Chapter 1: Neon Escape
Chapter Narrative
The sounds of gunfire echoed through the tallest building in Neo Detroit. Normally dark, the tower reflected the city’s neon glow. Now it blazed with orange fire, choking smoke—and human chaos.
The fire escape door groaned as two elegant hands shoved it open.
Blood-red cat-claw manicure. A diamond ring with three stones on the right. A ruby halo on the left.
Starscream braced her weight, forcing the semi-hidden exit wide.
Blood streaked down her thigh, staining the black skirt. She had barely dodged the gunshot.
“Primus,” Starscream hissed, hoisting her oversized handbag higher on one shoulder.
Her stilettos clicked sharply onto the Neo Detroit street, earning a mechanical chirp from the bag—one she chose to ignore.
She looked left.
Then right.
The business district was nearly empty— just neon shadows in violet, red, and electric blue.
It was late.
Too quiet.
Too dangerous.
Not much time. SWAT was en route.
And naturally—Starscream hadn’t driven.
She’d sent Steve, her Vehicon assistant, to pick up takeout… in her car.
“Frag, frag, frag!” she growled, stalking into the street like a queen ready to slap fate itself.
Her red optics darted, already calculating an escape that didn’t end with an orange jumpsuit.
Orange was never her color.
She rubbed her chest, trying to settle her spark.
Her mind raced.
Stress was bad.
Could not be stressed.
The—
Then—the sound of an engine.
Low and thunderous.
Coming fast.
Dum dum dum dum.
Like a war drum.
Her hydraulics pounded.
“Primus, please…” she whispered—then bolted.
Red-bottom stilettos struck the pavement like gunfire.
Her handbag swung wildly at her side. It had to be the Nemesis.
And if it was the Nemesis…
That meant Megatron.
The Maserati lunged around the corner like a predator unleashed, tires screaming across the pavement.
Its engine snarled like a caged beast.
Neon light rippled across its frame— red, violet, electric blue flashing like scales on a predator mid-hunt.
Then—
The passenger door swung open.
Mid-drift.
No warning. No slowing.
Just the door lifting in a flawless arc, like the jaws of some mechanical beast, as the Nemesis slid into a sideways skid that should have been fatal.
Should have been impossible.
Starscream didn’t hesitate.
Couldn’t.
She sprinted flat out, stilettos ricocheting like gunfire on the pavement, handbag whipping wild at her side.
The drift was too wide.
The gap too far.
Utterly impossible in heels.
But hesitation wasn’t survival.
She leapt.
For one breathless instant, the street fell away beneath her—the city vanishing in a blur of neon and smoke.
Her bag spun like a pendulum.
Her knees cracked hard against the seat edge, pain lancing up her legs— then steel closed around her waist, dragging her into leather and shadow as the door slammed shut like a guillotine.
The Nemesis roared upright, tires shrieking as it devoured the night.
The force of the maneuver rattled through her frame, straight into her spark.
Too hard.
Too sharp.
The light beneath her chest spasmed once, twice—dangerously unsteady.
She choked back a gasp, clutching at her chest.
Stress was poison.
She could not—must not—let her spark falter.
Warmth slid down her thigh again. Fresh.
If Megatron’s arm had been one second late—one inch off— she wouldn’t have made it.
He had come for her. No one else—only him. As always.
Inside, the air cycled thick and fast.
Starscream’s handbag rustled beside her. Something inside wiggled.
Ignored. For now.
Megatron shifted gears with a sharp mechanical clunk — then reached over, still gripping the wheel with one hand, and clicked her seatbelt into place without a word.
Normally, that was an attractive habit. Tonight? It was concerning.
"Are you hurt?" came the low rumble of his voice. Deep. Measured. Almost soothing.
"Shot — right thigh," she muttered. "I’m fine."
"Starscream."
The tone sharpened.
Her handbag rustled again.
From the folds of designer leather, a rose-gold, cat-shaped mech blinked into the cabin light.
"You only saved Otis?" Megatron’s optics narrowed in disbelief. "Your desk toy?! Out of all the things?!"
Starscream whirled, indignant.
"Oathkeeper," she snapped. "Not desk toy — Oathkeeper!"
Megatron arched an optic ridge.
She pressed on.
"He’s our doomsday switch. I take him out of HQ without logging a clearance code? Doomsday protocol triggers. Servers wiped. Funds routed offshore. Employee protections cascade. Lawyers pinged. Safehouses lit."
She jabbed a claw at the cat.
"So yes, I grabbed Otis!"
She was nearly screeching over the engine’s roar.
Catching herself, Starscream blinked and rubbed her chest plates.
"Easy… easy," she grumbled, as the Nemesis devoured the asphalt.
Megatron laughed — a sharp, fanged grin.
"Primus, that’s good. Real good. Remind me to buy Otis a collar."
He shifted gears again, the motion clunking in a way that reminded Starscream of how he strangled enemies.
Effortlessly sexy.
"Your wings? Your car?" he demanded, knuckles creaking from strain on the wheel.
"At home. I’m grounded from flying," Starscream answered, resting a hand on her chest.
Venting. Trying to calm down.
The light beneath her seamless frame flickered — but held steady.
She wasn’t upset by the question. Times were stressful.
Megatron exhaled. Nodded. Red optics locked on the road.
"And your car?"
"It’s late, Megatron. I sent my assistant Steve to get my dumplings."
Her voice a little shy, she looked away.
"Trying to eat more. Take care of myself. ‘You are delicate, 'tarscream, we’ve agreed, 'tarscream,’" she mimicked in his deep voice, exaggerating the way he slurred her name when tired, and rolled her optics.
Otis blinked up at her, rose-gold optics glowing with concern.
"Starscream, you are injured. Shall I run internal diagnostics?"
"Denied."
She patted his head. "The bullets just grazed me."
Megatron growled. "We have a traitor to find."
Starscream snarled, showing her fangs. Her mood was already matching Megatron’s fury.
"How dare they! Force me to flee my own building! Raid my home! Ruin my heels! Fire guns at me! Raise my Megatron’s oil pressure! When I get my claws on them—"
Otis tilted his head, worried. Seeing something the two bots hadn’t. Not yet.
Megatron reached out, ending her rant. His palm cupped her cheek—warm, heavy. "That’s my Starscream. Beautiful, brilliant, deadly, and brutal."
A faint smile touched her lips. She pressed a red-glossed kiss into his palm.
The feel of his claws—it was just as it had always been. Strength, comfort, certainty, and safety.
Life had never been kind to Starscream.
Before the suits. Before DeceptiCorp. Before the heels, the Nemesis, or even Otis.
There was only Megatron.
And one hundred and twenty years ago…
They’d been survivors.