A/N: This story takes place between Acts IV and V of my Transformation story arc. But if you haven't read that, you'll figure things out as you go along. : )

Warning: the following story fully deserves its PG-13 (or T) rating. You won't find any non-con or other M-rated crap in here, but you will find plenty of other ugly slag. This story is one of hatred, cruelty, and obsession. But it is also a story of forgiveness. I hope that it might be of some worth to you, as it was for me.

Entr'acte:

Ghost Spark

Scene I

In the dream, the Decepticon Commander snapped to full alertness. His midnight quarters should be empty; he had triple-locked the door. But by some vague sense long honed in battle, Megatron knew for certain he was not alone.

He peered into the corners of his chamber, but saw nothing there but empty shadows. He scanned again in infrared. Still nothing was amiss.

The secondary moon shone dully through the small, high window to his right. Its colorless beams slanted downward, just beyond the foot of his stark berth. The scene might have been a photograph, it was so still. The only things that moved were tiny motes of dust that swirled serenely in the shafts of wan moonlight. Megatron watched their dance, and tried to quench the flutter of unease within him.

But as he let his focus fade, he felt a slow, cold dread steal up to clench his spark. For out beyond the shafts of light, the shapes of shadows pinged a warning in his mind. He looked again, and saw a silent silhouette of blackness watching him.

Its shape was more than just familiar. It was a form that Megatron knew better than his own. There was that anxious, wheedling tilt of the high shoulders. There were the ever-outstretched hands – half begging, but never daring to ask outright...

The form was black in gray moonlight. But even in the warmth of noonday sun, this figure would have borne none of the bright colors that Megatron was used to seeing on its plating. It was the lifeless gray of night, and no illumination would change that. For a jagged hole passed right through its dark torso, blasted by the gun on Megatron's right arm. The mech in the moonlight was dead. And it grinned maliciously at its quailing Commander.

"You!"

"Why, Megatron! Are you surprised?"

Despite himself, the big mech flinched. He was fearless in the face of death, dismemberment, and pain. The broken, empty shells of terminated foes had never given him unease. But neither had they come back from the Smelting Pool to haunt him.

Megatron longed only for escape. And yet he could not move. He tried to charge his fusion cannon; but his servos refused to function. Caught in this hellish limbo between shut-down and reboot, he lay helpless at the mercy of his dreams.

The eerie apparition took a single lurching step. "Do I have your attention, Mighty Megatron?" it sneered at him.

"Go away, Starscream," the Decepticon Commander muttered tonelessly. "Leave me in peace."

"Peace? You?" A wild laugh sounded from the ghastly shape. "You don't deserve peace, Megatron. Especially not from me!"

The figure rose up over him on smoky wings of darkness that blotted out the dim light of the moon. "Coward," it scorned as Megatron's red optics flared in fear.

It swooped down on him then, and he gasped as he felt the fire in its heart burn through him. "But this is not about fear, my dear Leader," the thing hissed into his shrinking audial. "It's about pain." The phantom wrapped its arms around his neck, and sank like smoke into his armored body. He groaned in agony at its touch.

"It's always been about pain, Megatron," the high-strung voice exulted within his systems. "But now, you're not the only one who can inflict it!" The gray mech felt he must be burning, melting, dying, and he screamed in terror as the world went white.

Megatron had never been a mech who dreamed much. When he shut down his processor, he shut it down hard. He did not want to examine the vid-files his idling synapses might create if they began splicing his old memories together. So during recharge, he operated with barely enough power to run his spark core. This allowed him to spend less time offline; but it meant that his processor never got the chance to fully defrag. It was a dangerous dance along the edges of madness; but to Megatron, the freedom from his past was worth the risk.

The lifelong fighter was accustomed to being haunted by his history. He took his ghosts in stride, disguising the brief grimace that would flit across his face whenever a dredged-up file rose unexpectedly from his bilges of his tarnished CPU.

But lately, the past seemed much more present than he liked. A sense of unknown menace set his servos squealing with the constant tension of his vigilance. Everywhere he went, the Decepticon felt watched. The dreams he would not face were forcing their way into the gray Commander's daily operation.

At last, when he'd grown tired of flinching at every shadow, Megatron decided to let whatever it was come through.

When his turn came for a few joors' recharge, he raised his baseline power a few notches, and hoped whatever memory was clogging up his cosmotron could be processed, flushed, and cast aside. It would probably not be fun; but Megatron assumed his ruthless spark was equal to the challenge.

He'd been wrong.

Megatron came online with a trembling clash of metal. He powered up his weapon and jerked unsteadily to his feet. He searched his room for traces of his nocturnal visitor, hoping against hope to find some easy explanation for his dream. But there was nothing: not a diode, plate, or circuit out of place.

Defeated, the gray warrior scrambled from his vacant quarters, tore through the tower's outer door, and blazed up into a fog-dark sky.

Optimus looked up from the holo-map, with a sudden sense that something was amiss. He glanced over at Elita, and met her clear blue optics peering questioningly at him from across the cluttered room.

"Let's go find him," he sighed, knowing that she'd need no further explanation.

Exiting the bunker, they transformed, leaving streaks of burning rubber on the ground behind them as they sped away.

The two bots boarded a tiny shuttle, and activated its computer. "He didn't even think to shut down his locator beacon," Prime muttered in growing concern.

"At least it'll be easy to find him, then," replied Elita tensely.

The red Commander threw himself into a seat, and hurriedly flipped the series of switches that started the ship's great engines humming. "Are you set?" he asked his bondmate.

Elita nodded swiftly as she finished tapping their trajectory into a foldaway keyboard. Their shuttle's contrail made a dazzling line of brightness as they shot up through the thin gray atmosphere of dawn.

Megatron did not look up; not even when the little transport came to rest with a sharp hiss a few short paces away from him. He'd used up the charge in his fusion cannon, but his flying fists still pounded. He'd made a sizable hole in one side of the little moon by the time they got there.

This lifeless place served as a last resort for mechs who needed to destroy something or burst. It had had frequent visitors, including Prime himself opon occasion. Optimus wasn't sure what they'd do when Cybertron's third satellite finally disintegrated; but that wouldn't be long now, if the Deception continued to hammer it like he was doing.

"What's eating at you, Megs old man?" he asked.

The gray mech rounded angrily on him. "Get the slag off my back, Optimus," he snarled. "I've got this under control."

"I see."

Prime stared meaningfully down into the deepening hole. After a klik or two he added thoughtfully, "That 'only the strongest deserve to rule' credo will rise and bite you in the aft, if you insist on following it to the utmost, Brother."

"You're not helping!" Elita hissed. She knelt down at the jagged lip of bent and blackened metal that surrounded the hole which Megatron had blasted for himself. Once there, she focused her attention on her one-time enemy. She took in his flared optics, the frantic whine of his internals, and the fearful hunch incongruous upon the gladiator's hardened frame. Not since before the Ceasefire had she felt his energy so chaotic – or so hateful. She gasped and backed away from him in simple self-preservation.

"He's terrified!" she panted, when she reached Prime's side and clutched him.

"What's going on?" he called again, for her reaction worried him. "Tell us, so we can help you!"

The gray mech surged up from his pit, and stormed over to the two Autobots. "By the great Unmaker's hand!" he swore, "Stop trying to catalog my problems, Optimus! Not everything can be neatly classified into your precious library codex!"

He shoved between them, knocking both off-balance, and stalked away. "Leave me alone!" he shouted. "I can handle it. I just need- Leave me alone!"

Optimus watched him go, and wrapped his arms around Elita. "You all right?" he asked her gently.

"I'm fine," she said. "But Megatron is definitely not."

"I know," her mate mused darkly. "He never wants to be alone."

Before...

"Pass me that blasted micro-laser!"

"You're such a lazy aft." With a disarming smile, a heavy, dark brown transport-mech tossed the requested implement across the room. "Here, Starscream. Catch."

The red jet snapped the tool out the air impatiently. "I may be lazy, Halfback," he retorted. "But I am the brains of this regrettable little team." He flashed the big six-wheeler his trademark smirk. "And of course I have my charm and my good looks..."

The other rolled his optics. "That's right, Starscream. Charm and looks are all you need to make it all the way to the top."

The tetrajet ignored his friend's sarcasm. He activated the micro-laser's stylus, and bent over the specialized processor he was piecing together.

The large, bright room was silent for a time; the only sounds the clicks and skitterings of a well-trained group of scientists pursuing their research.

"The Smelter take this wretched heap!" No silence lasted long, however, when Starscream was around. There came a clash of thrown-down tools, and a dull thump as the hot-tempered jet kicked at the leg of his worktable. "I've checked the calculations a thousand times; I know this modulator will function as I've suggested. I shouldn't have to patch together a computer to demonstrate my genius to the rest of you fools, especially with nothing better to work with than this pathetic pile of scrap parts!"

Halfback snorted in amusement. "So much for charm," he teased.

He left off dissecting the remains of an unknown technorganic beast the exploration team had found on Nebulos, and made his way around the big room's central table. Deftly, he untangled Starscream's messy wiring work, and fastened two small modules together. He spun the laser stylus through his fingers with a flourish. "Easy," he proclaimed. "Even for an ugly, clumping mech like me."

The red jet huffed. "At least I won't be here much longer. I'm bound to get into the Senate soon. A mech of my abilities is wasted doing research on what others have done before."

As always, when his friend grew restless, Halfback sought to anchor him. "A mech of your abilities?" he teased, although he knew that Starscream's boast was not unfounded. "You've ruled out charm just now; so you're down to just good looks, old pal. And I'm not certain..." The big mech lifted his volatile lab-partner's chin in think, dark fingers, and examined the smooth face critically. "No good," he concluded, shaking his head in mock solemnity. "I've seen prettier things in the tunnels of Torkulon."

"That only goes to show that there's no accounting for some mechs' taste, is there, Halfback?" Starscream shot back. He turned his back abruptly, so that the brown mech had to twist out of the way of a swinging wingtip.

But Halfback stilled him with a hand on his friend's shoulder. He smiled indulgently, but his deep-set optics were dim. "Sometimes, you have to work for things, Starscream. A circuit board won't be won over by the power of your personality. And you may well find that neither will the Senate."

From his station at the opposite corner of the brightly-lit white room, Jetfire called in out mild impatience, "Would you two stop fooling around like newlings, please? We've got a lot of work to finish before shift's end."

"Certainly, Chief!" Halfback knew Jetfire looked forward to an evening's quiet cube as much as he did, and was anxious to be finished for the orn.

But back at his own worktable, the brown mech caught Starscream's gaze. Rule wisely and well, when you've conquered the universe, he commed, only half in jest.

The red jet turned his back with every appearance of disdain. But to Halfback he replied with unwonted honesty, I'll do my best.

"Starscream, there's a mech here to see you."

"That's all? Just 'a mech'?" came the pinched voice from behind stacks of reference tracks. "Who is he? Where's he from? And what's he selling?"

"Dunno. He wasn't very talkative." Halfback shrugged. "Just said he had a proposition you might be interested in."

Starscream huffed, and flopped into his chair, looking put-upon. "Well, send him in."

But as the door began to close, he called after his friend, "Maccadam's after work, same as usual?"

"As usual," Halfback reassured him. "See you there."

But Starscream never made it to Maccadam's Old Oil House that night. Or the next night. Or the next.

The strange visitor in his office sat so still it was unnerving. Yet that stillness, combined with the dark mech's terse, expressionless statements, was oddly compelling. In his presence, Starscream found it difficult to organize his thoughts.

"Why me?" he asked, confused. "I have no interest in the gladiatorial circuits. I am a scientist."

"A 'humble scientist' with aspirations to global power." The voice was utterly without inflection, but it managed the sardonic jab just fine, regardless.

"How-?" Starscream stopped, and composed himself haughtily. "You know nothing of my ambitions."

The blue mech did not respond to the retort. He merely continued on in the same flat monotone, "We know you have abilities that would be of use to us. We have need for skilled fliers. Your name topped the list."

Starscream lifted his chin proudly. He was good, and he knew it. But he wanted to be sure before he committed himself. "How do I know you're anything more than just the latest street gang?" he demanded. "I fail to see what that fame-seeking brawler Megatron could possibly offer that might convince me to jeopardize my position here."

For that matter, what do these so-called 'Decepticons' want with you? he thought, as he examined the mech opposite him with some distaste. It was obvious the ugly, squarish bot was not a flier. He didn't even appear to have a vehicular mode at all.

"Your position here?" The toneless voice was deeply mocking. Starscream disliked it more and more with each klik. "You are only a mid-level worker in a large complex... one of many others like it." An eerie gleam flashed behind the dark mech's visor. "We can offer you power. Respect. Command. Megatron has instructed me to tell you that, should you prove acceptable, the possibilities for promotion are..." Here, he tilted his head a single, precise nanometer, "Almost unlimited."

Something about all this made Starscream nervous. But he could not shake a strange fascination with the whole idea.

Power. Respect. Command. The words played over and over like a blinking error message in his CPU. Starscream's most secret fear was that his chances for legitimate advancement were more limited than the reach of his dreams. Power. Respect. Command. Why not? He was a superb flier; the best on all Cybertron, if you asked him. And several of his inventions were just waiting for some unusually-intelligent agent to realize their merit.

Respect. Command. There must be a catch somewhere in all this. But no matter what he told himself, the darkly tempting thought of being the famous Starscream whom everyone admired – instead of just another unknown lab tech – kept niggling at the back of his processor. The blue mech's yellow visor glinted at him again, and he shivered slightly. But after all, what harm could it do to check things out?

The messenger arose, although Starscream had said nothing. "Meet Megatron in forty breems," he intoned, "If you are interested." With the briefest of nods, he saw himself out the door.

Starscream sat alone in his office for several long kliks, reviewing everything the inscrutable visitor had said. Power... He could make a whole lot of things right, if he only had the means. Respect. He'd show them. He'd show them all.

"Well? Were you successful?"

"Yes, Lord Megatron. He will be arriving soon, as planned."

"Excellent." The scarred gray mech steepled his fingers, and looked up at his lieutenant. "Liabilities? Points of influence?"

"His buried self-hatred drives him to crave admiration from others. He wishes above all else to hold a position of authority, despite a tempestuous nature which makes him unfit for command. His abilities are not inconsequential; but they are certainly less than he believes them to be. He will be easy to leverage."

The masked blue mech paused, and leveled a piercing gaze down on his commanding officer. "Interestingly," he went on, "This Starscream also seems to feel an unusually strong need for a spark bond. In fact, in many ways he is not unlike-"

"Enough!" Megatron's red optics blazed in sudden anger. With some difficulty, he kept his voice to an icy calm. "That will be all, Soundwave."

Halfback looked up and smiled warmly as Starscream entered. But the smile left his faceplates in an instant as the red jet staggered, slammed down the door, and fell in a heap of shorting circuitry to the floor. "What happened to you?" he demanded, as he lifted the exhausted flier to his feet, and dragging him over to a nearby chair.

Starscream collapsed gratefully into the seat. "Target practice," he explained.

"What, were you the target?"

The battered flier snorted. "Very funny, Halfback. But none of those pathetic Smelter-rejects coulda hit me, even if I had been." He grunted painfully, still trying to find a comfortable way to sit. "I made the rest of the so-called Air Squadron look bad, is what happened. They jumped me, after speed drills." He let his head loll back against the wall, and vented a long sigh of contentment. "But Megatron pounded them for me, so that's all right." He smirked. "They won't be forgetting that lesson any time soon."

"Starscream, you're being an idiot!" Halfback was frustrated by his friend's blind optimism. "It's Megatron they learned to fear today, not you. They'll hate you now, for getting them humiliated. Don't you see that? Your so-called rescuer ought to have known his show of favoritism would kill your chances of making friends with your fellow... Decepticons." He grimaced at the word, disliking it more every orn. "You're going to have to watch your back now more than ever," he warned.

"It's not like I'm not used to it," sniffed Starscream, unrepentant.

"Why? Why are you so willing to put up with this kind of thing?" Halfback asked angrily.

"I earned these," the flier pointed out, wincing. "I'm a Seeker, now." He proudly indicated two purple insignias on his wings. "Don't touch!" he yelped, when the brown mech bent to examine them. "They're still tender..."

"So you've made it official, then." Halfback slumped. He tried to be happy for Starscream, but there was nothing he could bring himself to cheer about. "You know how I feel about these upstart rebel factions. I wouldn't trust that Megatron with one of my spare tires. I wish I knew what he was tempting you with."

"It's not a temptation; it's a promise. And it's worth it, believe me." Cybertron's newest Decepticon let his systems slow with a contented sigh of relief. "Besides, you always patch me back together." He switched off his red optics, and waited with childlike faith for his friend to fix his wounds. "Good old Halfback..."

Sighing in exasperation, the big six-wheeler left the room, and returned with his depleted repair kit. With hands grown skilled of late, he gently wiped encrusted energon from the gashes in the light flier's thin plating. When he could see the wounds clearly, he began methodically to weld them each in turn. He knew Starscream would complain that he had botched the job, would say that the perfection of his form had been marred by Halfback's incompetence. But he also knew that there was no one else to whom the proud tetrajet would ever go to for help.

He shook his head. Sometimes he worried about being Starscream's safety net. But Halfback had never managed to leave the temperamental flier to face the consequences of his own impulsive actions. It would have felt like abandoning a newling.

He'd been working for almost a full joor, when the long silence was broken. "Halfback?" Starscream's usually cocksure voice was somber. "I know you've asked me to stop bringing this up. We spend most of our time together anyway, and of course talk of a spark-bond is ridiculous. But I-" His voice trailed off, but the naked face he raised to Halfback's steadfast gaze pled mutely for understanding.

The brown mech's his mouth grew tight, as he looked down at his battered friend. "Are you looking for someone to ground you, Starscream?" he asked bluntly.

"Of course not!" the fiery jet retorted. "Maybe! I don't know!" He shifted awkwardly. "It's just that, lately, I feel more and more... aw, frag..."

"Fragged just about covers it." Halfback dropped his tools into the battered box, and sighed. His servos squealed in protest as he lowered himself onto the floor beside the injured flier. "Starscream," he said gently, "You've got to realize that no other mech can make you feel complete. That's a job you've got to do yourself."

The injured jet flared into sudden anger. "What makes you think- I'm not-!"

"Starscream," the big mech called across his spluttering. He put an arm around the flier's shoulders, a familiarity that Starscream would never have tolerated from another bot. "Anyone who spends more than five kliks with you can see it," Halfback said. "It's obvious how much you hate to be alone."

The brown transporter sat back, and wearily rolled his neck to realign a kinked cranial linkage. It had been a taxing evening.

"I don't mind being here for you," he said. "It's nice to be important to someone. Besides, think how monotonous my life would be without your special brand of pandemonium! You make me smile," he added kindly, "And that's got to count for something."

Starscream glared at the bulky mech, and muttered something rude.

But Halfback was unmoved by the other's protestations. "I'll think about it," he said at last, reluctantly. "I hadn't planned to enter a spark-bond. I'm happy on my own. But..." He considered for a moment, and shrugged. "I suppose if you can't change the way you're programmed, then I'd be willing to be the mech you lean on."

Although he tried to hide it, a wave of relief passed over the new-made Decepticon's quick features. His expressive face held a world of silent gratitude.

"Thanks Halfback," he mumbled. "Thanks for not hating me for it."

"I'll never hate you, Starscream," the indulgent mech replied. "Now go get recharged before you collapse on the floor. Again."

The red flier shuffled off down the hall, hugging to himself the knowledge that at least there was one bot who had not rejected him outright.

But Starscream was destined to go through his whole life unbonded. And ungrounded.

"I miss you," Halfback said without inflection, as they sipped high-grade at Maccadam's a few quartex later. "Work's not the same without you. When you left they partnered me with stuffy old Jetfire." He made a face. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm bored."

Starscream curled his lip disdainfully. "There's nothing that could make me go back to that old treadmill," he declared.

Halfback set down his cube half-full, grimacing as the energon burned down his tubes. Starscream had insisted on buying a grade much stronger than the fuel the big transporter was used to. He knew his next question would not be a welcome one. But as always, he would ask it. He jerked his chin at the inverted sigils on his friend's outstretched white wings. "Are you still certain this is what you want to do?"

"Of course I am! Stop pestering me about my choice, for Primus' sake!" For the third or forth time that night, Starscream repeated, "Megatron is going places, and I am going with him! If you weren't so blinded by the propaganda of our so-called 'leadership,' you'd be going places, too!"

The flier took a big swig from his cube, and set it empty on the table. "I'm finally doing something important, Halfback; not just all that pointless scrabbling we did back at the lab. We – the Decepticon armies – Are going to make a difference. We're going to get rid of narrow-minded mechs like Sentinel Prime, and bring some slagging justice to this planet!"

Halfback drew back, tensing. "It's true, then," he breathed sadly. "You really are outlaws now."

Starscream ignored the term, and pounded the chrome table in impatience. "You're missing the potential here, Halfback! Not just for Cybertron, but for you and me as well! I could get us a real posh habitation, and we'd never go short on energon again..."

The stolid mech just stared at him, as if he were a stranger.

"I thought you would be happy for me," Starscream muttered, disappointed.

"Happy?" Halfback sloshed his high-grade back and forth across the bottom of his cube. "It's not all propaganda," he said quietly, still frowning into the fuel's dull glow, "I've talked to people, Starscream. Done my research." He shuddered. "If some of the things that I've heard from eyewitnesses are true..."

"Those rumors are just lies, made up by jealous mechs," put in Starscream quickly. But he would not meet his tall friend's gaze.

"Come with me, Halfback," he implored, leaning his elbows on the table. "Then you'll see. I'm sure they'll find a place for a burly groundpounder like you, somewhere!"

Halfback winced; not at the offensive term some fliers employed to describe the non-flying majority, but that the jet hadn't even seemed to notice he was saying it. He'd heard that ground-bound mechs did not last long within the burgeoning Decepticon ranks. He shook his head, and took a drink to cover his revulsion.

"What's stopping you?" Starscream demanded.

"I am," said Halfback heavily. "What you and your cohorts are doing is wrong. I can't sit idly by and watch. I have to do what I believe is right." When the other mech made no reply, Halfback set down his cube with a heavy, final clunk. "I care for you, Starscream," he said. "But I won't be your refuge any longer."

The cocky half-grin faded from the jet's expressive face, and his countenance closed down. "Are you going to turn me in?" he asked with icy calm.

Halfback raised dark optics to his lost friend's icy stare. "Yes," he replied sadly. "If I have to."

"You said you'd never hate me."

"I don't hate you, Starscream. You are my friend. And thought you may not think it, this is what a real friend does."

Without a word, the red jet rose. He left the table, the Old Oil House, and the last true friend he would ever possess.

Megatron sat in state upon a custom-fitted throne of tri-lithium and bronze. "The time has come to strike, Starscream, my newest and most enlightened lieutenant. We must seize the power from those who fail to wield it properly, and reforge this planet of ours into the cosmic dreadnought it was destined to become."

Starscream shifted nervously through his Commander's spiel. He'd done his best to merit Megatron's attention, to find a place among the leaders of the movement. Today's summons bore witness to his success. But now that it had come down to it, he didn't feel as confident as he'd claimed about the wisdom of his recent actions.

He glanced unhappily around the big iron room. On his right, Soundwave stood guard at the doorway. And at his elbow, Skywarp fidgeted, always gung-ho for any sort of action.

He could not back out now; not without losing face to friends and enemies alike. And right now Starscream wasn't certain which was which. So from here on, he'd make his way forward as best he could.

For now, he feigned humility. "What is your command, Lord Megatron?" he asked with an obsequious bow.

The Commander smiled languidly; and the expression sent shudders through Starscream's capacitors – shivers of fear, of fascination, and of hunger.

"Ironic, isn't it – how often fate will bring us back to our beginnings." The big Decepticon lifted his gray head, and met his newly-minted Seeker's shrinking gaze. "I'm sending you and Skywarp here to the research complex at Altihex." His optics flashed like ancient coals. "You know it, I believe?"

"I do, Sir."

"Destroy it for me. I want nothing but a crater there. Finish it in seven breems or less, and I'll promote you to Air Commander."

"Now, Lord Megatron?" His vocalizer squeaked, and he hated himself for showing weakness.

Megatron's grim smile sharpened to a knifepoint. "You have an objection, Starscream?"

Despite himself, the flier felt his hands lifting beseechingly. "It's only that- A mech I used to work with there – a friend of mine – He'll be-"

"Ah yes. Halfback will be inside, won't he?" said the inscrutable gray warrior, steepling his fingers.

A flash of panic surged through Starscream's CPU. They knew... Oh, Primus, they all knew... He flinched as Megatron stretched out a single, heavy arm, and took his chin in thumb and forefinger.

With a light touch, the leader drew the soldier's face downward till it was inches from his own. "Your friend has been working against us; did you know that?" he murmured.

The flier's fear intensified. Of course he'd known that Halfback would resist, that he would not be just a passive cog in the machine. Starscream expected nothing less of him. But what would be his punishment for withholding that information?

But Megatron was speaking, still with the deceptive mildness of a predator toying with its captive prey. "Your friend has come into possession of some information that, were he to broadcast it, would be detrimental to our plans," he whispered into Starscream's shrinking audials. With sudden violence, he thrust the new-made Seeker's face away from him. "He must be terminated. Now."

The red jet summoned up the last of his depleted courage. "But- Lord Megatron, please-!"

"You cared for him, didn't you?" There was a sneering emphasis on the word. Smooth as hot oil pouring over cinders, the gravely voice continued, "Soundwave tells me that you'd actually asked him to bond with you..."

Starscream shot a hate-filled glance at the Communications Officer. He'd find a way to punish him for tale-bearing, if it was the last thing he did online-

"...He refused your proposal, of course. Who wouldn't? But that's not what matters now." Black fingers clamped around the flier's neck, jerking him off-balance. Again, his head was roughly twisted down until he stared directly into his Leader's own cold optics.

"Understand this, Starscream," growled Megatron. "The life you had is ended. You gave it up of your own free will. Now you belong to me." He stroked a thumb down the red Seeker's cheek, its smoothness a sharp contrast to his own rough-hewn features. He smiled, and put a steadying hand on the cringing flyer's wing. "I'll be the one who takes care of you now. I'll give you opportunities that even you could never imagine. But before I do, you must prove that your loyalty is to me, and only to me. Obey this, my first order to you, and show your worth."

"Yes, Megatron," the red jet whispered brokenly.

The Decepticon Commander gave his soldier an encouraging pat. "That's right." He smiled again. "And Starscream-" Quick as lightening, the gray mech kicked out, and knocked the Seeker's feet from under him. He slammed the lighter mech's face down against the armrest of his polished throne. "Never question any of my orders again."

The new recruit fell to the floor in a contorted heap. He lay there gasping, streaming energon from a broken nose and unhinged mouth. Unable to speak, the jet could only spit in rage and humiliation.

As Megatron glanced with contempt down at the wounded mech, his lip curled in disgust. He shifted his gaze implacably to Skywarp. "That will be all," he said. "Get out; and take this useless fool out of my sight."

"Why do you take such pleasure in his torment?" queried Soundwave, as the door closed at the backs of the retreating fliers.

Megatron waved a dismissive hand. "He's weak. He feels too much. Thinks he's worthless unless he's showered with respect. I'll beat it out of him."

The dark blue telepath leveled an uncomfortably perceptive gaze upon the Decepticon Commander. "We are still talking about Starscream, aren't we?" he inquired, as a subtle flash passed beneath his concealing visor.

Alone of all his soldiers, Megatron was the only mech who did not fear Soundwave's uncanny ability to enter his mind at will. He had no doubts about the loyalty of his most-self-serving lieutenant: as long as Megatron held his place as Cybertron's strongest rebel, the implacable blue mech would follow him. They shared the same ambitions; one's advance was the other's gain. But even so...

An ominous whine rose from the fusion cells in the newly-installed cannon on Megatron's right arm. "Get out of my mind, you piece of filth," he growled, leveling the weapon at his Communications Officer.

Wordlessly, the dark mech nodded, turned on his heel, and left.

With a percussive scream, the lab complex at Altihex exploded. Cinders fell in fiery rain, as giant panes of glass slid down collapsing walls to crumple on the ground. Amid the moan of twisting girders, Starscream's keening wail of grief was never heard.

His energon was rapidly exhausted in the ferocity of his hysterical barrage. In fact, he would have fallen from the sky, had not the blue and purple wingmates Megatron had sent along as minders caught him by the arms before he crashed.

The sole survivor of the attack, Jetfire scrambled from beneath the rubble just in time to see the glow of his friend's thrusters fade into the smoke above the flame-lit gloom.

Starscream awoke from stasis, and looked up into criss-crossed metal beams and corrugated roofing. He recognized the ceiling of the Decepticons' repair bay, and loosed a long, slow sigh.

"I'm home," he murmured, testing out the words. He noted that his smashed jaw was repaired, and thought of Halfback's patch-work for an agonizing instant. It wasn't perfect; one hinge stuck a bit. But it would function.

He turned his head, expecting to see Hook, the green Constructicon who'd ended up as Medic of the moment.

But Megatron was there instead.

"Yes, Starscream. You are home." The gray Commander snuffed out the small welding torch he held, replaced it in its tray, and stepped up to his soldier's side. "And as you see, my passionate Lieutenant, I've taken care of you."

The tetrajet could find no words. He turned his face away.

But he could not avoid the black hand laid upon his shoulder. "You did well," the gruff voice said. "I'm very pleased indeed."