"Ze-ze-ze~ Excellent. Not a single scrap wasted."
Scalpel trilled with a static-filled delight as he inspected the remains of T-18. It was unclear whether the dic was excited by the act of deconstruction itself or the sheer efficiency of the salvage. He gestured toward a sphere of pulsating blue crystal resting on the deck.
"Starscream, your Synthetic Core."
Nathan's optics tracked the movent, his gaze sweeping over the object with hidden curiosity. The core was small enough to fit in a single clawed hand, its surface polished to a mirror finish. Deep within the translucent blue crystal, jagged streaks of indigo energy flickered like trapped lightning.
So that's the engine keeping alive, Nathan thought. A terrestrial battery for a chanical god.
"My property," Starscream rumbled, seizing the core. He held it up to the laboratory lights, watching the energy swirl within. "Unblemished. I'll forge a new chassis in a few cycles and recycle the unit. Waste is for the weak."
To a Commander like Starscream, any soldier below High-tier was a disposable asset—a battery-powered tool to be used until it burnt out. T-18's existence was less valuable than the core that had powered it.
"Take the core," Starscream said, gesturing to the mangled pile of parts on the floor. "As for the scrap... aside from the T-Cog, consider it a research grant, Scalpel. Use it for your little experints."
"Ze-ze-ze~ Generous, Starscream." Scalpel's many limbs twitched in anticipation. "I've been wanting to run a comparative analysis on terrestrial alloys versus Cybertronian slting. This is the perfect sample."
"Hmph." Starscream's optics flared. "Don't forget, Doctor—you still owe a data chip."
Scalpel didn't flinch. "Seventy-two hours, Starscream. Give three solar cycles and I'll have the code reconstructed. Your previous paynt covered the processing ti."
So it's a transaction, Nathan noted. Even the dics in this army don't move a limb without a price.
"Fine. I'll return in three days. I expect the chip to be ready for the next batch." Starscream turned to leave, his restless energy finally pushing him toward the exit. Nathan felt a flicker of hope; with the Commander gone, he might finally find a way to scout the base.
But Scalpel's raspy voice shattered the hope instantly.
"A mont, Starscream. I have a minor requirent."
The Air Commander paused at the threshold, his wings twitching with annoyance. "What now, Scalpel?"
"I need an assistant," the dic buzzed, his bulbous eyes swiveling toward the line of drones. "I forgot to backup the logic-gate architecture for the original chip. It was destroyed along with T-18's cerebral module. I need one of the drones to remain behind so I can map its neural pathways to reconstruct the data. Otherwise, the deadline is impossible."
Scalpel's predatory gaze drifted over the units, eventually settling on Nathan with a sinister flicker of yellow light.
Assistant? Nathan's processors spiked with dread. He had spent enough ti in labs in his past life. He wanted to get out into the world, to find the AllSpark, not be a pin-cushion for an insectoid dic.
"Choose one and be quick about it," Starscream barked. He lacked the technical knowledge to challenge Scalpel's claim.
Don't pick . Pick anyone else, Nathan prayed, his internal systems cycling with stress.
But as the saying goes, the outlier probability always hits when you least want it. Scalpel raised a tallic limb, pointing a sharp claw directly at Nathan.
"T-22. I require T-22. Take the others and begone."
Nathan stood frozen. He looked at Starscream, his optics dimming in a silent plea for a different assignnt.
"As you wish," Starscream replied. "T-22, you will remain and assist the dic. I'll assign your field mission once the data is reconstructed."
"Understood, Lord Starscream," Nathan replied, his vocalizer flat and obedient despite the internal chaos.
The heavy hangar doors groaned open, and Starscream led the remaining five drones out into the long, tallic corridors of the bunker. As they vanished, Nathan caught a glimpse of the base's architecture—brutal, industrial, and lit by a harsh sodium glow.
But as the doors hissed shut, a high-priority data packet slamd into Nathan's consciousness. It was a direct-neural injection, bypassing his sensory arrays to display text across his mind:
[ T-22. THIS IS STARSCREAM. WATCH THE DOCTOR. ]
[ IF HE DISPLAYS ANY ANOMALOUS BEHAVIOR OR ATTEMPTS TO ALTER YOUR CORE DATA, REPORT TO IMDIATELY. ]
Nathan's optics flickered violently. The sheer violation of the link was jarring. Starscream had treated the command as a casual footnote, but it left Nathan's logic processors reeling.
Why? Does Starscream expect a betrayal? Or is sothing else happening?
He couldn't analyze the command without more data, but he knew one thing: being a double-agent for a paranoid Seeker while serving as a test subject for a mad scientist was a recipe for a short lifespan.
"Ze-ze-ze~ Co here, T-22," Scalpel buzzed, his many legs clicking as he approached.
Nathan recalibrated his persona. If he was stuck here for seventy-two hours, he would use the ti to master his new body. He moved toward the dic, his heavy footsteps echoing in the now-empty lab.
"Doctor Scalpel," Nathan said, his voice a smooth, deferential baritone. "How may I assist your research?"
Better to play the willing pupil. If Scalpel was an "outlier" powerhouse, Nathan wanted him as an ally—or at least, as soone who wouldn't dismantle him for spare parts.
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