"Scalpel, are you certain there are no glitches in these logic chips?"
The sudden question snapped Nathan's focus back to the present. He tensed, his servos whining as he braced for another potential assault. Not again, he thought, recalling the violent impact against the hangar wall. He hadn't fully synced with his new chassis yet; one more "calibration" from Starscream and his cerebral module might actually rattle loose.
Fortunately, the paranoia was internal.
"Ge-ge-ge~ Relax, Starscream. There are no errors."
The voice belonged to a miniature Decepticon with eyes like glowing bulbs, resembling a tallic arachnid. This was Scalpel, the Decepticon Chief dic. Barely the size of a basketball, he was currently scuttling across the prone chassis of a deactivated unit, his many limbs clicking rhythmically against the tal.
"I designed and coded every chip in this batch myself," Scalpel rasped, his voice a manic buzz. "You don't trust my craftsmanship?"
"Hmph. I suppose," Starscream conceded, his red optics flickering as he paced the chamber. He seed to dismiss his earlier suspicion as a ghost in the machine. "The fras for T-18 through T-25 were forged from local ores, but the T-Cogs are old-stock Cybertronian. They should hold."
The Seeker began to vent his frustration, his voice rising to a shrill, arrogant pitch. "Curse this planet! Ever since I followed the High Protector's signal to this filth-ridden rock, I've been a commander without an army. I've had to do everything myself!"
"But that ends today. With this batch, I won't have to waste my ti on..."
In his corner of the room, Nathan felt a surge of relief. Starscream was exactly as the films portrayed him: paranoid, narcissistic, and prone to moody soliloquies. As long as the Seeker was focused on his own ego, he was predictable.
With the imdiate threat of execution lowered, Nathan perford a system check. The damage from being kicked across the room was minor; his internal auto-repair subroutines had already sealed the micro-fractures in his plating.
The chanics of it were fascinating. As a human, healing took weeks. As a machine, it was a matter of energy consumption.
The Energy Core... Nathan ntally "touched" the device thrumming behind his chest plates. He didn't have a Spark—the natural soul of a Cybertronian—but this synthetic substitute. He noticed his energy levels had dipped from 100% to 98%. One percent for the repairs, one for the initial activation.
It was clear that the movie lore he knew was only the tip of the iceberg. In this reality, the Decepticons weren't just hiding; they were building. They were manufacturing a new generation of soldiers in secret desert bunkers.
Nathan tilted his head, watching Starscream's back. Patience, he told himself. I can't settle the score today.
He was a Mid-tier warrior—a grunt with a bit of extra polish. Between him and Starscream's Commander-class status lay three distinct levels of power. Thanks to the data chips Scalpel had installed, Nathan now understood the hierarchy of the giants.
The power gap in Cybertronian society was a pyramid, and the tiers were absolute:
Basic Class: Drones, clones, and disposable grunts.Mid-tier Class: Standard soldiers with specialized roles. (Nathan's current rank).High-tier Class: Seasoned veterans and frontline specialists.Elite Class: The pinnacle of common soldiersmander Class: The strategic generals (Starscream, Soundwave, Shockwave).Leader Class: The absolute monarchs (gatron, Optimus Pri).Primal Class: The ancient legends (The Thirteen Pris).
A Commander wouldn't necessarily "one-shot" an Elite, but the fight would be a total massacre. For a Mid-tier like Nathan, challenging Starscream was less of a fight and more of a suicide note. He would be lucky to last three moves.
Nathan realized his "God's-eye view" of the plot was a double-edged sword. He knew about the Fallen—the Pri hiding in a starship near the sun—and he knew that the Fallen was the strongest being in this sector, having survived an ambush by six of his brothers eons ago.
Should I seek him out? Nathan wondered. The ultimate ntor for a Decepticon?
He imdiately dismissed the thought. Seeking out a Primal-class being while sitting at Mid-tier was like an ant trying to "partner" with a hurricane. The Fallen would likely crush him just for the noise his servos made.
For now, Nathan decided to play the part he was built for. He would be the loyal soldier, the silent shadow. He would observe, he would learn, and he would wait for the mont the "monsters" at the top of the pyramid started to bleed.
Live for today, Nathan thought, retracting his forearm blaster. Rule for tomorrow.
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