distant to call concern, but there was something there. Maybe it was the way he spoke, maybe it was the calmness and understanding that came from his voice, it was always comforting somehow. 

“Yeah,” Ulchtar said, optics dimming trying to focus. “Subspace equations. I think I’m close to cracking the variable loop in Phase-Shift Tunneling.”

“You mean the thing even half the IRS professors can’t explain?”

Ulchtar managed a weak smile. “Exactly that.”

Thundercracker shook his head but didn’t argue. They both knew how this worked, Ulchtar had to be perfect. Just one misstep and the Negotiator would have leverage. Just one slip, and everything he’d built could be turned against him.

Skywarp’s voice chimed in through the dorm’s intercom. “You two planning on coming down, or should I start the sim with your ghosts?”

Thundercracker rolled his optics and tapped his helm comm. “We’re coming, glitchhead. Try not to crash the sim before we get there.”

“Where’s Slipstream?” Ulchtar asked, already half-turning to grab his datapad.

“She’s still recovering, got lucky with her wing wound, was allowed to skip today” Thundercracker replied, voice level, though there was something slightly more muted in the way he said it. “She should be back tomorrow.”

Thundercracker following close behind. The hallway was eerily silent, the hum of the facility filling the space around them. As they passed other seekers and coneheads, all eyes turned toward Ulchtar. He could feel their gaze, the unspoken expectation hanging in the air. After all, Ulchtar wasn’t just a top-tier flier—he was the top-tier flier. 

Ulchtar didn’t need to look at a reflective surface to know the truth: he was gorgeous. His sleek frame, sharp features, and icy blue optics were a perfect combination of grace and power. He had always turned heads—whether he wanted to or not. The rumors about him spread like wildfire after a seeker overheard Ulchtar’s words during a quieter conversation with Slipstream about the deal. Everyone seemed to think his deal with the Negotiator was why he stayed on top of the leaderboards. The whispers claimed he had slept his way to the top to secure his spot. Ulchtar didn’t care about the rumors. What irritated him was the way they twisted everything. It wasn’t enough that they endlessly speculated about Slipstream’s sudden integration into their trine, a position she’d held for a considerable amount of time now. No one would have known she was a loner if not for the medical reports that were carelessly slammed onto the dormitory doors, revealing that part of her past. It was all just noise. But the noise was enough to make every step feel like an uphill battle. The stares, the whispers, the gossip—it grated on him. And the worst part was, it was never going to stop.

Slipstream, the loner, had been adopted into their trine 8 vorns ago, something no one had expected, including her. Surprisingly it was Skywarp’s idea, odd but effective. Some just say that Skywarp is using Slipstream because they are both the same color, Which is kind of true, messing with superiors is in both of their interests, but everyone knew that the comments were implying that seekers look the same. Ulchtar hated that thought; Skywarp and Slipstream had nothing in common, they are just different, even a blind mech would tell them apart. 

He walked, but it felt like dragging his frame through the dead lands. His joints ached, systems sputtered, and every step was a fight. But he had to exceed in the simulation today, it was evaluation day after all, the last one before he could get the recommendation. Ulchtar sacrificed too much to just give up now. 

The sim chambers loomed ahead, their cold, metallic structure swallowing the space. A space designed for one thing only: pressure . Ulchtar’s wings twitched, a subtle reminder that this was no ordinary simulation. This was VACA, where training could break you faster than failure ever would.

Skywarp was already there, sprawled lazily on a bench by the loading bay doors, flipping a datapad in his hands like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Took you long enough,” he said with a grin, tossing the pad up and catching it effortlessly. “I was about to file a missing spark report.”

“I was busy scraping Ulchtar off the floor,” Thundercracker muttered, while pointing at him. 

Skywarp raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, he looks alive. That’s new.”

Ulchtar ignored them both, stepping toward the console to scan in. His servo trembled slightly as it passed over the reader.

Access Granted – Flight Trine 01-S-Red | Sim ID: 04B-NEXRO Protocol Active.

His optics narrowed. NEXRO protocol? That was high-level, dangerously high. VACA didn’t authorize that without a reason. Thundercracker leaned in behind him, eyes sharp.

“That’s not a standard drill,” he said, voice tight.

“No,” Ulchtar murmured. “Last time it was active it put a flier in stasis for cycles.”

“And its evaluation day” Skywarp said, realization dawning in his tone. “Oh great, they are upping the stakes.”

It was in fact evaluation day. The day the higher-ups would be watching every move, and if you failed or didn’t show improvement you were off the leaderboards. Discarded. A perfect trap. The Negotiator knows this is the last evaluation that Ulchtar will have, and he wants him to fail. 

“Since when did you get a proper processor?” Thundercracker laughed, looking at Skywarp, while Ulchtar was just staring at the console in disbelief. 

“And since when did your voice box got corrup–” 

“Will both of you shut up” Ulchtar interrupted Skywarps fireback. As long as Ulchtar wanted to see this develop into a fight, he didn’t have the energy for it. 

Ulchart stared at the blinking prompt on the console. “Begin Simulation?” it asked, but he knew it wasn’t a question. 

He hit Begin .

The doors to the chamber hissed open, and the room shifted. Metal plates moved, environmental generators hummed to life. The simulation materialized around them, transforming into a war-torn skyline—fractured towers, plumes of smoke rising from the rubble. The ground beneath them became cold steel grating, scorched with blast marks and twisted wires.

Ulchtar stretched his wings, eyes locking on the countdown timer. He couldn’t afford to let his mind wander. His frame felt like it was made of lead, every joint stiff and protesting. He had to keep moving. He had to push through.

The countdown hit zero.

Everything exploded into motion.

Sirens wailed. Artificial wind howled between the twisted skeletal remains of once-proud towers. Red targeting lines flickered across their HUDs, marking multiple hostiles descending from the smoke-layered sky. NEXRO wasn’t just a battlefield sim, it was designed to harm you.

Ulchtar’s wings snapped open, his jets flaring automatically as the ground below them shuddered. He was already calculating the optimal escape route before the first shots even hit.

“Contact—northwest quadrant!” Thundercracker shouted, peeling off into the air as the sim’s enemies closed in. Bladed drones, hunter-class, moving in perfect swarms. No hesitation. No mercy.

Skywarp vanished with a flash of static, teleporting behind a rooftop and immediately engaging—chaotic as always.

Ulchtar lagged behind a half-second. His targeting systems flickered. He pushed through the delay.

He had no choice.

He dove into the chaos, missiles screaming past as he banked hard around a broken comms tower, flipping into a glide to minimize his energy use. Every move was calculated. Not just to survive—but to excel, he had to stay at the top for one last time.

A drone locked onto him. He spun mid-air, pulling a hard vector left, letting the drone overshoot. He fired off a precision bolt, one clean shot to the core, and the thing spiraled into a burning arc before slamming into a collapsed structure below. Another wave of drones dropped from above. This time, heavier. Ulchtar pushed off the beam, reactivating his stabilizers. 

Thundercracker zipped past him in a blur of firepower, shouting, “You with us, Ulchtar?”

“Very funny” Ulchtar called back, leveling his arm-cannon and locking onto two incoming targets. His HUD struggled to stabilize, but he made the shot anyway. Both drones exploded mid-charge.

Skywarp dropped from above, kicking a third in the head before teleporting away again. “Someone’s angry,” he laughed. 

Ulchtar didn’t reply. His core was overheating. Systems flashing warnings. Pain inhibitors lagging. His mind and vision drifted as he moved, he still had so much more to do, the unfinished equations on the data pack, finishing this sim and much more. Ulchtar was not only battling the NEXRO simulation, but also his processor that was begging him to stop. 

Another drone lunged.

Ulchtar didn’t move fast enough. It slammed into him, sending him skidding across a broken rooftop.

Pain.

Heat.

Static.

He blinked—his vision swimming.

The drone loomed over him, its bladed limbs poised for the kill. He could barely move—his wings were stiff, his systems crippled by the impact. His stabilizers whined in protest, not responding as they should. He was too slow, too broken. This was it. 

Thundercracker’s form cut through the air, streaking past in a blur of blue and silver. A hail of fire from his weapons ripped through the drone’s frame, knocking it back long enough for Ulchtar to take a breath.

"We’re not done yet!" Thundercracker shouted, a growl in his voice. 

The words barely registered. Ulchtar’s systems were failing, his optics flickering, so he forced himself to focus or it will be the end of him. 

His optics refocused, and his targeting systems blinked back to life, just in time for the next wave of drones to swarm in. He pushed himself upright, forcing his wings to extend, feeling the strain of his body screaming in protest.

Skywarp reappeared, a flash of purple light. "You're still alive? Thought you were done for."

"Shut up, Skywarp," Ulchtar muttered, his voice strained but steady. He aimed his arm cannon at the incoming drones, firing in rapid succession. One exploded. Then another. He felt his pulse racing, the adrenaline drowning out the pain in his core.

Another drone dove straight at him. This one was faster, smarter. Ulchtar barely had time to react, but he sidestepped at the last moment, using the remnants of a collapsed pillar to vault over it. He fired in mid-air, the shot hitting the drone’s core in a precise strike.

One down.

More to go.

The battlefield blurred around him as he fought with everything he had left. His every move felt like a calculation, a desperate attempt to keep ahead of the simulation, to keep ahead of himself, to keep ahead of the world that wanted to break him.

Thundercracker flew low, clearing a path for him, while Skywarp—ever the unpredictable force—teleported in and out, taking down drones with chaotic but effective flair.

Final wave incoming.

He pushed off a nearby ruin, the ground vibrating beneath him as he launched into the air. His wings burned, but his arm cannon was steady. He lined up the first shot, then the next, taking down two drones in rapid succession.

Skywarp appeared overhead, kicking down a drone that was targeting Ulchtar’s blind spot. Thundercracker’s barrage finished off the rest.

The last drone fell.

And just like that, the sim ground to a halt.

The room was silent except for the sound of Ulchtar’s strained breathing. His body was trembling from exhaustion, his vision flickering in and out of focus. But it was over. The simulation had ended.

Sim Complete.

His HUD flashed the results.

Ulchtar: 100 points. Skywarp: 150. Thundercracker: 134.

It wasn’t the worst outcome. But it wasn’t the best either. 

Ulchtar leaned against the dented wall from inside of the sim chamber, trying to steady his breath, trying to not fall. Thundercracker and Skywarp were talking to each other while walking out, both of them looked back at Ulchtar, Ulchtar couldn’t figure out what they were mumring, he didn’t really care at the time, he focused on not falling into stasis, not what his trine was gossiping about. 

“What got into me?” Ulchtar thought to himself. He knows he hasn't been getting enough recharge recently, but it is not the first time he had an unhealthy recharge cycle. At least last time he didn’t he still outperformed everyone, it's like something is stopping him from exceeding his potential, like some bad news was coming.  

The sim chamber doors were open for a few kliks now, Ulchtar barely made it out of the chamber with the stiff joints that he ended up having, he went to the bench outside of the sim chamber. The moment Ulchtar sat down he looked for the leaderboards, hoping and begging Primus that he was still at the top. 

“Even the mighty Ulchtar gets his moment.” Skywarp said with a grin trying to raise his spirits and blocking his way. 

“Get out of my way,” Ulchtar said with frustration. He pushed himself up, only to stumble over the perfectly flat ground, shoving Skywarp aside as he regained his footing.

Thundercracker exchanged a worried glance with Skywarp. He wasn’t usually one to fret over another flier’s health, at least, not until now. He knew how Ulchtar acted when he was low on recharge, and this... this was something else entirely. “We are taking you to the medi–”

“I’m fine, just need a proper recharge” Ulchtar barked back and his vision finally focused. “ Finally” he thought. Then he saw the leaderboards, which were not looking good. At all.

VACA LEADERBOARDS

 ULCHTAR (01-S-RED) —————————————    1760

DIERGE (02-C-BLUE)  —————————————    1754

SKYWARP (03-S-PURPLE) ———————————    1690

THUNDERCRACKER (04-S-BLUE) ———————--    1658

RAMJET (05-C-BLUE) —————————————      1505

SLIPSTREAM (06-S-PURPLE) —————————       1504

THRUST (07-C-RED) —————————————       1450

REDWING (08-S-RED) —————————————    1438

Great. Dirgie was six points behind. A conehead trailing a seeker by six points was something most mechs would laugh at, especially if it was behind a seeker. Even worse, Dirge was ahead of both Skywarp and Thundercracker this time. That alone was enough to make them a walking joke for cycles, and no one will make them forget about this.

A blue conehead strode out of the sim chamber, pausing at the entrance to savor his achievement. His solar-yellow optics blazed with excitement, a sharp contrast to his blue color scheme, designed to intimidate enemies, though it just looked ridiculous. He was ready to spread the news: he had beaten Ulchtar and outranked the seekers from his own trine.

“Ulchtar, what happened? Both you and your score look horrible,” Dirge said with a smug grin.

Ulchtar looked back, he had nothing to say, at least his lagging processor couldn’t come up with anything but keeping his mouth shut. He didn’t need another report about him starting a fight with another mech. 

“What do you want?”, Skywarp snapped at Dirge. 

“Oh and your actual trine is here, how does it feel like to be a failure” Dirge said back, knowing that this will not only hurt their ego, but also ignite the fight instincts. 

Before Skywarp could respond, Thundercracker cut in, voice steady but firm. “How does it feel to still be behind Ulchtar… after he completed the NEXRO simulation?”

“NEXRO?” Dirge asked in disbelief. He knew better, NEXRO wasn’t authorized at VACA, and most fliers ended up in stasis after attempting it. “That’s impossible. It hasn’t been allowed since—”

“A few vorns ago?” Ulchtar interrupted sharply. “After a conehead went into stasis? Yeah, I know.”

He fixed Dirge with a smirk designed to get under his skin. “And you still couldn’t surpass me. Maybe you are the one who fell.”

Dirge’s confident mask slipped for a moment. “They won’t know that. They’ll only see that you nearly failed yourself and your entire aerial type.”

Ulchtar walked towards him, and in a monotone voice said “But you know. You’ll remember that even after I completed one of the most dangerous, unauthorized sims, you were still behind me.”

Dirge glanced back at Ulchtar, his optics dimming. The excitement that once burned bright was fading, replaced by a hollow defeat. Deep down, Dirge knew Ulchtar was right. Seizing the moment as Dirge was tripping over the mess he’d created, Ulchtar said, “Looks like you failed yourself… and your entire aerial type.”

Dirge’s optics dimmed even more, the fire of excitement flickered out. He tried to hold onto what was left of his weak ego, but it was crumbling fast. And then, reaching for something, anything , he muttered, “You have already done that by sleeping your way to the top.”

Skywarp and Thundercracker both stiffened, but Ulchtar didn’t flinch. He just stared back at the half-smirk on Dirge’s face that didn’t bother hiding the contempt behind it. Dirge said nothing else. He turned and walked off, trying to hold on to the little pride he had left.

Ulchtar watched him go, his expression unreadable. He knew his words had done the job. “Sleeping to the top”, a hollow insult thrown when your processor’s lagging and your pride’s bleeding. Dirge would use it again, Ulchtar was sure of it. Just not to him . He knew Dirge would come up with something next cycle when the score resets, but by then Ulchtar wouldn’t even be on the leaderboards. He had already completed his part of the deal and could finally leave Vos for good. Free from this pit, he could pursue the knowledge his Spark truly desired. 

Skywarp let out a low whistle. “Sleeping to the top? That’s all he had?”

Thundercracker shook his head. “Cheap shot. He knew he lost before he said it.”

Just as Ulchtar turned toward Thundercracker and Skywarp wanting to remind them that he was still the best at roasting mechs, even on low recharge, he saw something unusual.

A land mech.

Land mechs never set foot in Vos. Vos was a city of fliers; land mechs feared this place, particularly VACA, a place filled with coneheads and seekers. Even though coneheads are known to be loud and aggressive, seekers are known to be dangerous and unpredictable, masters of manipulation for their own gain. So seeing a land mech here is strange, but seeing one holding a data pack was even stranger.

Ulchtar’s optics narrowed. The mech gripped a gold data pack. an object meant to symbolize hope and calm, but it sent a wave of anxiety through Ulchtar’s spark like nothing else had since he arrived at VACA.

“What are you looking at?” Skywarp asked, noticing Ulchtar’s uneasy gaze and looking towards the way Ulchtar was staring at. 

Skywarp shrugged. “Oh, just a land mech. I thought you saw the end of the world for a second.”

Thundercracker turned, caught sight of the golden pack, and slapped Skywarp on the helm. “Are you blind or just stupid?”

“Ow! What did I say wrong? It’s just a land mech—they’re terrified of us,” Skywarp replied, rubbing his helm where Thundercracker had hit him.

“Primus, please help me,” Thundercracker muttered under his breath. He couldn’t believe Skywarp was his actual trinemate. “He’s holding the golden pack,” Thundercracker said slowly, as if explaining to a sparking.

“So?” Skywarp rolled his optics, clearly annoyed. “It’s just a golden pack. How is that a threat to us?”

Thundercracker stared at him in disbelief. “That is common knowledge, or is he actually stupid?” he thought.

He crossed his arms, narrowing his optics. “Let me make this simple, you little sparkling.” Thundercracker said while tapping on Skywarps helm. “Those golden data packs? They’re strictly property of the Thirteen Primes’ administration.”

He paused, watching Skywarp’s face twist in confusion and annoyance. Thundercracker shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Which means that the threat that they created, the Quintessons, bwad and nwasty cweatures–”

“Can you stop?” Skywarp snapped, the urge to punch Thundercracker square in the face surging through him.

Thundercracker raised an optic ridge. “I don’t know. Is your processor finally online?”

Skywarp didn’t respond, just glared, waiting for a real explanation.

Thundercracker sighed. “Anyway, if he’s here, it means the Quintessons are becoming an actual threat to Cybertron. And they want reinforcements, and –”

Ulchtar’s voice broke in, low and grim. “And since VACA was assembled by the Primes for these kinds of situations.” Ulchtar kept quiet for a few kliks and then continued “We are probably getting deployed to Iacon,” he finished, his tone flat with frustration and disbelief.

Ulchtar suddenly realized that the unauthorized sim was a trap set by the Negotiator. If Ulchtar hadn’t completed it, he wouldn’t have fulfilled his side of the deal. But now that he had, and stayed at the top, the scout would certainly put him on the top of the recruitment list. And the Negotiator probably mentioned to the scout that his trine was completing the unauthorized sim to impress him, knowing that Ulchtar will not back off and complete it, resulting in VACA having a reputation for producing a top flier joining forces with the 13 Primes against the Quintessons.

It was a lose-lose situation.

No matter how hard Ulchtar worked to keep his score up, he would still fail. He had no real chance of getting the recommendation. He lost, despite crossing the finish line first, destiny, that doesn’t admire speed or talent and only loyal to design, will always catch up, clinging like a burden that refuses to let go, no matter how hard you try to cast it off.

Ulchtar blinked and saw his trine just gazing at him, maybe more, maybe it was filled with concern and fear, or something else, Ulchtar couldn’t figure it out, and didn’t want to, not now at least. 

“Let’s go,” Ulchtar said as calmly as he could manage. He didn’t want the land mech to notice him—right now, he needed to stay hidden. The fewer mechs who saw him, the fewer chances there were of him being selected for deployment. Turning toward the exit of the simulation chambers, he tried to ignore the searing heat in his chest and the pounding in his processor.

“You’re going to Knockout,” Thundercracker muttered, watching his steps falter.

Ulchtar’s wing twitched. He hated medics, especially now. Being outperformed by a Conie and spotting a land mech from the Primes was already too much. He flinched not from pain, but from realization—everything he planned was falling apart. Everything.  But he couldn’t afford to think about it. If he did, it would shatter whatever control he still had.

“I’m fine,” he said stiffly. “Just need some recharge.”

“That’s not gonna help—”

“I said I just need some recharge.”

The hallway went silent. Ulchtar’s wings fluttered upward in a reflexive jerk, betraying his instability. He knew he wasn’t okay. But he couldn’t show that to anyone. Not to strangers. Not to his trine. He just kept walking, his ice-blue optics dimming with every step. If he could just make it to the dormitory… lie down… recharge… maybe he’d wake up and find it was all a nightmare.

That was the hope he clung to.

Skywarp and Thundercracker walked behind him, equally silent, surprisingly this was the first time where none of them talked or argued over something stupid. Maybe because they all seen the land mech in the chambers, maybe they were shaken from their predictions about being deployed, or maybe they were worried over Ulchstar, but they knew one thing, for some of the fliers at VACA, working for the Primes was not just “great”, but an honor and a dream-come-true, a gift better than flight, and VACA being a prideful academy, will not lose their chance to keep up their reputation. 

The dormitory door slid open on the first try after Ulchtar entered the code, which was the best thing that happened that day (it usually takes a billion times for the door to open). Ulchtar stepped inside like a flier that was about to collapse into a million pieces, too many thoughts, to many what-ifs, too much hope .

Hope. That sickened him. 

A purple seeker with green streaks with emerald colored optics called lazily from where she was leaning on one of the top berths “GUESS WHo is back…”

“What’s up with you three? You look like you’ve seen the end of Cybertron.”

“Slipstream! You are back early?” Skywarp questioned from behind Ulchatr's wing, while he was about to collapse on his berth, where Slipstream was hanging from. 

“I snuck out, you don’t wanna imagine how boring it is in there.” she replied as she descended. She shot a puzzled glance at the other two, silently comming

<WITHOUT ULCHANT>

SLIPSTREAM

::What is up with him::

“You missed a LOT” Thundercracker muttered back while walking into the dorm in front of Skywarp. 

Skywarp sealed the door behind them, then turned to Ulchtar before he could climb into his berth.

“I still don’t get what the big deal is with that land mech and his golden pack,” he said.

Ulchtar froze mid-step. He turned slowly to look at him.

Thundercracker instinctively sent a private ping to Skywarp.

<SKYWARP>

TC

::Unless you want to die, don’t::

He knew Ulchtar will obliterate him if this continued at its pace. 

“What don’t you get?” Ulchtar said, voice low, dangerously steady. “A land mech showing up is strange enough. But one carrying a golden datapack ? That screams: ‘The Primes need help with the problem THEY created.’”

“Yeah, but why do you two think it's about the Quintessons?” Skywarp shrugged. “What if it’s just a check-in?”

“They never do those,” Ulchtar snapped.

“Maybe they do now?”

Ulchtar stepped forward, optics flaring. “Will you turn on your processor for once and stop being so naive? The Primes don’t give a shit about us. And if they did, they would’ve stopped what’s happening on this side of Cybertron long ago . We are just tools to them, nothing else.”

“This whole meltdown is over a land mech ?” Slipstream interjected, folding her arms.

Ulchtar didn’t even look at her. “Slipstream. Please. Just stop talking.”

The air tightened.

They all felt it.

Another word and the dorm would erupt into the fight of the century, something VACA would be talking about for vorns.

Knock knock

The door hissed open.

No one had time to react.

Skywarp teleported on reflex, only to crash onto the table, smashing a pile of datapacks. Ulchtar’s datapacks.

“Ever heard of permission?” Skywarp barked from the floor. 

Ulchtar saw his datapacks, his datapacks that he worked on for ages now, giving up the time for a proper recharge, just shattered all over the table and Skywarp. He was about to erupt. 

A dark mech stood in the doorway, unfazed. “Negotiator wants to see Ulchtar.”

“When?” Ulchtar said, already annoyed, still staring at the mech. 

“Now.” The mech left without waiting for a reply.

Ulchtar’s optics looked at the pile of broken datapacks and went back to Skywarp, who was internally panicking and trying to fix the mess he created, by clumping some random datapacks together like a sparkling.

“ SKYWARP. ”

“It was an accident! You saw it—”

“And you chose the table ? The one place that only I use?!”

“Where else was I supposed to land?!”

“Enough!” Thundercracker cut in, raising his voice and his wings. “Negotiator called you. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Ulchtar didn’t respond. He stormed out and slammed the door shut behind him, walking towards the E wing. 

--------

The E Wing was cold and quiet, its long corridor lined with metallic plating and harsh light from narrow skylights. No one else ever had a reason to come here but to meet Negotiator, he was the only one who assembled his office here. Ulchtar’s steps echoed through the emptiness. He hated it here. It felt like a cage. The cold light from outside streamed through the window that was at the end of the hallway, casting a pale glow on the door where Ulchtar has stood for a while now, wanting to leave. It felt like the light itself was mocking him—illuminating the threshold of something he was about to lose. The moment he was about to knock, the Negotiator’s voice called out. 

“Come in, Ulchtar.”

He hated that he knew it was him, and hated even more that he had been standing outside the door for so long. The Negotiator’s presence at VACA nauseated him. More than anything else, it was a constant, oppressive chains that prevented Ulchtar from flying higher. 

The Negotiator, a sharp, dark flier, nor a seeker or a conehead, a flier that was constructed form a land mech, with steel-grey accents and piercing red optics, sat at his desk like a vulture watching its prey. His form was built for precision, every angle honed to intimidate. Negotiator’s office was more welcoming than the hallway, with shelves filled with books that he never reads, or the huge window behind him giving the whole view of the VACA training tracks for newly arrived fliers, was all a tactic he uses to have the fliers give in and take the deal. 

“Please, sit. It’s been some time.”

“When do I get my recommendation?” Ulchtar asked flatly, not moving.

“Straight to business?” The Negotiator chuckled. “Very well.” He pulled out the datapad. The recommendation, the key for the locks on Ulchtars wing that will set him free, away from this shithole, away from the oppression, away from the deal, away from his… trine. Somehow this thought did not sound as Ulchtar wanted it to.

Ulchtar reached for it, but the mech pulled it away just as fast. “Dirge was only six points behind you,” he said, voice smooth, fidgeting the recommendation with both of his hands. 

“But I’m still at the top,” Ulchtar countered, trying to stay composed.

“Yes. But still...” The Negotiator smiled. “He is a Conehead after all, and a conie surpassing a seeker is not ideal, you know.” Then, without warning, he snapped the datapad in half. “You’ve been promoted, congrats!”

Ulchtar’s optics narrowed. “To what?” while trying to keep some leverage over the Negotiator. 

“The High Guard, the second-in-command with two other mechs who are not from here, and 60 others from VACA, including your trine!” the Negotiator said, as if it were a gift. “The Primes’ enforcers. You’ll be coordinating against the Quintesson threat. Great isn’t it? You will –”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.” Ulchtar interrupted rudely. Using up the last bit of the leverage that he had.  

“Well,” the Negotiator said smoothly, “you Seeklings never complete your side of the bargain. So it is only fair if I don’t once in a while, don’t you think?”

“And if I refuse?”

“You can . But then you stay here. No recommendation. No transfer. And I’ll make sure every academy on Vos hears that you slept your way to the top without the need of proof. That you're a fraud. A nobody. A parasite ." He leaned closer, smile widening. "The Primes wouldn’t mind you refusing their offer, I will though. They were also stupid enough to have your trine be a part of this, so if you refuse, I’m not going to only turn your life into living hell, but I will also make sure your trine will have a hard time in Iacon. You wouldn’t be able to help them, and soon enough they will quit, and be deployed back, but to Kaon, never returning here because I said so.

“You will also become a loner, a disgrace and an embarrassment. You can also try and leave Vos, I won’t stop you, but I will make sure no one looks at you as a Cybertronian ever again. Just a pile of toxic waste wearing a jetpack, abandoned by everyone and everything”

The silence filled the room. It was loud. It was suffocating. Ulchatr didn’t know what to think, he had to come up with something, something quick and logical. He couldn’t, there was nothing he could do but obey, obey to the new requirements that don’t even benefit him. He just looked at the Negotiator, seeing his black face without any facial features, just void he didn’t want to look at or remember. Ulchtar didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. He had no choice. 

“Good, that’s all.” the Negotiator replied to the silence. “You are being deployed tomorrow”.

Ulchstar turned to leave. “Wait”

Ulchtar turned his head halfway just so he was able to hear him talk, he didn’t want to see that void of lies. 

“and change your designation, you are second-in-command now, “Ulchtar” doesn’t fit, you will become a walking embarrassment in Iacon, and I don’t want that” Negotiator smiled towards him while pointing at the broken recommendation. 

Ulchtar left. The moment he stepped out the door, the cold and sorrow swallowed him whole. His wings hung low, the tips dragging the ground, no seeker would ever allow themselves such a display outside a confined space. He had no choice but to keep moving while forcing his wings upwards again, pretend like nothing has happened. Standing in the hallway, unsure where to go or what to do, Ulchtar’s gaze settled on the window at the far end, an invisible cage, a false open door. Everything seemed to mock his naivete: the walls, the floor, the door behind him, even the Negotiator.

The walk back was one of the most suffocating he’d ever endured. Around him, seekers and coneheads moved on with their VACA drills, indifferent, yet it felt like all eyes were on him, silently judging, laughing. When he reached his dormitory door, he stopped. He didn’t want to speak or explain; the news would spread soon enough, and with it, more questions. He wasn’t ready to face them. He wished this was all just a nightmare, that somewhere he was safe in stasis. It wasn’t though, and he knew . 

Instead he left, he went to the flight track, the sun was setting, shining on the track for the last time before he left this place for goo– left this place. He flew. Upwards. 

The sky opened to him like a forgotten promise.

He launched upward, wings slicing through fading light, his frame breaking through the low clouds. The burn in his engine felt good. Real. Honest.

He flew higher, faster, shedding the gravity of ground and thought. The aching weight of decisions, of betrayal, of futures lost and rewritten, none of it mattered up here. He twisted through the air, transforming mid-flight and diving again, faster, harder, until his sensors howled from the pressure.

This was the freedom he reached for.

Everything else was static. Down there, the world asked for his function, his loyalty, his silence. Up here, the wind asked for nothing. It moved with him, not against him. He disabled everything, battle vision, comms, scanning systems. All gone.

Only Ulchtar remained.

No Functionist burden. No expectations. No orders.

Just motion.

Just the sky.

And for a moment, he could pretend the weight wasn’t there. That he wasn't being watched. That he wasn’t about to be caged again in the name of the Primes.

The stars began to blink awake above him, one by one, indifferent to his presence. Some mechs said the stars shine brightest on the darkest nights. Ulchtar wasn’t sure. Maybe it was only because no one looked up until the light was gone.

He wished—hoped—that one of them was meant for him. But that hope had long since gone cold. If a star was meant to shine for Ulchtar, it had already gone out.

No one hears you when you scream into space.

And no one cares.

“Maybe I should fall, fall and crash into the ground, no one will care, no one will be affected…  right?” Ulchtar thought as he shut down his engines, beginning to drift through the wind that tried to catch him, to pull him back, to persuade him otherwise. The fall was slow, almost deliberate, as if fate was giving him a second chance, a moment to reconsider. “What about the trine?” The thought struck him sharply. With a sudden burst, Ulchtar reignited his engines and turned back toward VACA. Yes, him crashing would become a tragedy, and will solve all the problems that he had, but his trine will have to clean up the mess and receive the consequences. 

He landed at the rooftop on Wing C, thankfully it was quiet, looking towards the stars, screaming silently. He heard celebration throughout the academy, but that didn’t bother him, he just stood thinking about everything that happened this cycle. This was the only place where he could just stand still and not be bothered. This was the only place. 

“You’re back.”

“Oh c’mon. Can’t I get some time to MYSELF?”

Ulchtar spun around, his sharp ice-blue optics blazing with a fierce glare, wanting to force whoever was there out of here, or even shoot the living shit out of them. Either-or it will be a win. 

Thundercracker looked at him with a soft gaze, not rushing anything, waiting for Ulchtar to calm down. He knew this was how Ulchtar coped, even if he hated the fact he digested it on his own, he wasn’t a type to know how to calm mechs down, especially in this situation. Ulchtar relaxed his optics filled with… something, something heavy and unfixable, and just looked back up, towards the stars. 

Thundercracker was surprised. " Oh no."

“Ulchtar…?” Thundercracker with caution, he knew something was up and he hope for the love of Primus that it wasn’t –

“We are being deployed tomorrow. To Iacon.”

“Yeah we know, we got the message, but you got–” Thundercracker stood still, he didn’t want to believe it. “What do you mean “we”?”

“”We” in terms of you, Skywarp, Slipstream, 57 others, and me” Ulchtar looked back and continued “As your second-in-command with the other 2.”

The words struck Thundercracker, “Wait, what about the deal?”

Ulchtars optics didn’t flinch. “Well, Negotiator, he broke his part of the bargain.” 

“Yeah, you said no though” Thundercracker looked at Ulchtar, his optics just following up with numbness, like he was drowning in the air and in the water at the same time, like he was buried underground already. “...right?”

Ulchtar didn’t reply, he just looked. And the silence said it all. Both of them knew “no” was not an option. 

“Oh for Primus sake, you –” Thundercracker was about to finish the sentence, but was interrupted. 

“Ulchtar you can’t just suck it up right now, get off me Skywarp, you worked too hard for this.” Slipstream snapped while walking out of the blindspot on the roof where Skywarp followed her.

“Don't look at me like that, I actually tried to stop her this time!" Skywarp looked at Thundercracker awkwardly. 

“Slipstream please, I had no choice” Ulchstar mumbled. 

“And you are just going to stand there and accept because “you had no choice?”"

<WITHOUT ULCHTAR>

TC

::Slipstream please stop::

SKYWARP

::YES, keep going sis!::

TC

::Skywarp stop that:: 

SKYWARP

::ha, a good one, keep going::

TC

::Do you have a death wish? Both of you?::

Skywarp

::maybe::

Slipstream 

::Maybe I do::

“You made up an option when you struck the deal about the recommendation” Slipstream added, “and now since there is no other way you are just what, giving up? Really?” 

Ulchtar waited a few kliks, “Are you done?” He said while just looking at her. 

“You really think that I want to wipe the Primes’ afts for their mistakes?” Ulchtar answered “Or that I’d ever choose this? Please, you know me better.” His optics went cold, matching everything around. 

“Or do you really think I will stand up for the Primes, the ones that dont give a shit about us?” 

“Then stand up to the negotiator” Skywarp snapped. 

“Oh sure,” Ulchtar hissed. “Ruin my name. Let it get dragged through every pit on Cybertron. Stay here forever, hated by my own kind, treated like rusted scrap. And bring my own trine down with me? Yeah. Great idea. Thank you for your suggestion!” Ulchtar stopped, realising what he had just said. Slag. 

“What did you say?” Thundercracker cutted in. 

“You heard me”, Ulchant replied. 

The moment of silence, the system that was made for the seekers to work together for Cybertrons “greater good” was now played against them. Specifically, againts Ulchtar.

Thundercracker’s wings twitched. His jaw tightened like he was bracing for a hit. “So that’s it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You think we’re deadweight?”

Ulchtar looked away. He hadn’t meant it like that. At least, he didn’t think he had. But it was out now, and there was no rewinding it.

Slipstream took a step back. Her optics dimmed slightly, as she was shielding herself. “You know,” she said, “I used to think you were different from others. That you actually gave a damn about all of us.”

There was no answer to this. Ulchtar couldn’t. Not that she said it was true, he did care, but this time he wished he didn’t. 

“And look how it turned out, us leaving” Ulchtar answered. 

“No,” Thundercracker said, stepping forward. “Now you're running.”

Ulchtar’s optics flashed. “No, I am being deployed.” 

Ulchtar just turned around, he heard the leaving footsteps of his trine, he couldn’t take it anymore, he didn’t want to hide. Everything around him was just spinning, he couldn’t fall, not now. Not now . It’s always not now. It was never a good time to just let go of the faking, every day is just not now. Maybe now is the time. 

Skywarp looked back hoping to see something, maybe Ulchtar trying to catch up to them. But instead, Ulchtars wings are… down? 

<WITHOUT ULCHTAR>

SKYWARP

::guys?::

TC

::What did you do now?::

SKYWARP

::um, rude. anyway, look back::

SLIPSTREAM 

::and why should I::

TC

::Yeah, just look::

She turned.

And for a moment, just a klik, they all froze. Ulchtar wasn’t following. He wasn’t storming off into the abyss like he usually did when things spiraled. He was just standing there. Wings dropped to the ground. Shoulders slumped. His frame, always held in defiance, now looked like it was folding into itself. He was showing his emotions? “Am i seeing stuff” all of the seekers thought. 

Slipstream looked closer, he couldn’t see the vibrant blue optics, they weren’t glowing or dim, they were off. Turned off. The light inside them had just blinked out. 

Slipstream stepped forward carefully, her vocalizer was trembling a bit, as she let out “Ulchtar?” She called, but it was too quiet. 

There was no response. 

“Ulchstar?” Skywarp barked, much louder now, laced with rising panic. 

But still nothing except for the breeze brushing past the edge of the rooftop, past Ulchtar right into his trine, only a distant deep hum of the Vosian airspace.

Thundercracker moved fast, having Skywarp and Slipstream behind him, scared to take a wrong step. He got to Ulchants side in moments. 

“Hey,” His voice was low, steady, anchoring, worrying. “Please look at me” 

Ulchstar felt the touch on his shoulders from someone, the touch that dragged him out of the snow storm, out of the noise, out of the numbness. His optics flickered, faintly. They were blue for a pulse, but turned back off again. Thundercracker waited, while Slipstream and Skywarp flanked him, silently. No one was pushing, no one was yelling, they were just there, still there, waiting. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Ulchtar murmured, the vocalizer rough and broken at the edges,“About dragging you down.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet their optics. “I didn’t mean any of it. I just… I didn’t know what else to say. Or do. I still don’t.”

Slipstream stepped closer, behind Thundercracker. Her field brushed him lightly. Careful. Controlled. “Then say that ,” she said quietly. “Say that. Not whatever that fragged-up guilt-trip performance was.”

Ulchtar's optics turned on, just slightly. Just enough. Not wanting to talk or defend whatever he said prior. 

Skywarp looked at him like he was seeing a ghost, “You’re seriously scaring me man” 

“Good”, Ulchtar said, a cracked, crooked smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You should be scared, because I am” another moment of silence “I’m terrified”. 

No one laughed or scoffed and looked away. The rooftop was still, not silent but held. Like every air particle around them had paused, waiting. For the first time in a long time, no, ever, Ulchtar let them see him. Not as a seeker, as a second-in-command, or an elite. But just him. Ulchtar. And now even this had to be taken away. 

Ulchtar looked up, his optics glowing that unmistakable ice-blue hue. “If any of you say anything about this,” he said, voice low but razor-edged, “I will kill you. Slowly. And make sure you feel it.”

The tension broke like a thin wire snapping. The trine wasn’t as stressed anymore. 

“I’m looking at you, Slipstream.”

“What did I do?” she huffed, but the corner of her mouth curved upward.

They stayed like that for a moment, just standing there, letting the tension bleed away in silence and shared breaths. The laughter was small, tired, but real.

Ulchtar looked up again, this time to the stars. He didn’t say anything aloud, but inside, he was screaming. Screaming at the void, at the distant lights that never blinked back. The stars had never belonged to him. Yet they were always there, cold, unreachable, and indifferent. Still, they shimmered, like they were listening. Like they might hear him. But they never did. And they never would. They didn’t even know he existed.

Still, the words looped in his processor. Screaming. Stars. Hope. Futility. And somehow, it clicked.

Starscream.

It was ridiculous. Absurd. Ironic. And it fit. Not because it was beautiful. Because it hurt, and somehow, it still felt like the truth. The only thing that made any sense right now. 

“What are you planning to do now?” Skywarp asked, his tone casual, but the words carried more weight than he intended.

“Skywarp,” Thundercracker snapped, rubbing his temple like the words physically hurt. “I swear, if I had an off switch for you…”

Skywarp shrugged. “Hey, just asking. Not like he has a million options left.”

“I’m going to Iacon in the morning,” Ulchtar said simply.

“Well, that’s an option,” Slipstream muttered.

“Okay, Slipstream—what the frag?” Thundercracker shot her a look.

“What now?” she shot back, exasperated.

“You’re acting like Skywarp all of a sudden.”

“Hey!” Skywarp chimed in, offended. “She’s not wrong though! He’s too good to quit. Still on the top of the leaderboards. Even after completing NEXRO sim, that almost killed all 3 of us.”

“You completed a WHAT?!” Slipstream brusted out. “You completed a NEXRO sim and didn’t tell ME?” 

“Oops?” Skywarp said while flinching away from Slipstream that was about to punch him. “Wait let me explain!”

Top of the leaderboards. Too good to quit. That was IT!

Ulchtar’s optics flared, brighter than they’d been in vorns. Since the day he signed the deal, they’d been dulled, always dimmed like some part of him was stuck offline. But now? They were glowing. Flickering with something he hadn’t felt in forever. Hope. And something dangerously close to joy.

“Skywarp,” Ulchtar said, grabbing him in a rare hug. “You’re a genius! I had no idea you’d finally fixed your processor!”

Skywarp blinked. “What?”

“No time!” Ulchtar was already heading for the edge of the roof, waving a hand. “We’ve got a big, HUGE day tomorrow, quite a trip! I need a proper recharge, I am not passing out in front of the Great Primes. That would be a terrible first impression as a second-in-command.”

The other three just stood there, stunned.

“...His wings,” Skywarp whispered.

“They’re… floating,” Slipstream said.

“Ulchtar? Floating wings?” Skywarp echoed. “We’re calling Knockout.”

“No,” Thundercracker said, already moving. “We’re taking him to Knockout.”

And so, they followed, Slipstream, Skywarp, and Thundercracker walking in quiet formation behind Ulchtar while was bragging about going to Iacon, about some plans that he has. They followed him not just out of worry, but because for the first time in a long time, probably for the first time ever, he wasn’t dragging himself forward, he was walking like he belonged in the sky. Something was up. 

Chapter Text

Maybe change is for the better, at least it could feel like it in the beginning.  

“You are going to WHAT?!” 

The shout tore through the still Cybertronian air, echoing beyond the moving train, beyond the outskirts of Vos itself. The sun was high, casting sharp rays of light through the train windows, dazzling anyone who dared to look outside.

The interior of the train had been quiet. After thirteen long joors of traveling, the fliers onboard were restless. Their wings ached from lack of movement, their tempers strained by the confinement. The sudden yell shattered what little peace remained. Every head turned.

Thundercracker stood in the aisle, wings twitching so violently they scraped the ceiling panels above him.

“Awkward,” Slipstream muttered under her breath.

Thundercracker offered a sheepish wave to the irritated fliers, then spun back around, jabbing a finger toward the mech seated beside him. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper: “Yeah, of course I yelled. Did you hear what he just said?”

Starscream, far too relaxed for the situation, calmly sipped his energon. “Thundercracker, please. It’s a great plan. I just need to do terribly at the job, and eventually they'll have no choice but to expel me.”

Thundercracker’s optics narrowed. “And then what? You just waltz back to Vos? You think the Negotiator’s gonna be pleased with that and hand you the recommendation with joy?”

Starscream gave a sly smirk. “Who said anything about going back to Vos?” 

Skywarp blinked. “I’m confused.”

“Of course you are,” Slipstream muttered.

“Do you know what he’s talking about, oh brilliant Slipstream?” Skywarp snapped.

Slipstream didn’t answer, because she didn’t know either. She opened her mouth, about to guess, when Starscream cut her off.

“Can all three of you let me finish?” he snapped. “Anyways, once I get expelled, assuming the Primes are as ‘understanding’ as they claim to be, I’ll request to stay in Iacon and take the IRS Entrance Exam. It's a flawless plan!”

The other three seekers just stared at him, optics wide. Not with amazement but pure disbelief.

Thundercracker closed his optics, exhaled slowly, then repeated back flatly: “So... you want to deliberately fail at being in the High Guard, get kicked out, and then take the IRS exam while staying in Iacon?”

“Exactly!” Starscream beamed.

“Did you bang your helm on stupid last night?” Thundercracker growled.

Starscream blinked. “No? But I did re-read the IRS entrance requirements. And guess what? You don’t need a recommendation if you’re registered in Iacon or have worked under the Primes. I’d technically have both by the time of the next Exam session. I really don’t see the problem.”

Thundercracker’s wings dropped in exasperation. “Ulch—wait. Is that why you were up all night again?”

“Yes! I didn’t expect their requirement data pack to be 10 million light years long.”

“Ulchtar.” Thundercracker's voice was more serious now. “A seeker. In Iacon. A seeker. In Iacon” he repeated and then continued “You know these two things are just out of the ordinary, right?”

Starscream said nothing. He knew. Saying it aloud would only make it feel more real. More permanent.

“This is ridiculous,” Thundercracker groaned.

“Wait. If you leave, who’s going to replace you?” Skywarp asked.

“Well, not any of you, obviously,” Starscream replied with a smirk. “Probably Dirge.”

“Oh great. So you leave, and we’re stuck with that?” Skywarp groaned.

“I wasn’t the one who got overtaken by him on the last evaluation day,” Starscream shot back. “I was probably chosen as second-in-command just because of the leaderboards.”

Everything felt silent. They are a trine, designed to stick together at all times no matter the desires. But selfishness always finds its way to the surface, not everyone uses it for their own gain or survival, it was just there, waiting for some mech to use it, even if they didn’t want to admit it. 

“Fair enough,” Thundercracker sighed, folding his wings awkwardly as he sat. “How are you still sitting?” he asked Starscream.

“Magic,” Starscream replied dryly. He wanted nothing more than to stand up, take off, and fly to Iacon himself, but this train ride was mandatory. It was what it was.

The carriage had gone quiet. Some Seekers were recharging, others staring blankly out the windows at the bleak, rocky landscape rolling by, until a silent red warning flashed across the glass.

Skywarp pointed. “Uh… what’s that supposed to mean?”

WARNING. PLEASE STAND BY.

The warning sign flickered red on the window. 

Suddenly, the train jolted. Outside, the surface of Cybertron shifted violently, sliding, folding, rising up on one side. The train veered left, then right. Up. Down. It wasn’t a ride, it was chaos. Skywarp couldn't even warp out: too confined, no space to phase. All they could do was hang on.

Everyone had trained for Quintesson scenarios. No one had trained whatever this was. 

When the chaos finally stopped, Seekers lay sprawled across the cabin. Some had crashed into walls, others dangled from hanging rails.

Starscream sat drenched in energon, grumbling. Thundercracker had somehow landed back in a chair. Skywarp hung upside-down from the ceiling. And Slipstream?

Not a scratch.

“You should see yourselves,” she laughed, arms crossed. “This is art . Priceless, messy, pathetic art.”

Starscream wiped energon off his chassis. “What the hell was that?”

“A killing machine called the surface,” Thundercracker muttered.

“We must be close,” Starscream said grimly. “Iacon’s known for its warm welcomes.”

Another warning flashed.

WARNING. PLEASE—

The train lurched again, launching upward before plunging into a gut-twisting 90-degree drop. Fliers slammed into ceilings, walls, floors—

Then it finally stopped.

The doors slid open with a hiss.

“WELCOME TO IACON—” a white mech announced, just in time to see a heap of Seekers and Coneheads trying to get up from the floor to leave the train. 

Starscream groaned, stretching his wings with a few satisfying pops. The golden light outside was blinding. Thank Primus that Iacon was underground, any more brightness, and optics would be fried.

Iacon was gold. Gold walls, gold walkways, golden data packs flashing in mechs’ hands. Busy, loud, painfully shiny. It was… disturbing.

“I can’t see anything,” Thundercracker grumbled, shielding his optics. “How do they live here?”

“Just adjust your vision. You’ll survive,” Starscream said, twisting his helmet.

“You think I haven’t tried that?” Thundercracker snapped. “I can’t see anything .”

Skywarp waved a hand in front of Thundercracker’s face and got punched for it.

“Ow! You can see!” Skywarp shouted.

“I didn’t say I was blind , I said I can’t see properly, ” Thundercracker muttered, stumbling forward with hands out for balance.

“You’re getting old,” Slipstream said, grabbing his arm to steady him. “Need help from your trine?”

“Shut up and guide me,” Thundercracker mumbled. “I will need to get a visor” he whispered. 

“No kidding,” Skywarp said.

The four of them walked toward the entrance. Once inside, the gold was still there, but less harsh. The ceilings arched high above, and the long hallway was lined with statues of the Thirteen Primes.

A white mech approached.

“Are you Starscream?”

“Starscream? Do we even have a Star—” Skywarp started.

“Yeah, it’s me. What do you want?” Starscream cut in.

“Excellent. You, Skywarp, and Thundercracker are to follow me. And… sorry, who are you?” he asked, turning to Slipstream.

“Slipstream,” she said flatly.

“You’re not on the list. This orientation is for the second-in-command and their trine only, so you’ll need to—”

“She’s with us,” Starscream said firmly.

“But I mean—”

“And I’m saying, she’s part of the trine,” he said, colder now.

The mech faltered. “Great. I’ll… I’ll update that.”

“Slipstream,” Thundercracker muttered, “did you change your medical file like we asked you?”

“I didn’t need to. Until now.”

“And why didn’t you tell us about the designation change?” he asked Starscream.

Negotiator told me to, and I just forgot to tell you about all this, it was a long night. 

“I wanted to see how confused you’d all get when someone asked.”

“To what did you change it to again?” Skywarp asked.

“Starscream. It fits better for this… role.”

Nobody questioned it. It wasn’t unusual. Mechs changed designations all the time. Only half kept their original designation. 

The white mech led the trine through the headquarters, which were massive, towering ceilings, endless hallways, and what felt like a billion identical doors. The funniest part? Not a single sign anywhere to say what was where.

<THE №1 Trine>

SKYWARP
::This place is HUGE::

SLIPSTREAM
::Do you think we are allowed to fly in our alt mode from place to place?::

TC
::I’m sure there will be a whole training module on that::

STARSCREAM
::“Yeah. ‘How to Survive the Hallways of the Thirteen Primes’ Headquarters.’”::

::Why do they need all this space anyways::

SKYWARP
::This is torture, at least its not as bright as it is outside, right TC ?::

TC
::Very funny::

STARSCREAM
::Where are we even going?::

SLIPSTREAM
::To another golden hallway probably::

“This will be your room,” the white mech finally said, pointing to a door. “Slipstream, you’ll be in the dormitory with the other nine cadets.”

“With how many?” Slipstream asked.

“Nine.”

Slipstream turned to Starscream. “I’ll sleep on the floor. Please.”

Starscream rolled his optics. “Since she’s part of our trine, it’s only fair she stays with us , don’t you think?” His cold tone left no room for argument.

“N-no problem!” the mech stammered. “Also, you’ve got a gathering in the main lobby in a joor.”

Skywarp blinked. “And where is that?”

“Oh—so you go down this hallway, take a left, then a right. There’s a big doorway—third one on the right, I think. Go straight through, then take another right. Or maybe it’s four doors down, no—five. Use your wrist codes—they should be updated. After that, take two more lefts and you’ll be there.” the white mech answered and started to leave. 

The four starred after the white mech as he walked– ran away.

Skywarp groaned. “We’re gonna die here.”

“Did anyone actually remember what he said?” Thundercracker asked, already fumbling with the door controls. “Or at least write it down?”

“Well, we better leave now before we forget more,” Starscream muttered.

“I GOT IT! HA!” Thundercracker laughed triumphantly as the door slid open.

Everyone leaned in, eager to see their assigned quarters—the room they’d rest in before missions, maybe even alongside the Prime’s elite. Would it be massive? Shiny like everything else in Iacon? Or calm and quiet? Maybe, just maybe, they'd finally get personal space—and no more hearing each other snore, and no more wing tips in anyone's face. 

The door opened.

“…Really?” Skywarp groaned. “It’s barely bigger than our dorms back at VACA.”

Inside, the room was… functional. That was the nicest possible word for it.

There were two bunk beds lined up against the wall, thankfully with four berths, not three, which saved them the trouble of scrounging up a spare for Slipstream. The spacing was tight; if anyone rolled over too hard, someone else was definitely getting elbowed. A small desk was bolted into the corner, its embedded screen flickering like it was trying to give up. One locker per mech, each just big enough to store a pair of anything really. And the lighting? A single overhead strip that buzzed just loud enough to slowly unravel someone’s sanity.

Slipstream stepped in first and blinked. “So… when does the rest of it load in?”

Thundercracker sighed and walked towards the lockers, “I’ve seen supply closets bigger than this.”

“Do you think the floor’s supposed to slope this much?” Skywarp asked, tapping it with his ped. “Because I feel like if I drop something, it’s just going to roll into Starscream’s berth.”

Starscream didn’t answer. He was standing in the middle of the room, staring at the wall like it had personally offended him. It did offend him. 

“This is humiliating,” he finally said. “I am second-in-command. We represent Vos. We fly with the Prime’s Guard. And this—” he gestured around with growing disgust, “— this is our quarters?!”

“I mean, at least there’s a ceiling,” Skywarp offered helpfully.

Starscream glared at him.

“Okay, okay,” Skywarp backed off. “At least it’s better than that one outpost we got stationed at with the energon rats. Remember that?”

“The rats were friendlier than this room,” Slipstream muttered. She crouched and peeked under one of the berths. “Okay, never mind. I take it back. I think this one’s already occupied.”

Thundercracker groaned. “Fantastic.”

They all stood in silence for a moment, taking in the sheer underwhelming reality of their new “honor.”

“Well,” Starscream said, optics dimming a bit. “Welcome to Iacon.”

“Do you think they’d let us just sleep outside ?” Skywarp asked.

“No. And if you try it, I’m not dragging your scrap back in,” Thundercracker said, flopping onto his berth with a dramatic thunk .

“Anyway,” Slipstream said, “we’ve got a joor until the big welcome meeting. Might as well recharge while we can.”

“I’m not sure I can recharge in here,” Starscream muttered. “This place is going to give me performance anxiety.”

“You already have performance anxiety,” Thundercracker mumbled.

Starscream rolled his optics and glanced toward the desk tucked into the corner of the room. It was small, laughably so. A single beam of light cut across it from the overhead strip, making the surface glow faintly, almost hopefully. Almost.

It didn’t change the fact that the desk was barely big enough to hold a single data pack, let alone study anything properly. No room for notes. No elbow space. No peace. Starscream sighed. He’d have to find somewhere else to work. Somewhere that didn’t feel like an afterthought.

“Did anyone actually remember what he said?” Thundercracker talked through the pillow, barely lifting his helm up. “Or at least write it down?”

“I thought about it,” Slipstream said, “but then I realized I don’t care enough.”

“We should’ve marked the door or something,” Skywarp muttered. “How are we supposed to find our way back?”

“I’m not paying 1000 shanix for scratching symbols into the walls,” Starscream said, walking ahead. “Come on. Let’s just go.”

They reluctantly followed him out, back into the maze of golden halls. The moment the door hissed shut behind them, it was like being dropped into a puzzle box.

The hallway split immediately into two symmetrical branches—each flanked by identical doors with no labels, no signage, not even a datapad directory. The walls shimmered slightly with the reflection of ambient light, making everything look like it was moving ever so slightly.

“Okay, left or right?” Skywarp asked.

“Right,” Slipstream said confidently.

Starscream turned left.

The others followed.

Three turns later, they reached a decorative archway, beyond which was a curved corridor filled with more doors.

“Is this the third doorway on the right? Or the fifth?” Thundercracker asked.

“I thought it was second, then left, then a huge door,” Skywarp replied.

“No, no, he said straight, then another door, then right, then maybe left,” Slipstream argued.

“You all realize none of this makes sense, right?” Starscream snapped. “This place was designed by lunatics.”

They tried another hallway. This one had nothing but solid gold panels and a statue of a Prime holding a massive data pad like it was a sword.

They stopped.

Skywarp stared at it. “Do you think that’s a metaphor?”

Thundercracker looked around. “I think we’ve passed this hallway three times now.”

“No,” Slipstream said. “We passed one like it. That one had two pillars. This one has three.”

“Oh good,” Skywarp deadpanned. “We’re measuring by pillar count now. They did this on purpose.”

They turned back. Then took a different left. Then another right. Eventually they found a stairwell that spiraled upward like a helix.

“Stairs? Seriously?” Thundercracker said. “We’re fliers.”

“You want to try flying?” Slipstream challenged, looking up the narrow shaft.

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Starscream climbed the stairs two at a time, muttering about poor military planning. At the top, they exited into yet another golden corridor. Slipstream bumped into a mech carrying three data packs stacked so high he couldn’t see over them.

“Excuse me—uh—do you know where the lobby is?” she asked.

The mech blinked. “Which lobby?”

Slipstream turned slowly to Starscream.

“Don’t bother,” he said.

<THE №1 Trine>

STARSCREAM
::WHICH LOBBY? HOW MANY OF LOBBIES DO THEY HAVE HERE?::

“At least a thousand,” Skywarp replied quietly, seeing the mech with the data packs leave. 

They tried three more turns.

Then, just as Thundercracker was about to declare that they were going to die in a hallway full of gold trim and no functional purpose—

A wide archway opened up ahead.

“Wait…” Skywarp paused. “That… looks important.”

Large banners hung from the ceiling. Mechs gathered in organized clusters. There was a faint hum of admin announcements and high-level chatter.

Starscream exhaled like he’d just escaped a gravity trap. “Finally.”

They stepped through the towering archway into a vast, gleaming lobby. The ceiling arched so high it felt like the sky, its polished gold panels throwing back distorted reflections of the crowd below. Groups of Seekers milled around, their quiet murmurs echoing in the golden chamber. Seeing other fliers gathering here was… oddly comforting. At least if this was the wrong place, they wouldn’t be the only ones who’d messed up.

“So how long until the ‘speech’ or whatever?” Skywarp muttered, flicking his servo toward the empty stage at the far end.

Starscream scanned the room. No non-Vosians were arriving yet. Vosian plating was distinct, duller shades of red, blue, and silver, cooler undertones. In the golden light of the lobby, they all looked washed out, shadows of themselves. Faded, uniform, less offensive to the optics. A small mercy.

“No clue,” Starscream said. “I just hope they give us a map of this place.”

“Maps,” Slipstream added dryly. “There is no way this place only has one map.”

Before anyone could reply, the massive doors at the far end of the lobby opened with a resonant clang . Every Seeker turned.

A towering land mech stepped in—twice the width of most fliers, with austere grey armor edged in muted gold. Each of his heavy steps echoed through the lobby like a drumbeat. Behind him came a more slender figure, also tall, though lighter on his pedes. A flier—perhaps—though his wings curved like a bird’s, sleek and sharp, and his plating shimmered dark blue with subtle gold feather-like filigree along the edges. His optics burned with an avian intensity, scanning the crowd with almost predatory focus.

“Does everyone here have gold on them?” Skywarp whispered.

The other three stared at him.

“What?” he said defensively.

“Those two aren’t just mechs ,” Thundercracker said quietly, tone shifting. “Those are—”

“—Primes,” Starscream finished, his voice caught somewhere between awe and dread.

The room stilled.

Micronus Prime strode to the center of the floor, his expression unreadable. Though shorter than most of the Thirteen, he carried himself like a monument. Power radiated from him—not in raw energy but in weight, presence, ancientness. They stood in front of everyone, whispering to each other something before starting to actually speak. 

“Welcome to Iacon, children of Vos,” Micronus Prime began, voice formal. He paused, squinting down at the datapad in his servo. He muttered, “Who wrote this?”

Onyx leaned in, not bothering to hide his disapproval. “Probably Alpha Trion.”

Micronus sighed. “Yeah. Of course he did.”

He straightened and addressed the room again, tone already slipping. “Well. Welcome to Iacon. You’ve been selected to serve as part of the High Guard or something. I’ll just… read out some rules now, I guess. Um… so, no flying indoors? Unless no one sees you, I mean. That guy does it all the time.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Onyx.

Onyx’s optics narrowed into murder.

Interrupting before Micronus could dig himself deeper, Onyx stepped forward, his voice crisp. “ Flight is prohibited indoors. Your wrist codes will update shortly. Access will be granted to designated training halls, conference sectors, and level zones based on rank . Unauthorized entry is forbidden. The surface is also forbidden unless given access to by one of us. Macadams is off-limits. ”

Micronus blinked in disbelief, then added with a shrug, “Right. That. Also, none of you are going on missions for the first ten cycles. We need time to… familiarize ourselves with how you function. For now, just recharge. Tomorrow at dawn, the first training module begins in sector IN-600X. You’ll get a map once your wrist updates finish.”

Onyx tilted his helm to peer at the datapad again. “Anything else?”

Micronus flipped a few pages, then shook his head. “That’s probably it. Dismi—”

A faint, chaotic voice echoed down the golden corridor. “L-er-be-k! Get—!”

The fliers in the room snapped to alert, instincts kicking in. Something was coming.

A blur shot through the wide doorway, wings flared, sharp and fast. A bird . It twisted and dodged through the air with practiced chaos, knocking over a holo-projector mid-flight. A cassette bot burst in after it, arms flailing, yellow visor askew.

“ LAZERBEAK:GET BACK NOW! ” the voice barked, mechanical but panicked.

The bot froze mid-step as he looked up… and locked optics with Onyx Prime.

Everything in his body screamed retreat .

He pivoted mid-skid, mumbling, “I’ll leave.” and sprinted right back out the other door, where Lazerbeak was cackling and flew out from. Silence lingered.

Micronus scratched the back of his helm awkwardly. “Right… so that happened.”

“I’ll go help” Onyx whispered as he went out the door where the mech just went out from. 

“Are you sure those are the actual Primes?” Skywarp whispered.

“Not anymore,” Thundercracker muttered. “Aren’t they supposed to be, I don’t know… serious?”

Starscream’s optics narrowed. “Who knows?”

It was strange. The two Primes weren’t acting like distant warlords or divine commanders. There were no declarations, no demands, no grand speeches.

They were speaking like… mechs.

Starscream didn’t trust that.

Micronus cleared his throat. “Alright. Now we’re done. Dismissed—officially, this time.”

The crowd began to disperse, murmuring in clusters, some still casting side glances back at the podium. The four Seekers lingered near the edge of the hall.

Slipstream folded her arms. “Did we just walk into a training program or a circus?”

“Why not both?” Starscream muttered.

“Should we head back?” she asked, already turning toward the exit.

“Sure,” Thundercracker said.

“Do any of you actually know where to go?” Skywarp added, looking between them with a blank stare.

As the group began grumbling their way out, half lost, half complaining about the blinding gold aesthetics, a voice called from behind them.

“You’re Starscream, right?”

Starscream froze.

He turned slowly, trying to look calm. Micronus Prime was walking up behind them, casual but direct. Even though Micronus Primes was one of the smallest Primes, he still was larger than Starscream, and it was intimidating to look at it, or even be besides it. 

Starscream straightened. Did I do something? No. He hadn’t even said anything during the orientation. Am I being reassigned? Demoted? Oh, that would be fantastic .

“Yes, Micronus Prime,” he said, cautious.

“Great!” Micronus said brightly, as if they were discussing recharge schedules. “We’ve got a strategic meeting tonight, I’d like you to sit in. Just observe, get used to Zeta’s mumbling. Politics is all mumbles and subtext anyway.”

Starscream blinked. That was not what he expected. At all. 

Micronus handed him two slim comm pins. One matte grey, the other polished gold.

“These are my private and battle comms. I usually use the private one. If you get lost or vaporized or whatever, just ping me.”

And just like that, he turned and wandered off again, whistling.

Starscream stood there, staring down at the comms in his servo that gave some kind of warmth, the moment felt out of sync with everything that had happened. Do the Primes actually care about the mechs that work for them? The meeting wasn’t ordered or anything. And it wasn’t a forceful interaction, at least it didn’t feel like it. It felt weird. 

“Did you just get adopted?” Skywarp asked.

“Feels like he passed you a keycard to the executive elevator,” Slipstream said, eyeing the comms.

Thundercracker glanced toward where Micronus had disappeared. “That’s not normal.”

Starscream didn’t answer. His servo closed slowly around the comm pins. The hallway lighting glinted off the polished surfaces like little suns. He should feel honored. Or suspicious. Or something. But mostly he felt something that he couldn’t describe, perhaps he felt watched again, being the spotlight again. Probably that.

They made it back to their room eventually, after three wrong turns and a brief argument over what counted as a “main hallway.” Slipstream scanned her berth for any hidden surveillance. Surprisingly there wasn’t any. Thundercracker opened one of the lockers and found it completely empty except for a single instruction pamphlet in Ancient Cybertronian. Skywarp had already claimed a window berth and was half-reclined like he’d lived there for megacycles.

The room layout worked out well enough: Skywarp claimed the top berth closest to the window, with Starscream taking the lower one beneath him. Slipstream took the other top berth, while Thundercracker settled into the lower one beneath her. And all the berths were horizontally placed besides the wall. 

Starscream sat on the edge of his bunk, comm pins still in his servo, watching the lights of Iacon flicker outside the window.

“You gonna go to that meeting?” Thundercracker asked, leaning on the frame.

Starscream didn’t look up. “I don’t think it was a question.”

“Right.”

“What’s Macadams ?” Slipstream asked cautiously, lounging back on the berth like she already knew the answer but wanted someone to say it anyway.

“A place you’re not supposed to go to,” Thundercracker replied flatly, not even looking up.

Slipstream rolled her optics. “Oh come on . If they don’t know we snuck out, it’s basically not breaking the rules.”

“It’s a bar,” Skywarp chimed in casually.

Everyone just became silent for the moment, like they found a long-lost Cybertonian treasure. 

“What?” he said, defensive now. “You know there’s a thing called a search box , right?”

“Wait,” Slipstream said, sitting up straighter. “Are we not allowed to have high-grade in the headquarters?”

“They didn’t say that,” Skywarp added quickly, hands raised. “They said we’re not allowed to go to Macadams. Nobody said we couldn’t drink inside the headquarters.”

Starscream stood up and leaned against the wall to squint at him. “And how exactly are you planning to sneak that in here?”

Skywarp’s face lit up with a suspicious level of pride. “Well, I didn’t see any surveillance cameras around here. Sooo… I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Then he said confidently, “Also, Thundercracker’s going to help.”

“I can’t see anything outside of the grounds,” Thundercracker mumbled into his pillow.

“It’ll be dark by that time anyway,” Skywarp shrugged. “The city can’t be that bright all the time… right?”

“You better hope so,” Starscream muttered, “It’s Iacon. They probably charge their streetlamps with narcissism.”

As the conversation tapered off, Starscream pulled the comm pins from his subcompartment and plugged them into his forearm port. A soft ping confirmed the connections.

Two channels activated immediately—one labeled Micronus Prime: Private , the other: Battle Comms .

He stared at them for a moment. It was real now, undeniably real. He was part of something honorable, something others would fight to be chosen for, and all he wanted was to leave. He never imagined he’d end up as second-in-command for a mission this serious. And if he walked away now, what would happen to his trine? To the rest of the fliers? No, this was not what he wanted, he wanted to chase science, the one thing that kept him alive, the one thing that defined his entire existence.

His thoughts spiraled, clashing with each other until it hurt. He didn’t want to deal with any of it right now. He had a plan. One task: fail. Spectacularly. During training. Get demoted. Get out.

Simple.

Slipstream looked over. “That from your new boss?”

Starscream didn’t answer right away. He stared at the glowing comm signals on his interface before replying.

“…Let’s just say I have an open channel to trouble.”

Thundercracker groaned. “You always had that.”

The room was dim, quiet, and comfortable for once. Not physically, of course; the berth still creaked every time someone shifted, and the lighting buzzed faintly like an overworked data scanner. But for that brief moment, it didn’t matter.

Skywarp was halfway into planning a daring high-grade-smuggling operation involving magnets, a locker shaft, and an unused medkit labeled “Emergency Fluids Only.” Slipstream kept adding impossible variables just to watch him backtrack, while Thundercracker stared at the ceiling like he regretted every life choice that had led him to this moment.

Starscream listened to them, leaning against the wall of the berth he sat on, and let the sound of their bickering blur into something warm. Familiar. He couldn’t remember the last time things had felt this normal. Like the weight pressing into his spark had lifted, just slightly. The absurdity, the comfort, the sarcasm. It was theirs. Vosian. Real.

For once, he didn’t feel like he was on the edge of a meltdown. He didn’t care about the mission. Or the title. Or Cybertron’s absurd gold-frosted walls. Maybe this change wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

For a second, he let himself believe it. Then his wrist display blinked.

<STRATEGIC MEETING SOON. LOCATION: SECTOR VPR-1. AUTOPATH ACTIVATED.>

A pale blue line lit up on his interface, tracing a path through the building in cold, efficient arcs. No more getting lost at least. 

Thundercracker noticed. “Time to go?”

Starscream nodded, slow, almost reluctant. “Yeah.”

He stood, smoothing down his wings with practiced precision. Slipstream gave him a lazy two-finger salute. “Don’t get recruited into the Senate or anything.”

“No promises.”

Skywarp flashed him a grin. “If they offer you a gold-lined chair, steal me one.”

“I’m stealing the whole throne,” Starscream shot back, walking to the door.

He stopped just before it opened, hesitating as his reflection caught in the panel. It wasn’t Ulchtar staring back.

It was Starscream. He stepped through. The door hissed shut behind him.

He stood in the hallway for a long moment, alone with nothing but the soft echo of the doors behind him and the silence of Iacon’s winding corridors.

The light above him flickered once, bright, then soft again. The cold glow touched his plating and felt, strangely, like warmth. Starscream exhaled.

Time to see what kind of trouble this open channel really led to. And then he walked forward, leaving behind the chatter, the berth, and for now the weight of everything else.

Chapter Text

Zeta Prime’s mumbling is next-level torture.

Starscream sat at the long, too-shiny table with the rest of the Primes, enduring yet another endless debriefing. Listening to what had happened on the last mission, and what might happen on the next one, wasn’t how he expected to spend his cycle. At this point, he'd almost take the Negotiator’s offer to drag him back to Vos if it meant getting out of here.

Still, he kept his expression neutral, because he was second-in-command now. And second-in-command meant leading the fliers at the end of the day, no matter how ridiculous the mission planning was.

That was the second problem. Whatever the Primes were doing, it definitely wasn’t what they’d trained for back at VACA. Sure, they’d learned to scan the battlefield, improvise, fake it till you make it. But this? This was different.

No one taught them to kill. All of them knew that they would have to fight them eventually, but Quitesson anatomy was drastically different to Cybertronian. It wasn’t the matter of “How to overcome the guilt”, no one cared, it was more of “where the frag am I supposed to shoot to kill them?”.

“So that’s the debriefing,” Zeta finally declared in his dull monotone. “Now let’s move on to the meeting.”

Excuse me?

Starscream nearly exploded. That was just the debriefing? He’d been sitting here for a full joor! Who runs a debriefing that long? This was borderline punishment. 

Starscream’s face remained blank, as if he hadn’t heard a word, like this was just standard protocol. It wasn’t something they covered in VACA lectures, but experience had taught him well enough: when a superior laid out some ridiculous plan, you kept your expression neutral and your objections quieter. Becoming a joke or on the gossip headlines wasn’t on anyone's list of objectives. 

That was the ideal, at least. Keep your cool, stay unreadable, and don’t give them anything to work with. But Starscream was running low on everything, energy, patience, and whatever was left of his self-control. His wings gave a faint twitch. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Not enough to draw attention, unless someone was paying attention. 

<ALMO GROUP>

Micornus
::Did you see that?::

Maximo
::Me dying?::

Micronus rolled his optics and quietly shut off his comms. He was one of the smallest of the Primes, but also one of the few who actually paid attention to surroundings, and that included noticing when someone’s wings were twitching.

Starscream felt the weight of a stare. He glanced over and caught Micronus looking at him. The two mechs locked optics for a moment. Starscream narrowed his gaze in silent warning, then turned back to pretending to listen to Zeta’s so-called “plans” for the meeting. 

“Zeta, buddy, could we possibly speed this up?” drawled a grey Prime with a hexagonal face, Amalgamous Prime.

Zeta Prime ignored him completely. “Anything else before I proceed?” he asked flatly. “Great. So, Vector, have you figured out how to jump space into the future yet?”

“It’s… a process,” Vector Prime replied, optics barely open, his tone the verbal equivalent of a long sigh.

“Well, we’ll need to speed that up.”

“Easy for you to say,” Vector muttered, making sure that Zeta wouldn’t hear the comment. 

Zeta pressed on without pause. “And how’s the training module coming, Megatronus?”

“They begin tomorrow at dawn,” Megatronus replied curtly.

<ALMO GROUP>

Amalgamous
::If we get up::

“Pfft,” came a stifled snort was heard in the room. 

“Is there a problem?” Zeta asked sharply, turning toward the source.

“No, no, everything’s fine,” Liege Maximo said, visibly trying and failing not to laugh, alongside Amalgamous and Micronus that were just looking the other way and keeping their optics closed to avoid any trouble. . 

“Good,” Zeta said, tone clipped. “Then maybe you can tell me why I still haven’t received the report from the last mission.”

“Zee, we just got back,” Maximo replied lazily, “You know it's important to rest properly—”

“It’s been a week.”

“Exactly. I’ve had other stuff to do.”

“This isn’t a joke, Maximo.”

—Before the meeting—

Starscream stepped out of the dormitory, following the glowing blue line traced along the floor. The sun had already set, and Iacon had become a city of restless souls. No one really slept at night, not most mechs, anyway. There was no active lighting inside headquarters, but the city’s glow outside was strong enough to bleed through the walls, casting just enough illumination to guide the way.

Everyone knew when the Primes were leaving. It wasn’t officially announced, never was, but ordinary mechs could just look up and see the silhouettes vanishing into the sky. Starscream knew they had gone on a mission recently; he'd seen the reports back on the train to Iacon. What he didn’t understand was why a meeting had to be called now—in the middle of the night, a decacyle after the mission. 

Thirteen joors cramped on a train, wandering through an unfamiliar building, barely any recharge last cycle thanks to rereading the IRS entrance exam, and now this? He was exhausted. But when the Primes “asked” you to attend a meeting, it wasn’t really a question. Voluntary or not, he had to go.

Starscream walked slowly, the blue floor light flickering beneath his pedes with every step. The air in Iacon was thinner, drier than Vos, like the buildings themselves were too old to breathe. Even the silence felt engineered, clinical, artificial. Every corridor sounded like it was holding its breath.

He passed a wide window overlooking the city. Below, Iacon gleamed like it had something to prove. Towers reached for the sky like they were trying to touch the moons, even when Iacon was one of the underground cities, and neon signs pulsed in soft cycles, advertising entertainment he didn’t recognize. So much light. So much noise. And yet the headquarters behind him remained dark and hollow.

Starscream paused by the window.

The glass was too clean. Too perfect. He could see his own reflection clearly, tired optics, posture a little slumped, wings pulled too close to his back. A shadow of command. A Seeker trying to wear the frame of a general.

He didn’t feel like a general. He wasn’t made for this. He knew that. 

And yet, he was still walking toward a meeting that wasn’t really his. A war that wasn’t really his. Orders that came from mechs who never once stood on Vosian soil or knew what it meant to fly through a storm and not be sure you’d land.

He leaned his helm briefly against the glass. Cool. Grounding. A rare moment of stillness. Then the realization hit, he was about to be late for the meeting, which wouldn’t be a good first impression, but who needed that anyways. He stood up right again and kept walking, a bit slower this time. Starscream took the time to look around, get to know the place better. 

Finally, he got in front of the door where the line on the floor faded. “This is probably it” Starscream whispered under his breath. Starscream stood in front of a wide set of double doors, tall, pristine, lined with an etched symbol of the Matrix, that is in Zeta’s possession. This was it, the meeting chamber of the Primes. After a sigh he raised his wrist and expected the door to open. 

The door didn’t open. A pale red line blinked above the sensor plate: ACCESS DENIED

huh?

Starscream tried again thinking it was a malfunction, or maybe the system itself lagged, shifting his stance slightly, he lifted his wrist towards the panel again. There was still nothing, still the same red line. 

Starscream's optics narrowed, “I was asked to come here, giving up my recharge time, and this is what i get?” He groaned. Quietly. 

After everything. After Vos. After the Negotiator. After being forced into the High Guard and dragged across half of Cybertron and straight into the Primes’ pet project, no clearance. He withdrew his servo and let it fall back to his side. 

He looked around. Empty hallway. No guards. No mechs waiting behind him. Just him, and the locked door to a meeting he was asked to attend. 

His wings twitched involuntarily.

He considered knocking. Then discarded the idea immediately. They’d love that, wouldn’t they? Starscream, second-in-command, tapping politely at the door like a malfunctioning courier.

He stepped back, arms crossed.

Maybe if he waited, someone would come open it. Maybe they forgot to update his clearance. Maybe it was a test. Or maybe, probably, they just didn’t care. Starscream was a flier after all, designed to attack and kill. He leaned against the cold wall beside the door and stared at the floor. This city never slept, but right now, Starscream wished he was anywhere but here, recharging. 

The door hissed open with a subtle hum, startling Starscream just enough to make his wings twitch again. Light spilled into the corridor from the chamber beyond, and a silhouette stepped into view.

It was Micronus Prime.

“Oh, there you are,” Micronus said, sounding almost relieved. “What took you so long?”

Starscream blinked, “I was denied access.”

Micronus looked at the red sensor light, then frowned slightly. “Seriously? I told them to update your access.” He tapped the panel casually, and it turned green with an obliging ping. “There. Bureaucracy at its finest.”

Starscream didn’t move at first, frozen in stunned disbelief, even as Micronus himself pushed him into the chamber. Before he could find his voice, Zeta Prime’s rang out from within, sharp, commanding, and unmistakable.

“Micronus. What is he doing here?”

Starscream didn’t flinch, but his wings stiffened.

Micronus didn’t even turn around. “I invited him.”

A beat of silence.

“You what?” Zeta’s tone was flat, but no less pointed. “This is a closed meeting.”

“Yes, and we’re discussing the upcoming training modules with the Vosians,” Micronus replied smoothly, now stepping back into the chamber and motioning for Starscream to follow. “Which, if I’m not mistaken, is on the meeting planner. Unless you want us all to keep improvising disaster-response drills based on secondhand reports from who knows who.”

He gave Starscream a reassuring glance. “Besides, I thought it was fair to give him a heads-up about what’s going to happen in here. Since you didn’t.”

Zeta made a sound that wasn’t quite a sigh and wasn’t quite a growl. Somewhere between frustration and barely-suppressed disdain.

Starscream stepped inside cautiously, optics adjusting to the brighter light. The chamber was large and oval-shaped, centered around a long, sleek table that gleamed like it had never seen dust. Tiered walls stretched upward around the room, lined with panels, datafeeds, and polished stone, all far too clean to feel natural.

At the very back of the table sat Zeta Prime, in the center of the end of the table, exactly where one would expect a mech obsessed with control to position himself. Flanking him on either side were Alpha Trion and Megatronus, one the keeper of ancient wisdom, the other a walking weapon with a temper.

To Megatronus’s right, the rest of the Primes extended in a tight arc: Alchemist Prime, calm as ever, then Amalgamous, shifting in his seat already. Onyx sat still and unreadable, followed by Liege Maximo looking far too amused by everything. Then Micronus Prime, who was just settling back into place after opening the door. At the far end of that side sat two silent figures: one purple one eyed faceless mech, and the mech that rushed into the orientation today. 

On the opposite arc, starting from Alpha Trion’s left, sat Prima, radiant, overly composed, then Solus, quiet and focused. Beside her was Quintus Prime, too distracted by a glowing datapad to look up, followed by Vector Prime, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. At the far end of that side, Nexus Prime leaned back with a sort of resigned patience, helm resting lightly against one servo.

The only unoccupied seat was the one beside Nexus. So that’s where Starscream went, silently, carefully, trying not to distract anyone. It was one of the few spots left, far from Zeta’s scrutiny but still too close to every Prime in the room for his liking. It was surprising that the space here was still so limited, especially considering how massive most of the Primes were. Now, on top of trying to follow the meeting, Starscream had to constantly monitor his posture to avoid accidentally brushing Nexus Prime with the tips of his wings. One wrong shift, one careless twitch, and he’d be committing the High Guard equivalent of stepping on royalty’s face. 

Starscream quickly lowered himself into the tight seat and immediately noticed a golden datapack resting neatly on the table, no doubt placed there earlier by Micronus Prime. 

Micronus moved back to his place but kept his tone calm. “He’s second-in-command of the fliers. If you want this training module to work, then he should be here.”

Zeta didn’t answer right away. He stared at Starscream for a moment, like he was trying to decide whether to acknowledge him or just ignore him into nonexistence.

“Fine.” Zeta sighed and then continued. 

Starscream exhaled quietly, the weight of exhaustion pressing down harder than ever. 

Zeta locked his optics onto the datapack and started “Ok so lets see what we have for today…”

—Back to the meeting—

“Let’s all just calm down and continue on,” Alchemist Prime interjected, trying to smooth things over. It came naturally to him, his voice was soothing, almost melodic, and his calm, composed features made it hard to argue with him. Even the most volatile mechs tended to cool off when he spoke. 

“A joke or not,” Maximo shot back, “I’m not about to get deactivated while being tortured with your mumbling”.

A heavy silence settled over the room. Not the kind that invited peace, but the kind that cracked with unspoken tension, tight, brittle, and waiting to snap. No one moved. A few glances were exchanged, but no one dared break it. Amalgamous Prime on the other hand was one of the most relaxed ones at the table, like he was about to watch a movie and waited for this conversation to erupt into a war within. 

“About tomorrow’s training module, do you have any suggestions, Star—” Megatronus Prime began, clearly trying to steer the conversation forward, but he was cut off by Maximo’s dry laugh.

“Oh, we’re really pretending things are normal now?” Maximo interrupted, optics still locked on Zeta. “After what happened last time, you’re just gonna… You know what. Fine.” He stood, scoffing under his breath. “Maybe throw in a module on how to survive boredom without leaking energon.”

Without waiting for a response, Liege Maximo pushed his chair back and turned toward the door.

“Liege Maximo, I was not done,” Zeta said sharply.

“You never are,” Maximo muttered, not looking back. The door slid shut behind him with a muted hiss.

Another heavy silence followed – thicker than the last, almost suffocating. No one moved. Zeta’s servo twitched, barely.

“Meeting dismissed,” he said at last, voice like ice.

For a moment, no one moved. Optics flicked across the table, brief glances, silent exchanges, likely comms being fired off behind expressionless faces. No one said a word, but it was clear conversations were happening elsewhere, away from open ears.

Micronus Prime was the first to stand.

That small motion seemed to break the tension, giving the others just enough excuse to move. Chairs scraped lightly against the floor. Alchemist rose next, then Amalgamous and Vector. One by one, the Primes filed out, some quick to leave, others slower, deliberate. Not a single word passed between them.

Starscream stood the moment the two mechs in front of him rose, matching their pace without drawing attention. He grabbed the golden datapack from the table, still warm from the meeting room’s ambient energy, and turned without a word.

Behind him, only four remained: Alpha Trion, Prima Prime, Zeta Prime, and Megatronus. The Big 4 of the Primes. The ones who never left early, because the real discussions always began after the others were gone.

Starscream didn’t look back, he wanted to get out of here as fast as possible. 

The moment Starscream stepped out of the chamber, confusion hit him. It was his first day here, and he had no idea where to go to find his dorm. With a frustrated sigh, he pulled up the updated map and tried to locate the dorms, waiting for the familiar pale blue line to reappear and guide him back.

Behind him, the remaining Primes had broken into scattered conversation. He caught fragments as they walked away:

“If he disappears, we won’t find him until he decides to show himself.”
“Yeah, thanks for the obvious info, Solus.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Maybe we should just head back and recharge, prep for tomorrow. Prima will deal with this.”

Starscream could care less. But drama among the Primes? That, he’d gladly stay up for. He walked slowly, trying to catch more of the conversation, until he heard footsteps behind him.

“Starscream, wait!”

It was Micronus Prime, catching up.

Starscream turned, ready to respond with something formal, but Micronus cutted him off. 

“I’m sorry about what just happened,” he said. “It should’ve been more civil. And Zeta… he’s just on edge lately…”

Why is he explaining himself? Starscream blinked as Micornus was continuing to talk. For Primus’ sake, he’s a Prime. What is going on here?

Nothing made sense. Primes acting like ordinary mechs, treating him like he was more than just a new recruit. A fight nearly broke out between the Primes a few clicks ago, and now this? Not that Starscream is complaining, this was much better than the Zeta torture protocol called mumbling for a joor. 

He realized he hadn’t been paying attention until Micronus added, “So, yeah… sorry to put you through that. The next meeting should be better. Less mumbling. Less politics.”

Starscream just blinked, staring at Micronus Prime. The Prime looked uneasy, like he was waiting for a response, worried, even. Guilt was written across his face. Starscream had no idea what to say. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to respond at all.

“Um… right, that did happen. It’s fine.” The moment the words came out of his mouth he turned and started to follow the pale blue line that was activated before the conversation between Micronus. Micronus didn’t follow. That was good. The last thing that he wanted right now is another awkward conversation with a Prime. 

The whole meeting felt like a fever dream, unreal, disjointed. The Primes were supposed to be composed, authoritative, the pillars of order. Not whatever that was. Not arguments, half-jokes, and whatever that chaos had been. Nothing about today made sense.

Before he realized it, Starscream was already standing in front of the dormitory door. He lifted his wrist to the scanner, and the panel blinked green. The door hissed open quietly.

Inside, the lights were dimmed. It seems that everyone was recharging. Which is even better. He had no interest in talking about the meeting, it felt staged, artificial, like someone’s idea of drama rather than leadership.

“How was it?” a voice murmured from the shadows.

Starscream jumped. His optics caught the soft blue glow of the optics from the lower bunk — Thundercracker.

“For Primus’ sake, Thundercracker, you need to stop doing that.”

Thundercracker scoffed. “Maybe don’t walk in like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The tension eased instantly as Starscream made his way to his berth. As expected, Skywarp’s wingtip draped lazily over the edge, hanging down like an uninvited shadow. Starscream carefully shifted the wingtip aside and settled down onto the berth. He didn’t mind the intrusion, Skywarp’s wings were longer than most fliers’, and besides, the extra shade it cast from the faint light outside was oddly comforting. 

“So how was it?” Thundercracker broke the silence again. 

“The meeting?” Starscream gave a huge sigh and continued with “The weirdest thing I’ve ever attended.”

“Great” Thundercracker muttered, while sitting up to see Starscream well enough to continue the conversation “Sounds like it's going to be your daily routine then.”

Starscream left out a low, humorless laugh “Don’t remind me.”

There was a pause in the room, just the hum of quiet systems and the low ambient buzz of Iacon outside. The city actually doesn’t sleep, which is annoying. 

“So what happened?” Thundercracker finally asked, the look on his face was like he was about to hear the drama of the vorn. 

Starscream glanced at Thundercracker, knowing full well he wouldn’t be left alone to recharge until he said something.

“They argued,” he started, voice low. “Felt like a war was about to break out. Maximo walked out halfway through, Zeta nearly had a system crash… and then Micronus…” He paused, sitting up without disturbing Skywarp’s wing hanging above. He looked directly at Thundercracker. “Micronus apologized to me. For how it all went.”

He said it like it was something forbidden — something no one was supposed to say out loud.

Thundercracker froze. Then scoffed quietly. “Apologized? A Prime?”

“Yep.”

Thundercracker gave him a skeptical look. “Starscream… are you sure you didn’t hit your helm on the way to the meeting? Or last night?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m actually in stasis back at VACA and all of this is just a fever dream,” Starscream muttered. Then he added, “I got denied access at the door. Had to wait in the hallway like some lost newbie who wandered into the headquarters. Micronus had to manually let me in.”

Thundercracker let out a long breath. “Well, sounds like you’re getting the full welcome package. Courtesy of the Primes.”

Starscream’s wings twitched, not out of irritation, but unease.

“I don’t get it,” he admitted while laying back on the berth. “None of it makes sense. They’re unstable. Distracted. Half of them don’t even seem like they want to be there. The rest are too busy throwing jabs at each other to focus on the actual war.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

Silence settled in again, heavy but calm. 

“Maybe it's all for show, some calculated performance perhaps?” Thundercracker speculated. 

Starscream considered it, “No. It felt too chaotic. Too real. If it was a performance, it was the worst one I’ve ever seen.”

Thundercracker snorted. “Primus help us.”

Starscream leaned back against the wall, optics fixed on the shape of Skywarp’s wing hanging from the bunk above. It dipped just low enough to block the view of the lockers across the room — an accidental curtain of blackout plating. He didn’t mind. It made the berth feel more enclosed. Safer. Like maybe the rest of Iacon could stay out there, beyond the draped wingtip.

He didn’t know what to think anymore. The whole meeting had felt like the Primes thought some half-baked training module and a golden datapack could solve the war. Like that was all it would take to clean up centuries of damage. They didn't seem to understand the scale of what they were dealing with, or worse, they understood it and just didn't want to admit they were out of their depth.

And that meant one thing: from now on, every mission could spiral. Every decision from those command rooms might cost lives. The kind of risk they never trained for at VACA. Starscream tried to push the thought aside, but it stayed there, cold and heavy in his spark.

The quiet stretched around him, the low hum of the dorm’s ventilation system filling the silence. Iacon, for all its gleaming metal and engineered precision, somehow felt peaceful tonight. Or maybe it was just this room. Small, warm, familiar. And he hoped, deeply, sincerely, that it would stay that way for at least one night.

Then came a thud at the dormitory door.

Starscream turned his helm toward the sound as the door hissed open, light spilling into the room. A silhouette leaned casually against the frame, one servo on her hip.

“Well, well,” came a smug and familiar voice. “If it isn’t VACA’s most eligible traitor.”

Starscream groaned. “Slipstream. Why are you awake?”

Slipstream walked in as the door slid shut behind her, “I walked around, wanted to see what places I am not supposed to go to and stuff. So spill it. How was it?” She said with a grin. 

Thundercracker chuckled from the lower bunk. “He says it was the weirdest thing he’s ever attended.”

“Oh, fantastic,” Slipstream beamed, tossing herself dramatically onto the top bunk across from Skywarp’s. “So we’re officially working for unstable warlords now. Did they wear cloaks? Anyone chant ancient prophecies?”

Starscream laid down and . “Zeta mumbled for a full joor. Maximo walked out. I got locked out. Micronus apologized. And I’m ninety percent sure Vector Prime was asleep with his optics open.”

Slipstream blinked. “Huh.”

She flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “Starscream goes to one meeting and breaks the Primes. That has to be a record.”

“Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised,” Thundercracker said, smirking. “He has that effect.”

Starscream groaned again, louder this time, and yanked the pillow over his face. “Can we not do this tonight?”

“Oh, come on,” Slipstream said, peeking over the edge of her bunk rail. “It’s tradition now. You get promoted, we roast you. It’s the law.”

“What law?”

“Cybertronian Basic Snark Code, subsection one: never let your teammates develop egos larger than their wingspan.”

Starscream didn’t answer.

Thundercracker’s voice softened. “Seriously though, congrats.”

Starscream slightly shifted the pillow, but not entirely “On what? Just sitting there?”

“Yeah duh,” Slipstream said, propping her chin on her servo. “You survived your first Prime meeting. That’s a win.”

“And you didn’t throw anything,” Thundercracker added. “We had a bet going.”

Starscream confused, “You what?”

Slipstream held up her servo. “I gave you five clicks before you exploded. I lost.”

“Skywarp in on this?”

Thundercracker snorted. “Obviously, it was his idea. He bet you’d punch Zeta.”

Starscream sighed, wings twitching against the berth’s edge. “You were hoping I’d punch Zeta.”

“We really were,” Slipstream confirmed, folding her arms behind her head.

Starscream didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze drifted up to Skywarp’s wingtip again. It hadn’t moved since he got in. He tilted his head slightly and squinted.

“Wait… Is he?” Starscream shifted carefully, rising just enough to get a better look. Sure enough, the faint, steady rise and fall of Skywarp’s vents could be seen just above him. His optics were dim, his frame slack with recharge.

Starscream blinked. “He’s out cold.”

“Recharge mode initiated,” Thundercracker said with a mock ceremony. “Please do not disturb the chaos.”

“What is that on his face?” Starscream slightly pointed before getting back into his berth quietly to not wake Skywarp up.

Slipstream said confidently “Just a mustache, it will wash off.” then after a click she continued “At least i hope it does.”

Thundercracker, confused as always, said “What do you mean?”

“Well, I just took what I had, and hoped it washes off” Slipstream lazily said. 

Starscream raised a brow. “Hopefully?”

She gestured vaguely, barely looked at Starscream and just said “He will get over it, it's not gonna be the end of the world.”

“It wouldn’t be for us, you better beg Primus that it washes off, or you. Are. Done.” Starscream noted. 

All three of them snorted at that.

Thundercracker let out a small laugh, Slipstream was just staring at the ceiling, and Starscream cracked out a real tired grin. 

The humor settled into something calmer after that. Softer.

No more teasing. No more talk of Primes or datapacks or impossible orders. Just the quiet comfort of old teammates and dimmed lights.

Starscream let himself exhale, wings finally relaxing as he leaned fully back. His vents slowed. His helm tilted to the side, Skywarp’s wingtip still casting a soft shadow over his optics.

“Go to recharge,” he murmured. “Training starts at dawn.”

“Why would we have training the next morning after we get here?” Slipstream groaned dramatically. 

“Take it up with Megatronus.”

“Ugh,” she flopped again. “I liked him better when he was mysterious and not my drill sergeant.”

Thundercracker chuckled. “Welcome to the High Guard, boss.”

Slipstream didn’t answer, and Starscream has blocked every audial processor, he didn’t want to listen to them argue. He simply closed his optics and let the silence wrap around him.

And as the room faded into stillness, just beyond the low buzz of city noise and vent systems, Starscream finally fell into recharge somewhat on time for the first time in the last Stellar cycle. 

Chapter Text

·Part 1·The ones nurtured by the illusion of choice, will be the first ones to doubt the real one.

Rise and shine. First training cycle. It felt like a fever dream, and somehow, also completely normal.

Getting up before dawn, forcing systems online whether they cooperated or not. Back in Vos, that meant stumbling out of a recharge berth, running diagnostics while brushing off the static, and showing up for whatever counted as preparation that day. The only real difference now was that they'd be training under the Primes, or at least whatever training module the Primes had deemed necessary. Either way, they were expected to show up.

Starscream was the first one awake. His recharge cycles had always been irregular, borderline unhealthy, but consistent. He lay on his berth staring at nothing. Yesterday’s meeting was a disaster. Maybe that was good. Maybe it meant he'd get to leave. Zeta was on edge; even the other Primes seemed wary. One mistake, just one, and maybe they'd deploy him somewhere. That was all it would take. Or even better, just underperformance would change the outcome, it was a perfect scenario. 

He considered it. He could bomb the training on purpose. Maybe sneak some high-grade, break a few rules, get caught by Zeta himself. That’d be poetic. Effective, too. That actually sounded like a plan.

Even though groans began to echo throughout the dormitory dorm from the other seekers, equally miserable for the early wake up, Starscream couldn’t hear any of them. He usually turns off his audials when going into recharge intentionally, which helped him focus on the recharge rather than other voices surrounding him. His trine knew this, and didn’t really mind, every mech has it needs, especially when it comes to personal quiet space. Starscream finally got up and got to the dormitory door, about to open it, when he finally turned his audials on. 

Then came the scream.

“ITS NOT COMING OFF”

Skywarp stormed out like a missile ready to detonate, his optics blazing and his face smeared with a thick, oily black substance that clung to his plating like tar. Every step he took radiated fury, murderous, barely-contained fury. Slipstream was already cowering behind Thundercracker’s wing, the only shield she had and likely ever would. She peeked out just enough to assess the damage, optics wide trying not to laugh and being scared for her life at the same time. 

“I thought it would come off,” Slipstream said calmly, almost too calmly.

“You thought?” Skywarp snarled, his glare sharpening like a blade. The black smear across his face made him look like a half-melted war drone, and he knew it.

Thundercracker finally stepped in, “Skywarp, let’s just—pff—let’s calm down and deal with this after training. We’re gonna be late,” he said, barely holding in his laugh.

Skywarp spun on him. “Don’t expect me to show up to training looking like this!”

Slipstream peeked out from behind Thundercracker’s wing, utterly unfazed. “I think it looks great on you. Matches your plating.”

“Slipstream, you are not helping,” Thundercracker sighed.

“Not my fault he was the first one to knock out last night,” she shrugged. “Also, you lost the bet from yesterday. Pay up.”

Skywarp froze.

“Pay up?” he echoed, voice suddenly too quiet. Dangerously quiet.

Everyone in the dorm knew Skywarp took his appearance seriously. Looking good wasn’t vanity for him, it was part of his rhythm, his performance. Confidence, speed, control. But this? This would leave the kind of first impression that stuck like rust, and if the Primes were watching today, which they probably were, he’d never hear the end of it.

A sharp knock interrupted the rising tension.

Starscream turned toward the door. “Skywarp, just deal with it,” he said, smirking. “Honestly, it suits you.”

He opened the door and immediately froze.

Standing outside was a familiar figure: a tall mech with hexagonal purple armor and a single glowing yellow optic. The same one who’d sat across from him at yesterday’s meeting, silent and unnervingly still.

“You’re Starscream?” the mech asked, voice flat and precise.

Starscream straightened instinctively. “Yes. And you are?”

“Shockwave,” he replied.

“The other second-in-command?”

“Yes. Alongside Soundwave.”

“The cassette b—”
Before Starscream could finish, something flew past his face. A finished energon block that smashed into the wall behind Shockwave. 

Slipstream bolted through the doorway, nearly knocking over Shockwave in the process. “Greetings, mechs! I’ll head out first!” she chirped, disappearing down the corridor in a blur of motion.

A second later, a flash of violet light appeared in the hallway.

“SLIPSTREAM, YOU BETTER GET BACK HERE!” Skywarp’s voice echoed violently through the headquarters, his shout rebounding off the polished golden walls like thunder in a cathedral.

Shockwave blinked once. He looked at Starscream.

Starscream didn’t say anything for a moment. He just stared ahead, face neutral.

Primus, what an introduction. Not exactly intimidating... but certainly memorable.

Thundercracker emerged from the dorm a few seconds later, walking with all the calm of someone who’d seen this a hundred times before. “They do this every morning,” he muttered, passing by Shockwave like none of this was strange at all.

“Yes, the cassette bot,” Shockwave turned slightly back to Starscream, “You will lead in 10 cycles, at the first mission. I was sent to tell you that before the next meeting with the Primes we will need to meet to come up with an attack strategy. For the fliers”.

Starscream ex-vented slowly. “Of course.”

Shockwave gave the slightest nod, “We will have a meeting in 4 joors, after your training” then turned and began walking away without another word.

Starscream glanced after him, and then went to catch up to Thundercracker. 

“Well,” he said dryly, “that went well.”

Thundercracker raised an optic ridge. “It’s not even the first cycle yet.”

“Would you like to take this role?” Starscream asked with full seriousness. 

Thundercracker glanced at him, “No thank you, I value my personal space”.

Starscream groaned and kept walking alongside Thundercracker, their peds striking the golden floor panels in rhythm. Each step echoed faintly through the vast corridors of the headquarters, a quiet, metallic cadence that matched his mood perfectly.

Up ahead, Slipstream and Skywarp were at it again, voices bouncing off the polished walls like blaster fire. Bargaining, bickering, joking, like they were back in the barracks at Vos, not in a place filled with Primes. Their volume suggested they had no concept of surveillance or subtlety. Or they just didn’t care.

Starscream cared. Unfortunately.

He rubbed the side of his helm, ventilation sharp. “Do they ever shut up?”

“Not when they’re together,” Thundercracker replied evenly, optics forward. “At this point, I’d be worried if they did.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Starscream muttered. “That’d mean something exploded.”

Thundercracker gave a small hum of agreement. “Or someone.”

Slipstream’s voice rang out again up ahead, “Ten shanix says Shockwave hates your face more than the new plating of yours”

“You think I won’t throw you out of the airlock?” Skywarp growled.

Starscream sighed. “Why do we even have an airlock here?”

“For threats, obviously,” Thundercracker said dryly. “Also, probably in case of actual emergencies. But mostly the threats.”

They kept walking, the headquarters stretching endlessly in front of them, gleaming, formal, and impersonal. Everything about it felt cold, distant, and too perfect.

Walking through it felt wrong. Unnatural. Even with the high ceilings and wide corridors, it still felt closed-in. At VACA, there were no ceilings, most mechs just flew straight to the training modules. This? This was like moving through a cage.

Eventually, they reached the training chamber, one of the last ones to arrive.

“Oh, look who finally decided to show up,” Dirge called out, loud and mocking. His voice carried easily across the wide training chamber, bouncing off the metal walls. “How was the meeting, Starscream, was it?”

Starscream didn’t even glance in his direction.

He kept walking, optics forward, wings still and sharp. Like Dirge wasn’t even there. Like the entire room full of fliers and officers and sim drones didn’t matter. Thundercracker followed behind him with the same blank expression. Slipstream smirked but stayed quiet.

Skywarp, however, was twitching.

Dirge’s optics narrowed when he didn’t get a rise out of Starscream. That only made him push harder.

“Oh, come on. Too good to talk to us now? Acting like you're already a Prime’s pet. You always were a suck-up.”

Still nothing.

Starscream walked right past him like Dirge didn’t even exist. Same as he always did when dealing with Vos’s lower-tier showoffs. Not that Starscream didn’t want to beat him up, or even deactivate him, but he had more important concerns, specifically on how to underperform today. 

Dirge’s optics scanned the group as they entered the training chamber, predatory and itching for attention. When Starscream didn’t react to his earlier jab, the conehead’s sneer only deepened. He didn’t want silence, he wanted a scene. He wanted the room to remember him, not the mech who’d just brushed past him like vapor.

And Skywarp? Skywarp was perfect for that.

Dirge shifted course, moved in front of Skywarp blocking his way with an exaggerated glance at his face. “Seriously, Skywarp, what’s with the look?” he said loudly enough for nearby mechs to hear. “Trying to impress someone? Or just desperate to remind us all that your warp drive only works when you’re running on ego and fumes?”

Skywarp didn’t bite immediately, but his wing twitched. “Get out of the way.” 

Dirge leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to cut deeper than a blade. “Let me guess. Hoping some poor mech finally starts caring about you? Maybe one of the Primes?” He smirked. “You want to be next in line, right? Another Prime’s pet, just like your trine lead?”

Skywarp’s wings twitched.

Dirge didn’t stop. “At least Starscream pretends to be competent. You? You’re just noise. Loud, messy, annoying, forgettable noise.”

Skywarp didn’t respond. Not with words. He just stared into Dirge’s optics, knowing what Dirge was trying to do. 

Well, if he wanted a scene, then let there be a scene. 

Skywarp moved, he didn’t say anything, or move on, he took the hit. 

With the force of a meteor strike, Skywarp’s fist cracked against Dirge’s faceplate, sending the conehead stumbling back. Before Dirge could even process what was happening, Skywarp tackled him, wings flaring wide as both of them hit the floor with a deafening crash. Skywarp was on top of him, fists already flying. Sparks erupted as servos slammed into armor.

The room froze.

Thundercracker was the first to react. He cursed under his breath and rushed forward. Everyone knew that if Skywarp wasn’t stopped now, Dirge wouldn’t be getting back up, at least not in one piece. Skywarp’s violence wasn’t an act. It wasn’t dramatics. It was dangerous, and sometimes worryingly admired.

 “Skywarp—stop!” Thundercracker grabbed his trine-mate’s shoulder, trying to pull him off. 

Skywarp didn’t move. His optics flared a bright, unnatural violet, and when Thundercracker reached to steady him, Skywarp seized his servo, tight, unrelenting.

Thundercracker dropped to one knee, not resisting. “It’s me,” he said softly. “It’s just me.”

Skywarp didn’t respond at first. He stared at Thundercracker like he didn’t recognize him. The color in his optics glowed, wrong, it was not him? All of a sudden, Skywarp’s optics flickered and after a few blinks the violet glow dimmed, shifted, and returned to the usual stormy blue. 

Skywarp released Thundercracker’s servo and stood up without a word. He helped him to his feet, quietly, before turning and walking back toward Starscream and Slipstream with tight shoulders and clenched fists.

No one said anything. Not yet.

Skywarp fell into formation silently, like nothing had happened at all.

Thundercracker lingered for a moment before joining Starscream and Slipstream. He rubbed his servo, the one Skywarp had nearly crushed, and leaned in, voice low.

“Should we be concerned?”

Starscream didn’t even glance at him. “About what?”

He said it like Skywarp joining the brawl had been part of the plan. Which, to be fair, it usually was.

Thundercracker frowned. “Are you two blind?”

Slipstream raised a brow, unimpressed. “You mean the part where he almost deactivated Dirge? Because honestly, I’ve been rooting for that moment since like forever.”

Starscream gave a tired shrug. “Dirge had it coming.”

“No,” Thundercracker hissed, growing more unsettled. “His optics. Did neither of you see it?”

Starscream blinked. “See what?”

“They changed,” Thundercracker said, a bit louder now, his field flickering with unease.

Slipstream folded her arms. “What, like glitching from the punch? He hits the floor hard sometimes, maybe his internal calibration’s off.”

“No,” Thundercracker said firmly, his voice tightening. “They turned violet. Bright. Not a flicker. A full shift. And then just… shifted back.”

Starscream sighed. “All of this… because his optics changed colors?”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Slipstream added, rolling her optics.

Thundercracker turned on them both, frustrated. “Me? Dramatic? I’m the only one here actually concerned—unlike—”

“Wonderful. Everyone’s here.”

The voice cut through the argument like a command.

All three mechs turned.

Micronus Prime stood a few strides away, hands clasped behind his back, his tone deceptively mild. The silver plating of his frame caught the overhead lights like polished glass, but the energy field around him buzzed with quiet authority.

Behind him, a darker presence loomed, Megatronus Prime. Towering, silent, and unmistakably lethal. His frame was obsidian and crimson, built more like a weapon than a mech, each line of his armor jagged with purpose. Where Micronus shimmered, Megatronus absorbed the light around him, casting a long shadow that stretched halfway into the chamber. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His presence alone shifted the entire atmosphere from discipline to danger.

“Since all of you are here,” Micronus continued, expression unreadable, “today we’ll start with observation drills. Physical, strategic, and… behavioral.”

Starscream optics lingered on Skywarp. Skywarp was acting normal, just slightly frustrated. Wasn’t that big of a deal. 

Micronus Prime gestured toward the training chamber. “Starscream, you and your trine, you're up first.”

Time to demonstrate just how catastrophically incompetent I can be.

He stepped forward without a word, wings sharp, expression neutral, mind already calculating how to fail just enough to make it believable, and have him kicked out. 

--------

Four cycles had passed.

And things were going suspiciously well for Starscream.

Too well.

He couldn’t lie, he was enjoying it. There was something addictive about watching both the other fliers and even the Primes being fooled by his carefully crafted performance. Not that he’d expected it to work this well. He’d always assumed the VACA fliers would catch on. Some of them had flown alongside him back in Vos; Starscream did show glimpses of skill during the training sessions with the Primes, and no one seemed to notice. 

Not only was he hiding his capabilities, but he was somehow excelling at underperforming. It was practically an art form at this point.

The training had intensified. It wasn’t just Micronus and Megatronus watching over anymore. Prima, the Prima, had started showing up during their sessions too. The Warden Prime himself, ancient, quiet, and unreadable, would silently observe from the platform, arms crossed behind his back like a judge sizing up gladiators. The three of them rarely spoke during the drills, but when they did, it was always during his trine’s run. Always a few clipped phrases exchanged between Primes, always during his training rounds. Never fully audible. Never clarified. It was commed between each other, it was noticeable, the Primes didn’t exactly try to hide it.

That alone would have been enough to make most mechs paranoid.

But Starscream told himself it didn’t matter. It could just as easily mean they were disappointed with him. That was still ideal. Maybe they were planning to discharge him quietly. Or transfer him. Or remove him before he wasted more of their time.

Good. Let them think that. Let them underestimate him.

But deep down, a sliver of doubt remained. Because they weren’t ignoring him. And that made it worse. What if they will try and help, or what if they figured this whole performance out. 

Meanwhile, Skywarp wasn’t himself.

At first, it was subtle, fewer jokes, less boasting, almost no practical pranks after the incident. He still trained, but he wasn’t really present. Like he was somewhere else entirely. Starscream wouldn’t have noticed, but Thundercracker did. He’d told Starscream that Skywarp wasn’t recharging right. When he did shut down, it was fragmented, jittery. And when he was awake, there was a dull edge to him, like some processor loop was running in the background and never shutting off.

Still, something had shifted in the last cycle. Skywarp was stabilizing, slowly. He was more focused in drills, sharper during aerial simulations, and even landed a perfect vector slash during their last combat module. But he hadn’t fully returned. Not really. Something was still fractured beneath the surface, and none of them knew what had cracked it in the first place.

Between all this, Starscream’s cycles had become brutally full.

He bounced between tactical sessions with Shockwave and Soundwave, far more tolerable than anything with the Primes. At least those two understood how to deliver information without wrapping it in twenty layers of philosophical nonsense. Strategy briefings had become near-daily, and surprisingly, the plan they were constructing looked promising. Effective. A coherent response to the new threat simulations. Starscream wouldn’t say it out loud, but for once, it looked like they might not lose this time. The strategies from before had been... laughable. Some of them relied on timing windows that didn’t exist or assumed aerial mechs had cloaking modules. It was no wonder the Primes had been losing more drills than winning.

But Starscream didn’t care about their past failures. He had enough of his own to juggle.

Between strategy meetings, training, and political schmoozing, he was swamped. And then came the exam prep.

He hadn’t realized how outdated the VACA library was until he accessed the newer Prime archives. So much had changed, terminology, theory, even base data formats. If he wanted to not just pass the exam but ace it, he’d need to relearn nearly everything. It wasn’t just memorization anymore, it was correction. Overwriting years of misaligned doctrine with updated, integrated frameworks.

And that meant long nights with no recharge. Again and again.

He’d started to walk like a ghost, silent and half-present, going through the motions in a haze. At first, the exhaustion helped him maintain his underperformance. His reactions slowed. His aim dipped. He didn’t even have to fake it anymore, he was simply trying to keep up without crashing. He couldn’t remember the last time he entered recharge without collapsing mid-process.

His performance suffered. That was fine. That was ideal.

What wasn’t ideal was the public humiliation.

Dirge and his little pack of bottom-tier coneheads had started mocking him openly, turning their sneers into a regular routine. They’d mutter under their breath during drills, making jokes about how Starscream actually fragged the Negotiator to the top spot onto the VACA leaderboards. That he was just a mouthpiece for the Primes. A pretty face who knew how to smile and grovel at just the right angle.

Starscream didn’t dignify it. Not yet. That would only give them what they wanted. And it could give away that he is faking. 

But it was getting harder to ignore.

Especially during meetings.

More than once, he’d nearly shut down right there at the table, field dimming, optics flickering, helm tilting forward involuntarily. The worst part? No one called him on it. That would have been fine if the room had been filled with oblivious strategists. But these were Primes. They noticed everything. And they said nothing.

That was worse.

Shockwave had taken over most of the briefings by that point, which saved Starscream from the horror of having to present anything himself. If he’d been asked to explain their current formation loop mid-meeting, he’d have probably mumbled something about space bridges and walked into a wall. 

Still, Shockwave didn’t comment. Neither did Soundwave. Maybe they were allowing it. Or maybe they were testing something.

Starscream didn’t care.

He just needed to keep going. One more cycle. One more training session. One more chance to get out of this entire mess with his wings intact. 

--------

Micronus Prime walked briskly down the corridor, followed reluctantly by Liege Maximo, whose expression was a perfect picture of irritated elegance.

“Micronus, this better be important,” Maximo grumbled. “I was busy.”

“Busy hiding from Zeta and Alpha Trion?” Micronus replied dryly.

“Yes, believe it or not, both of them are trying to get ahold of me. It's exhausting. They're like the most annoying beings ever created.”

Micronus didn’t respond. He simply stopped in front of a tall, reinforced door, the kind that usually meant bad news or too much responsibility.

“Do you remember,” Micronus began, pressing his servo against the panel, “When Prima tried to talk to you about something important? Begged you, actually?”

Liege Maximo’s optics narrowed. “Please don’t tell me you’ve dragged me all the way here just to get lectured by Prima.”

The door slid open with a hiss.

Inside was a private meeting chamber, not just any chamber, but Prima’s personal briefing room. The walls were lined with battle banners and sealed tactical archives. The lighting was dim, yet sharp enough to illuminate the four Primes already present.

Megatronus sat at the main table, quietly reading a stack of datapads. Prima was pacing, clearly agitated, muttering to himself. Onyx Prime and Almagous sat together off to the side; Onyx seemed calm as usual, while Almagamous looked like he was enjoying the chaos just a little too much.

Prima looked up the moment they entered.

“Liege Maximo. Finally. What took you so long?”

“Can I leave?” Maximo asked flatly.

“No.”

Maximo raised an optic ridge and looked around at the other Primes, already regretting everything.

<ALMO GROUP>

MAXIMO
::What is this about?::

ALMAGAMOUS
::Oh, you’re going to LOVE it.::

“Is this about the report?” Maximo asked, pretending not to care.

Megatronus looked up briefly. “That too. But not the main concern.”

<ALMO GROUP>

MAXIMO
::Micronus. You are so dead.::

MICRONUS
::I had no idea it was going to be this.::

MAXIMO
::Of course you didn’t.::

“We need your help,” Prima said, sitting down and gesturing for Maximo to do the same.

That caught him off guard. He sat. “Be more specific.”

Prima ex-vented, clearly trying to find the right words. “Do you know who Starscream is?”

“The seeker who’s about to be demoted for his horrendous performance? And the one who’s managed to frustrate Zeta? Yes. Why?”

“Well—” Prima hesitated.

Almagamous cut in, claws flicking lazily toward the others. “These three,” he said, gesturing at Prima, Megatronus, and Micronus, “think he’s faking.”

Liege Maximo blinked… and then burst out laughing.

“Oh, Prima,” he said between fits of amusement, “I didn’t know you developed a sense of humor. That’s the best joke you’ve ever told.”

He looked at Micronus. “You too? I knew you’d fallen, but this is a new low.”

His laughter faded when he noticed the serious expressions on Prima and Megatronus’ faces.

“Oh. You’re actually serious.”

He stared, baffled. “Are you all blind?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Prima asked.

Maximo shook his head, still half-laughing. “You actually believe he’s pretending to be incompetent? Have you seen his performance?”

“That’s why we think he’s faking,” Micronus cut in.

Megatronus leaned forward, speaking more deliberately. “He’s been sneaking out late during recharge hours. He’s been sighted near the library, Alchemist Prime’s private archive wing. Alchemist himself claims he never saw him there. And then there’s his behavior. His performance at VACA was too good to have just collapsed like this. It doesn’t add up.”

Maximo looked between them, and then at Onyx, who nodded grimly.

“That was my face too when I heard it,” Onyx said.

“You’re telling me you, Megatronus Prime—strategist of the 13 Primes, battlefield legend, the greatest of all Primes—is basing this entire suspicion on reports from VACA?”

Neither Prima nor Megatronus responded.

Maximo narrowed his optics. “Have any of you actually watched his recent training sessions?”

Micronus opened his mouth to answer, but Maximo cut him off.

“Do you even know how he got those scores at VACA?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?” Prima said, clearly annoyed.

Maximo blinked slowly and glanced at the others, who were just as confused. Even Almagous, for once, didn’t know what he was talking about.

“You all seriously need your audials checked.”

“Get to the point,” Prima snapped.

“Starscream fragged whoever was in charge to get –”

“Maximo,” Megatronus said sternly.

“What? Seekers feed on drama. Coneheads are loud. Did none of you see how that particular blue conehead acts the second Starscream walks in? He humiliates him in front of everyone. His trine doesn’t even defend him. That alone should tell you everything.”

“You can’t just assume he’s not faking based on rumors,” Megatronus argued.

“And you can’t just assume he is faking based on the reports from VACA,” Maximo nearly shouted. “We all know how messed up that place is. Just because we’re stuck dealing with the Quintessons doesn’t mean the rest of the world is clean. Vos is as rotten as the cities it oversees.”

That silenced the room. Everyone knew he wasn’t wrong.

Vos. Kaon. The Functionist stranglehold. The politics they’d let fester while they focused on the larger war beyond Cybertron’s borders. None of them liked it, but they all knew they couldn’t fix it right now.

Maximo looked at each of them in turn. Then he ex-vented sharply and continued.

“I know I throw out some… unconventional ideas sometimes—”

“Oh no,” Almagous interjected. “All the time.”

“Insane, not unconventional,” Onyx added.

“Unfiltered chaos,” Micronus mumbled.

All three spoke at once.

“Shut the frag up,” Maximo muttered, waving them off. “Point is, some of those ideas actually worked. That’s why I’m here. And while you two,” he nodded at Prima and Megatronus, “are clearly trying to help the fliers with your hopeful sparks, a bit too hopeful. I’m not you.”

He stood slowly.

“I’m not going to blindly help again unless I know it's for the right thing. If Starscream’s faking, fine. But I will need something to show that, like before Zeta demotes him without a second thought.”

He turned toward the door, scanned his wrist, and opened the exit panel.

“Max wait!” Prima called.

Maximo paused in the doorway. “Yes?”

“There’s a group flight training scheduled for tomorrow. We want you there.”

Maximo raised an optic ridge. “You want me to come watch the training?”

“Yes,” Prima said simply. He knew Maximo would probably reject the idea, but maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t.

Maximo shrugged, expression unreadable. “See you tomorrow then.”

He stepped through the doorway and let the door close behind him.

Inside, the room remained still.

Had Liege Maximo just… agreed?

Megatronus blinked. “Well. At least we have that.”

--------

The walk back from training was dead silent.

Slipstream didn’t want to speak. She didn’t even want to look at Starscream. Thundercracker’s wings were tight with rage, stiff and trembling. Skywarp, disturbingly, hadn’t said a word since they left the range.

Starscream kept his optics down, posture tense, focused only on getting back to the dorm. His mind was spiraling, command protocols, daily briefings with Prime, secondary commander meetings, that damn IRS entrance exam looming on his schedule like a time bomb. He wasn’t even guaranteed a slot yet. Not until he passed preliminary clearance.

The moment they stepped inside the dorm, Starscream made a direct line for the corner table, collecting a stack of datapads, both blue and golden ones. He didn’t get halfway through organizing them before the door hissed shut behind them and—

“STARSCREAM, WHAT WAS THAT?” Thundercracker roared.

Starscream flinched, nearly dropping the datapads. A few clattered to the floor anyway.

“Can you lower the volume” he snapped, bending down to retrieve the scattered files.

“Lower the volume? You almost got yourself deactivated, and you want me to keep my voice down?!”

“I miscalculated the drone’s field range by four units, that’s all—”

“FOUR units?” Slipstream cut in sharply. “You call that a small miscalculation? Do you even realize how close that thing came to rupturing your spark chamber? Were you even online out there?”

Starscream didn’t answer. He stacked the datapads again, his movements stiff and mechanical. He was already walking toward the door when Thundercracker blocked his way, wings spread wide.

“You think we’re just letting you walk out after that?” Thundercracker growled.

“Yes. Now move.”

“If Skywarp hadn’t teleported you out, you’d be scrap right now,” Slipstream snapped. “You disappeared into the smoke, gone. You are lucky that no one saw that, or you would’ve been at the top of the headlines by now, the best flier at VACA almost got killed by a drone.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Thundercracker barked. “You haven’t recharged properly since last time, which was 4 cycles ago. You're glitching mid-sentence. You don’t even realize you’re shutting down!”

“Do you even remember today’s second session?” Skywarp finally spoke, voice quiet but harsh. “You stood still for six whole kliks while that drone locked on. You didn’t move, Starscream. You didn’t react.”

Starscream’s optics flared. “Are all of you done?”

“Maybe,if you actually listened with your glitched processor.” Slipstream hissed.

That did it.

Starscream’s fists clenched. The frustration boiling in his core finally spilled over.

“I don’t have time for this!” he shouted. “I have three command reports, a mandatory meeting with Prime’s liaison, and the entrance exam that I need to prepare for from scrap! And I’m not missing the next round just because you three are acting like overcharged sparklets! Oh and dont forget, I am your second-in-command, fake or not, so. move. out. of. the. way.”

Silence. Heavy. Cold.

The other three stood still, optics fixed on him.

“You may be our second-in-command,” Thundercracker finally said, voice low, wings still blocking the exit. “But you’re still part of this trine.”

He sighed, exhaustion etched in his plating.

“Tomorrow might be the day you get demoted. Maybe you’ll leave, maybe you won’t. Depends on what the Primes are planning. But you don’t get to ignore us when you’re breaking down in front of our optics. We watched you almost die today, and we’re supposed to just let that slide?

“You haven’t recharged. You haven’t taken proper energon portions. You’ve been burning yourself down from the inside and calling it ‘productivity.’ That’s not how this works.

A beat.

“You were lucky Skywarp got to you in time. You were lucky no one else saw that drone catch you flat-footed.”

There was a quiet ping from the comm system.

<WITHOUT ULCHTAR>

TC
::Get him. Now.::

Starscream narrowed his optics. “I said I’m fine. Now move out of the way–”

Slipstream grabbed him from behind and yanked him backwards, fast and firm. Caught off guard, low power, poor balance, processor haze, Starscream couldn’t resist, he didn’t even realise what was happening. The datapads hit the floor again with a loud scatter.

“SLIPSTREAM—!”

Before he could break free, Skywarp teleported, reappearing right behind Thundercracker. He shoved him forward, warping all three of them, Thundercracker, Starscream, and Slipstream, into the empty space behind the recharge berths enough for the three of them to lay down at.

Starscream landed in a tangled mess of limbs and wings.

“Let me go!” he shouted, thrashing. 

“No one interrupts pile time,” Skywarp said flatly, settling down beside the rest of them.

“Funny, now get off!”

“You’re staying here,” Thundercracker said, pinning him with a servo. “You're not going back to work. You're not burning yourself out on another fragging datafile. Not tonight.”

“I have things to do—”

“And you’ll do them after you recharge,” Slipstream cut in. “After you stop scaring us half to death.”

Starscream’s frame trembled, fury and fear mingling. But he didn’t try to get up again. He couldn’t.

His power reserves were dangerously low. His internal systems were already dimming, and now that he wasn’t pushing himself to stay upright, everything hurt.

He stayed there. Trapped under the weight of two of his trinemates and Skywarp curled beside him like a smug cat. No escape, no dignity.

Just warmth. And concern. And a level of stubborn, relentless loyalty he both hated and needed.

“…Fine,” he muttered.

“We know,” Thundercracker said, optics softening.

“Tomorrow all 3 of you leave me alone,” Starscream grumbled. 

“Maybe” Skywarp answered. 

Starscream didn’t answer. But his vents finally slowed.

And one by one, the others powered down around him, forming a quiet, protective tangle of wings, armor, and static warmth.

Chapter Text

Part 2·The ones nurtured by the illusion of choice, will be the first ones to doubt the real one.

VOS : LONG AGO

It was an ordinary day, at least, by appearance. The sky stretched out in a flawless sheet of soft blue, the kind that made you forget the weight of things. The air was cool, not biting but alive, like it had plans of its own. It swept through the open spaces, curling through metal joints, wing frames, and vents, through places it rarely touched in the thick of the city. It was perfect weather for flight.

Out here, far from the gleaming core of Vos, there were still fliers. Real ones. Not the engineered couriers or patrol drones, but individuals, unregistered, untethered. These were the drifters, the dreamers, the ones without predetermined coordinates uploaded into their lives. They flew for no assigned reason. No destination. For now. 

They knew, of course, that the Functionist Order would come for them eventually. Everyone got sorted in the end. Their future roles had likely already been predicted, calculated, filed under some bureaucratic code. They would become cogs like everyone else, valued not for who they were, but for what they were made to be. Their frames. Their wingspan. Their processing speed. The potential they were permitted to have.

But not yet.

Out here, the fliers didn’t disturb anyone. They took the underground train out of the city, quietly, respectfully, riding it all the way to the outskirts where the airfields opened into nothingness. No silver towers. No surveillance drones glinting in the daylight. Only the open sky and the faint hum of distant wind turbines.

Here, the sun didn’t reflect off buildings but shone directly, raw and golden, on winged forms ready to take off. The kind of light that felt like freedom.

“Ulchtar! C’mon, we’re gonna be late!” a voice echoed from the corridor.

Ulchtar emerged from his room, adjusting his shoulder plating with exaggerated care. His newly polished wings caught the sunlight like mirrors.

“Thundercracker, please,” he said with a smirk, “I just got the new polish. Can’t rush greatness.”

Thundercracker rolled his eyes “We’re not flying a runway show, Ulchtar. The train stop is 3 groons away from here, and the last one leaves in a joor.”

“Exactly, still plenty of time.” Ulchtar said, arching his wings just a little for dramatic effect. 

Thundercracker shook his head, grumbling something under his breath, but his tone was light. Truth was, they both felt it, that pull toward the sky, toward the last slices of freedom they had before their futures were decided by cold logic.

Thundercracker shook his head and turned over to Skywarp who was half asleep and leaning on the wall. The trains usually went out early, before most of the designated fliers start going on with their own business. But for the freedom in the sky, possibly for the last few times, it was worth the hustle. 

Skywarp blinked and groaned “Ulchtar can we please go, you can look at yourself in the train you know,” then he stood up and became quiet for a click, and continued with “Also Slipstream is waiting at the station.”

Ulchtar came out “Slipstream? The loner?”

Skywarp shrugged, brushing dust off his wing with a flick. “Yeah, why?”

Thundercracker turned, blinking slowly. “You do know that it’s like… you know.”

Ulchtar crossed his arms, cocking a brow. “Socially unacceptable . ”

Skywarp looked at Ulchtar calmly, voice even. “And it’s socially unacceptable to attend IRS.”

Ulchtar stood there in silence, then shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Thundercracker clapped his hands together. “C’mon. We’ll be late for the train. Can’t have a flier waiting for us.”

They stepped out into the corridor, heading toward the transit terminal. The light in Vos’s outskirts was different at this hour, softer, almost respectful. The sky was still untouched by the city's day-cycle haze, and the air smelled faintly of cold metal and morning dew from the synthetic fields nearby.

The walk to the station was quiet, mostly. Flying here was frowned upon during the early morning cycles. Technically, it wasn’t illegal, there were no fines or violations, but culturally, it was a line you didn’t cross.

This part of Vos was designated a No-Flight Zone until midday. Not because of air traffic, but out of respect. The designated fliers, those with licenses and pre-assigned functions, were still in recharge. Their flight paths, their bodies, their lives had all been mapped out, timed to perfection. Waking them early or disturbing their rest was seen as an insult. An intrusion. An act of arrogance by the free.

So you could fly, but if you did, every glance that followed would be heavy with judgment. Not from the enforcers, but from the fliers themselves. And that was worse. They were the next in line, after all.

The path was long but familiar, metal walkways stretching between warehouse structures and empty fields, silent turbines rotating in the distance. Occasionally, they passed another group of fliers, young, half-charged, speaking in hushed voices. Everyone knew this might be the last time they got to fly like this.

Thundercracker eventually broke the silence. “So, what do you even see in her?”

“In Slipstream?” Skywarp replied, lightly kicking a stray bolt off the path. “I don’t know.”

He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the entrance to the train station. Huge silver arc with the artificial lights shining the path. Seeing all the seekers and coneheads walking into the station, some with trinemates and some just walking by themselves trying to not bother anyone. 

“She doesn’t talk much. Especially after what happened to her trinemate,” he continued. “But when she does talk? It's chaos. Not the annoying kind, the kind that keeps you alive. The kind you can actually feed off of.” He smirked. “Also, she’s way less annoying than both of you combined.”

Ulchtar snorted. “Sounds like someone’s trying to replace us.”

Skywarp shrugged. “Maybe.”

“She had a trinemate?” Thundercracker asked, frowning.

“Everyone did,” Skywarp replied flatly. “Something happened.”

“‘Something?’” Ulchtar questioned.

“I never asked,” Skywarp said. “And I don’t plan to.”

They walked in silence after that, the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled and didn’t feel awkward. 

Finally, they arrived at the underground station. Skywarp spotted Slipstream and immediately walked over to her. The moment their optics met, that familiar spark of chaos ignited between them. That’s just how they were, volatile, unpredictable, impossible to control. 

Ulchtar and Thundercracker slowed their pace, keeping a distance. Skywarp accepting the loner didn’t mean the rest of the trine did. 

While they chatted, Ulchtar and Thundercracker stood near the platform edge, talking about the VACA application deadline. The time spent outside the city wasn’t just for leisure, it was for building a competitive portfolio. Everyone applying to VACA needed an edge, and time was running out.

Then, a flier approached them, sleek, constructed, with sharp white-and-black plating and ruby red optics.

“You’re Ulchtar, right?” the flier asked.

Ulchtar blinked. Why would a constructed mech know me?

“Yes, what do you want?”

The flier smiled, voice unnervingly smooth. “Great. I’m Negotiator. You may want my help”

“And why’s that?” Ulchtar stepped forward, staying calm, not confrontational.

Negotiator’s smile widened, artificial and flawless. “Because I can help you get into IRS.”

Ulchtar froze. How did he know that?

He glanced back at Thundercracker, who had clearly heard the whole thing and looked just as stunned.

TC
::Don’t look at me like that::

Ulchtar turned back to Negotiator, just when Ulchtar wanted to speak the mech raised his servo.

“The train leaves in two groons,” Negotiator said coolly. “So do you want to ask how I found out, or do you want to hear the actual offer?”

Ulchtar looked at the time, then back at him. Something about this mech was off. He couldn’t explain it. But his curiosity was stronger than his suspicion.

Ulchtar ex-vented quietly, “Let’s talk then.”

Negotiator nodded, gesturing toward the side of the platform, away from the others, away from curious optics.

ULCHTAR
::Go and make sure Skywarp doesn’t blow anything up::

Ulchtar sent the comm to Thundercracker which left him confused but he complied anyway, he was too tired for this. 

The edge of the platform wasn’t dangerous. Even a fall wouldn’t be fatal. But the air felt heavier here, like the conversation about to happen could change things.

Ulchtar broke the silence first. “So what’s the offer?”

Negotiator chuckled. “Straight to business. I always liked that about seekers – efficient.”

Ulchtar didn’t laugh.

“Fine. Here it is,” Negotiator said, pulling out a glowing light-blue datapad. “I’m the new head of VACA. I can give you a direct recommendation to IRS entrance exam.”

He held the datapad out, letting Ulchtar see it. The credentials were real. Everything was filled in except for the participant designation. 

“And to get it,” Negotiator said, yanking the datapad back before Ulchtar could grab it, “you need to attend VACA and finish at the top of the leaderboard for every evaluation day. Eight vorns. Standard training time.”

Ulchtar blinked. Leaderboards? Evaluation days? What did any of that even mean? What about his trine? All three of them were applying to VACA, for the same program in fact. It was common for the trine to split up at this stage. 

He glanced over Negotiator’s shoulder. Skywarp and Slipstream were still talking, she looked nervous. Thundercracker hovered nearby, clearly watching both of them.

Negotiator saw the hesitation.

“Relax. If you accept, your trine gets in too. I can’t guarantee anything about the purple-and-green one though.”

“She’s not part of our trine,” Ulchtar said flatly.

“For now,” Negotiator replied. “One of you is already letting her in.”

Ulchtar’s wings twitched. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course,” Negotiator said cheerfully, pulling out a bricky comm device and handing it over. “Here. You’ve got three cycles. When you’re ready, comm me, and we’ll go over the full deal.”

Ulchtar accepted the comm, plugging it into his wrist port. The name “NEGOTIATOR” flashed on his HUD.

“Nice talking to you, Ulchtar,” the mech said with a smirk, then turned and walked away, heading up toward the surface without looking back.

Ulchtar stood at the edge of the platform, comm still buzzing lightly in his palm. Confused. Silent. And now, all he could think about was the offer. 

They will not know what was discussed. Until I figure it out. By myself. 

Ulchtar walked up to the 3 of the fliers, “So are we getting on or missing the train?”

IACON : TODAY

Starscream woke up. 

His optics flickered online slowly, seeing the sunlight flickering from the Iacon buildings into the dormitory. The golden warm light, that looked dry and dirty. Starscream laid in the middle of the pile, he couldn’t get up without disturbing the others, and there was one more joor before the alarm would go off. So he just laid there staring at the ceiling. 

This will be one of the only times where he has the quiet to himself. Seeing the light slowly moving across the ceiling, light would never stop anyone from leaving, it attracts everyone, even the most annoying insects, and yet for Starscream, it looks like a cage that he can’t leave. 

If before the deal was made with the Negotiator he didn’t care about the trine entirely, after the deal was official the relationship became different, more complicated. Negotiator threatening with their academics, even their sparks. Do they know? Of course not, some secrets should just be buried deep underground. 

Starscream was thinking about the start of the deal. Thinking if he had made a mistake, what if he never accepted it? What if he didn’t comply and actually threatened Negotiator? Negotiator is in fact constructed, no matter how good his combat skills are, they will still be worse off than any seeker around. What if . Always the if. Starscream knows he can’t change anything for the better, not anymore, but his thinking would always lead to one single question:

What if I have never touched science and complied with societal norms? 

“Ugh… why is the training always this early” Skywarp groaned with his optics closed. 

“Do the Primes even recharge?” Slipstream mumbled. “I’m serious, how much energon do they consume to stay up all the time?”

“Can the 2 of you get off me?” Starscream said while shoving Slipstream’s wing off himself.

Starscream got up, A few clicks later, Thundercracker stirred, got to his feet, and walked over.

“So what’s the plan for today?” he asked. 

Starscream didn’t even look at him, “As usual. You all act like nothing’s going on. Like you barely know me.”

Thundercracker said through yawning “Great plan.”

The dormitory went into chaos afterwards. Skywarp’s stuff being taken by Slipstream, Thundercracker trying to squeeze in between the chaos without it touching him, and Starscream waiting at the dormitory door checking his comms. 

Thundercracker walked up to the door while eating an energon block, “Anything new?”

“If you mean anything but ‘Having another meeting with Shockwave and Soundwave to check the already perfect plan of attack’, then no.” Starscream said sarcastically. 

Thundercracker looked at him confused. “You do know we have two training sessions today, right?”

Starscream froze. “What?”

“Yeah,” Thundercracker repeated, a little slower. “Two. Training. Sessions. Double rotation.”

Starscream stared at him, stunned. “That’s not possible. Today’s supposed to be a light cycle.”

Behind them, Skywarp burst out laughing. “No way, did you seriously miss the message?”

Starscream’s optics narrowed. He turned toward him sharply. “What message?”

“First is flight training,” she said, tossing the gauntlet at Skywarp. “Then ground combat right after. The ones that burn out your stabilizers if you don’t pace right.”

“Perfect, this is just what I wanted.” Starscream muttered as he opened the door and went out. 

The walk buzzed with energy. All four of them were joking, nudging, tossing half-hearted insults like it was sport. For a moment, it felt like the early days at VACA again, before the pressure, before the evaluations and expectations. Back when training was simple. Just learning protocol, adjusting to routine, figuring out how to move as a unit. It almost felt like that again, until they stepped into the training room.

Surprisingly, Megatronus, Prima, and Micronus were already there. Early.They were usually the last to arrive, always walking in right on time, never a klik too soon. But now they stood near the control panels, still and watchful. Not tense but uneasy. Like they were waiting for something to show up or someone. 

<THE №1 Trine>

 SLIPSTREAM
::Someone’s early::

SKYWARP
::Wonder why::

STARSCREAM
::It’s the fifth cycle out of the ten. Probably just a mid-point checkup.::

They walked right past the Primes without pausing, Starscream especially keeping his optics down. He didn’t want to risk eye contact. That strange weight in the room, whatever it was, felt connected to him, somehow. And not in a good way. He could feel it crawling under his plating: that sensation of being watched.

“I still don’t understand why you would schedule training this early,” a familiar voice rang out, casual, amused.

Leige Maximo.

Starscream turned his helm slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse. The only Prime with optic shades different from the usual polished baby-blue. His were a washed-out silver-blue, dulled, yet piercing. That alone set him apart from Prima. That and the tone he always used when he showed up.

Prima looked visibly caught off guard. “You actually came,” he said, half under his breath.

Starscream didn’t wait to hear the rest.

He tapped Skywarp’s arm. “So… flight training now?”

“Yeah,” Skywarp replied, already stretching his arms and rotors. “Same drill as VACA. In groups then one by one. Nothing too wild.”

Then training began. Usually Starscream’s trine were the first to perform, since Starscream is the second-in-command and had to leave mid-session for command briefings. But this session was different, when the list was sent to every flier, it was clear that Starscream’s trine will perform last. 

<THE №1 Trine>

SLIPSTREAM
::Great, now we need to wait to even start training::

SKYWARP
::I wanted to leave early::

TC
::I say this is discrimination::

STARSCREAM
::Well at least we get to watch Dirge fail::

The Primes were not instructors for the fliers, it was VACA’s job to teach the bare minimum. They were measuring style, tactics, aerial control, and strike accuracy. Every movement was being recorded, dissected, and graded. Which is why they never spoke out loud either, they communicated via the comms, it wasn’t obvious until they started exchanging optics, specifically towards Liege Maximo who clearly was not only not interested in other fliers, but also making sure to cause some chaos between the 4 of them. 

Liege Maximo just stood beside the wall flickering his digits. 

<TRAINING COMM-LINK ENCRYPTED>

MAXIMO
::did you put starscream last on purpose?::

PRIMA
::Would you please stop talking::

MAXIMO
::and why should I::

MICRONUS
::cause Zeta actually need these reports, and i dont want to be lectured first thing in the meeting tonight::

MAXIMO
::that sounds like a you problem?::

MEGATRONUS
::Maximo, please we are trying to focus::

MAXIMO
::and i came here to see if starscream is faking::

Prima turned his helm, only the faintest creak of tension as he looked over his shoulder. Maximo wasn’t even watching the fliers, he was staring at the ceiling like he was being slowly dismantled by boredom. His digits flicked again, lazily this time, almost mockingly.

<TRAINING COMM-LINK ENCRYPTED>

PRIMA
::Maybe you should watch what ‘not faking’ looks like?::

There was a moment, a rare one, when even Liege Maximo seemed to pause. His flickering digits went still. He turned his optics toward Prima, and something cold shifted behind him. It wasn’t anger exactly, more like calculation wrapped in disdain, tempered with the vague promise of violence. Sometimes, it wasn’t what Prima said. It was the vibe. A chill, unspoken warning that radiated off him like static from a storm saying “another word and I’ll kill you”. 

Maximo held his stare for a few seconds longer than necessary. Then he looked away.

MAXIMO
::fine fine, ill shut up::

As soon as Maximo actually started to watch, it was Starscream and his trine turn to perform. 

The room, previously humming with chatter and a low whine of fliers who didn’t recharge the night before, went completely silent. Even the fliers who had just completed their run and were still catching their breath up went silent. Everyone waited for them to go, since the star of the rumours going around is up. This is one of the best trines around, well at least without a certain someone. 

Slipstream cracked her wings, which gave a silent pop sound, and muttered under her breath. 

“Finally.”

Skywarp then bumped into her saying, “Let’s give them a show”

Thundercracker on the other hand, had his optics focused on Starscream for half a click longer than usual. Starscream noticed, but he didn’t really care at that point, his only objective was to prove the Primes that he is incompetent. 

<THE №1 Trine>

STARSCREAM
::go as usual, ill be behind by a unit::

SKYWARP
::dont fall asleep this time::

STARSCREAM
::very funny::

And so they launched. Skywarp opened fast, even without his wrapping abilities, he was one of the fast fliers around, he also didn’t want the Primes to know about his ability so he could relax on the missions. Then Slipstream weaved into formation behind him with speed and sharp pivots that cut through the air like surgical strikes. Thundercracker was a wall of control, a back up for the formation that was previously discussed, the one where there was no need for a fourth flier to be around, the one that Starscream himself planned out.

As for Starscream, he was sloppy, as usual. Off-timed. Wingspan uneven, Delays in response. Late strikes. His performance wasn’t horrible, he made sure he had done something up to standards, just slightly better than absolutely horrible. 

<TRAINING COMM-LINK ENCRYPTED>

MAXIMO
::you asked me, to come here at dawn, giving up my recharge time, to watch this and think he is not faking?::

No response. No, they were not responding. Maximo looked at all 3 of them, while Megatronus and Micronus just looked straight, even having some sort or remorse for dragging Maximo here, Prima on the other hand still watched Starscream, trying to find a glimpse of proof that he is faking, a glimpse of something that will show that this sort of faking is planned, and you need to have skill to achieve this kind performance. 

Unfortunately, their training ended, and the silence filled the room. Prima looked down at the data pad that he was holding, full of Starscream’s score, and just commed:

<TRAINING COMM-LINK ENCRYPTED>

PRIMA
::I apologise for dragging you here in the morning, you can leave if you want::

He then closed off his comms and just stood there. Megatronus and Micornus were trying to get a hold of him but couldn’t and knew that it was not the time, and Liege Maximo commed a “bye” and was about to leave, suddenly there was a voice from one of the fliers. 

“I never thought I’ll see you fall Starscream”, Dirge stood out of the crowd watching Starscream and his trine leave. 

Starscream didn’t care, it’s not the first time Dirge was trying to get the spotlight by using him, so he moved on. 

Dirge shrugged and continued, “But your trine had drastically improved.”

Starscream stopped. He turned his helm slightly to see what Dirge will say next, to which he heard, “Did they learn that from you too?”

Then he pushed further, “Learned from you on how to frag the mech in charge to–”

Before Dirge could finish his insult his mouth met Starscream’s fist. Dirge stumbled over his pedes, and then just a blur of red and grey as he launched forward and drove his fist into Dirge’s faceplate again, sending the other flier crashing back with the unmistakable crack of metal-on-metal.

Megatronus wanted to stop the fight, but Liege Maximo stopped him from doing that, he wasn;t watching with amusement like most fliers, he was actually watching and analysing the situation. 

Dirge was shocked, Starscream never physically fought back, only verbally. He tried his best to fight back, but Starscream dodged every swing like he’d mapped Dirge’s moves a billion times in his mind. Every missed blow left and opening, and Starscream took each one, efficient, brutal, practiced. 

Then Starscream’s heel thrusters engaged, dragging Dirge off the ground and launching him mid-air. Before Dirge could realise, Starscream met him again, a flurry of strikes to the chest, abdomen, a kick to the side that sent his stabilizers spiraling. Dirge managed to hit his left wing, leaving a small dent, Starscream flinched but then retaliated. 

Hands locked onto Dirge’s wings, one grab and a violent twist, then another towards another direction. The wings weren’t torn off, they were dislocated, which was worse. Much worse. Dirge screamed, crashing back into the ground like a loose bolt from failing from orbit. He barely had time to register the pain before Starscrema landed beside him, aim already set. The blaster pointed directly at Dirge’s helm. 

A purple light appeared. Then there was smoke. The shot was fired. 

Dirge opened his optics in fear, hearing the drizzling of the shot beside him and the heat that was coming off the ground besides his helm. 

Starscream leaned in, close enough that no one could hear except for Dirge.

“Next time,” he said, voice cold, flat, final, “It’ll be your helm”

Then Starscream straightened up, optics sweeping across the silent crowd of fliers. No one was laughing or gossiping, no one dared to say a word in this situation. He extended his wings, even when he was in pain, he extended them fully, as a threat, as a warning, as a sign to not cross the line that he just set. He didn’t need to speak to show that, everyone got the one and only message: don’t fuck around with my trine. 

He turned, Dirge groaned and tried to rise, to which Starscream kicked him square in the chest, knocking him back down without a pause in his step. It wasn’t necessary but Primus did it feel good to cause pain to that glitch. 

“Finally,” Slipstream smirked, “I’ve been waiting for this to happen.”

Starscream just chuckled at that response. 

“You will need to show us how you did that” Skywarp looked at Starscream like he was Primus himself. 

“Guys please, it's some basic stuff” Starscream lazily replied. 

“Of course all mighty Starscream” Thundercracker replied jokingly. 

As all 4 of them were leaving the training Starscream felt a stare from his back. He lowered his right wing slightly and turned his helm just to see the strange look from the silver-blue optics. The stare from Liege Maximo. He wasn’t acting surprised or confused. He was more amused and has analysed this entire situation. He locked his optics with Starscream’s, and then after a few clicks he looked away and turned back towards the Primes that were assessing this situation.

no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. I’m just paranoid. There is now way he… there is no way they… the performance was flawless… it was horrendous… they can’t… they wouldn’t have figured out just by a basic combat drill…

The hallway was just filled with Slipstream’s and Skywarp over exaggerating the fight that just happened, to which usually Starscream would respond with something like “Don’t be ridiculous, I was much better than that.”, but he had said nothing since they walked out. 

Thundercracker turned around to see Starscream being lost, like he was thinking something through. He was walking just because he had to walk. 

“Star… are you ok?” Thundercracker asked quietly, to which the other 2 turned around and assessed the situation and also stopped, because there was something off.  

Starscream stopped for a second and murmured, “h.. ows..”

Thundercracker stood a bit closer and asked carefully, “What did you just say?”

“He knows” Starscream said while lifting his helm up, and having fear written all over his optics, “Liege Maximo knows that I’m faking…”

Silence filled in the hallway, and it was heavy, it felt like the entire building was crushing them. 

“And if he figured it out…” Starscream then continued, “Then the Primes did too.”

————

<TRAINING COMM-LINK ENCRYPTED>

PRIMA
::Micronus, call the medic::

MICRONUS
::maximo was the one who stopped us from intervening, so he should deal with it::

PRIMA
::And where are you going?::

Prima turned, optics narrowing as he caught Maximo already heading toward the exit. The silver-blue shimmer of his optics met Prima’s gaze with something between amusement and calculation, and with a smile on his face he replied. 

MAXIMO
::prepare a few ideas::

MEGATRONUS
::On how to injure more fliers?::

MAXIMO
::first off, rude and no, on figuring out why our second in command is faking his performance::

All 3 of the Primes were shook. Did Maximo… actually say that.

MAXIMO
::and we need to figure it out by the next training session since zeta will probably demote him tonight, especially after this stunt::

He pointed towards Dirge who was barely getting up with the help of some other fliers. Before any of the Primes could respond Maximo had disappeared, and he was probably walking towards Prima’s private meeting room. 

Prima, Megatronus, and Micronus stood there in silence, they didn't react to the situation at all. Liege Maximo, out of all the Primes, has agreed to help on this stupid sidequest that doesn’t even benefit him, especially after what happened on the last mission. 

<TRAINING COMM-LINK ENCRYPTED>

MEGATRONUS
::Micronus call the medic and deal with this. Please.::

PRIMA
::We’ll be waiting in the meeting room::

MICRONUS
::... go frag yourself::

Micronus cut the channel, muttering curses under his breath as he waved down the medical unit and knelt beside Dirge, assessing the damage. Meanwhile, Prima and Megatronus turned and walked toward the corridor in silence, both knowing that whatever came next, was no longer just about a bad performance.

Chapter Text

Part 3·The ones nurtured by the illusion of choice, will be the first ones to doubt the real one.

Cycle №6

“Oh, stop being so paranoid,” Skywarp said with frustration, leaning against the wall.

Starscream stopped pacing and shot a sharp glare at him. “What did you just say?”

Behind him, Thundercracker and Slipstream immediately began waving their servos, silently mouthing, "Don’t say it." Both of them knew that this could become Dirge incident 2.0.

But Skywarp, rolling his optics, ignored the silent warnings. “I said, stop being so paranoid.”

The room fell quiet. Either Starscream couldn’t believe what he’d just heard or he was calculating the best way to respond. Possibly both.

“I nearly deactivated Dirge back there,” Starscream said, walking toward Skywarp with his wings flared out in frustration. “Under a breem. After putting on an act like some freshly sparked hatchling, or worse, a flier who doesn’t know how to fly. And you’re telling me not to be paranoid that the Primes may have figured out I’ve been faking?”

Skywarp, unfazed, replied, “You don’t know for sure that they’ve figured it out.”

“Oh really?” Starscream snapped, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Then please enlighten me, Skywarp, why in the name of Cybertron was Liege Maximo involved in training today? With Prima, no less?”

“Like you said,” Skywarp shrugged, “It’s the fifth cycle out of ten. Midpoint check-up.”

“He’s not wrong,” Slipstream added, stepping forward. “You can’t assume everything based on one look from Liege Maximo.”

Starscream turned sharply toward her. “You’re all talking like any of you saw him.”

“None of us did,” Thundercracker said, stepping between them now, trying to defuse things. “But acting like it’s the end of the world base of a ‘look’ is not convincing enough.”

Starscream folded his arms. “So what do you suggest I do? Keep pretending I’m terrible at combat, which I'm clearly great at?”

“You could tone it down next session,” Skywarp offered, casually flicking his digits. “Not as good as this morning, but not completely useless like you pretended to be.”

All three seekers stared at him, confused. Starscream rolled his optics, clearly done with Skywarp’s nonsense, and was about to change the topic of discussion until Skywarp calmly said:

“You have a dent in your wing.”

“Oh really? I haven’t noticed” Starscream replied sarcastically, then flicked his left wing outward to reassess the damage, “Dirge literally could’ve kicked in my chassis instead, now I need to find a place to fix–”

“Are you listening?” Skywarp interrupted, locking optics with him. “You. Have. A. Dent. In. Your. Wing.”

“I know,” Starscream snapped, irritated. “It’s just a wing dent. It’s not a big deal.”

“The Primes don’t know that” Skywarp replied, waving a servo in emphasis. “They don’t understand wing mechanics. To them, a dent could mean anything.”

Starscream tilted his head slightly, beginning to see where this was going. “Well, yeah. None of them have wings, except maybe Onyx. And Nexus, possibly… what exactly are you suggesting, Skywarp?”

Skywarp gave a dramatic sigh. “And I’m the one who has a glitched processor? Play it off. Struggle a bit the next session, you have an excuse, a pretty good one. They will probably forget about the faking, if they think that.”

Starscream stared at him like he was spouting nonsense. As soon as he wanted to say something back, Thundercracker interrupted. 

“He has a point.”

“He does?” Slipstream asked with confusion. 

Starscream looked at Thundercracker, “You know that we train with other seekers, right?” 

“I doubt anyone is gonna say a word after what happened to Dirge” Thundercracker said calmly. 

As soon as Starscream opened his mouth to respond, anything really, there was a sharp knock at the door. Ignoring Thundercracker’s muffled protests from behind him, Starscream strode over and opened it, revealing Shockwave standing there, expression unreadable as always.

“Are you free right now?” Shockwave asked, his voice calm but carrying that tiny edge of urgency.

“Yeah, sure. What part of our already perfect plan needs to be improved now?” he groaned, stepping outside of the dormitory while the door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss. 

Shockwave didn’t look at him as he turned away and stopped mid-step. “Nothing. The entire thing is cancelled.”

“Oh, please. Zeta doesn’t even know how we fly. The formation is fine…” He glanced at Shockwave for some kind of explanation, then his eyes narrowed, confusion quickly turning to disbelief, “What do you mean, cancelled?”

Shockwave’s voice was calm, almost detached. “I received orders from Prima. The plan has been changed into a scouting mission instead.”

Starscream exhaled sharply. “Great,” he muttered under his breath, his frustration barely contained. He was so ready for a break. From everything.

Shockwave pulled a golden datapack from his chest compartment and held it out. “This is what Prima wants us to focus on now.”

Without bothering to open it, Starscream snatched the datapack, immediately sealing it away into the subspace compartment within his forearm. “Fine. When do we meet?” he asked, already dreading the next round of meetings.

“Right before the general briefing tonight,” Shockwave replied. “Straight after your second session.”

Starscream nodded, without showing any emotion, turned around and went towards the dorm, “See you then.” 

--------

The second session felt different.

Without Dirge around, the atmosphere was noticeably calmer, maybe some bickering between other fliers, but no one dared provoke Starscream or the rest of the trine, not unless they wanted a dislocated wing and a few cycles in recovery. Ever since they started working under the Primes, most of the fliers had become more focused on their personal business (and their own performance). In their world, there was no such thing as staying in one place; you were either improving or falling behind.

Thankfully, none of the Primes were present during that session, which caught many of the fliers off guard. Still, it wasn’t like they could complain or do anything about it.

Practice went smoothly. Starscream performed slightly better than usual, he was clearly more focused, but he still landed below average compared to the rest of the squad.

“All of your results will be sent to you in 5 joors,” the supervising mech announced. “You’re dismissed.”

Starscream didn’t waste a second. He was the first to turn on his heel and speed-walk out of the chamber. He didn’t want to be late for his meeting with Shockwave and Soundwave. The faster it ended, the sooner he could get to things he actually wanted to do.

“See?” a voice popped in front of him. Skywarp had teleported right into his path, almost causing a collision. “Nothing bad happened!”

Starscream halted just short of crashing. “Skywarp, I need to leave. Now.”

“Oh, come on,” Skywarp grinned, clearly amused. “What’s Shockwave gonna do, torture you?”

“Worse. Waste my time,” Starscream muttered, shoving Skywarp aside as he continued walking toward the exit.

Skywarp trailed behind him. “Oh, also, me and Slipstream are working on getting some high-grade. Want anything?”

Starscream glanced back with a smirk. “Need my help?”

“Oh no, you’re way too busy,” Skywarp replied sarcastically. “Just send me a list of what you want. Maccadam’s might not have everything.”

“Oh, please. It’s Maccadam’s, we both know they probably stock everything,” Starscream said, stepping through the main hallway.

Thundercracker and Slipstream caught up with them.

“Everything from this side,” Slipstream added. “They probably don’t carry Vosian high-grade.”

“Or anything from Kaon,” Thundercracker chimed in.

Starscream snorted. “Do they even have anything here worth—”

“Starscream!”

A voice echoed down the corridor, loud and commanding. Starscream’s wings twitched as he turned to look around, only to spot a imposing figure approaching. Golden stripes gleamed under the hallway’s lights.

Oh great. Just what he needed.

“Yes, Micronus Prime?” Starscream straightened his posture, his trine quickly going quiet behind him, either looking away or pretending to be elsewhere.

Micronus chuckled lightly. “Please. We’re on a first-name basis now” he said with joy. “I’ve got a few datapacks for Alchemist. It’s urgent. But I just got called in by Zeta, and you know how he is about punctuality, his lectures about this are a different level of torture.”

He said as he was handing the six datapacks towards Starscream, waiting for him to take them. 

“Could you drop these off at Alchemist's office?”

Starscream internally groaned but kept his expression neutral. “Of course.”

“Thank you!” Micronus grinned, already walking away. “See you at the meeting tonight!”

As soon as the Prime was out of sight, Starscream looked at the datapacks in his arms and sighed. Alchemist’s office was practically on the opposite end of the headquarters, far from where Shockwave and Soundwave were waiting. There was no way he could make it to both places on time.

“Isn’t Zeta’s office the other direction?” Slipstream asked, squinting at him.

Starscream turned with the datapacks half-obscuring his face. “Yeah, but the meeting room could be anywhere. You never know with them, they like moving things around.”

Even knowing the fact that flight is forbidden, he was about to take off and fly towards Alchemist’s office when he exchanged a look with Thundercracker. 

“No,” Thundercracker said firmly.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.” Starscream argued back. 

Thundercracker gave him a blank stare. “You were going to ask me to deliver those datapacks.”

Starscream forced a grin. “Please?”

Thundercracker didn’t budge.

“Seriously?” Starscream huffed.

“You can be late to your meeting, then,” Thundercracker said with a shrug, turning to walk away.

Starscream groaned. “I’ll give you 10 shanix.”

“15,” Thundercracker replied smoothly, “and Vosian high-grade.”

Starscream looked appalled. “They don’t even have that here, and if they do, it’ll cost a fortune.”

“Well, then you better start running,” Thundercracker replied flatly.

Starscream tapped his pede against the floor in frustration, then finally relented. “Fine. But you better make sure Alchemist knows they were delivered.”

He tossed the six datapacks at Thundercracker, who caught them with an annoyed grunt. Starscream immediately turned and headed toward the opposite wing, muttering to himself.

Thundercracker watched him go, then looked down at the stack in his arms. He didn’t actually know where Alchemist’s office was before. But now he did.

Unfortunately, it might as well have been a light-year away. And unlike Starscream, he wouldn’t dare to break the ground rules, he couldn’t just take off and fly there. 

He started walking.

“Should’ve asked for 30 shanix,” he muttered under his breath.

The walk to any of the Prime's offices was usually pleasant. Towering, ceiling-high windows lined the halls, offering a breathtaking view of Iacon. From this height, the golden city glittered like a polished jewel, sunlight spilling in and reflecting off every surface. To most mechs, it was a masterpiece, an inspiring blend of architecture and light.

But not for Thundercracker.

Every step he took down those gilded corridors was a challenge. The light, beautiful to others, made it nearly impossible for him to see. The harsh glare bounced off the walls and glass, overloading his optics. He had to recalibrate his vision every few paces just to stay upright. And to make things worse, he was carrying six full datapacks, delicate, high-priority ones. Dropping even one wasn't an option.

He had ordered a visor on his first cycle in Iacon, expecting it to arrive quickly. That had been ages ago. Still no visor. All he could do now was pray it arrived before his next mission, especially if it involved the Quintessons. The last thing he wanted was to go into battle effectively blind.

After a long walk, several accidental collisions, and more than one close call with knocking over some mechs who work there, Thundercracker finally arrived at the door to the Alchemist’s quarters.

It looked… different. Smaller than the typical Prime-level office doors, which was strange. He shifted the datapacks to one arm, freeing the other to knock. Right after he knocked once, the door opened by itself with a gentle hiss. And no one was inside.

Weird.

As soon as he stepped inside, he was hit with a wave of green . Lush green matter covered nearly everything in sight. After cycles of nothing but blinding gold, it was a relief, a stark, refreshing contrast. And strangely, his vision cleared the moment he entered. No glare. No need to adjust anything. The lighting here was perfect, balanced, warm sunlight without the harsh reflections.

It felt… peaceful.

The room was massive. High ceilings loomed above, and the wide chamber was lined with organic life, Cybertronian plants, all alive and thriving. This place was a sanctuary hidden right in the heart of Iacon. Thundercracker couldn’t help but think how much Starscream would absolutely hate it. He remembered back at VACA when Starscream was learning the organics module for the entrance exam, the entire dorm was filled with random datapacks, just straight up chaos. 

There was a desk pressed against the far wall, likely the Alchemist's workstation. Thundercracker considered dropping off the datapacks and making a quiet exit. But this delivery was urgent, and he didn’t want the fallout if he left them unattended.

As he approached the desk, something caught his eye.

A flower.

It sat on one of the bookshelves on an optic level, delicate and vibrant. Shaped like a lily, its petals were edged with soft, crystalline blue, and at the center burned a bright, warm orange. A flicker of memory surfaced.

He’d seen this flower before. 

Back in Vos. Long time ago, in the airfields outside of the city. There was a field, where these flowers grew in wild abundance. Hornets. Native Vosian flora that only bloomed unpredictably, once every vorn or so, and never the same time twice. Entire squadrons would sometimes skip shifts just to witness it. Thundercracker remembered seeing the field maybe twice, three times at most.

But he never let himself stop. Never allowed himself to look.

He saw them before Starscream’s obsession with science, so he would’ve become a running joke within the trine. Thundercracker just simply had either flown over those flowers pretending that they don’t exist, or even stepped on them to walk through the field without giving them a second glance.

And yet here it was. Right in front of him. Just one flower. Alone, but perfect. It looked a bit different to the ones on the airfields, but almost identical. 

He reached out slowly, almost reverently. For the first time, he allowed himself to feel something about it. The past. The home. 

His fingers brushed the delicate petal.

Instantly, the flower ignited.

It flared with a searing glow, burning brilliant red, as if trying to scream out its existence one last time, like a dying star. Then it was gone.

Ashes.

“Scrap…” Thundercracker whispered, stunned.

Panic hit him like a missile. He tried to gather the fine ashes in his servos, voice cracking. “No, no, no….don’t do this. Please. Grow back. You never did that before, why now?”

Frantic, he pulled up his internal database. Nothing . No detailed entries. Not even a footnote.

He knew who would know.

The call went to voicemail immediately. 

“Oh please, the meeting cannot be that interesting.” Thundercracker said. 

STARSCREAM (PRIVATE)

TC
::STARSCREAM, ANSWER THE CALL::

::IT’S URGENT::

::STARSCREAM?::

::THE ONE TIME I NEED YOUR HELP AND YOU’RE NOT ONLINE? REALLY?::

STARSCREAM
::What?::

TC
::What do you know about the Hornets?::

STARSCREAM
::The what?::

TC
::The organics. From Vos. The flowers.::

STARSCREAM
::Thundercracker, if you didn’t know, I am actually busy. Not the time for a pop quiz.::

TC
::NO WAIT::

::ULCHTAR ALCHEMIST HAD ONE. I TOUCHED IT. IT’S GONE. DOES IT GROW BACK?::

::HELLO?::

|USER 'STARSCREAM' SWITCHED TO SILENT MODE|

TC
::ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!::

Thundercracker let out a shaky laugh, nerves crashing hard.

“Well, I’m dead,” he muttered to himself. “Maybe he won’t notice. It’s just one of the rarest flowers on Cybertron, no big deal.”

“Right. Probably forgot he even had it,” he said with a dry chuckle.

“Especially during its blooming season,” he added, voice cracking slightly.

Then he heard footsteps echoing from the hallway.

Oh no.

Without thinking, Thundercracker grabbed the datapacks and did the only thing he could think of, he turned his back to the flower’s remains, spreading his wings wide to block the display.

“He won’t look behind the wings… right?” he whispered to himself.

He hoped. He prayed. 

--------

“Well, that’s not happening,” Starscream almost yelled, his left wing twitching nervously as he paced the small meeting room.

The room was far smaller than the grand halls the Primes usually met in, and even compared to the other council chambers, it was cramped. But it was enough, a functional space for them to discuss tactical decisions without distractions, with just enough room to shift around and think.

Shockwave sat calmly, optic glowing faintly in the dim light, while Soundwave stood beside him, expressionless as always.

“It’s the most logical choice to have Thundercracker lead the scouting mission,” Shockwave said smoothly, his voice steady and unshaken.

“Soundwave: agrees,” added Soundwave, his tone mechanical but firm.

Starscream stopped pacing and faced them both, his expression hardening. “Do either of you know anything about Seekers? Or even coneheads?” he asked sharply, voice low but intense.

Shockwave raised his optic slowly to meet Starscream’s gaze. “I am well-versed in your frame type,” he responded, his tone calm but slightly condescending.

“Well, it doesn’t look like it,” Starscream snapped back. “You want to send Thundercracker with Thrust and Ramjet on a scouting mission?”

Shockwave’s optics narrowed in what could almost be interpreted as mild irritation. “I see no issue with that.”

“Two coneheads on a scouting mission!” Starscream’s voice grew more serious. “Two out of the three are coneheads. And don’t forget, Thundercracker is still practically blind!”

Soundwave tilted his head slightly, processing the argument. “Starscream: what do you suggest??”

Starscream folded his arms, thinking hard. There really wasn’t much choice. Skywarp would be an obvious pick, but pairing him with someone like Slipstream? That seemed chaotic. They might be gone before they even got close to the target. And sending other Seekers? The potential for disaster was higher.

Shockwave and Soundwave waited silently, expecting his answer.

“What Seekers do you think are capable for this?” Starscream asked, his tone sharper but more inquisitive.

Shockwave tapped his fingers on the armrest, then answered, “Aside from Thundercracker, Redwing and Skywarp would be suitable candidates.”

Starscream leaned forward, tapping his digits on the table as he formulated a plan. “We could send Skywarp, Redwing, and Slipstream together. But before that, they need to train as a unit. Coordination will be key.”

Soundwave looked momentarily confused, but Shockwave’s optic flashed in understanding, he knew why Starscream was emphasizing this.

“What is it with Seekers and loners?” Shockwave asked, curiosity apparent. “I don’t see Coneheads dividing themselves like this.”

“Social norms,” Starscream replied with a small, almost bitter smile.

“Slipstream: is a loner,” Soundwave added, as if that was a crucial point.

“She was,” Starscream corrected. “But Redwing is different, she was created without a trinemate. That’s why she tends to associate more with coneheads.”

Shockwave’s optic flickered, processing the social dynamics. “And that is... socially acceptable?”

Starscream shrugged as he sat back down. “That’s a loophole,” he said simply.

“Scouting mission: includes Skywarp, Slipstream, and Redwing with additional group training beforehand. Soundwave: correct?” Soundwave asked while recording the orders into the datapack to be sent to whoever needed it, probably Prima.

“Yes,” Shockwave confirmed.

Starscream remained quiet for a moment, thinking about how he’d explain this to his trine. There really wasn’t anyone else fit for the job, no other combinations would work well. 

“Starscream?” Shockwave’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Oh, yeah. That sounds about right,” Starscream said, his voice a little softer now, acceptance settling in.

Shockwave nodded and continued, “Let’s move on to planning the details of the actual scouting mission.”

--------

The door slid open with a hiss, and Thundercracker immediately stiffened. He subtly shifted, hoping his wing covered the crime scene as much as they could. Probably didn’t, but it was better than nothing.

A large figure stepped into the room, casting a long shadow across the floor as the hallway lights spilled in behind him. Thundercracker’s optics adjusted slowly to the contrast. The mech’s plating was a strange hue, greenish-gold, almost metallic jade in certain angles. His face was completely obscured by a smooth, impassive mask with four glowing, green circular optics. Or was it a single visor split into quadrants? Thundercracker couldn’t tell, and frankly, he didn’t want to.

The mech approached slowly, but his voice cut through the room with sudden, gruff energy.

“I swear to Primus, if you’ve done something again, I will deactivate you.”

Thundercracker froze. Every line in his frame locked up.

That’s it. He’s going to offline me. I’m gonna meet Primus early. Well things are definitely going smoothly. 

The larger mech paused, leaning forward slightly as if to study Thundercracker more carefully. Then he reached up, disengaged the mask, and pulled it back to reveal his true face.

Four baby-blue optics blinked at him, sharp, piercing, but not hostile. A small scar crossed one of the left ones, mostly healed and barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. The rest of his features were sharp, almost refined, the kind that carried both wisdom and constant frustration in equal measure.

Alchemist.

Thundercracker froze, standing awkwardly like a frightened pup trying desperately not to show it.

Alchemist took a step back, his optics narrowing in realization. “I apologize,” he said, voice losing its edge. “I didn’t mean that... well, I did, but not directed at you. I thought you were Liege. You know how he is, a walking glitch basically.”

He flailed his hands, trying to explain himself, panic threading through his words.

Thundercracker blinked, still stunned. Then, despite himself, he muttered, “No, no, I get it. I say that all the time.”

Why did I say that?

“You do?” Alchemist’s optics brightened with curiosity. “So, what brings you here?”

Thundercracker cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, well, Micronus asked to deliver these datapacks.” He fumbled for the right words. “Said it was urgent.”

“Oh, the datapacks from this morning,” Alchemist said, amusement creeping into his voice. “Those should be... interesting.”

He moved toward Thundercracker and knelt, waiting for him to hand them over. Thundercracker quickly complied. Alchemist took them without ceremony and tossed them onto the desk like they were old scraps, not sensitive material that supposedly required urgent delivery.

Thundercracker turned, intending to leave the scene of the crime as fast as possible. He was almost at the door when a voice stopped him.

“You’re Thundercracker, right? One of the Vosians?”

He froze, feeling like he’d just been caught doing something wrong. “Yes?” he replied cautiously, questioning his entire existence.

Alchemist’s optics gleamed with excitement as he moved toward a nearby shelf. “Let me show you something,” he said, while looking for something.

Thundercracker hesitated, breath held tight. He tried not to make a sound, not wanting to disturb anything. He heard Alchemist mutter, “I remember the Hornet being somewhere here...”

There was no turning back now. He could’ve left, could’ve lied his way out, but something inside told him that wasn’t right. One lie would lead to another, and he’d be stuck in an endless tangle of deception. Besides, there was no training scheduled today, no urgent mission calling him away. Staying was the honest choice.

And with him already moving closer, well... he was dead anyway if he tried to bolt now.

Alchemist finally stood, his optics clouded with a mix of sorrow and disappointment. “Never mind, its gon—”

Thundercracker cut him off quickly. “Oh, the Hornet? Yeah they bloom once a vorn back in Vos, and I never really paid attention to them you know, umm, didn’t really need to. And funny thing about this one, I thought it was touchable, which obviously it wasn’t, it’s ashes now, hah. I apologise for the inconvenience, I can get you another one, I think we have a break after the 10th cycle, after the mission bascially, I know where most of them are, and their blooming season is probably now. I promise to get you another, please don't demote me or anything.”

His apology poured out in a rush, body language frantic as if trying to physically show how terrified he was of the consequences. He braced for a lecture or maybe even extra training.

But then Alchemist smiled, warm, almost gentle.

“Well, that’s the beauty of it.”

Thundercracker’s circuits whirred in confusion. What?

Alchemist gestured for him to come closer, and Thundercracker obeyed, cautiously optimistic. The invitation didn’t feel like a trap or a setup.

He saw a pile of ashes on the desk, and then, after a few kliks, a blue stem began to sprout. Thundercracker blinked in surprise. It grew back. That was new.

“Hornets burn down, but five breems later, they’re reborn,” Alchemist explained quietly.

Alchemist frowned, still puzzled. “Did you say they bloom once a Vorn?”

“They do, outside of Vos,” Thundercracker answered while carefully looking at the stem. 

“Ah, the Meadow Hornets. Can’t get a hold of them easily, they need very special conditions. Too warm or too cold, and they wither quickly.”

“Meadow Hornets?” Thundercracker echoed, still trying to process.

“This one grows much higher than the surface. It’s more resilient, but it doesn’t really have a specific name, so I just call it ‘Hornet.’”

A comfortable silence settled between them. Not the awkward kind, this one had weight, and peace. Both stood still, gazing at the reborn flower, a symbol of resilience growing in the heart of a metal world. Cybertron’s version of nature might be strange, but it had its own quiet beauty.

Thundercracker didn't speak. He wasn’t good with words unless he was arguing with his trine or flying. Silence, on the other hand, was something he understood. It meant no one was expecting anything from him, not at that moment.

But the quiet didn’t last forever.

“How’s your vision?” Alchemist asked, his voice cutting softly through the stillness.

Thundercracker blinked, caught off guard. “It’s… great,” he answered, a little too quickly.

Alchemist gave him a look, half curious, half skeptical. “Are there two Thundercrackers in the High Guard now?”

Thundercracker snorted. “There shouldn’t be,” he replied dryly, wings giving a twitch.

Alchemist tilted his head slightly, optics narrowing as the pieces clicked together. “So you were the one who requested a visor during your first cycle here.”

Thundercracker hesitated. The stare Alchemist gave him was... intense. He wasn’t angry, but he was definitely reading him like a datachart.

“Isn’t that... the medical department’s job?” Thundercracker replied carefully, trying not to sound defensive.

“In general, yes,” Alchemist said, folding his arms, “but you’re not exactly from here. Vosian frames, especially trine-calibrated seekers, have neural optic systems most medics here aren't trained for. They came to Solus and me. She handled the engineering; I ran diagnostics.”

Thundercracker blinked again, slower this time. “Oh.”

“It was supposed to be finished a cycle ago,” Alchemist added with a slight shrug. “But, well, meetings. Delays. Paperwork. You know how it goes. Apologies for the wait, but the new visor should be ready by tomorrow.”

Thundercracker let out a soft ex-vent. “Great. Maybe I’ll stop having to re-focus every time I take two steps in the hallway.”

Alchemist chuckled, turning slightly toward the desk. “Do you have training tomorrow?”

“Just one light session in the morning,” Thundercracker replied. “Tactics and maneuvering drills. Nothing too heavy.”

“Good. After training, stop by here,” Alchemist said. “We’ll fit the visor, run some visual diagnostics, and make sure it works properly.”

Thundercracker nodded. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Alchemist turned to the desk, already sorting through a scattered pile of datapads. “I’ll get started on the paperwork. You’re welcome to stay if you want.”

“I should probably head back,” Thundercracker said, his voice low and nervous as he edged toward the door. It slid open automatically with a soft hiss, and he stepped through, perhaps a little too quickly.

The bright hallway light hit his optics harder than expected, and his vision immediately blurred. He stumbled, instinctively reaching for the wall as he veered a bit too far to the left.

“Well at least I will not need to deal with this tomorrow” He muttered under his breath and headed back to his dormitory. 

Thundercracker was confused from the interaction, he now finally understands why Starscream is so weirded out by the Primes. Because why do they act like… this ? 

--------

“This is the plan for the scouting mission,” Starscream said evenly, standing at the head of the meeting room.

The space was designed for all the Primes and their advisors, so everyone was seated, Shockwave and Soundwave were in the seats closer to him if changes came up mid-presentation. At this point, Starscream was used to presenting, he was the one who usually did.

He finished his explanation and looked up, expecting feedback.

Instead, Zeta Prime blinked at him in visible confusion. “Since when are we working on a scouting mission?”

Starscream’s spark skipped a beat. That… wasn’t the reaction he expected. He shot a quick glance toward Shockwave, only to find something he never thought he’d see: confusion in that single optic.

Was this a miscommunication? Did the plan change again? Was Prima just joking about the cancellation?

Starscream opened his mouth to explain, but before he could say a word, Prima spoke.

“I thought it would be better for them to conduct scouting before committing to a full-scale assault,” Prima said casually, as if it were obvious.

Zeta turned toward him slowly, his face unreadable but his voice sharp. “And you’re telling me this now?”

Prima gave a half-smile and shrugged. “I assumed you were busy. I didn’t want to bother you.”

The silence that followed was... deafening.

No one moved. No one spoke. Even the lights felt too loud.

Starscream shifted his weight slightly, processor scrambling for how to redirect this. He didn’t like being caught between the Primes, especially not like this.

Thankfully, Alpha Trion cleared his throat, breaking the tension like a gentle breeze through a storm. “Well, since we clearly have some catching up to do,” he said smoothly, “I suggest we continue this tomorrow.”

Then, without missing a beat, he turned his gaze. “And Liege Maximo, I expect that report on my desk before the meeting.”

Liege Maximo looked up sharply, optics narrowing in disbelief. “Sure,” he muttered. “Will do.”

Alpha Trion gave a polite smile, one of those smiles that didn’t reach his optics.

Prima stepped forward again. “Meeting adjourned. Liege, Alchemist, Micronus, and Megatronus, stay. We have other matters to discuss.”

With that, the rest of the room began to clear. Chairs scraped. Murmurs rose. One by one, everyone not named exited, including Starscream, Shockwave, and Soundwave.

Once outside the doors, Starscream ex-vented, his posture slumping just slightly now that they were out of the line of fire.

“So,” he asked without looking, “what’s going to happen tomorrow?”

Shockwave responded with his usual calm tone. “They will likely finalize the plan. That should conclude the meetings with them in general.”

“Good,” Starscream muttered. His wings twitched, tension still bleeding from his frame.

Without another word, he turned down a different hallway, opposite of where Shockwave and Soundwave were heading.

He wasn’t going back to the dorms yet.

He was heading to the library.

Every klik mattered now. He had to update his database about the IRS entrance exam material, especially before he gets demoted, which will probably happen before tomorrow's meeting or during it. He was in fact running out of time. 

--------

Alchemist broke the silence after everyone left the room, “I haven’t finished with the serum if that's what this is about.”

Prima looked at him and then continued, “That is Zeta’s concern, you’re lucky he forgot about it today.

“Anyway, I was going to ask about the datapacks you got this morning.” 

Alchemist Prime looked, “The ones about the meetings debrief and all the other stuff?”

“Basically.” Prima nodded.

Alchemist’s expression softened slightly. “Thundercracker gave them to me.”

He paused, then frowned. “And before you say anything, I know he’s still having vision issues. I’m working on it, and have been busy with all these meetings. The visor will be ready by tomorrow after his training session.”

He pointed sharply toward Micronus. “And next time, maybe tell me the damn visor was urgent. Poor mech had to walk through the brightest hallways in the whole building just to deliver those datapacks.”

Liege Maximo was caught of guard and said, “Did you say that Thundercracker gave you the datapacks?”

“Yeah,” Alchemist calmly responded. 

“Are you sure that it was Thundercracker? Like you know seekers do look alike.” Micronus added nervously. 

Alchemist slowly removed his visor, revealing his sharp optics and the faint scar over one. His stare was icy.

“I may have a scar, but I’m not blind,” he said coolly. “And I’m more observant than all of you combined. So don’t assume I can’t tell Vosians apart.”

“Ok ok, sorry, just double checked.” Micronus responded quickly before a fight would've started. 

Alchemist put his visor back on and responded, “Lovely,” he muttered, voice tinged with sarcasm, “And we had a great talk actually, well until I had to deal with the datapacks you gave me.”

The room fell quiet. The tension curled at the edges like a circuit about to snap. Liege Maximo turned a slow, venomous look toward Micronus.

Alchemist took the silence as his cue. “So... anything else you need me here for?” he asked, cautiously glancing between the Primes.

“No,” Megatronus replied. “You’re dismissed.”

“Same time, same place tomorrow then,” Alchemist sighed, already turning toward the door. “Again.”

The door shut behind him, his footsteps fading down the corridor. Liege Maximo had made sure he was far away from the meeting room, then Micronus quickly said.

“I gave them to Starscream,” he said nervously, “I swear.”

“Oh really,” Liege answered, “It doesn't seem like it.”

Then he continued. 

“I don't even understand how you mess those 2 up, how can you even mess up such a simple task? They are 2 different colors. Are you colorblind or something?”

He said as he clenched the table and was about to jump Micronus. To which Micronus responded with, “I swear I gave him the datapack right after their training session ended, just like you said!”

“Right after training? Primus are you deaf too now?” He yelled, “I said after he finished his meeting with Shockwave and Soundwave, how do you expect him to get to Alchemist’s office THAT IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BUILDING. IN THE OPPOSITE WING.”

“Max, please calm down.” Prima intervened.

“Well yeah now we have to figure something out. Alchemist should've talked to Starscream to get something out of him, not Thudnercracker.” he said in frustration. 

“Maybe Thundercracker will slip and say something about Starscream,” Megatronus added. 

“What?” Liege Maximo asked with confusion written all over his optics. 

“Well if there is something wrong with Starscream, then he definitely knows, and Alchemist is interested in what is happening in Vos and Kaon regions since we dont have anything about them except for ‘don't go there and it's dangerous’.”

Liege Maximo looked confused.

Prima processed the information and said, “he has a point”

“Yeah, if Primus himself is gonna guide Alchemist to ask those questions and somehow get Thundercracker rat out something about Starscream.” Liege Maximo said while clenching his teeth.

Micronus perked up. “Didn’t Alchemist say he’s seeing Thundercracker tomorrow after training? Maybe something will come out of it.”

“And stop him after the meeting again? Don't be ridiculous”, Liege Maximo laughed.

“No before it. His doors are always open.” Micronus added, “and Prima could go there and ask him about the serum since you know, he is the only one who is partially responsible for it.”

Liege maximo was silent, it made sense.

“Sure, I'll head there maybe after Thundercracker gets out of there, 2 joors after training, give or take” Prima calmly replied. 

--------

Starscream didn’t bother turning on the lights in the library. The faint glow of Iacon’s skyline bleeding through the tall windows was enough to read by, and he preferred the quiet shadows. As usual, he had his auditory sensors muted and his vibration sensors turned up to maximum, his old habit from VACA. It meant he couldn’t hear anyone approaching, but he’d feel them, just like always. It was a system that had never failed him.

He sat alone at a table scattered with datapacks, his wings twitching slightly in frustration. He was trying, and failing, to focus on one of the entrance exam chapters: The Physical Mechanics of Cybertronian Technology .

It wasn’t just difficult. It was maddening.

The kind of maddening where you start seriously considering swapping your processor with one of the professors at the IRS. Reading this before getting into the academy? It felt like academic sabotage.

His optics started to blur slightly as he stared down at the glowing text, processor overheating from the dense material. With a sigh, he glanced toward the window to let his optics refocus, and his gaze drifted to a small stack of blue datapacks across the table. For some reason, almost everything in this library seemed to come on blue datapacks.

Among them was one he’d pulled earlier, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else. It was titled:

 “Aerial Subtypes: An Ethnographic Overview of Seekers and Coneheads in Vosian Society.”

It had sounded laughable enough at the time, but now, with his frustration peaking, Starscream figured it might be a good excuse for a break. Something lighter , if not less aggravating.

He shut off the datapack on mechanical theory and grabbed the cultural one instead, turning his auditory sensors back on with a mutter.

“Let’s see what you’re about.”

He scrolled to the first entry.

“Vos is the city of fliers; there are barely any land mechs present, as travel on foot is virtually impossible within its structure.”

Starscream snorted. “There are roads everywhere. Some are cleaner than the air, actually.”

His optics landed on a pen he had just used. That gave him an idea. He picked it up and tapped it against the datapack.

“Who's going to care? I’m getting demoted anyway,” he muttered, and started marking it up.

“Land-based mechs are exceptionally rare within Vos, not only due to environmental design but also due to cultural exclusion.” 

And so he added in the margins. 

“Some roads are cleaner than the air particles we fly through. And all of you are just cowards. ‘Cultural exclusion’, really? The only thing you could’ve came up with?”

He kept reading, now more amused than annoyed.

“Coneheads, despite their imposing aerodynamic design and characteristically loud sonic profiles, are widely regarded as one of the more socially cooperative aerial subtypes...”

Starscream barked a quiet laugh. “Yeah, until you spend five kliks with them.”

He scribbled next to the paragraph:

“They’re loud, annoying, and don’t understand the concept of ‘inside voice.’”

Page after page, he went on tearing the whole thing apart, turning dry analysis into a comedy routine for an audience of one. But when he reached the section on Seekers, everything changed.

“Seekers present a markedly different sociological profile...”

He paused.

“Outwardly composed and observant, they are frequently characterized by manipulative intelligence and a tendency toward strategic interpersonal positioning. The traditional trine—a triadic bond often mistaken for familial or emotional in nature—is, in many documented cases, a forced grouping based on structural compatibility rather than affinity. Inter-trine conflict is not uncommon. Some Seekers have even expressed hostility or lethal intent toward their trinemates. This is exacerbated by a known behavior of ‘drama-utilization,’ in which personal or social conflict is leveraged for personal gain. Overall, Seekers are regarded as egocentric and volatile—a dangerous subgroup defined by self-interest.”

Starscream sat back in stunned silence.

He reread it once. Then again. And a third time.

“Deactivate my own trine? ” he whispered.

That had happened once . One Seeker, just one, had tried it. And they’d been dealt with. Harshly. No one in Vos would’ve let that slide.

As for the rest? Sure, some Seekers didn’t get along perfectly, but that ? That was character assassination dressed up as research.

He frowned, optics narrowing. Maybe it's just a misunderstanding and no one wanted to figure it out properly. 

He scrolled up to the top of the datapack to find the publishing details, maybe it was just some low-level academic with too much time and too few neurons.

But then he saw it.

“Approved by the Iacon Research Syndicate (IRS) with support of the 13 Primes Association (13PA)”

The datapack flickered slightly as his digits clenched around the edge of the display. He could feel the whine of his internal systems rising, heating, straining.

The Primes approved this?

His processor reeled, flicking through every polite smile, every calm meeting room, every “we care about the whole of Cybertron” speech he’d sat through in the last few cycles. Every time one of them asked a carefully worded question about Vos or Kaon, followed by a smile like they were doing him a favor.

All of it was fake. Hollow.

They didn’t care. Not really.

Because if they did, if even one of them gave a frag about Vos, they never would’ve let something like this get published.

He slowly placed the datapack back on the table, optics dimmed, wings stiff and twitching slightly behind him.

And if they cared the way they pretended to in public, if all those pretty speeches and unity posters meant anything, then Vos wouldn’t have been buried in rust. It wouldn’t have been starved of resources while Iacon bloated. It wouldn’t have been locked in a caste system so tight that most fliers were built into it before they came off the line.

If they cared… Vos would’ve had a chance.

Instead, this was what they thought. This is what they let circulate. And everyone believed it. Of course they did, it was stamped with the IRS seal. Blessed by the 13 Primes themselves.

This wasn’t just careless. This was deliberate. Strategic. Measured. No one would care to actually go and visit Vos, no one will even try to listen to the sound of help from some of the fliers there. No one would, and no one will. 

Starscream sat back in his seat, processor humming with quiet fury, wings folded tightly against his frame.

He’d known, deep down, that the Primes weren’t the selfless paragons they claimed to be. But this?

This datapack, the quiet approval behind it, the false narrative printed as fact, this was the first time he felt it. Viscerally. Personally.

The mask was off. And the truth underneath was worse than he expected.

He looked down at the datapack again. Not just a break from studying. Not even a joke anymore.

Starscream picked up the datapack, and wrote:

“Approved by the Iacon Research Syndicate (IRS) with support of the 13 Primes Association (13PA)”

Of course it is.

Figures they'd put their name on, easier to pretend it's true when it’s stamped with theirs.

If they actually cared, Vos wouldn’t be rusting in silence, and Seekers wouldn’t be reduced to propaganda.

Smile for the public. Cut in the dark. Business as usual.

He stared at what he wrote, then underlined the last sentence once. He wanted to write more. Primus, he wanted to rip that entire passage apart and rewrite every word about Seekers, but then he heard it. Footsteps. Heavy ones.

Starscream froze. His wings stiffened on instinct.

He scrambled to gather the datapads on the table, stacking them messily back onto the shelves. They’d been disorganized when he came in, no one would notice. Hopefully.

Unfortunately, the library only had one entrance and one exit. It wasn’t the main archive either, just a quiet satellite wing of the headquarters. No other way out.

Starscream didn’t have time to do anything else. He ducked behind the far bookshelf, the one overloaded with rarely-touched datapads. He pressed his back to the cold wall and held his ventilation still.

The door hissed open.

A tall figure stepped inside, casting a long shadow. The only light in the room caught the glow of his optics, bright, cold baby blue.

What is Prima doing here?

He didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe. If he got caught out during “recharge hours,” it’d be more than a reprimand.

He listened. Prima was muttering to himself. “Where’s that Vosian datapad on fliers? I saw it here the other day…”

No. No no no.

Starscream’s internals twisted. Please let there be more than one copy. Then he hear Prima read out the title. 

“Ah, found you. Aerial Subtypes: An Ethnographic Overview of Seekers and Coneheads in Vosian Society. Hate the long names.”

And just like that, he left. The doors hissed closed behind him.

Starscream didn’t move. Not yet. His spark was beating too loud, wings twitching involuntarily.

Then relief followed by dread.

This… could be a disaster. Or this might actually be perfect.

He’d written all over that datapad. Angry notes. Sharp corrections. Underlined insults. What were they going to do? Demote him harder?

No one could prove it was him. Probably…

Still, it didn’t stop the creeping unease in his tank.

He left the library quietly and slipped back into his dorm, vent systems humming louder than normal. Even though him being demoted was a part of his planning, we was terrified of what the Primes will do to him the next time he sees them.