ACCESSING RECONSTRUCTION MEMORY // SECTOR 03-A
Reconstruction Playback Initiated
[SIGNAL TRACE ACTIVE // HISTORICAL MEMORY FRAGMENT RECOVERED]
Old Detroit Ruins // Six Months Later
SIX MONTHS LATER…
Heat shimmered over the ruins of Old Detroit, the gutted skyline groaning like old metal. The trine had claimed a crumbling house on the outskirts: no power, no plumbing—but the roof held, the windows opened, the doors locked.
It was theirs.
Starscream left her brothers to guard it.
Thundercracker had a baseball bat with nails driven through it. Skywarp had a weed eater with a saw blade bolted on.
Their home was well protected.
Even if Starscream still worried for them.
Her new frame gleamed in the sunrise—sleek, polished, sculpted to match her designation.
No skates. No servitude.
Just long legs, sharp cheekbones, and a body built to fly.
It had taken months—painful, secret work with a free bot named Skyfire. She’d met him during a biodiesel trade. Starscream hated the foul stuff, but it kept her trine fueled. Skyfire liked the challenge of rebuilding her frame and programming. Starscream was happy to fuel his curiosity if it meant getting her body into perfect shape.
DIY femme programming. Torrenting stolen files. Building herself in the dark with a box of scraps.
And now?
She thought she looked damn good.
Finger-waved bob. Shorts. Black fitted T-shirt. Red oversized jacket.
No wings yet. She and her brothers were still sketching the plans. And they didn’t have the fuel to power them anyway.
That’s why she needed credits. Energon. Upgrades. Survival.
She prowled the shopping district like a ghost, watching the lower middle class shuffle through storefronts.
Starscream was unseen. For now.
One day, she vowed. I’ll own this city.
And the humans?
They’ll serve me.
Starscream found her target: a mostly hidden, ancient ATM. She pulled out her hacked card, screwdriver flashing in her claws.
“Do doo dooo,” she sang softly.
The machine echoed the melody. ATMs were musically swayed, if you knew how to coax them.
Almost in—
Cluck. Cluck. Cluck.
Heavy, unmistakable footsteps. A monster’s gait.
Starscream’s plating shivered at the sound. She knew it. Everyone knew it.
“Rogue asset. You will comply.”
The unfeeling voice echoed through the alleyway.
An Offliner. A Cybertronian hunter. A rogue-catcher. Machines that dragged free bots back to their owners—or offlined them where they stood.
“Frag it,” Starscream hissed, ripping her card and screwdriver from the ATM and bolting down the alley.
Red and blue lights flared. Sirens wailed. Her sneakers skidded as she cornered hard.
Left or right?
She bounced once, looking both ways—then chose.
She veered left—
And was grabbed.
An iron hand seized her elbow, yanking her right. Hard. Into the shadows.
A massive frame shielded her from the hunter’s sight, pressing her against brick. Pinned, but not hurt. Just hidden.
A mech. Matte black and gray. Red optics burning. His plating was scarred with minework, dust clinging like ash. A living shadow pulled from the earth itself.
She opened her mouth to snarl—
And he kissed her.
Her first kiss.
Heat and shock flooded her body, shorting every circuit. Her hydraulics thundered. Her faceplates flushed red. Her spark nearly burst. Rising on tiptoe, she curled an arm around his neck, kissing him back with everything she had.
The world—sirens, lights, noise—vanished.
Just heat. Just pressure. Just him.
The Offliner passed by, scanning for Starscream. But the mech who kissed her?
Hidden.
Odd.
Maybe the ash from the mines cloaked him?
He broke the kiss, chuckling as she sagged against his chest. The sound was jagged, unpracticed—like someone who hadn’t spoken freely in years.
“Look at you, spitfire of a Seeker.” His voice dripped with awe, as though the sight before him was art he’d never believed existed.
She blinked, breathless. “Seeker?” she echoed. “What’s a Seeker?”
He smirked. “Those Primus gifted with flight.”
The word hit her spark like a key in a lock.
Her optics narrowed.
“Come on, little Seeker. We gotta move.” He held out his hand.
She crossed her arms. “And pray tell, where are we going? I walked here. Low on fuel. I don’t have my wings yet.”
He jerked a thumb behind him. “My bike.”
“Bike?” She peeked past him.
A sleek, matte-black ground bike glowed faint red. Fast. Reckless. Made from scavenged parts.
Held together with duct tape and a dream.
Just like Starscream.
She looked up at the mech, then nodded. “Alright then...”
He didn’t move. Just watched her. Longer this time.
“What’s your name?” Starscream asked, laying a claw in his servo.
He hesitated—as if no one had ever asked before. As if no one had ever cared.
“Megatron,” he said at last, voice rough. The name was new on his tongue—pulled from the mines, sharp as the pickaxe that had once chained him. A name he had chosen. A name that meant war.
His optics burned. “Yours?”
She met his gaze, unflinching.
“Starscream.”
The names hung between them like sparks in the dark.
Not given. Not assigned.
Chosen.
And nothing would ever be the same.
Present Day // The Nemesis
The Nemesis jolted, snapping Starscream out of the memory.
Megatron steadied her, his large claw on her chest for a moment, then moved to shift gears again.
“Would you like me to run an internal spark diagnostic—” Otis began from her bag.
“Denied until we’re safe,” Starscream whispered, rubbing her chest plates to soothe her flickering spark. She was fine. This wasn’t too much stress. She had a strong spark. The—
“I must insist,” Otis protested.
Ignored.
Megatron typed into the dash, activating a live video call.
Soundwave and Shockwave appeared on-screen.
“Soundwave: acknowledged,” came the cold, coded voice.
“Acknowledged,” Shockwave echoed, ever impassive.
Apart, Megatron and Starscream could be tricked. Derailed. Detained.
Together?
“REPORT,” the united leaders of the Decepticons commanded.
Unstoppable.
End File.