“Just Ridin’ That Storm Runnin’ Through My Veins Like A Shot Down, Tailspun Airplane” ★彡

“Just ridin’ that storm runnin’ through my veins like a shot down, tailspun airplane” ★彡

-Luke Combs (Ain’t No Love In Oklahoma)

Chapter 10

‘Where is it? where is it?’ Starscream thought as he dug frantically through a drawer in his habisuite. His wing hung painfully by the few lines that Megatron didn’t rupture in his anger. His frame was wet with energon as he searched for his stash of medical supplies. This was one of Megatron’s worst tempers yet. Usually Megatron let him free with only minor injuries. Something to keep the bots under his command afraid of him. This time he made Starscream an example. Taking his time and making a show of humiliating Starscream in front of his subordinates. He bared his denta in fury and agony as he thought about what he would do if he could fight back. If those imbeciles didn’t respect and fear their leader so much, if they wouldn’t turn on him if he stood up to Megatron. He wanted their respect and their loyalty just as much as he wanted to lead them. Though he wouldn’t lead them with falsehoods and intimidation as the warlord saw fit to.

Throwing the drawer aside that he’d emptied searching for an energon patch, he looks around frantically. There must be something he could use to stabilize his wounds. He’d planned for this, stolen medical supplies so he could take care of this himself. He didn’t need anyone else. Especially those mindless idiots who idolized that brute of a warlord. The first time something like this happened, he was refused help at the makeshift med bay. Hook locked the door on him, shaking his helm and telling him it was Megatron who ordered him to refuse to aid the injured seeker. He started taking supplies for himself then. Finding ways to treat his own injuries.

Finally in the last drawer he found it. A single energon patch and several welding rods. He could use an old polishing cloth as a line clamp if necessary. The wound in his side pulsed with pain as he applied the patch. Gritting his denta in pain, he activated the patch and it pulsed to life. Immediately he felt the numbing relief of the infusion. Medical grade energon was hard to come by these cycles. All mining efforts were redirected to the production of the synthetic energon used in the production of drones. Another one of Megatron’s plans that Starscream sneered at. He knew way too much of his leader’s attention was in the wrong place. Thats why the war had gone on so long. His priorities were backwards. Focusing on the power he gained and not the mechs he had under his command. Starscream knew he’d be a better leader. But Megatron made sure no one would respect him. They’d see him as a coward.

For a moment he just sat there on the edge of his berth. The nerve sensors in his injured wing had been so heavily damaged that they had all but gone numb. Taking a deep vent in he leaned forward and rested his helm on his fist. Balefully he stared down at his peds. Was this what he’d been reduced to? Cowering and taking the blame for something he wasn’t responsible for? It hadn’t always been like this. Before the energon on cybertron ran out, before the discovery of the thirteen worlds, he was respected. Megatron shared his plans and knowledge with him. Trusted him with important duties as his second in command. He gave him honor and encouragement. This was altogether different. A desperate Megatron who had begun to go mad with grief over a world lost.

Energon still leaked from his torn wing, dripping into a small puddle at his peds. It shook him from his spiraling thoughts as it ran sluggishly down the plating of his servo. His vision started to blur and he knew he’d have to at least temporarily patch up his wing before he bled out. Standing on unsteady peds, he limped over to his desk and grabbed the welding iron. The few rods he had would be enough but it would be hard to reach it on his own. His pride had broken most of the relationships he had with other bots on the Nemesis. Even his own trine had distanced themselves from him as he took out his anger at Megatron on everyone around him.

Taking a deep vent in against the inevitable pain and balling his servo into a fist, he sent it into the wall. A shout of frustration escaped his intake to hide the despair that welled up in his optics. Ignoring the aching, self inflicted, loneliness in his spark; he loaded the rods into the welding iron and set his wing as best he could. White hot pain seared through him and he bit back a groan as the iron touched his injured mesh. He clenched his denta and screwed his optics shut as he welded the torn joint back together in a crude line. It was grotesque looking to say the least. At least he wasn’t leaking energon anymore. One of his shoulder joints was strained and he had a few other minor injuries that his nanites would eventually take care of. Setting down the iron he gripped the edge of his desk and tried to control the shaking in his limbs. All this pain and for what?

Suddenly the walls of his habisuite felt confining. He had to get out of there. Go somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t here. Perhaps a flight would do him some good. There was something beautiful and peaceful about this miserable planet. He turned and stalked out through the sliding door and past several drones who watched him with emotionless faceplates. He pushed past a trio of constructicons who wouldn’t look him in the optics. Whispering amongst themselves as he tried his very best to hold his injured wing just as high as the other. Finally making it to the flight deck, he transformed and took off. Going nowhere in particular, just away from the Nemesis.

•••

You sat with your legs dangling off of the medical slab listening to Dr. Antonov as he explained the life support apparatus he was installing in your cockpit. Bee, who had somehow pushed his way into the med bay past Ratchet, looked on with a worried expression. Looking down at the limp form resting in your chassis, you couldn’t blame him. By all appearances your body was dead. All ashen features and lifeless limbs. You looked peaceful, the only thing that gave any sign of life was the occasional twitch of an eye or a digit. These were signs of a strong connection to your machine. Dr. Antonov finishes hooking up a milky looking bag and needle to the inside of your arm and mech. Looking up at you with a furrowed brow, he speaks.

“Seraphim. These, I am adding to keep your body alive. This nutrient IV drip will supplement the energon infusion and keep your body functioning. This is temporary just until I figure out how to disconnect you safely. Remember this is your body. Take care of it and don’t forget who you are in this time you are stuck.”

You nod solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation and how easy it would be to forget you weren’t Cybertronian. You had already struggled in the past with separation from your mech and now you were permanently fused with it. At least until the good doctor found a way to get you out. The realization that this could very well kill you set in like a heavy fog over your form. Dr. Antonov nods and steps back. Giving you permission to leave if you wanted to. Taking a deep vent in and closing your cockpit around the vulnerable body within, you stand.

“I’m…going on patrol. I’ll be back later ok. You’ve got my location. Comm if you need anything.”

Turning to leave without looking at Bumblebee, even as he started to protest, you make your way through the sliding door of the med bay. The doctor raises his hand as if to silence the yellow scout.

“It’s better if she figures this out on her own.”

Outside the bay, several of the others were out on patrol. You pass Michael, who gives you a sympathetic look but doesn’t speak. Standing next to his mech on one of the many platforms surrounding it. The Autobot base and base of operations for Project Archangel was situated in a remote mountainous location. Far away from the prying eyes of Decepticons and humans alike. It was peaceful and as the bay doors opened to let you out, the cool breeze hit your faceplate and grounded you in reality. The lake a few miles below was quiet and tranquil. A perfect spot to sit and think. A deck officer offered you a ground bridge to wherever you wanted to go. You politely declined, just wanting to walk for a bit and think.

This area of the world was a protected wildlife preserve. One of monumental significance to earth. The trees were dwarfed even Michael’s heavy mech. It always made you feel small in a humbling way. As if your problems were just a tiny ripple in the vast ocean of the universe. It was comforting in a way. The musty smell of damp leaves and fresh scent of evergreen drifted past as you tread along the forest. The gaps between the massive trees were plenty large enough to allow for your Cybertronian-like frame. It wasn’t long until you reached the edge of the lake. A soft breeze fell over its surface, disturbing the perfect mirror that reflected the afternoon sky. Settling yourself among the rocks, you let the sunlight hit your faceplate and silently thank Dr. Antonov for the addition of nerve sensors so you could still experience warmth.

Thinking of warmth made you recall the feeling of warm servos on your frame as the Decepticon communications officer carried you to the holding cell. Why had they been described with such hate by the Autobots? Weren’t they all the same species? They hadn’t killed you. Just mishandled you out of ignorance. At least the ones beneath the ruthless warlord. You shuddered at the memory of being in Megatron’s grasp. His cold and indifferent optics focused on your helpless form.

A sound from above rattles you out of your thoughts. The scream of jet engines. It wasn’t uncommon to hear near the base as two of the Autobots were flight frames. But this didn’t sound like either of them. You focus your optics and catch a glimpse of a startlingly familiar color scheme. Red, white and blue with hints of grey and an orange cockpit. What was the second in command of the Decepticons doing here? Looking closer you saw a worrying trail of black smoke from one of his wings. Maybe he was chased all the way out here by an Autobot patrol? You didn’t see anyone in pursuit when you scanned the horizon. Watching as he landed clumsily to your left and transformed. His face a mask of pain that told you he was in fact injured. Limping forward, he lowered himself heavily to his knees at the waters edge. This was something you had to investigate for yourself.

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therocketeer0501

2 months ago

Emptiness Machine

Starscream X Reader (mech pilot au)

Author note: little tw for choking but that’s it! Sorry it’s a short chapter but I wanted to get it out.

Chapter 6

“Lazerbeak eject.” Soundwave sent his cassette after you with subdue only orders. No lethal force was to be used on the prisoner. The agile cassette kept up with ease as you darted around the hallways of the nemesis. You were expending Energon at a high rate using your jump jets like this, but you couldn’t think of anything else to do. You passed several stunned mechs who hollered after you or dropped what they were doing in pursuit. Klaxon rang in your auditory sensors and flashing red lights threatened to short out your visual circuits. Holding the pieces of your chest plate together with one hand, you stagger down a hallway and use one last boost.

No matter what you did you couldn’t shake that damn bird who was following just a bit behind you. No doubt reporting your position to the others. You turn to look at it as you activate your jets. You hear it squawk in alarm and see it dart in the opposite direction. Looking at it was a huge mistake it seemed as you slam straight into a clawed metallic hand. It closes around the throat of your mech, squeezing until you choke. A strangled sound coming from your intake as your optics flicker and malfunction. Trying your best to see your captor around the mess of warnings and error messages on your HUD, you stare completely dumbstruck. Your free hand scrabbles at the hand around your throat. This moment would surely be your last as your blue optics meet deep crimson ones.

The pounding of peds behind the two of you announces the arrival of several other Decepticons. You can’t turn your head but you remember the voice of the boxy blue mech that you pushed past earlier. Hearing his voice translated into your language once more as the Cybertronian translation program within your mech works its magic.

“Lord Megatron. Apologies. The prisoner is under control.”

A deep voice spoke. Commanding but calm. Deadly calm. It sent ice down your spinal strut as you struggled again. His grip was so tight you were sure if you tried to speak your vocal modulator would short out.

“Soundwave, old friend, what is this injured creature doing on my ship?”

He continued to hold you by your throat. Lifted about a ped length off the ground suspended by his one hand. He was powerful and that was enough to send panic through you. This was the mech that killed hundreds of thousands, the mech who incited a millennia long war, a monster who would rather see his own world burn than leave even one of his enemies alive. That was the only word you managed to grate out of your intake as he held you there.

“M…monster…”

He growled at you but didn’t respond as he was interrupted by the sound of calm ped steps arriving on scene. You recognize the voice of Shockwave immediately, a fresh wave of panic surging through you to make your chest ache. You were barely conscious as it was, but you were starting to see white at the edge of your vision.

“Lord Megatron that would be my doing. I have reason to believe that the humans have been able to create an artificial spark. I took this ‘thing’ to study it. See if perhaps it might prove useful.”

There was murmuring from the small gathered crowd of Decepticons as you felt many optics on your damaged form. One servo holding the plates of your chest together and the other digging into Megatron’s massive digits.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t crush your little science project and be done with it. I told you the humans are of no consequence and to leave them be. We have no proof that they are even sentient creatures. The only thing we should be concerning ourselves with is mining Energon.”

He shakes your near limp form, a soft noise of pain escapes you and you feel his servo tighten. Your mech doesn’t need to breathe air, but he could easily crush your spinal strut and sever your head clean from your body. If you received a life threatening wound to your mech, your real body was adversely affected. If you didn’t die, you would be terribly close to it. Behind you, you hear Soundwave start to speak again but another familiar voice pipes up from the crowd. It was the winged mech from earlier who had spoken to you.

“My lord! Please let me take care of this horrible mess that Shockwave has created. I spoke with the creature and I believe it may have valuable information about the location of the Autobot base. Perhaps even the locations of their Energon mines. You needn’t bother yourself with such a pitiful excuse for a distraction.”

You scrunch your nose as you listen to him. Whoever this bot was, he was a suck up. Megatron visibly rolled his eyes and dropped your limp form to the floor. He growled in the direction of the mech.

“You spoke to it? Take care of it Starscream. Before I decide to let you take the blame for this inconvenience. As second in command you are responsible for the actions of those under you. Deal with it.”

With that, the crowd dispersed leaving the three of them with you. You don’t move, too exhausted and drained of Energon to muster any fight. Pain seared through every fiber of your being as you gaze blearily up at their frames. You hear Starscream mumble something about getting you to the brig before Megatron changed his mind. The boxy blue bot whom Megatron had called Soundwave, stepped forward and gently lifted you into his arms. He was warm just like the other one. Why did this surprise you? You had been held by most of the Autobots back at the base. Why would these Cybertronians be any different? Perhaps the image of the Decepticons that the autobots created? Like dark cryptids, or something altogether evil and sinister. You expected cold, calculating, monsters. But as you gaze up into the visor of the one carrying you, you swear you see pity in the optics you find there.