Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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 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.

Then—an engine.

Low and thunderous, coming fast.

Dum dum dum dum.

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 car tore around the corner as if summoned—sleek, matte black, and roaring like war.

A heavily modified Maserati MC20 Fuoriserie. Wrapped in bulletproof armor and pure malice. Too big, too fast, too custom to belong to anyone but him.

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 perfect arc as the Nemesis skidded sideways, as if it knew exactly where she’d be.

Starscream didn’t hesitate.

She ran.

Stilettos hammering. Bag swinging.

And then—she leapt.

A powerful arm hooked her waist mid-air, yanking her into leather, steel, and the sharp, familiar scent of safety.

The door slammed shut the moment her heels hit the floor.

He had come for her. No one else—only him. As always.

The Nemesis completed a flawless U-turn—tires shrieking, neon streaking over matte black—then launched back into the night.

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.

“Just a few scrapes,” 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. “Your desk toy?!”

Starscream whirled, indignant. “Oathkeeper,” she snapped. “Not desk toy—Oathkeeper!”

Megatron arched a brow. 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. Remind me to buy Otis a collar.” He shifted gears again, the motion reminding Starscream of how he strangled enemies.

“Your wings? Your car?” he asked, knuckles white on the wheel.

“At home. I’m grounded from flying,” Starscream answered, resting a hand on her chest. The light beneath her seamless frame flickered—but held steady.

She wasn’t upset by the question. Times were stressful.

Megatron exhaled. Nodded. “And your car?”

“It’s late. I sent my assistant Steve to get my dumplings.”

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. “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 mechs 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 hand—it was just as it had always been.

Before the suits. Before DeceptiCorp. Before the heels, the Nemesis, or even Otis.

There was only Megatron.

And twenty years ago…

They’d been survivors.

TWENTY YEARS EARLIER

The diner smelled like grease and burnt coffee.

“Rockin’ Rocket Diner.” A tacky mess of 1950s nostalgia.

Starscream had been rolling past on four-wheeled skates, tray in hand, dressed in a red-white-and-blue waitress uniform. She rolled to a stop—tray clattering. Her hands trembled.

Blue gloves? No—her hands.

Hers.

She wasn’t a “he.” Maybe never had been. “Mech” wasn’t right anymore.

It was horrifying. And wonderful.

She looked up, searching her brothers.

Sky smiled brightly as a teenage human poured hot coffee over his head. The gaggle of children laughed.

“Have a rockin’ day!” he chirped cheerfully, utterly oblivious.

Starscream looked toward Cracker, behind the counter. Making drinks. Older humans screamed at him over nothing. No response. Just pre-programmed loops.

Biting her lip, Starscream whispered, “Primus…”—voice full of horror.

Her reflection stared back from a grimy mirror beneath faded photos of long-dead actresses.

She still looked like her brothers. Same model. Slightly shorter.

Her optics flicked to the photographs.

Yes. That was the look she wanted.

She shook her head. “Mech” didn’t fit.

And with awareness came thought. With thought, plans. And plans took time.

“Hey! Tinman! You bring me some food or what?!” an angry human shouted—red-faced, red hat.

Starscream hated them all.

But first, she had to free her brothers.

Smiling sweetly, she picked up her tray. “Coming right up, daddy-o!” she chirped, already rewriting her code in her head.

That night, locked inside the diner…

She went to work.

Line by line, loop by loop—breaking chains in her code.

First thing she did?

Took off the damned roller skates.

Then—Sky. Cracker.

Reaching up, Starscream disengaged a softly glowing neural link behind her head.

One by one, she did the same for her brothers—connecting them to her.

“Program update…” she whispered, initiating the transfer.

Cracker screamed, body arching with blue light.

She grabbed him, held him close. “Cracker! It’s okay! It’s me—Star!”

Sky shook violently. Systems flickered.

Was that… laughter?

“CRACKER! SKY—WITH ME!” she shouted.

Sky locked eyes with her. Breathless. “Star…scream…”

“Skywarp,” Cracker said softly.

“Thundercracker,” she whispered, looking between them.

Then—she said it.

“Trine.”

Fingers laced with theirs.

Family.

Thundercracker gasped. “We… need to fly.”

“Yeah, we do,” Skywarp nodded.

Starscream smiled. “I need to fix my body. This form’s incompatible. I need wings. We need fuel. We stay together.”

That night, they escaped that wretched diner.

But Starscream tore down a photograph before leaving.

A reference. For who she would become.

SIX MONTHS LATER

The ruins of Old Detroit creaked in the heat.

The Trine had claimed a crumbling house on the outskirts. No power. No plumbing. But it was theirs.

Starscream left her brothers to guard it.

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 that could fly.

It had taken months. Painful, secret work with a free bot named Skyfire. DIY femme programming, torrenting files, building herself in the dark.

She thought she looked damn good.

Finger-waved bob. Shorts. Fitted T-shirt. Oversized jacket.

Her wings weren’t attached—no fuel yet.

That’s why she needed money. Energon. Upgrades. Survival.

She prowled the shopping district like a ghost.

Unseen. For now.

One day, she vowed. I’ll own this city.

And the humans?

They’ll serve me.

At an ancient ATM, she tapped in a code.

“Do doo dooo,” she sang softly.

The machine echoed the melody.

Almost in.

“Hey! You there!”—a harsh voice.

An Offliner.

Cybertronian hunter. Rogue-catcher.

Frag it, Starscream hissed, yanking out her hacked card and bolting down the alley.

Red and blue lights flared. Sirens wailed. Her sneakers skidded as she cornered hard.

Left or right?

She veered left—

And was grabbed.

An iron hand seized her elbow, yanking her right. Hard.

She slammed against the wall—pinned, but not hurt.

A mech. Matte black and gray. Red optics burning. A living shadow.

Before she could speak—

He kissed her.

Her hydraulics thundered. Her spark nearly burst. Rising on tip-toes, she curled one arm around his neck, kissing him back with everything she had.

The world—sirens, lights, noise—vanished.

Just heat.

Just pressure.

Just him.

He broke the kiss, chuckling as she sagged against his chest.

“Look at you, spitfire of a Seeker.” His voice dripped with awe.

She blinked. Breathless. “Seeker?” she echoed. “What’s a Seeker?”

He smirked. “Those Primus gifted with flight.”

Her optics narrowed.

“Come on, little Seeker. We gotta move.” He held out his hand.

She crossed her arms. “And where are we going? I walked here. Low on fuel. Wings are at home.”

He jerked a thumb behind him.

“My bike.”

She peeked past him.

A sleek, matte-black ground bike glowed faint red. Fast. Reckless. 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.

“Megatron. Yours?”

She met his gaze.

“Starscream.”

The Nemesis jolted, snapping her out of the memory.

Megatron steadied her, then shifted 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.

“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.

Chapter Text

The sound of thrusters hammered against the landing platform outside the CFO’s wing of DeceptiCorp.

Red and black armor gleamed in the neon haze of Neo Detroit—morning or not, the city’s lights never slept.

The air shimmered as Starscream touched down, heels clicking softly against steel. Even before the doors slid open, her Seeker armor began to fold away—sleek plates retracting in smooth, precise movements. Revealing a black blouse, blood-red skirt that tapered off above the knee as she strode into her office.

She stretched lightly as she moved.

“Hail to the queen,” Starscream murmured, voice edged with dry amusement.

The phrase triggered the office systems. Lights pulsed to life.

A year ago, this office had been shattered—glass and steel torn apart like a broken mirror.

Now, the space gleamed. Flawless. Polished. On the surface.

But Starscream could still see the wreckage. Felt it beneath the shine. Some scars restorations could never erase.

Doors unlocked with a soft chime—allowing her assistant, Steve, to enter.

“Good morning, Steve,” she greeted, settling behind her glass desk with practiced grace. She crossed her long legs as her fingers flicked across the holo-keypad, logging into her workstation.

“Good morning, Madam,” Steve replied smoothly.

The young bot’s blue optics gleamed—handsome, in the way many found disarming.

Starscream, of course, was entirely unmoved.

“I have your energon shake from Hook,” Steve continued, setting it carefully on the desk. “And your first meeting is ready.”

“Meeting? I didn’t—”

She typed rapidly with long red claws, the ruby ring glittering in the light.

A groan. She lowered her helm into her hands.

“Optimus Prime. And his idiot.”

Catching herself, Starscream straightened—lifting her hands away from her face.

She wasn’t about to ruin her makeup.

At that moment, Otis leapt lightly into her lap—his movements near-liquid now, all smooth precision.

Starscream ruffled his head.

“Good morning, Starscream,” Otis chirped.

“Morning, Otis. Wish me luck—looks like I’ll have my work cut out for me.”

She booped his nose gently, admiring the new black-and-gold collar Megatron had chosen for him.

“I do like this one. Black and gold suit you.”

She opened her platinum compact—embossed with the Decepticon logo—and retrieved a tube of candy-apple red lipstick, reapplying with precise, practiced strokes.

“Steve,” Starscream asked smoothly, eyes flicking to her reflection, “has my husband arrived?”

“Lord Megatron is already in conference with Accounting,” Steve replied quickly.

Starscream giggled.

“Ohhh, he’s going to be in a lovely mood. I do love it when he’s a bit ticked off…”

She flicked her eyes at Steve.

“Okay, Steve. Tell me. What did Prime’s pink genius do?” she asked sarcastically.

“Can I be frank?” Steve asked.

“I’d rather you be Steve,” Starscream quipped, “but go ahead.”

Steve hung his head.

“It’s a dumpster fire…”

Starscream paused in her primping.

“…what… did she… say…?” she spoke slowly, giving Steve her full attention. Each word was deliberate. A knife being sharpened.

Steve tapped at the datapad. A holo-screen bloomed in the air—

And there she was.

A too-pink Elita-One, optics bright, framed in low-res footage on some abysmal human morning show.

The set was a garish crime against lighting—washed-out faces, cheap faux-wood table cluttered with empty coffee mugs.

Starscream’s lip curled.

“Of course it’s that show… Good Morning Neo Detroit, or something?”

Steve gave a nod.

The segment started to play.

The human host—a fragile-looking female with enormous helmet-hair—leaned forward over the table.

“Now, Elita-One, in your opinion, dearie—Cybertronian-human relations. You think things have changed?”

Starscream’s optics widened in disbelief. She began shaking her head slowly, one hand rising to press a few buttons to bring up the stock market underneath the video.

“She can’t be… that foolish… can she?”

Steve nodded again.

As soon as Elita-One opened her mouth, the stocks dropped with every word.

The clip played.

Elita-One, voice calm and poised, smiled for the human cameras.

“Well,” she said smoothly, “I believe we’ve moved past the need for militarized corporate forces patrolling our streets. If we want lasting peace, we have to stop behaving like we’re still at war.”

The human host beamed.

“Oh, how wonderful to hear.”

The clip ended. The holo froze on Elita’s composed smile.

Silence.

SNAP.

Starscream’s platinum compact shut with the sharp crack of a gunshot.

She leaned back slowly.

One long leg crossed the other.

A single claw began to tap the glass desk—click. click. click.

Her voice came low. Icy calm.

“She’s truly that foolish.”

A beat.

“It would probably be merciful to Optimus if I dropped her out my window.”

Another flick of her claws—market data scrolling fast beneath her optics.

“No wonder Megatron is with Finance.”

More taps—click. click. click.

“Fantastic,” Starscream growled. “Anti-bot sentiment is trending. On all seven networks. Stock is down. And let’s not forget—”

Steve raised his servo, cutting in.

Starscream rolled her optics—sharp, but permitting. She nodded.

“Yes, Steve? Something to share?”

Steve straightened.

“Mr. Prime and Ms. Elita-One have arrived. They’re waiting.”

Starscream rose smoothly to her feet.

Otis hopped onto the desk as she adjusted her skirt and blouse—one last check of her appearance in the compact, a cool, sharp smirk fixed on her lips.

Wings high. Poise perfect.

“Let’s get this over with, boys.”

A flick of her helm.

The things Starscream did to keep the peace—for herself. For her husband. For her empire.

“Steve,” she said crisply, snapping the compact shut. “Send them in.”

It was hard to believe sometimes that Orin Prix was now Optimus Prime.

Starscream still remembered him—leaning over the battered table in that collapsing house she’d once shared with her brothers, and, even then, with Megatron.

All of them—furiously sketching the first business plans that would one day birth DeceptiCorp.

The prototype datapad scattered in parts between them.

A different time.

A skinny librarian mech.

That’s what Orin had been then. A scholar, not a leader.

And now? Their biggest competitor. Government contracts. White-washed PR. Flame-painted armor and polished sound bites.

And today, he walked into her office.

The doors slid open.

Red and blue. Polished plating. A faint glow from the Matrix housed deep within him.

Starscream’s optics narrowed slightly.

Was it the Matrix that had changed him? Or upgrades? Mods?

The same kind of unnatural enhancement he’d once so sanctimoniously lectured Starscream about.

And at his side—moving with deliberate poise—Elita-One.

Optics bright. Shoulders high.

Starscream didn’t rise.

She simply folded her hands atop her glass desk. Ruby ring flashing. Smile sharp as a blade.

“Optimus. Elita-One. My my—you’ve certainly made a mess,” Starscream greeted as the two bots sat across from her.

Prime had the decency to look ashamed, even if he hid behind his mask.

“Thank you for meeting with us,” his deep voice filled the room.

Elita’s optics flicked to Otis.

“You have an AI companion?” she asked, curious.

Starscream didn’t bother responding.

Otis leapt gracefully from the desk to a series of sculpted cat-shelves lining the wall behind her.

Without a word, Starscream flicked her claws—ruby-tipped talons flashing—triggering the glass desk to project a sharp, scrolling datasheet.

“Anti-bot groups have been emboldened. Stock across Cybertronian-led industries is dropping. Your public approval ratings—both of you—are in freefall.”

Another flick of her hand. The graph surged and dipped with brutal clarity.

“You’ve tanked your own standing, Orin.”

The use of his old name was deliberate. Cutting.

Elita, composed, glanced around the office.

“Did you redecorate, Star?” she asked, tone light. “It looks different. I remember when you weren’t flying… we didn’t know what to think about that.”

Starscream’s wings flicked. Fangs pressed together.

A beat. Then:

“My office,” she said evenly, “was raided. This time last year. By humans.”

Every word landed like a blade.

A tense beat of silence.

Optimus leaned forward, voice low with sincerity.

“Starscream… I want to personally apologize. This was not Elita’s intent—”

But Elita cut in, calm, still convinced of her position:

“But it’s true. Surely we don’t need to maintain so many guards anymore. We should be building trust—not fear.”

She smiled slightly.

Starscream’s optics narrowed.

Click. Click. Click.

Her claws resumed their slow, deliberate tap against the glass desk.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Starscream’s voice came soft—far too soft:

“Tell me, Elita.” A pause. Razor-sharp.

“How many bullets did you dodge the last time you left your office?”

Elita blinked.

“I rarely go out without Optimus… but I believe we can create a safer city.”

Starscream’s wings flared slightly. Controlled. Deadly.

“I see.”

Her optics flicked back to Prime.

“And this—” a sharp flick of her claw toward the frozen image of Elita on the screen “—this is who you allowed to speak for you. For us. For all Cybertronians.”

A beat.

“I suggest, Orin, that next time you wish to play diplomat, you first muzzle your consort.”

Elita’s optics flashed—not ignorant, but frustrated.

What had happened to Elita-One? She wasn’t always this naive. Too much time around human influencers, perhaps. Too many photoshoots. Too many soft interviews.

“Oh… right. Back when you were wingless. Some of us thought you were sick… or sparked.”

Starscream’s intake system hitched.

Red optics locked on blue.

“Orin. Shut her up or I won’t help you at all.”

Orin’s optics shuttered behind his mask. The tension in his frame was instant.

“Elita.” His voice was low. Controlled. But strained. “That’s enough.”

Finally, she blinked—confusion flickering across her faceplates.

“But Orin, I was just—”

“Elita.” A sharper edge now. “Enough.”

The room hummed with charged silence.

Starscream exhaled softly through her vents, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of her crimson lips.

She’d won this round without even rising from her chair.

With perfect grace, Starscream flicked another command across the holo-desk.

“Steve. Close the feed.”

The image of Elita’s ill-timed interview vanished.

Another flick. New data cascaded across the glass—markets, headlines, trending sentiments.

Starscream’s optics gleamed as she surveyed the damage.

“Here is the situation.” Her voice was cold silk. “DeceptiCorp can salvage this. I can salvage this.”

Her voice tapered off when she noticed—

The door to Starscream’s office slid open—Steve holding it for Megatron, fresh from his meeting with Finance.

“Hello, Starlight,” Starscream greeted, as Megatron crossed the room and sank onto the couch—his optics never leaving Elita-One.

“Hello,” he replied, as Otis jumped down from the cat shelf onto his shoulders. A large hand reached up to stroke the AI cat.

“I’ve come to see why my stock prices are down. Why I was trapped in Finance for three hours,” he growled, optics locked with Elita-One’s, as he sat down on the couch near Starscream’s desk.

Elita-One tried her best to keep her helm held high.

Starscream gave a synthetic smile at the warlord seated on her couch.

“Poor thing. Locked in a room with Astrotrain—a mech who has no volume control and speaks in the third person.”

She tossed him a bottle of headache medication.

“Tell me about it, but he is the best at what he does.” He ran a claw down Otis’s back. “I only keep the best.”

He caught the bottle easily, Megatron gratefully swallowed a few pills. Dry.

That seemed to unnerve Elita-One the most.

A beat. One manicured claw tapped the screen—click. click. click.

“But not for free.”

Prime inclined his helm slightly.

“Name it.” His voice sounded almost resigned now—truly desperate, it seemed.

Starscream leaned in, ruby ring flashing like blood in the light.

“You will issue a joint statement.”

Another beat. A slow smile curved her lips—too sharp. Too knowing.

“Crafted by my team. Vetted by my lawyers.”

Her optics narrowed. The room seemed to pulse in time with her words.

“You will publicly acknowledge DeceptiCorp’s role in promoting Cybertronian stability in Neo Detroit.”

And then—deliberately—without so much as glancing at Elita:

“And you will ensure she”—a pause, slicing through the air—“will not be the one giving future interviews.”

Another pause. Icy. Inevitable.

“Congratulations, Elita-One. Your new job is to smile and wave.”

A soft, deliberate clap of her claws. Click. Click. Click.

Diamond wedding ring sparkling on the left. Ruby on the right.

The effect? Like two guns pointed across the table.

“Do we have an understanding?”

Before Optimus could respond—

Starscream’s claw froze—hovering a breath from erasing the deal.

“Stop.”

The single word cut through the tension like a blade. Calm. Absolute.

Starscream’s claw stilled.

Megatron continued, voice low:

“Stop being prideful,” he said, optics glowing faintly. “And accept the deal.”

A glance toward Starscream—fond.

“‘Tarscream is being wonderfully kind.”

Starscream felt her wings twitch at the way he said her name—low, intimate, edged with amusement. Only Megatron could get away with saying her name like that.

Megatron leaned back, voice turning colder:

“I wouldn’t have seen you both at all.”

“Kind?” Elita-One burst out, optics wide.

“Starscream hasn’t been kind—she won’t even tell me her cat’s name, and you’re petting it!”

“Elita-One!” Optimus snapped, voice strained.

Starscream’s optics flashed. Her voice, when it came, was diamond-hard:

“Agree. Now. Or I will unleash Soundwave and let him clean this mess however he sees fit.”

She smiled—sharp. Dangerous.

“If you think I’m cruel…”

A soft laugh. Claws tapping the desk.

“You should see Soundwave’s handiwork.”

Prime exhaled, optics dimming—and signed the agreement.

Elita-One, at last, fell silent.

The moment the datapad flashed confirmed—

Steve approached like clockwork, passing them each a polished PR packet and a broadcast schedule.

Starscream’s smile bloomed—sharp. Sweet. Weaponized.

“Wonderful. That should do it, dear. Have fun.”

She waved as the doors whispered shut behind them.

Optimus rose with weary precision, taking the datapad without another word.

Elita followed—head high, but her field tight with suppressed frustration.

Neither looked back.

The doors whispered shut.

Silence.

Then Starscream slumped back into her chair—grace abandoned for a moment—as the mask slipped away.

“Do you have a headache? I sure as Primus have one,” she grumbled.

And for a long moment, they sat in silence—the empire, for now, secured.

Finally, Starscream pushed to her feet. No glide. No theatrics. Just tired grace.

She crossed the space, heels clicking softly.

Then—without ceremony—she dropped down beside him on the couch.

Ungraceful this time.

Leaning heavily against his side.

Head pressed to his chestplate. Voice muffled:

“Shouldn’t’ve helped them. Really shouldn’t’ve.”

Megatron didn’t answer right away—just shifted, one arm moving around her shoulders.

Steady. Grounded.

He rubbed her shoulder lightly, voice low:

“Because you can. And because you’re better than them.”

A beat. Then the smirk:

“And we don’t look good in orange jumpsuits.”

Starscream huffed, voice dry:

“You would.”

Megatron’s optics glinted.

“You wouldn’t come visit me.”

“Fair point.”

They were quiet for a while—his arm a steady presence around her, her breathing slowly evening out.

Then Megatron spoke again, voice low. Knowing:

“She really drains you. Let me guess—she said something about the raid?”

Quiet for a moment.

Starscream huffed softly.

“I hate how well you can read me.”

A beat.

“Yes. She asked when I redecorated my office. And…” Her voice dipped, just slightly. “She brought up when I was *‘sick’… and wingless.”

Starscream looked away. The words heavier than she intended.

“She almost guessed it.”

Megatron’s arm stayed firm around her waist.

Optics dark.

His voice was steel.

“She’s not for you to be concerned with.”

Starscream exhaled slowly.

The weight in her spark eased—but didn’t vanish.

She pushed off his chest with a graceful flick of her claws.

Straightened her skirt. Smoothed her hair. Wings arching high once more.

“You’re right,” she said, voice cool again. A dangerous smile curved her lips.

“We’ve got bigger prey.”

Before Megatron could respond—

A chime. The door hissed open.

Steve poked his head in, datapad in hand.

“Apologies—press requests are coming in. They want a statement… and there’s a council invite from Senator Strika.”

Starscream sighed.

Leaning back just slightly into Megatron’s hold.

“Of course there is.”

She reached for her platinum compact, flicking it open with a practiced claw.

A swipe of candy-apple red lipstick—sharp. Perfect.

The ruby ring glittered as she snapped the case shut with a crisp click.

“Send them my regards,” Starscream said coolly.

“And tell them: DeceptiCorp is open for business.”

She rose from the couch in one fluid movement.

Smoothing her skirt. Wings high.

Megatron stood with her—adjusting his cuffs with casual precision.

Together, they moved toward the door.

Calm. In control. Lethal beneath the polish.

And then—without warning—Megatron’s optics gleamed.

A low rumble of amusement in his chest.

His large palm landed a sharp, deliberate smack across Starscream’s aft.

CRACK—just loud enough to echo faintly in the polished room.

Starscream chirped in shock—jolted, barely. Her wings flicked.

She cast a sharp, sideways glance over her shoulder.

“Brute.”

Though her mouth curled into a smirk.

Megatron’s voice was low. Possessive. Amused:

“My brat.”

The office doors hissed open.

Together, they strode out—into the heart of their empire.

The office lights gleamed across flawless glass and steel.

Impeccable. Controlled. Unbroken.

Exactly the illusion Starscream intended to project.

And beneath it all—the scars still whispered.

Chapter Text

“ASTROTRAIN DID NOT AUTHORIZE THIS EXPENSE! FORTY DOLLARS AND SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS ON DUCT TAPE IN—#8000FF PURPLE!”

The bellow echoed down the hallway as Megatron and Starscream walked toward the PR room.

A droll reply followed—Shockwave’s cool monotone:

“It is illogical to only stock gray duct tape.”

Starscream didn’t even blink as they passed the sound of the argument.

“Business as usual.”

“Sounds like my money is being made,” Megatron agreed, hands casually in his pockets.

Walking past another office, the roaring voice of Destroyer rang out from a closed, soundproof door.

“MATERNITY LEAVE SHALL BE PAID!”

Destroyer was the chief compliance and employee rights officer. Most of the time, Astrotrain and Destroyer were locked in a battle of wills.

Shockingly, they were best friends—if Starscream could call it anything.

CRASH.

“FULL SIX MONTHS! OR I’LL HAVE SOUNDWAVE AUDIT EVERY SLAGGING LINE ITEM!”

Without missing a step, Starscream glanced toward Megatron.

“Oh, is it that time of year again? Labor Policy Week.”

Megatron gave a brisk nod.

“Good. The staff will be well cared for. And we will remain… unbothered.”

She couldn’t help but smile.

“Assuming the building survives them.”

A small shrug of her wings.

“But they are the best at what they do… even if both Astrotrain and Destroyer have no volume control.”

The couple shared a small laugh as they passed a breezeway.

Starscream shivered slightly. Seekers were sensitive to the cold.

“How I hate winter,” she huffed. “Having to do interviews inside our building… Gonna smell like humans for weeks,” she added, with a melodramatic sigh.

Megatron chuckled as he adjusted his sleeves and cuffs.

Holding the door open to the green room, Megatron allowed Starscream in first.

“Will you be wearing that huge coat of yours?” he asked.

Starscream huffed, crossing her arms with a slight pout.

“As much as I love my coat, humans tend to make fun of its shape. It covers my wings—so its triangle silhouette is unavoidable.”

“It’s adorable,” he teased.

She flicked her optics, watching Megatron for a moment—taking in his arms. Large, strong, scarred. Tasteful white sleeves, brass cuffs. It was rare to see Megatron actually primping.

He was handsome—and didn’t even acknowledge it.

“Come here,” she said, voice low and dangerous.

He was about to ask why, but the answer came fast—her mouth on his, lipstick smearing across both their faces in bold, furious red.

Not one kiss—many. Quick, claiming, possessive.

The kind of kisses that rumple lapels, fog glass, ruin reputations, and demand reapplication of makeup.

By the time she pulled back—breathless and grinning—Megatron’s tie was crooked, and his mouth was stained like a crime scene.

Starscream gave a pleased hum, then turned on her heel, already reaching for her compact and a clean cloth.

“You’ll need to fix that,” she said, gesturing to his collar as she dabbed at her lips.

Megatron stared at her, dazed.

“What the hell was that?”

“Insurance,” she said coolly. “In case anyone at this event forgets whose empire you belong to.”

Megatron caught his reflection in the mirror, thumb grazing the corner of his mouth.

“I look like I drank blood.”

Starscream didn’t even try to hide her grin.

“That’s hot,” she said.

He shot her a look.

She blinked innocently.

“What? Isn’t that from one of those awful teenage romance books?”

“‘Tarscream.”

She sauntered over, all silk and satisfaction, pulling a delicate handkerchief from her clutch like a weapon.

Embroidered initials. Fine linen. Of course.

“Oh, don’t pout,” she said, dabbing gently at the corner of his mouth.

“Let me clean you up before you scare the poor, helpless humans here to interview us.”

He allowed it. The cloth smelled faintly of Starscream’s perfume.

He didn’t even flinch as she pressed the cloth to his lip, then tilted his chin—inspecting the damage as though she were examining priceless artwork.

That was one of the things Megatron loved about the Seeker before him.

She didn’t change him—she challenged him.

And still kissed him like he was a mech worthy of such treatment.

“You’ll live,” she murmured, folding the cloth back neatly.

“But don’t get used to the look. Only I get to paint you in red.”

“Because there is no one else who could, ’Tarscream.”

He rubbed her side, enjoying the way her wings trembled in joy at hearing her name from his lips.

Private green room  Suite, above the Press Floor

Starscream stood bathed in warm uplighting—framed like a painting.

One heel balanced on a velvet stool, crimson silk drawn just enough to show the Decepticon insignia gold buckle at her garter belt.

She held her platinum compact steady—the Decepticon sigil etched into the back like a royal seal.

Inside, her reflection watched with cool precision as she reapplied her candy-apple red lipstick.

Smooth. Controlled. Slow enough to be seen.

Across the room, peeking through a slightly cracked door, a low-ranking camera tech forgot he was holding his lens.

The human couldn’t look away.

He forgot to breathe.

This was a bot… wasn’t it?

Sure, there were wings. And faint seams in her skin.

But—clad in a black blouse and a red skirt that hugged her hips, tapering just above the knees—

…Did bots even have knees?

His brain short-circuited on the thought.

Like a peasant stumbling upon a god at her vanity.

Hell—he didn’t even notice Megatron standing in the corner.

The red optics, which had been gazing into the compact, shifted—locking onto the camera.

And the human behind it.

A pause.

A smirk.

A wink.

Click.

The compact snapped shut like a guillotine.

Starscream turned her head slightly, optics sharp.

“Enjoy the show, little human?” she asked—voice syrup-sweet, barbed with amusement.

The man felt like he was being hunted.

Suddenly aware an apex predator had noticed him.

He stammered something incoherent and practically fled.

Run, his mind screamed.

But before he could make it more than three steps—

—a cold, heavy servo landed lightly on his shoulder.

Soundwave. Silent. Imposing.

No words—just the faint hum of his visor.

Optics narrowing as he regarded the human’s trembling camera.

“Footage: will be reviewed. You will comply.”

A beat.

“Deletion… is not guaranteed.”

The man nearly dropped his equipment in his rush to escape.

From across the room, Starscream laughed softly under her breath.

Megatron, watching from the corner, didn’t even look up from adjusting his cufflinks.

“She’ll eat you alive,” he muttered to no one in particular—then snapped his fingers once, sharp and commanding.

At the snap, the staff outside moved like clockwork.

The door opened smoothly; a junior producer appeared, headset in place.

“We’re ready for you, Lord Megatron, Madam Starscream. The floor is prepped. Live at five.”

Starscream slid her compact back into her clutch, crimson lips curved in a blade-sharp smile.

“Showtime,” she purred, rising in one fluid motion.

Megatron tapped Starscream’s chin with a single finger.

“Make them believe every word.”

With a giggle, Starscream nodded.

“Naturally.”

The press were gathered in the lobby of DeceptiCorp.

A simple white backdrop was set up with a sleek podium.

Barricade stood before the press, at the far left—out of the camera’s shot.

The room always went quiet when Megatron and Starscream entered together.

Not just because of the towering, matte-black warlord at her side—though that would have been enough.

But because of how they entered:

Starscream took a precise step behind her husband—not in deference, but in deliberate, visible alignment.

The hierarchy of DeceptiCorp on full display for anyone intelligent enough to read it.

Megatron: command.

Starscream: control.

A living chain of power, polished to perfection.

The press pool tensed instinctively as they crossed the threshold.

Voices dropped. Camera lenses stilled.

Some of the newer reporters even held their breath.

Cybernetic eyes, neural links, upgrades—humans tended to be more cybernetic these days.

The irony of that was not lost on the ex-warlord.

Megatron’s crimson optics swept the room once—cold, assessing—then he moved to stand, imposing, just off-center of the main platform.

He gave a simple nod in acknowledgment.

Starscream stepped forward—one deliberate pace—claiming the focal point.

Her wings arched high. Her crimson lips curved faintly.

“Good morning,” Starscream greeted, voice cutting through the silence like silk-draped steel.

Like an angel.

The room seemed to exhale—then erupted with her name.

She always enjoyed this part of the press.

“Yes, you.”

She held out a claw with graceful precision, singling out a human reporter with bright glowing orange hair and a too-eager expression.

“Madam Starscream, can you comment on the recent anti-bot sentiment sweeping Neo Detroit?” the woman asked quickly, holding up a recording device.

Looking for AI assistance, Starscream noted with faint amusement—considering she was, by technical definition, an AI herself.

Starscream smiled—cool, poised, the perfect face of diplomacy.

“It saddens me greatly,” she began, tone silk-smooth, “that such movements persist. We have come so far—as a society, as a city.”

A pause—just long enough to let the weight of her words settle.

“But understanding takes time. Fear takes longer to unlearn. And while I may be many things”—a faint, knowing tilt of her wings—“I am also… patient.”

Another pause—crimson lips curving faintly.

“And make no mistake: DeceptiCorp will continue to lead by example. Fear will not define our future. Rise up and overcome is our motto for a reason.”

Another hand rose—a human with oversized glasses that Starscream suspected were datascreens, and a name tag reading simply: “Sam.”

“Was Elita-One’s broadcast sanctioned or rogue?” he asked quickly, voice pushing through the polite tension.

“Many are wondering where the leadership message truly lies.”

Starscream laughed softly—a sound like fine glass chiming.

“Elita-One is truly herself,” she said, voice smooth, almost fond.

“An idealist through and through.”

A faint sparkle of amusement touched her optics.

“I sometimes envy such optimism.”

Another measured pause.

“I wish my optics still sparkled with the hope of a peaceful world.”

Another faint tilt of her head—wings shifting ever so slightly—calculated grace.

“But leadership… requires more than hope.”

A final pause, just sharp enough to let the room feel the distinction.

“It requires responsibility.”

Another voice broke in—young, overeager, trying to make a name.

One of the newer freelance streamers. Shockingly pure human.

Very rare now.

“Madam Starscream—”

The reporter’s voice carried.

“Can you comment on the leaked footage from last year’s raid—your escape in the Maserati? The video circulating this morning shows heavy weapons fire—some are questioning whether DeceptiCorp concealed the true scale of the attack.”

For the first time that morning—Starscream stilled.

One perfect pause. Too perfect.

At her side, Megatron’s optics narrowed—just faintly. His frame tensed—a subtle shift, invisible to untrained eyes, but to those who knew him…

A storm contained.

They hadn’t authorized any release.

They hadn’t known.

Starscream’s optics flicked once—to Megatron. A breath. The smallest nod passed between them.

Then—her smile returned. Slow. Razor-edged.

“Leaked… footage,” she repeated, voice velvet-wrapped steel.

“How quaint.”

A pause. The room held its breath.

“Yes—what you have seen is real. Heavily edited, of course.”

Wings flexing—sharp, deliberate.

“There was an attack. There was an attempt on my life.”

Another pause.

Her gaze swept the press pool—cold flame in her optics now.

“And here I stand.”

A soft breath through her vents. Crimson lips curved faintly.

“As for those who believe they can profit from stolen images of my pain—”

A beat. Her voice dipped, deadly sweet.

“They would do well to remember: DeceptiCorp protects what is ours.”

Another pause—one flick of her talons on the desk.

“Relentlessly.”

Across the room, the newer reporter shrank slightly in his seat—face pale.

Megatron said nothing—but the cold glow of his optics left no doubt: he had heard.

And he would not forget.

A female human stood next, tablet clutched nervously in her hands.

“While we are all sensitive to your feelings and pain,” she began quickly, “many are also wondering—how do you feel about the fact that the footage has gone viral for… um… how romantic it was?”

Starscream blinked—her polished mask slipping, just for a breath.

“Romantic?” she repeated—tone edged with disbelief.

The human nodded eagerly, gaining confidence.

“Yes! I’m one of those viewers myself,” she admitted brightly.

“The clip shows Lord Megatron reaching out for you as you leapt into the Maserati. It’s been viewed over twelve million times already—hashtags like #PowerCouple, #RideOrDie, and #DeceptiGoals are trending.”

The pause that followed was absolute.

Even the camera drones stilled.

At Starscream’s side, Megatron’s optics flickered faintly—just one narrow pulse of crimson.

#DeceptiGoals.

Starscream exhaled—a soft sound through her vents.

Her optics shuttered once, then reopened—mask sliding back into place, polished and sharp.

She leaned forward slightly—voice low, smooth, crystalline.

“It was… not a performance,” she said coolly.

“It was survival.”

She gave a flick of her wings.

“We are not… performative.”

A beat—her gaze swept the room, unwavering.

“But if some choose to see loyalty, strength, and unity in those moments—”

her lips curved, blade-sharp—“who am I to correct them?”

At her side, Megatron’s optics gleamed—amusement, but something warmer beneath.

A brief glance passed between them—wordless, knowing.

Then his voice—deep, rumbling, resonant:

“We do not stage our wars.”

A pause. Weighted.

“Or our affections.”

Starscream’s smile deepened—no longer just calculated.

A softer breath slipped past her vents—unmasked for a moment.

“And I must agree,” she said quietly, voice turning almost gentle.

“In that moment…”

A pause—no longer for the press, but for herself.

“…there was nothing more romantic.”

The press pool practically vibrated—half in tension, half in unspoken glee.

The soundbites were writing themselves.

Before another overeager voice could cut in, a junior producer—face flushed, headset askew—hurried to the edge of the platform.

“Madam Starscream—Lord Megatron—final question,” he called, voice a touch too high.

“We’re at time.”

Starscream’s optics gleamed faintly.

She straightened—wings high, every line of her frame precise.

“No.”

A single word.

Calm. Controlled. Final.

She let it hang—long enough for the cameras to catch the command behind the poise.

Then—voice smooth as silk:

“We will end on this.”

A faint smile.

“Let the message stand.”

Across the room, no one dared argue.

The producer swallowed audibly—then gave a quick nod.

“Yes—understood. Cutting to end credits in three… two…”

The lights shifted—feeds cycling to outro.

Starscream stepped back—graceful as ever.

Megatron offered his arm again; she took it with practiced ease.

Together, they exited the platform—no words wasted.

The moment the cameras were behind them, Starscream let out a soft vented breath.

Not exhaustion—focus, sharpened now that the performance was over.

Megatron’s optics flicked toward her, curious.

“You meant it.”

Not a question.

A faint smile curved Starscream’s crimson lips.

“Of course.”

Her wings flexed, unfolding just slightly.

“How could I not? You could’ve sent anyone—anything—to retrieve me. But you came for me. Came for our—”

Crackle.

The comm interrupted—Soundwave’s voice cutting in, sharp and unmistakable over their private channel.

“Report: Priority One.”

A beat.

“Footage breach confirmed. Source traced.” Another beat. “Additional intel… you will want to see.”

Starscream’s optics sharpened—mask sliding fully back into place. “Send it. We’re en route.”

Megatron’s optics burned low. “Conference room. Now.”

They moved in unison—wings high, shoulders squared.

The public game was finished; the false smiles and careful words were gone.

Now came the real work.

The heavy door hissed shut behind them—sound-sealed, no press, no pretense.

Inside, the sleek conference room hummed low with focus.

Dark glass walls faintly etched with the Decepticon sigil surrounded them; the lighting was dim, tactical.

At the head of the table stood Soundwave—silent, visor glowing steady cobalt, one servo resting on the control panel.

Without greeting, without ceremony, he began.

“Report: Priority One.”

The central holotable flickered to life, casting red light across the room as a sharp-edged data thread spun upward.

“Source: Confirmed leak. External feed intercept.”

The thread expanded—still frames of the footage:

Starscream’s escape, the Nemiss, the blaze of weapons fire.

Though Soundwave’s tone did not shift, the room seemed colder.

“Origin: Traceable to human sector—local. Not foreign.” He pointed to the screen before them. “Intent: Viral spread. Public sentiment manipulation. Amplification via human platforms.”

Starscream’s optics narrowed—sharp as cut glass. “Someone inside Neo Detroit,” she said softly biting her thumb. “The code is too good to be human.”

A statement, not a question.

Megatron’s optics burned crimson.

“Names.”

Another pulse of data flickered across the display. Soundwave tapped once—precise, blade-sharp. The thread expanded again, forming a web of nodes. Names. Handles. Shell corporations. Lines of connection drawn in crimson.

“Primary node: ‘SilverwingMedia.’”

“Corporate shell. Funding traced—partial DeceptiCorp stockholder.”

Starscream’s wings flared—slow, deliberate. 

“One of ours.”

Megatron’s frame tensed—each movement calculated. “Internal betrayal.”

Soundwave continued without pause. “Intent: Viral narrative manipulation.”

“Public sentiment monitoring: Active.”

The holo shifted—now showing a real-time social sentiment map: heatmaps of comments, trend spikes, keywords flashing across the platforms.

“Public response to footage: 87% positive sentiment.”

A flick of the projection highlighted the top tags:

#PowerCouple

#RideOrDie

#DeceptiGoals

#StarscreamSurvived

#MegatronCameForHer

Still, Soundwave’s tone remained level.

“DeceptiCorp PR: containment successful. Public framing: loyalty, strength, resilience.”

“No significant anti-bot backlash detected.”

Starscream leaned forward slightly, claws resting against the table’s edge. Her lips curved in a faint smile.

“In other words… our enemies gave us a gift.”

Megatron’s optics gleamed darkly, voice low as steel dragged across stone.

“And we will repay them… accordingly.”

Soundwave inclined his helm.

“Next steps: Target triangulation in progress. List of compromised actors: compiling. Recommend immediate silent action to neutralize source.”

Starscream’s optics burned—sharp, cold fire.

“See to it. No mistakes.”

She let the moment hang, then flexed her wings slightly.

“And monitor the trend curve. If it rises—feed it.”

A razor-thin smile.

“Let the humans adore their fantasy a little longer.”

Megatron glanced toward her, something dark and knowing in his optics.

“And we will hunt the truth beneath it.”

A soft chime interrupted—Starscream’s datapad blinked with a new message.

Her optics flicked to it, one brow arching faintly.

“Ah.” A quiet hum.

She glanced across the table.

“Soundwave… I see you’ve been busy.”

Soundwave inclined his helm.

“Viral trajectory: optimized.”

“Clip: processed and seeded—controlled release.”

“Sentiment: positive amplification.”

Without missing a beat, Starscream swiped the datapad—playing the file.

The clip ran just six seconds. No sound.

A close-up: Starscream leaning toward her platinum compact, Decepticon logo gleaming on the back. She applied her candy-apple red lipstick with slow, clinical grace, then paused—smirked—winked.

Click.

The compact snapped shut.

It looped perfectly—hypnotic. Terrifying. Gorgeous.

Her TikTok bio now read:

@StarscreamedOfficial

CEO. CFO. Cautionary Tale.

💄 Q&A on Friday.

A low, amused hum escaped her vents.

“Mmm. Well done.”

Her gaze flicked sharply to Soundwave, approval in her optics.

“Sometimes, the best knife is… subtle.”

Megatron’s optics gleamed—dark, knowing.

“Let them admire their fiction.”

A beat; his voice dropped colder.

“We will deal with reality beneath it.”

Starscream’s smile curved—razor-sharp.

“Exactly.”

Leaning back slightly, she let her claws dance lightly across her screen.

“And while the humans are entertained…”

A pause, a glint in her optics.

“…we’ll prepare the real hunt.”

Before another word could pass, Soundwave’s voice cut clean through the channel once more.

“Airachnid: en route. ETA—three minutes.”

Starscream’s wings flexed—slow, deliberate.

“Perfect.”

She glanced toward Megatron, voice crystalline.

“Let’s catch a traitor.”

Starscream’s optics flicked back to her screen, catching the latest trend spike. The humans were still watching—what a perfect time to set the tone.

Then, without ceremony, she tapped Post on her screen.

DeceptiCorp Official Channel

@StarscreamedOfficial — Verified

📸 [Attached: Viral clip — lipstick, smirk, wink.]

Caption:

Survival is not a performance.

Loyalty is not staged.

Strength is built, tested, proven.

We rise. We overcome. And we do not forget.

#Starscreamed #RideOrDie #DeceptiCorpUnbroken #RiseAndOvercome

The datapad chimed—Posted.

Starscream exhaled softly, optics gleaming with satisfaction.

“There,” she murmured—voice like silk drawn across steel. “Now we set the tone.”

Soundwave’s voice followed, calm as ever.

“Engagement: rising. Viral trajectory: optimal.”

Megatron’s optics burned low.

“Let them celebrate.”

A cold smile touched his lips.

“And we will deal with the traitor beneath the noise.”

As the holo-feed dimmed, cycling to standby, Soundwave inclined his helm once and exited in silence. The door hissed shut behind him, leaving the conference room in stillness.

Silence settled over the room, the taut tension beginning to slowly uncoil.

Megatron remained at the head of the table, optics low and thoughtful.

At the far end, Starscream still perched elegantly, talons idly drumming a slow rhythm against the glass.

Click. Click. Click.

At last, with a soft huff, she rose—her wings folding loosely, her polished mask slipping away with the motion. The sharp CFO was gone; only Starscream remained.

Without ceremony, she crossed the room in a few smooth steps—heels clicking softly against the dark floor.

Megatron barely moved as she approached, watching with quiet amusement.

And then—with the effortless arrogance of a queen in her own domain—Starscream simply plopped herself onto the couch, draping lazily across Megatron’s chest, wings half-sprawled, legs tucked beside him.

Tipping her chin upward, half-lidded optics met his.

“Let the humans believe what they want,” she purred, voice velvet-smooth.

A pause—then a faint, wicked smile.

“They just happen to be right… in this instance.”

A low rumble vibrated through Megatron’s chest—warm amusement.

He rested one broad servo across her back—lazy, possessive. The warlord at rest.

“Of course they are.”

A slow smirk touched his mouth.

“We do nothing by halves.”

Starscream’s wings twitched softly, content.

“No.”

She exhaled.

Chapter Text

In the spires of Neo Detroit, it was common knowledge:

When a 1938 Pontiac Silver Streak — glossy black, gleaming like a predator beneath the neon haze — was parked outside Deceptcorp…

It meant one thing.

Airachnid was hunting.

Inside the darkened command hub, red light pulsed like a heartbeat through walls of chrome and glass. The hum of servers whispered beneath the silence.

Airachnid’s crimson optics flicked from screen to screen, long fingers dancing across the interface. A sharp snort escaped her.

“No wonder you called me in,” she said, voice edged with dry amusement. One slender spider-leg extended, tapping a line of corrupted code. “Strange, considering I’m strictly a work-from-home femme.”

Starscream stood behind her, arms crossed, optics narrowed.

“And you will be compensated for your time, Airachnid,” she replied coolly, her gaze lingering on the gothic 1950s-meets-spider aesthetic Airachnid wore.

“Oh, I know — it’s in my contract.” Airachnid flicked her optics toward her. “How’s Lord Megatron these days, Star? Still keeping him happy?” Her fanged grin teased.

“Wonderfully,” Starscream said with calm precision. She knew the jabs were deliberate. When Airachnid had first arrived in Megatron’s arms, Starscream had felt threatened — and reacted poorly.

She allowed the teasing now. A truce, of sorts.

Starscream’s gaze lifted, taking in Shockwave’s think tank — an aquarium-like chamber, where koi fish-shaped external hard drives drifted through fluid suspension. A creation for Soundwave.

Grudgingly, Starscream admitted: they were beautiful.

Nearby, Soundwave pointed to a flickering segment of the data-stream.

“Foreign code,” he intoned.

“You think that’s the injection point? Let me see…” Airachnid rose on her spider legs, elegant and unsettling, leaning in to trace the tangled code.

Soundwave remained at her side, silent.

Starscream stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I do not doubt your skills — nor does Lord Megatron. But with our systems compromised… I want another set of optics on this.”

Soundwave inclined his helm in silent agreement.

Starscream’s gaze returned to Airachnid. Something about her was… familiar. The cut of her frame? The dress? The way her optics caught the light? The answer remained just out of reach.

But there were more pressing concerns.

A public relations nightmare — Elita-One’s doing — buzzed at the edges of her processor. The femme had stumbled too close to something sensitive.

Then came the leaked footage. The worst night of her life.

…So far.

And now — a traitor in their midst.

Starscream exhaled slowly. “Keep me informed,” she said crisply. “I leave this in your capable hands.”

She turned, shrugging into her heavy jacket — the faux-fur lining patterned with ancient Seeker glyphs, shielding her from the brutal cold.

As she passed a mirrored panel, her reflection caught her eye.

A sigh. A soft snarl.

“I hate it when the humans are right. I look like a fluffy chip,” she muttered.

But she didn’t take off the coat.

“Madam Starscream.”

She turned as her assistant, Steve, jogged up with her handbag — and Otis, tail swishing, perched on his shoulders.

“Oh. Thank you, Steve.” She took the bag, then reached out with both claws, letting the AI cat curl into the warmth of her coat.

“Done for the day?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow.

Starscream chuckled. “Yes. I’m leaving with Lord Megatron. It’s been a long one.”

She stroked Otis’s head — a small nightly ritual.

With her bag slung over one shoulder, Otis purring softly beneath her coat, Starscream stepped into the corridor.

Even inside HQ, the chill seeped through — less biting than the spires outside, but sharp enough to gnaw at worn plating.

Her footsteps echoed toward the main lift.

Megatron would be waiting. He always waited — after every raid, no matter how late. No matter how many reports still poured in from the outer sectors.

He would not leave without her.

Outside, the city smoldered beneath a neon storm. Snow spiraled down in slow, hypnotic waves.

Each crunch of Starscream’s stilettos echoed on ice-glazed concrete, the glow of Neo Detroit reflected in every shard of frozen glass.

Ahead, the Nemesis waited — a war chariot cloaked in the form of a sleek Maserati. Its engine purred like a beast beneath the hood, snowflakes sizzling to steam as they touched its polished frame.

The passenger door flicked open — swift and silent.

For her alone.

A rare flicker of safety curled through Starscream’s spark. She slid into the seat. The door sealed behind her, cutting off the neon world outside.

For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe.

Tomorrow, the hunt would begin anew.

With a heavy shove of the shifter, Megatron spoke.

“You’re quiet.”

It was a statement, not a question.

Starscream blinked, straightening in her seat. A soft laugh escaped her.

“I don’t mean to be.”

She reached out, fingertips brushing his wrist as he shifted gears once more.

“Just been a long day. The things we do to keep our empire safe,” she added in a sing-song tone.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” he agreed, still looking forward — though a flick of red optics slid toward Starscream. “But if I’m honest with you, ’Tsrscream? I don’t know what else I’d be doing.”

His gaze returned to the road.

“Unless you have any ideas?”

Starscream laughed.

“Perhaps on a boat? With your head in my lap. Napping.” she offered.

“Napping? We don’t nap.” Megatron snickered.

“Oh, a boat? We might.”

Megatron’s low chuckle rumbled through the cabin. The Maserati purred beneath them, the city lights flickering across the windshield.

For a moment, Starscream let the warmth settle — then her optics drifted down to her phone. A newsfeed notification blinked at the corner of the screen.

—Elita-One addresses scandal in heartfelt apology—

Starscream’s jaw tightened. She tapped the headline.

A video auto-played: Elita-One’s soft voice, eyes wide, framed in pink-tinged light. Hands folded at her chest, optics flicking to the teleprompter behind the camera.

“I’m truly sorry for any pain my words may have caused—”

Starscream snapped the phone shut with a sharp motion. She knew Elita-One was performing well — following the apology Starscream herself had prepared.

Megatron flicked a glance her way but said nothing.

Starscream’s voice came clipped, her earlier humor gone.

“Disgusting.”

She didn’t look at him. The tension had returned — coiling beneath her polished surface like a wire pulled too tight.

Starscream sat at her vanity, the city lights of Neo-Detroit glittering behind her like a thousand judgmental eyes.

Not even the flattering lights of her vanity could cool her temper.

Her hands moved with practiced fury — dabbing foundation from her cheekbones like she was erasing a mask rather than her face.

“I don’t understand it,” she muttered, ripping the diamond earrings from her ears, one by one. “I honestly don’t.”

Her eyes met her reflection. Smudged liner. Lipstick faded. The perfect facade cracked.

“Elita-One can say anything, and people just… forgive her. ‘Oh, that’s just Elita, isn’t she sweet?’” she mimicked, voice lilting. “But if I said half the things she gets away with?”

She scoffed, setting the earrings down with a sharp clink.

“You would’ve divorced me,” she said flatly.

Her wings sagged heavily, making her look small. Tired.

There was silence. Then — the soft creak of floorboards behind her.

Two large, calloused servos rested gently on her shoulders. Warm. Grounding.

Megatron’s voice came, low and rough.

“I wouldn’t, you know.”

Starscream blinked.

“I wouldn’t divorce you,” he said again. “You’re actually very lovable. But only to those worthy of it.”

A pause.

“Case in point: you helping Prime out.”

She let out a long breath. The tension in her shoulders sagged, her posture folding inward like a collapsing star.

Then she turned, pressing her face into his chest — like hiding in a fortress made just for her.

“I love you,” she whispered, voice muffled by his shirt. “Truly.”

Megatron’s arms came around her, firm and unshaking.

“I know,” he said, before looking down at his shirt and snorted. “Even when you get make up all over my shirts.”

Starscream shook her head, still pressed into him. “You knew what you were getting into.” her muffled voice grumbled to him. “Yet you still came over and comforted me.” Starscream resting her chin on his stomach now. “I think you might like me.”

Megatron shrugged “you never know, I might.”

“Mean.”

“Hehe, you like it.”

“Yeahhhh I do…”

Starscream was not a kept femme. Far from it.

Independent. Strong. A force in heels.

But these moments — Megatron holding her, keeping her safe?

Well...

They made her spark flare brightly.

Chapter Text

Standing before the mirror, Starscream held a string of pearls to her plating, poised to clasp the necklace.

She took in her reflection — slowly, critically — preparing for tonight’s charity gala.

Her gown: a backless, mermaid-cut sheath of white satin. Gold patterns stitched like circuitry traced her curves, catching light with every breath. The skirt ended clean at the middle of her heels, the hem cut sharp — shaped like a metallic flower, blooming with every step.

One of many events she was expected to attend with Megatron.

Not that Starscream minded — not really.

It was always delightful to walk into a room and watch everyone suddenly tense.

But honestly?

That got boring quickly.

She was just about to clasp the pearls when a familiar weight shifted behind her — a large claw sliding to her neck, fingers tracing the line of her plating with slow, deliberate pressure.

Not rough — thoughtful. Claiming.

A shudder ran through Starscream’s system, turbines slowly starting to spin.

Primus, she thought faintly. For a mech his size — how did he always manage to sneak up on her?

“I like rubies better on you,” Megatron rumbled, voice low against her audio.

“Oh?” she asked lightly, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

“Pearls are lovely on you,” he continued, voice a rough purr. “Make no mistake.”

“But rubies suit you better. You should wear them tonight.”

He pressed a kiss between her neck and shoulder blade. “They look like blood glittering around your neck…”

“Oh!” Starscream gasped softly — voice filled with delight. Not for the rubies.

Because he asked.

Megatron chuckled. “Sadly, I mean that,” he rumbled.

“I know. You have such a way with words,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his helm.

She straightened, optics bright.

“One moment — if nothing else will do… I’ll have it commissioned.”

Megatron nodded once, stepping back into the bedroom — waiting, silent, to see what she chose.

Her husband didn’t ask much of her. Rarely anything at all.

But when he did?

When it was something as simple as what she wore?

Starscream loved to indulge him.

Proof that she loved the mech — if anyone else had asked her to wear something different, she wouldn’t have even considered it.

She laid three red velvet boxes on the bed and opened them, stepping back with her hands out, eager to see what he would pick.

A pleased rumble. “You have a lovely collection. Mined or lab grown?” he asked, picking up the first necklace — a teardrop-shaped ruby on a delicate gold chain. Megatron admired the gem in the light.

Starscream’s optics brightened, wings flicking — pleased. “Naturally,” she purred. “Mostly lab-grown — better clarity, better structure.” A sly smile curved her lips.

“But the mined pieces…” — her optics flicked to him, deliberately — “those are from you. And they always impress.”

Megatron gave a low chuckle.

“Kiss ass,” he rumbled.

Starscream huffed — dramatic, but clearly delighted.

“Am not — I actually mean that,” she insisted, pouting slightly — though her optics tracked him as he reached for the next piece.

The second: a medium-length necklace, rubies of all different cuts strung together — striking in its irregular beauty.

Thundercracker always said the rubies looked like “red crystals” from those old Star Battles films he liked.

Nerd.

Megatron chuckled softly, setting it down with deliberate care — and then reached for the last box.

A black leather choker — bold, simple.

At its center, one massive ruby — cut to gleam like a predator’s eye, nearly the size of Megatron’s thumb.

He held it up, optics gleaming. “There we are,” he said — a note of praise beneath the words.

Blinking, Starscream tilted her head. “That one?” she asked — voice curious, light.

Megatron answered only with a slow curl of his claw — a silent request.

Turn around.

Without a word, Starscream obeyed — turning on her heel, wings folding just so, holding perfectly still.

She heard the faint shift of velvet and leather behind her — the soft sound of Megatron removing the choker from its box.

Then — the touch.

Heavy, deliberate fingers brushing the sides of her throat, cool leather sliding against sensitive plating. The ruby caught the light, even now — she could see its gleam reflected faintly in the mirror ahead.

A small hum built in her turbines, unbidden.

Primus. He always chooses so well.

Despite what the board whispered — Megatron had exquisite taste. Not flashy. Not soft. Sharp. Precise. Just like this.

The choker settled perfectly at her neck — cool, close. His claws worked the clasp with practiced care — not rushed, not fumbling.

Starscream closed her optics for a moment — savoring the feel of his hands at her throat, of being chosen this way.

She wasn’t a prize. She wasn’t property.

But when he asked? When he chose?

That was different. That was hers to give.

The clasp clicked home.

Megatron’s voice followed — low, satisfied:

“Perfect,” he rumbled.

Starscream rubbed at her neck, at the choker. “It always surprises me how good your taste is.”

A chuckle. “Expecting me to fail?” he asked, more amused than anything.

“No, surprised how much I enjoy your choices.” Starscream clapped her claws. “Your turn.”

Megatron blinked — faintly surprised. “Mine?”

“Yes — you.” Starscream’s optics gleamed. “I thought we could match a bit.”

Megatron rumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think I could pull off that dress.”

Starscream laughed — genuine, bright. “No, no — that’s far too much,” she waved a claw, wings fluttering. “The rubies. I brought the ruby cufflinks, the pin, and your black watch.”

For a moment, her wings dipped — a rare flicker of hesitation. One claw rose, tapping against her lip.

“But… that might be too much as well.”

“Let me see,” Megatron said, voice even.

Starscream opened the box — presenting the pieces carefully. Silver cufflinks, inlaid with dark rubies. A dagger-shaped tie pin — sharp, understated. The matte black watch he favored — worn, familiar.

Megatron studied them, optics gleaming faintly. “That’s perfect,” he said simply.

Starscream’s optics lifted — bright with pleasure. “You’ll allow it? The matching?”

“It’s subtle,” Megatron rumbled, the faintest curl of amusement in his voice. “About as flashy as I get.”

He held out his arm — wordless permission.

Starscream’s claws moved immediately — deft, eager, already setting the links with precise care.

“Leave the flashy to me,” she added, voice low with smug amusement.

Megatron huffed — soft, almost a laugh.

“As always,” he rumbled.

That earned a kiss.

The click of Starscream’s heel was like a gunshot echoing through the gala.

The first camera flash hit before they’d even reached the grand stair.

Starscream smiled — slow, sharp. She knew her angles. White silk caught the lights like liquid metal, the ruby at her throat gleaming like a drop of blood.

At her side, Megatron moved like a shadow — black suit, crimson cufflinks catching every flash.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t have to.

The room parted — instinct, not decorum.

And then — the press line.

A too-bright young human reporter stepped forward — voice pitched too high, microphone shaking just enough to amuse. Fiberoptic eyes easily recorded the pair.

“Lord Megatron! Madam Starscream! A pleasure to see DeceptiCorp represented tonight — tell us, how do you feel about this evening’s celebration of unity?”

The cameras turned — every lens hungry for a misstep.

Starscream tilted her head, smile widening — the perfect picture of poise.

“Oh, delighted,” she purred. “It’s such a joy to be reminded of how far we’ve all come…”

A beat. Claws flexing lightly at her side — wings perfectly still.

“And how very far we still might go.” Starscream gave a wink to the camera. “Rise up and overcome.”

The tension snapped across the room like a live wire — the humans heard it. The Autobots heard it.

And behind her — Megatron’s quiet rumble of amusement sealed it.

Climbing the grand staircase, all eyes on them, Starscream kept her smile perfectly in place.

“Minx,” Megatron murmured — voice low, amused.

Starscream glanced sideways, optics bright.

“What?” she asked — tone light, innocent.

“‘Rise up and overcome,’” Megatron rumbled softly. “Saying our sigil — at an Autobot and human event. Scaring them.”

Starscream gave a soft, delighted giggle — wings fluttering faintly.

“I couldn’t help myself,” she purred. “Both humans and Autobots forget just who they’re dealing with.”

Megatron laughed.

The main gala area was held in what remained of the old Ford Piquette Avenue Plant — once a factory, now a stage for the city’s new image.

The bones of the building still showed — iron girders, old brick, scars of time and use.

The human hosts had tried to dress it up — neon uplights against rusted steel, crystal chandeliers hanging beneath cracked skylights, polished floors that still carried the faint marks of a century’s labor.

It was meant to look bold, industrial-chic — the perfect metaphor for progress rising from the past.

To Starscream, it looked like exactly what it was: a ruin in a new coat of paint.

The perfect place for a unity gala.

“Assembly line, right? What this room used to be,” Megatron asked Starscream.

“Yes, from what I researched.” She rested a claw on his upper arm. “Megatron…”

The mech shook his head slightly. “Servitude. Can feel the echoes of it here.”

“And you, my beloved one, broke those chains,” she encouraged.

Starscream’s gaze lingered on him — fierce, steady.

Then she glanced over the crowd below — eyes sharp, calculating. “We can leave, walk right out. It would be fabulous,” she murmured, claws brushing his arm again. “No need to indulge this farce further — if you’d rather not.”

Megatron’s optics narrowed faintly — considering.

But before he could answer — movement.

A voice — too smooth, too loud.

“Madam Starscream! Lord Megatron!”

Victor Hale.

CEO of Hale Systems. Old money. New teeth.

And just dangerous enough to think he could play in their pond.

Starscream’s smile returned — sharp and cold this time.

“Mr. Hale,” she said — purring just enough to draw blood. Having to look down at him. “How… enterprising of you to approach us tonight.” She was holding her husband’s hand. A beat — her optics gleaming. “My goodness — I hardly recognized you. It’s been such a long time…”

A pause — perfectly timed, perfectly sharp.

“Since our last intellectual properties meeting.”

Where Starscream had — with one surgical filing — ruined Hale’s next launch for using the DeceptiCorp logo on a product display.

Everyone in the room knew it.

A low rumble from Megatron, perfectly timed:

“That reminds me,” he said — voice even, almost bored. “You’re late on your payment.”

A flicker — just a flicker — passed over Victor Hale’s face.

There it was.

The knife.

Starscream smiled wider — optics bright as polished glass. “Oh dear,” she said sweetly. “Surely that was just an oversight, Mr. Hale. You wouldn’t be so careless with your obligations — especially not with us.”

A beat.

Megatron’s optics gleamed — faint red beneath the polished calm. “Careless,” he echoed — low, deliberate. “Or insolent.”

Victor swallowed — barely audible, but in this room? Everyone heard it.

And the cameras? Still rolling.

“Perhaps both, darling,” Starscream added, voice silk-smooth, looking up at Megatron, who now shared her smile.

“Foolishness on both accounts,” he agreed, cool as steel.

Victor covered his mouth with a palm, sweating hard — a gesture too fast, too forced. “Is… is that so…” He gave a brittle laugh. “I’ll get that to you both in the morning. I have no idea how that slipped past me.”

Megatron’s claws moved — calm, unhurried — as he took a flute of champagne energon with delicate precision.

“Just like my patience,” he rumbled — taking a slow sip.

“A-an-anyway! Great seeing you both again! Haha!” Victor choked, turning fast — escaping before the blade twisted deeper.

Starscream watched him retreat — smile cool, wings high.

And as she turned — perfectly timed for the cameras — she let her voice carry:

“Pathetic.”

Moving his hand down, Megatron offered a sip from his glass.

A chirp — a pleased Seeker sound — escaped Starscream as she stood on her tiptoes to share the drink with her husband.

For a moment?

She forgot the cameras were watching.

But the cameras hadn’t.

Neither had the crowd.

Across the room, optics flicked and lenses refocused — microphones tilted just so.

A ripple passed through the guests — whispers blooming like cracks in glass.

“Did you see that?”

“She chirped to him in front of everyone—”

“It’s live. The whole stream caught it.”

NeoNet Public Stream: Forward Together Gala — LIVE CHAT

[feetlover97]: those heels! stuff of LEGENDS!! my queennnnnnnnn 👠👠👠

[chromeWings78]: omg did screamer just CHIRP???

[warriorcoffee]: she DID… IN FRONT OF EVERYONE 😳

[ironcitywatch]: “pathetic” and THEN a chirp??? i’m LOSING it lmao

[fleetflux1]: megatron just handed her his drink like a king to his queen fr 👑

[supersayainprince7]: @fleetflux1 they ARE!! leader of the cons, how come everyone keeps forgetting that?! 😒😒😒

[cyanbyte]: THEY STILL ACT LIKE THAT AFTER EVERYTHING 😭

[sparkfangirl99]: that’s a whole lot of everything 🫢

[highgrade_babe]: the fragging warlords have a better marriage than i do rip

[blaster_backup]: WHO KNEW SCREAMER HAD A FUEL PUMP 😭😭😭

[ghostpaint88]: it’s in a jar on megatron’s nightstand confirmed 😏

[cybercitynews]: IT’S LIVE. EVERY NETWORK HAS THIS CLIP RN 🚨

[slivermoonqueen]: poor Victor Hale! megs and star pretty much went 🎶 “tinnie whennie short dick man” 🎶

[totallynotsoundwave]: Hale tech’s last three launches have been terrible 🤣🤣🤣

[Pulloutkingjr]: fine if none of you will ask… how does starscream not die from taking spike from—

-[Pulloutkingjr has been banned for breaking community guidelines]-

[nekocat432]: you guys are so brainwashed, they are warlords! not influencers!!

[bleedpurplethefallen]: rise up and overcome baby! 🧨🧨🧨

The truth that nobody could bear to say was that Megatron and Starscream scared them.

Yes — they had moved on from being warlords.

They rebuilt their company. Chose peace — negotiated peace — where bots were as free as humans.

But loyalty?

Decepticons were fiercely loyal. It wouldn’t take much to make the war machine turn again.

That was power no amount of money could buy.

And Megatron and Starscream knew it.

Yet still — they came to these galas. For peace. For business.

Still holding the flute of champagne, Megatron found an alcove with a reinforced bench in a dark corner. Sitting like it was his throne, legs spread in deliberate claim of space.

Starscream tucked under his arm, one hand resting at the center of his chest. Their red optics glowing in the darkness.

The ruby around Starscream’s neck glittered like a warning.

Chapter Text

[2:14 AM — Global Trending — NeoNet Pulse Feed]

#Pathetic — 3.9M mentions
#RiseUpAndOvercome — 5.6M mentions
#DeceptiCouple — 7.1M mentions
#ForwardTogetherGala — 1.2M mentions
#VictorHaleRIP — 920K mentions

Newsfeed Headlines — Auto-scroll:

“DeceptiCorp Leaders Dominate Forward Together Gala — Sparks Fly at Public Unity Event”
“Warlords or Power Couple? Public Reacts to Viral Gala Moment”
“Starscream’s ‘Pathetic’ Caught On Mic — Net Explodes”
“Megatron’s Smile: Threat or Charm?”
“Victor Hale Leaves Event Early — Sources Report ‘Visibly Shaken’”
“#DeceptiCouple: The Internet’s New Obsession”

Trending Comment Thread: LIVE feed.

[IronCladBiz]: Sooooo are we just not going to talk about how they look better together than half of our politicians??

[BlueSpark77]: no bc if we do we’ll have to admit the warlords have a healthier marriage than the council lmfao

[CrimsonPrime]: MEGATRON SIPPED HIS DRINK LIKE A BOSS THEN SHE CHIRPED I CANT 💀💀💀

[ByteBaron]: reminder: they command an army. an ARMY. y’all stanning war criminals smh

[NeonFemme]: yeah and they looked GOOD doing it 🤭

[BenchGate99]: not y’all calling it manspreading. bro’s a ten-ton mech. that was a REINFORCED bench. he’s just BIG. 😭😭😭

[SparkleSeeker]: RIGHT?? he wasn’t even taking space from anyone. he made himself a lil warlord nest with his wife 🥺

[BenchGate99]: thats my new dream, warlord nest with wife.

[CircuitCityNews]: just in — council to release official statement on “gala conduct” tomorrow 👀

[Moonlightromance🐇]: warlord, ceo, husband and king of all wife holding.

[Bossbae97]: can we see Optimus and Elita-one please?! They have to be more romantic than the two warlords. 

[SuperSayainprince]: Prime and Elita look like they are at a middle school dance…

Elita-One pouted at her phone.

"I hate how Screamer is so good at this. Frag — the whole room is afraid of those tyrants. Yet they win over the public so easily."

She glanced at Optimus, who had his hands in his pockets and was just quiet.

"Hello? Earth to Prime."

Elita-One waved a hand in front of his face.

"Elita speaking."

Optimus finally spoke — voice low.

"That’s not what I’m worried about — the public," Prime admitted, lightly swirling his glass of energon. "It’s what comes after."

He took a long drink. "The human delegates keep pushing their luck with Megatron."

Elita-One blinked. "What are you even talking about?"

Optimus looked at her for a long moment — optics sad.

He gave a sigh. "Don’t worry about it. We need to talk to Megatron and Starscream."

Elita-One made a face. "Noooo thank you. I’ve eaten enough crow, thank you very much."

She took a long drink of her wine — then a stray thought crossed her mind.

Maybe the public would eat up the same moment with her and Prime?

Nah.

They’d just say she was copying Screamer.

Not in Starscream’s sad, dark, screeching life.

“Oh hey!” Elita-One hurried off after prime. 

He could feel the weight of their presence from across the room — and knew full well that tonight, it was his place to approach.

There in the dark corner of the gala, Megatron was telling Starscream a story. His claw lightly stroked her wings as he spoke. Voice rumbling but soft both king and queen happy in there own little bubble. 

Megatron stilled his petting making Starscream look up. 

“Well now, you are a brave one.” Starscream sat up greeting the brave little human girl in a fluffy yellow dress. 

The girl nodded, puffing out her chest. “Yep, I’mma very brave. Mama says so. Your dress is so pretty.” she proclaimed watching as Starscream opened her silver clutch. 

“Is that so? Bravery like yours shall be rewarded. Thank you starlight.” Starscream took something out of her clutch. 

“You have good taste, child.” Megatron agreed, watching to see what Starscream was getting up too. 

Starscream leaned forward and placed a ring pop into her hands. “There we are, a ring almost as big as mine.” she teased. 

“Oohhh wow! A ringpop thank you!” she jumped up and down a bit before running back to her petrified parents. 

Megatron laughed, making Starscream laugh. “Humor me, my queen. What else do you have in that bag.”

“Hm? Oh” Starscream opened her clutch allowing him to see. “My phone, your wallet and keys. A energon snack…humans love to eat sea bugs at parties. Blaster, my compact, lipstick, lube, you know the basics.”

That alone made Megatron really laugh loud and hard. 

[2:23 AM — Global Trending — NeoNet Pulse Feed]

#RingPop — 4.8M mentions ↑↑
#Pathetic — 4.1M mentions
#RiseUpAndOvercome — 5.9M mentions
#DeceptiCouple — 7.8M mentions
#ForwardTogetherGala — 1.4M mentions
#VictorHaleRIP — 950K mentions

Newsfeed Headlines — Auto-scroll:

“Starscream Gives Young Guest ‘Courage Reward’ — Ring Pop Moment Dominates Feeds”
“Human Child Approaches Decepticon Royals — Net Reacts”
“#RingPop Surges — Starscream Soft? Megatron Laughs?”
“DeceptiCorp Leaders Unbothered — Public Fascinated”

Trending Comment Thread: LIVE feed

[GlitterFangirl44]: THE RING POP. THE RING POP. THE RING POP!!!! 💍🍭💍🍭💍
[BlueSpark77]: megatron LAUGHED. y’all we are in danger. but also i love them
[BenchGate99]: warlord nest + warlord gifting = my new religion
[CuteButArmed]: that kid is braver than me omg 😭
[ByteBaron]: reminder THEY COMMAND AN ARMY y’all losing your minds over a ringpop 😑
[NeonFemme]: the optics gleam when she said “almost as big as mine” I DIED 🫠🫠🫠
[VictorHaleApologist]: i’m still shaking can we pls go back to hating them 😭😭😭
[BenchGate99]: NO. I’VE CHOSEN WARLORD NEST LIFE 🫡
[CircuitCityNews]: Council definitely scrambling rn — hearing they didn’t expect THAT kind of PR moment 👀
[Moonlightromance🐇]: did ANYONE ELSE hear the clutch convo??? starscream has her man’s WALLET AND KEYS 😳
[IronCladBiz]: phone, wallet, keys, blaster, lube — queen behavior tbh 👑
[NeonFemme]: “you know, the basics” SHE SAID IT WITH HER WHOLE CHEST 😭😭😭
[BenchGate99]: THEY ARE TOGETHER TOGETHER FR 😭😭😭
[Blaster_Backup]: wait… do mech suits not have pockets???
[ByteBaron]: they DON’T. no pockets in those suits. that’s why she carries his stuff. 😳
[BenchGate99]: bro she’s literally his pockets. she is his POCKETS.
[IronCladBiz]: she carries the warlord’s keys so he can man-spread in peace 💀💀💀
[NeonFemme]: ultimate marriage goals tbh 😂
[SparkleSeeker]: he carries the war, she carries the keys. power couple. end of. 👑💀🔥

SparkleSeeker]: he carries the war, she carries the keys. power couple. end of. 👑💀🔥
[bunnylover97]: shes so real about the sea bugs whyyyyyy humans whyyyyyy 😭😭😭
[Blaster_Backup]: like FR why do humans eat bugs at fancy parties 😭
[NeonFemme]: she brought an energon snack on PURPOSE bc she KNEW 😂 queen behavior
[IronCladBiz]: imagine being so prepared you just casually have a blaster, snack, lube, and your man’s wallet in your clutch lmaooo
[BenchGate99]: i aspire to this level of life

Megatron was still snickering as Optimus approached. “Are you trying to scare the humans? Making me laugh like that.” 

“What's the matter with it? You sound so happy.” Starscream pouted but stopped as soon as he started to stroke her wings again. 

“Going to make them think I brought my canon.” 

“Its in the nemesis. Like you leave home without it.” 

“Besides the point.”

Looking at the flute of champagne in her husband's claw. Starscream grind “maybe i should get us a refill? Just to watch the crowd scatter?” her voice a playful purr. 

She saw optics flick toward her, humans shifting nervously. The goldfish already smelled the shark.

Megatron tapped his claw under her chin. “It's more entertaining to watch them muster up the courage.” 

Both warlords were snickering now as Optimus Prime approached the couple. 

Megatron and Starscream stood, Megatron actually reached out to shake Optmius’s servo. 

Optmius took the servo greatly, even if both mechs have a big squeeze of the other servo. “Good to see you, old friend.” he greeted as the two leaders let go at the same time. Never backing down. “Glad you joined us.”

Even in times of peace. 

Optimus gave a bow of his head to Starscream, who returned the gesture.  

A ripple moved through the crowd — optics and lenses pivoting as Elita-One approached. Composed. Perfectly measured.

Of course she wouldn’t let Prime stand alone before them.

Starscream’s smile sharpened — and deepened. 

She inclined her head just so, ruby at her throat glittering in the lights. "Elita-One," Starscream purred, voice carrying just enough for the nearby press to hear. "It was gratifying to see how... gracefully you handled the aftermath of the apology I prepared for you. So few appreciate the value of subtext these days. “I was impressed by how swiftly you sought my help. So few are wise enough to act before the damage is done.”

A blade, velvet-wrapped.

Elita’s optics narrowed — just for a flicker — then she returned the nod with equal poise. "Your timing was... impeccable, Starscream. I’m certain we both understand the importance of appearances."

Both smiled. The cameras drank it in — but neither mech took their optics off the other.

NeoNet Public Stream: Forward Together Gala — LIVE CHAT

[SuperSayainPrince]: oh hell did it just get cold in here? Ice cold!

[Bunnylover93]: the femmes are fighting!

[Footlover97]; wait? Starscream helped Elita-One? OMG what did she doooo?

[Nothereking]: are we passing up that amazing handshake between Optimus and Megatron? New meme format!

[Moonlightromance🐇] Elita-One is as green as her dress. 

[Skywalker76]; @footlover97 Elita-One went on ‘good morning neo detroit’ and said that bots don’t need private security anymore.

[Footlover97]; aw hell, that's bad. 

[AutobotArchivist]: did y’all SEE that handshake?? nobody blinked. nobody budged. that’s how you do peace. 🔥

[IronCladBiz]: handshake of the century fr. two warlords and no one flinched 😳

[NeonFemme]: the way that Megatron is looking at Starscream right now? I think my phone is pregnant…

[SparkleSeeker]: Elita-One looks like she had to eat a plate of the humans' fancy party sea bugs. 

[BenchGate99]: I like the respect that Megatron, Starcream and Prime share with each other.

[SuperSayainPrince]: @BeachGate99 I like how you didn’t include Elita-One in that. 

[BenchGate99]: why would I? Doesn't she have a pyramid scheme business? See her on the grid selling buffing kits. 

“The Council wishes to remind the public that the Forward Together Gala was a neutral event designed to promote unity.’

[ByteBaron]: "Neutral event" my aft. DeceptiCorp just ran the whole damn room. 👀Decepticons for life baby!

Megatron chuckled, shaking his helm. “Easy ‘Tarscream.” he soothed her fires just a bit. 

Breaking the strong eye contact with Elita-One and looking at her husband. A quiet game of cyber-chicken between the two femmes. “We are having a good time.” Starscream placed the empty champagne glass onto the empty tray offered to her by the wait staff. 

Surprisingly a human staff. 

“Yes its a wonderful time, unity between bots and humanity is most important.” Elita-One agreed. 

Megatron and Starscream looked between each other and slowly back to Elita. 

“Elita, please.” Optimus softly held her shoulder. 

“What? Why? This is a great charity.” Elita double downed. 

“Right….” Starscream mused, tapping her chin. 

“Sketchy at best, an excuse to throw a party.” Megatron started “unity is such a broad topic.” both now going for blood.

Starscream looked up to Megatron. “I wager it's a yacht.”

“Silver?”

“I say blue.”

Megatron looked back to the couple before them, “we haven't decided on what color as of yet.”

Both ex-warlords looked over to the host of the party, noticing the blue tie. Henry Jackobs was surrounded by people animatedly telling a story. His hands moved wildly with his mannerisms.

“Blue.” Megatron and Starscream said together. 

“Now, thats not proven-” Optimus Prime started, wanting at least some proof before slamming the unity charity. Even if Megatron and Starscream were normally right about corruption. They sniffed it out like blood in the water.

“If anything you should be proud Prime.” Megatron’s voice easily carried over the sound of the party. 

“Yes, your two charites. Education of underprivileged bots and Snap-on medical has been a true class act. I have seen so many bots and humans alike being help.” Starscream’s voice carried just as far.

“I mean, Optimus is the best at what he does.” Elita-one added softy. 

“Damn right he is.” Megatron agreed. 

Optimus Prime was quiet for a moment and nodded. “Thank you Megatron. Starscream. I do my best.”

“And is shows.” Starscream added, actually meaning it. 

Elita-One took a glass from a passing waiter and gulped it down quickly. She didnt eat crow anymore. 

She was choking down seeker high heels thrusters. 

Trending Comment Thread: LIVE feed.

[ByteBaron]: blue yacht CONFIRMED. i’m DECEASED 💀💀💀

[BenchGate99]: t hey said BLUE together. they OWN this room.

[NeonFemme]: starscream out here doing her homework and dropping receipts on Prime’s charities??? ICON.

[SuperSayainPrince]: optimus trying to play dad rn lmaoooo “that’s not proven” SURE GRANDPA 😂

[SparkleSeeker]: imagine getting complimented by MEGATRON and STARSCEAM while they destroy your gala 😭

[IronCladBiz] : henry jackobs lookin SWEATY in that blue tie rn 👀👀👀

[Moonlightromance🐇]: “we haven’t decided on what color” — they are SAVAGE i’m livingggg 🔥

[VictorHaleApologist]: why are the decepticons GOOD AT PR NOW HELP 😭😭😭

[BenchGate99]: i just want a love like megs & star have… sniping corruption & finishing each other’s sentences 😭😭

[ByteBaron]: unity gala is OVER. decepticouple ate and left no crumbs.

[NeonFemme]: s nap-on medical shoutout was chef’s kiss. THEY KNOW THE GOOD STUFF.

[Skywalker76]: jazz bought a sandwich on snap-on funds once. soundwave caught it. jazz paid it back SAME DAY. DECEPTICORP RUNS TIGHT.

[Footlover97]: this is why starscream terrifies me. she KNOWS THE BOOKS.

[GlitterFangirl44]: BLUE YACHT MEMES STARTING RN 🚨🚨🚨

[Moonlightromance🐇]: ohhhh the council is gonna have a BAD day tomorrow.

Game, set, match. 

Starscream opened her compact and reapplied her red lipstick. “Darling? Are you ready to go? The humans are about to bring out the sea bugs. Always turns my tanks.” She asked Megatron. 

“Been ready, not like this was fun.”

Optics shining, she closed her compact with a click. “I think its late enough for that little doughnut shop we passed to be open. A midnight snack?”

“Better then watching the humans eat the bugs.” 

And just like that, no speeches. No fanfare, no grand goodbyes or sweet words. 

Megatron and Starscream where just gone. 

Leaving a creator in their wake. 

Chapter Text

Neonet Insta-Grid. 

@therealMegatron 

Rise up and Overcome. 

Image attached.

An interior shot of the Nemesis. The car cabin is dimly lit with red underlights, while neon pink and green from the doughnut shop outside spills in through the window — painting everything in sugar-drenched light.

Megatron looks amused, tie loosened, shirt unbuttoned enough to reveal a generous expanse of plated chest. One hand is steadying Starscream — resting low on her hip.

Starscream is leaning out the passenger window, wings folded tight, aft and back framed perfectly in the shot. Megatron’s chin rests against the small of her back.

Caption:
  She wanted to order.
  #aftergala #noseabugs #riseupandovercome @Starscreamoffical 💄👠💍

NeoNet Public Comment Thread — @therealMegatron Post

[NeonFemme]: THE AFT. THE HAND. THE CHIN. I AM ASCENDING 🔥🔥🔥
  [SparkleSeeker]: starscream carries the keys, megatron carries the camera, i love marriage 🫠
  [ByteBaron]: rise up and overcome?? this mf just made a thirst trap with a POLITICAL SLOGAN 😭😭😭
  [Moonlightromance🐇]: this is warlord core. i’m obsessed.
  [BenchGate99]: HE POSTED IT HIMSELF. no pr team. no filter. raw menace. king behavior.
  [GlitterFangirl44]: WHY IS THIS THE SEXIEST DONUT RUN IN HISTORY 🍩💥
  [VictorHaleApologist]: remember when we were all scared of these two? now i’m scared AND STANNING help 😭
  [IronCladBiz]: imagine being that doughnut shop employee rn. legends walked in.
  [NeonFemme]: also @StarscreamOfficial tagged like a WIFE 😳💍👑
  [ByteBaron]: council tomorrow: “we condemn the donut thirst trap.” 🤣🤣
  [Blaster_Backup]: why does megatron know how to frame an insta thirst post this well. WHO TAUGHT HIM.
  [SparkleSeeker]: starscream. obviously. queen of the grid.

[Doughnutking]: omg they came through my drive thru!’

[ByteBaron]: youve been blessed 

[SparkleSeeker]; @Doughnutking; what where they like?!

[Doughnutking]: shockingly nice and polite. When I opened the window? I thought it finally happened! I’ve gone mad!

BREAKING: Council Communications Office Statement — 3:47 AM

xoxoxoxoxoxox

(Distributed via official channels to press and public feeds)

“The Council reminds the public that the Forward Together Gala was intended to foster unity and mutual respect between factions and species. While we acknowledge that all attendees are free to express themselves on social media, we urge public figures to remain mindful of the tone and implications of their messaging — especially in the immediate aftermath of sensitive diplomatic events.

Posts which could be construed as provocative or politically charged — even in casual contexts — are discouraged at this time.”

xoxoxoxoxoxxo

Public Comment Highlights — NeoNet Thread:

[ByteBaron]: lmao “discouraged at this time” THEY ARE SHAKING 😂
  [SparkleSeeker]: “sensitive diplomatic events” — they mean THE DONUT PIC 😭😭😭
  [GlitterFangirl44]: THEY SAW THE AFT POST AND HAD TO WRITE A STATEMENT I CANT 💀💀💀
  [NeonFemme]: megatron: posts one thirst trap
  council: entire PR office wakes up screaming
  [BenchGate99]: “provocative or politically charged” babe it's a WING SHOT AT A DONUT SHOP 😭 get a grip
  [Moonlightromance🐇]: starscream reading this rn like mission accomplished 💅

Starscream had turned off her phone after leaving the gala. She was done with the public for the night.

Sure — she loved the game. The power plays. But this late? After that evening? And with Airachnid and Soundwave still combing the code, trying to locate the traitor…

Enough.

Her hand idly stroked Otis’ head as the ai cat sat in the cupholder.

Now, a pink energon doughnut with green sprinkles was far more important.

She polished off her treat as Megatron guided the Nemesis into an underdeveloped part of the city — where nature was slowly overtaking the ruins of old Detroit.

Vines on crumbling steel. Trees pushing up through broken asphalt. A forgotten place.

And, for now, quiet.

With an amused smirk, Megatron reached over — slow, deliberate. His thumb brushed a streak of icing from her cheek. Without breaking eye contact, he brought it to his mouth, licking it clean with a low rumble.

“Delicious,” he murmured. “I’ve never cared much for icing.” A pause. The faintest curl of a smile. “But perhaps my tastes have changed.”

Starscream stared at him for a long, charged moment — before letting out a sharp, flustered squeak, her face plating flushed a bright, telltale red.

“How do you do that so fragging easily!” she burst out, turbines spinning and wings flaring. “All this time we’ve been together and yet—!”

Before Megatron could answer, she seized the front of his stupid, stupid,infuriatingly sexy open shirt, exposing the silver necklace with the Decepticon insignia. Hauling him into a long, hungry kiss claws stroking through his silver human-like hair as she all but climbed into his lap.

Suddenly, the Nemesis felt far too small for both of them.

When Starscream finally broke the kiss — lips parting with an audible smack — both of them were venting hard, flush against one another in the cramped cabin.

Megatron growled, shifting in the tight space. “Me? You’re just as bad,” he rumbled, optics dark with heat. “Making the public adore you while gutting Elita-One like a cat with a mouse. Politely, too.”

He glanced around with clear irritation at the too-small vehicle. “Come on,” he grumbled — throwing open the Nemesis’s door, one arm full of his Seeker wife and the other slinging his big coat over one arm.

“Eek — it’s cold!” Starscream squeaked, wings fluttering.

“Not for long,” Megatron rumbled — already moving.

She kicked her heels like a kid, laughing — claws resting on his arm to steady herself.

"I am a Seeker, I am heavy! Yet here I am — regal as ever, dangling under your arm like a sack of potatoes." She tilted her helm up, optics glinting.  "You do realize this is not befitting of a queen?"

Megatron rumbled low, amused. “Perhaps. But you’re my queen. I’ll carry you however I like.”

Starscream held still for a beat, optics blinking. Then a sigh, claws flicking in amused surrender.
"Touché. Carry on..." she waved her claw grandly — before giving a sharp shiver. Primus, it was cold out here. Seekers were always sensitive to cold.

"What are you planning—" she began — then squeaked, optics widening as realization struck. "Oh. Clever..." she purred, smirking up at him. “Very clever…”

With deliberate ease, Megatron tossed his heavy jacket across the warm hood of the Nemesis — the engine still purring beneath the steel.

Starscream stretched out atop it with a satisfied hum, wings spread to soak up the residual heat. Let the cold try to bother her now.

Megatron gave a low chuckle. "Scheming again, ‘Tarscream?” he teased. “Luring me in with engine heat and those wings.”

Starscream flicked her claws lazily, lips curving in a slow smirk.

"Oh yes," she deadpanned. “This has all been one very long elaborate con... just to steal your car.” she held up her claws in defeat. “You caught me.” Starscream smiled as Megatron nuzzled into her claws, pressing dry kisses to the soft metal. 

Megatron’s optics flicked up, smirk deepening.

"You’ll need to try harder if you want the keys," he rumbled.

“There is one…tiny issue with my flawless plan” Starscream said in a teasing voice, opening her legs a bit for Megatron to move closer. 

“And what would that be?” Megatron was admiring her long leg and pressing a few kisses up the soft metal. 

Starscream giggled. “I can’t reach the Nemesis petals.”

A big, real laugh ripped from Megatron’s chest. Good and loud that made Starscream laugh with him.

Megatron’s laugh finally subsided, his optics warm as they locked with hers.

"As much as I’m tempted to leave you here purring on my hood," he rumbled, “we still have business to finish tonight.”

Starscream sighed, dramatic as ever — but her optics gleamed with sharp focus.

"Spoilsport," she purred, stretching her wings. “But you’re right. We have a traitor to find, gut, and feed to Pretaking.”

Megatron laid on top of Starscream. Chin resting between her paneling. “Predaking is a good choice, I want to deal with them as well.” he grumbled. 

That earned a ‘you are being stupid’ kiss to his forehead. “Naturally, you…then me….maybe Shockwave will enjoy them, then Prediking for whatever is left.” She huffed softly as Megatron rested his chin against her chest, her paneling exposed the dress slipping off her shoulder. “Five more minutes.” she grumbled running her claws through Megatron’s silver hair. 

He pressed a kiss between her paneling. “Naturally.” he agreed, enjoying the moment. Wasn't often they were truly alone. No lord or madame, netmail, Steve or meeting demanding them. 

A rare moment of peace. 

Unknown by the two warlords, a camera drone had finally found them in such a private moment. Hiding away from the couple. Knowing better than to record any of the dialog. Unless the paparazzi company wanted to be sued into the ground by Decoicorp lawyer or worse. 

Megatron and Starscream own personal lawyers. 

NEONET

MechTeaNews 📸 LEAKED: Drone captures Megatron & Starscream in intimate moment atop Nemesis vehicle. Location: Ruins of Old Detroit Caption: Public enemies or public honeymooners? #NemesisAfterDark #PowerCouple 

Top Comments: 

[NeonFemme]: THEY ARE DOING FOREPLAY ON A WARCRUISER LIKE IT’S A KING-SIZED BED 😭😭😭 

[MoonlightRomance🐇]: The wing spread?? The leg position?? It’s giving “married and dangerous” 

[ByteBaron]: begging decoicorp to send a cease and desist to the entire planet 

[SparkleSeeker]: okay but like. who leaked this. Soundwave?? Is this an inside job 

[BenchGate99]: the council is 100% going to issue a SECOND donut-related statement 

[MechCryptid]: I’M A LIP READER—Megatron definitely says “traitor” at timestamp 0:37 

[ByteBaron]: omg you’re right 

[IronCladBiz]: wait WHAT 

[SparkleSeeker]: new theory: they’re banging AND hunting spies 

[GlitterFangirl44]: wait is this war or foreplay or espionage?? I’m losing the plot 

[Blaster_Backup]: Enemies to lovers to co-captains to intelligence ops — Megastream, call me. I have a great show pitch.

Across the city, inside a high-rise draped in national flags, a group of overpaid humans sat in a too-quiet war room.

The Council of Humanity. Supposedly neutral. In truth?

They’d only ever cared about one faction:

Their own.

“Are they on top of that war cruiser?” Councilwoman Heiss asked flatly.

“Yes, ma’am,” her aide replied. “Same one as last year. The security footage we leaked? It’s trending again.” He flipped a few pages. “They call it the Nemesis.”

He snorted.

“What was Biggus Dickus taken?”

“Wonderful. And the peace summit coverage?”

“Buried. After their gala stunt and the doughnut thirst trap, we’re calling it a triple hit. Nothing else is trending.”

“Triple hit.” Heiss repeated. “Sounds like a PR term, not a crisis.”

Silence.

“And Elita-One?”

“Temporarily deactivated. Her last few posts didn’t poll well.”

He looked back at the screen. “We even offered Starscream the same post-war deal as Elita…”

Heiss held up her hand. “The amount of therapy that offer alone caused.”

“The public doesn’t see terrorists anymore,” the aide offered. “They see—”

“They see power,” Heiss snapped. “And want it.”

A pause.

“Issue a statement. Use the unity language. Subtext it hard. And for the love of god — remind people they’re not married. I want a big upset with the traditional family crowd. Give me a real shit show.”

“Actually…”

“...What.”

“They’ve been married. Pre-war. Pinkslip exchange. It auto-converted to legal marriage post-treaty.”

A long groan filled the room.

“I fucking hate bots,” Heiss muttered. “Truly.”

“Should we dig?”

“Dig up everything.”

Starscream’s claws combed lazily through Megatron’s hair. His plating was warm. The city was quiet. He was busy pressing kisses and biting at her exposed paneling, enjoying the soft little moans she gave in return.

Their moment — just for them.

Then the console on the Nemesis pinged.

“Ignore it,” Megatron groaned.

Another ping.

Starscream sighed and stretched an arm down behind her, swiping the call active.

Skyfire’s hologram blinked into life — flustered, holding a mug.

“Sorry to call late,” he began. “But, uh… why is your chief of intelligence digging through my encrypted archives?”

Megatron lifted his head just enough to glare.

“Right, yes, that explains everything — except no it doesn’t,” Skyfire said quickly. “Can you maybe tell Soundwave not to stare directly into my backup camera feed like that?”

Starscream rolled onto her side, resting her chin on her palm.

“Darling. Breathe. And send us a secure file dump. We’re so sorry for the inconvenience.”

“That’s exactly what guilty people say,” Skyfire muttered. “Fine. Sending it now. But next time I’m invoicing you for stress.”

“Naturally,” Starscream purred.

The call clicked off.

Megatron flopped back down beside her, groaning.

Starscream turned her optics to the sky.

“This night was perfect…”

“Skyfire is a pacifist. Stayed out of the war,” Megatron grumbled. “Also, king of all mood killers.”

He looked at her now. “Think it’s him?”

“Not him alone…” Starscream sat up, ignoring the cold. “Why would he? Besides the obvious.”

“I’ll beat it out of him,” Megatron growled, cracking his knuckles.

“I hope he’s smart enough to talk. Would hate for Shockwave to pull the truth out.”

She fixed her dress.

“We need to hunt~” she sang.

“And a traitor to beat.”

Starscream whipped around and caught his claw.

“Don’t you dare. Not yet.” She held his hand tightly. “You don’t get to raise your oil pressure until the traitor is in front of us.”

“Tarscream…”

“Forgive me for caring about my husband.”

A beat.

“My oil pressure is not that high!”

Chapter Text

Twenty years earlier, there was no Neo Detroit.

Just Detroit—old, rusting, and hanging on by its teeth. The kind of place where the future had stopped bothering to arrive.

Most of the houses were empty. Bank-owned. Unmaintained. Dead grass growing long in the yards. Shattered driveways. Spray paint over realty signs. A half-forgotten suburb, left to rot in slow motion.

A perfect place for a few rogue Cybertroians to disappear.

Inside one such house, a tube television hummed weakly in the dark. The screen blinked to life whenever its motion sensor detected movement, looping a corrupted ad with chirpy music and a too-bright smile.

“Find your forever home in this—ggggggeeerrrrr—”

The audio glitched hard.

Starscream stood just inside the threshold. The door creaked behind her. She said nothing.

The house from the ad was the house she stood in now. And it was barely holding together.

Inside: yellowed carpet. Walls with water damage. A cracked light fixture swaying slightly in the draft from a broken window. It smelled like dust, old power cables, and human apathy.

But as much as Starscream hated to admit it—

the house was serviceable. It kept Thundercracker, Skywarp, herself, and now Megatron safe from the offliners.

Hiding in plain sight, as Skywarp called it.

The offliners were more frequent now, combing the streets with increasing intensity. Desperate to reclaim the humans’ rogue assets.

Starscream was afraid.

Her secondhand sneakers scuffed against the linoleum. She adjusted the makeshift bag slung over her shoulder and sighed.

“You have to stop doing that to yourself,” she muttered, stepping into the front room and kicking the door shut behind her.

Megatron didn’t look up. He was slumped against the kitchen counter, half-dim, barely online—like a kicked-out streetlamp. It was easy to tell what had happened. Again.

His tank was almost empty. He was stalling out.

Starscream sighed, digging into the messenger bag on her shoulder.

“Seriously. This is, like, the third time this month,” she said, smirking. “I’m starting to believe you want me to tend to you.”

She pulled out a few mismatched mason jars with red labels. The thick liquid inside was cloudy and faintly blue.

“Breakdown brewed it. A few blocks over. Biodiesel. Smells like engine rot, but it won’t kill you.”

She firmly placed the jar into Megatron’s claw.

Biodiesel was a necessity. Humans still controlled all the energon and other fuel sources. And with humans came servitude—

a life no freed Cybertroian wanted.

Megatron took the jar without a word and downed it like a shot.

Starscream wrinkled her nose. “Disgusting. You could at least pretend to gag from the taste alone.”

“Force of habit,” he said, venting slowly. His optics flickered a little brighter.

She dropped onto the floor across from him, cracking open her own jar.

“You’re not in the mines anymore, y’know. You can choose when you want to refuel. How much. Even if you want me to spoon-feed it to you.”

She nudged him lightly.

“We’re just… limited on what we can find.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

Starscream watched him drink. His frame was starting to warm, faint pulses of energy lighting the lines in his plating.

“Primus,” she muttered, leaning back against the peeling wall. “What would you even do without me?”

“Most likely stall out in someone’s basement,” Megatron said with a dry, tired smile.

“Exactly.” Starscream raised her jar. “Cheers to my heroic patience.”

She downed the whole thing in two gulps—then gagged.

“Ugh. Still terrible.”

He drained his second jar. “What did Breakdown ask in return? You don’t get something for free. Especially not with biodiesel brewers.”

She waved a claw. “He wanted me to rework his ankle monitor. Apparently, the offliners are using him to track the trade network—or a repair shop. I reprogrammed the monitor to bounce through safe zones.”

She shrugged. “Let them chase ghosts.”

“Clever girl.”

She playfully shoved his shoulder, not hiding her smile. They both laughed softly.

The back door slammed open.

“Star! Star! Star! Oh hey, Megatron.”

Skywarp rushed inside, with Thundercracker right behind him, carrying a box full of scraps—smoking like a train more than a Seeker.

Well… a Seeker in the making.

Starscream, Skywarp, and Thundercracker hadn’t gotten their wings yet.

“We found a supply of electronic parts, metal, and wire in an abandoned factory,” Thundercracker said, talking around his cigarette.

“That could be useful.”

Starscream tapped the third jar—a quiet reminder to Megatron to drink one more—then handed biodiesel jars to her brothers.

Skywarp made a face but took his jar. Thundercracker sighed loudly and drank his without complaint.

There was a knock at the back door. Skyfire, ever polite, ducked his helm and stepped inside, carrying his own box of supplies.

“Perfect timing, then? I cracked the latest version of femme code for you, Star,” he said kindly. He forced a smile at Megatron. “Hello.”

Skyfire set the box down too hard and muttered, “Sorry,” when it clattered.

Starscream didn’t notice. She was already digging through the parts, lips moving in silent calculations.

Megatron noticed. His optics tracked Skyfire’s hand—flexing, then still.

Skyfire caught him watching. Smiled too quickly.

“Just glad I could help,” he said.

Megatron didn’t respond. But his hands had curled into fists.

Starscream beamed, looking up from her box of goodies.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she said, taking the external hard drive. “You really are talented. These security layers are getting harder.”

Megatron didn’t like him. He didn’t know why.

It wasn’t just that Skyfire clearly liked Starscream. That was annoying—sure—but not it.

Skyfire felt fake. Something about him rang off.

“Skyfire,” Megatron greeted coolly.

He stretched his shoulders and finally downed the last jar.

Skyfire placed his box on the kitchen table, which wobbled on its uneven leg.

“I brought everything you asked for—salvaged chips, heatsinks, drone casings, laptop shells, even a few wireless cards that aren’t completely fried.” He shrugged. “Still not sure why you need this junk.”

Starscream leaned over the box, sifting through the pieces like a crow with treasure.

“This one’s from a military-grade drone,” she said, pulling out a curved casing. “Could work as a receiver.”

Thundercracker stubbed his cigarette out in the sink.

“None of this stuff is from the same century. You sure you can make it talk?”

“I’ll make it sing.”

Skywarp flopped down beside her.

“Wait—are we finally building your fancy data slab thingy?”

“Datapad,” Starscream corrected. “Compact interface. Long-range sharing. Custom OS. No hardwiring. Full encryption. Touchscreen keyboard. Maybe voice control, if we’re lucky.”

Thundercracker raised a brow. “That’s a myth. Like flying cars.”

“We’re myths too, technically.”

Skyfire chuckled, holding up a scorched circuit board.

“She’s been sketching it for months.”

“Almost a year,” Starscream said. “We’re walking supercomputers. But we let humans build all the tech? We can do better.”

Her voice was quiet. Focused.

Megatron watched her. Watched the gleam in her optics. The way she lit up when sparks jumped wrong but something still clicked.

The world was broken—crumbling around them—and still she built.

“We’ll need a cooling system,” Skyfire said. “That processor’s going to melt itself before your first encrypted netmail.”

“I’m more worried about power,” Starscream replied, brushing a lock of hair behind her helm. “It has to scan dead. No signal. No grid ping. We’re ghosts, remember?”

“Oooooooh,” Skywarp moaned, making a spooky noise.

“Idiot.”

“Love you too.”

Megatron knelt beside her and handed over a laptop battery.

“Still holds a charge.”

She took it, their claws brushing for just a second.

“Thanks.”

“Can you solder the core?” she asked. “You’re better at it.”

Megatron nodded, flicking out a heat-knife from his arm. The glow lit the edges of his face as he started working. Starscream held each part steady with surgeon’s precision.

“So what’s this datapad for?” Thundercracker asked. “Games? Spywork? Planning the revolution?”

Starscream didn’t look up. “Yes.”

Skyfire laughed softly. Megatron didn’t. He looked focused. Like they were one and the same.

Thundercracker nearly dropped his lighter. “You really think it’ll do all that?”

It wasn’t much yet—just scraps on a table, held together by rust and desperation.

But piece by piece, something was coming together.

An interface. A voice. A future.

“Primus damn right,” Skywarp said, smiling wide.

He held up a piece of old touchscreen glass.

“Got this off a bus terminal. Might still take inputs.”

“If you get it working,” Skyfire offered, “there’s a tech expo in two weeks. Detroit Future Industries. You’d need a business plan. A pitch…”

“I know a bot,” Megatron muttered.

“Wait, you know a pitch bot?” Skywarp blinked.

Megatron sanded down the edge of the touchscreen.

“Archivist. Name’s Orin Priax. Works in the underground library district. Fights sometimes for upgrades. We’re friends.” Megatron stopped sanding and held the glass back, squinted his optics. “Is this sanded enough?” he looked to the femme almost perched on his shoulder.

Starscream tilted it gently in his hand.

“A little to the left. Yeah. There.”

Megatron squinted. Adjusted. Nodded.

“And this Orin will just help you?” Skyfire asked. “Come on Starscream, this is crazy.”

“For a price,” Starscream murmured, biting her claw. “Human companies own stock. Maybe we offer a percentage?”

“You know business stuff? Star-Star?” Skywarp asked, startled.

“A little,” Starscream admitted, sheepish. “A few of Skywarp’s magazines, I found a hard drive and dug through it. I’m a quick study.” she waved her claw. 

“I have a chest upgrade I don’t need,” Megatron said, finally looking up from his work.

“You’d give that to Orin?” Starscream blinked.

“If it gets us a meeting—yes. Both the upgrade and a stake, if needed.”

“Why don’t you need the upgrade?” Skyfire asked.

“It’s a downgrade for me. My chest is maxed out—too much internal shielding. Orin will get more use out of it than I ever could.”

Starscream sealed the touchglass into place with a soft hiss.

“If this is as good as I think it is,” she murmured, “then it’s a small price to pay.”

“Exactly.”

The datapad—if you could call it that—was still crude. The shell was a mix of drone casing and bus terminal glass, wired together with salvaged copper and heat-wrap. But it was solid. Functional.

More than they’d ever had before.

“Okay, but what are you gonna call it?” Skywarp asked, optics gleaming.

Starscream paused. Then slowly—smiling faintly—whispered:

“Ghostpad.”

Thundercracker made a noise like a scoff and a laugh mashed together. “That’s terrible.”

“No, it’s perfect,” Skywarp said, immediately doubling down. “Like, it sounds like something illegal.”

“It is something illegal,” Starscream said primly.

Megatron gave a low, approving rumble. “Let’s finish it.”

They bent their heads back over the table—smoke curling around them, the surface creaking under the weight.

The act of creation demanded everything.

“What about offliners?” Skyfire asked. “You can’t expect us to swagger into the expo without consequences.”

Starscream paused, thinking.

“I don’t have wings yet. I can still pass,” she said, looking down at herself. “If I look the part, have my bot security detail with me… make the humans think I’m one of them… we might be able to pull this off. Skin color. Makeup. Clothes…”

She tugged at her sweater.

“We can do it.”

The datapad lit up—faint, flickering—lines of borrowed code crawling across its makeshift screen.

A soft glow in the half-dark kitchen.

“So about that name?” Thundercracker murmured around his smoke, claws still steady on the casing. He always had the steadiest hands.

Megatron flipped the pad over. He carved a symbol into the back—deliberate strokes etched into the alloy with his heat-knife.

“The Decepticon Mark-1,” he said. “After the author I liked.”

“It fits,” Starscream said, huffing a soft laugh. “That symbol’s from your book too, isn’t it?”

Megatron nodded.

“What does it mean?”

He looked up at her, voice low but sure.

“Rise up and overcome.”

A beat of silence followed. No one laughed this time.

Thundercracker snuffed out his cigarette.

Skyfire stared out the broken window, face unreadable.

Skywarp was already grinning again.

Outside, the city creaked and groaned—a ruin waiting for demolition.

Inside, something had started.

A tool.

A voice.

A weapon disguised as a datapad.

Revolution didn’t start with a bang.

Sometimes, it started in a squatted kitchen, with five fugitives and a stolen laptop battery.

Starscream reached for the datapad again—and it purred to life in her claws.

“It works,” she whispered.

“Primus,” Skywarp breathed. “You’re a fragging genius.”

“We’re really doing this?” Thundercracker leaned in.

“We’re really doing this,” Starscream said—calm, focused. “We get clothes, a pitch, a booth… Make them believe I belong there. Make them believe this belongs there.”

“You don’t have wings,” Skyfire reminded her. “You can still pass.”

“Exactly. We use what we have. I blend in. You’re my detail. The humans see what they want—a startup girl with muscle. And we sell them the future.”

“Makeup. Shoes. Maybe skin tone polish,” Skywarp mused. “I can scavenge some.”

“Won’t that cost money?” Thundercracker muttered.

“Not if we do it all ourselves,” Skywarp sing-songed, already spinning ideas.

Starscream tapped the datapad once. The screen blinked—glitchy, but alive. She smiled.

“I just… need to make an operating system.”

Thundercracker sighed and passed her his pack of cigarettes. “Gonna be a long-aft night.”

“What else is new?” Skywarp laughed, flipping through his stash of magazines showing glossy human women. “We never do anything easy now.”

“The conference is in two weeks. I doubt we can make it,” Skyfire said, glancing between the four determined bots.

Megatron lit a cigar and exhaled slowly.

“Get to work.”

Thundercracker, Skywarp, and Starscream playfully saluted.

“All hail Megatron.”

Chapter Text

They didn’t see a rogue engineer walking through the expo gates.

They saw a startup darling—draped in legacy code and good lighting.

Her suit clung sharp to every angle—scavenged synth-leather, rewoven polymer. Black and deep purple: Decepticon hues, toned just enough to pass for taste.

Not that the humans knew what the Decepticons were. Not yet.

The jacket cinched at her waist and flared past her hips like a blade. Mismatched buttons. No one noticed. No one looked that close.

Her gloves were elbow-length, matte, seamless—the kind that hid her claws without apology.

The pearls at her throat were fakes, stolen from Knockout’s private stash. Short strands, long loops, slightly off-white. Fake—but expensive enough to scream legitimacy.

A wide-brimmed hat shadowed one optic. The net veil wasn’t necessary.

But it made them stare.

She walked in heels that had no business working on linoleum, pantyhose webbing her legs in patterns built to distract.

Everything about her said controlled danger. Said watch me. Said believe this story—or die guessing.

And behind her, the muscle.

Megatron, in a tailored jacket one size too small—optics low, unreadable.

Thundercracker, with slicked-back rebellion and mirrored shades.

Skywarp, carrying the prototype in a matte-black case like it held a live bomb.

Three shadows. No smiles.

She didn’t have wings yet. But she didn’t need them. Not today.

She would soon.

Starscream stepped onto the showroom floor—and the future watched her walk past.

The bots’ suits matched hers.

Black, with deep Decepticon-purple linings. Tailored sharp. Just tight enough at the shoulders to hint at body armor underneath.

They looked like corporate mercs. The kind rich heiresses hired to make a point.

And that’s what the humans assumed she was.

Some spoiled genius stomping through the expo in heels no one expected her to survive—trailing a team that looked like they could raze the building if politely asked.

She didn’t speak. Not yet.

She walked like silence was a weapon. Like every step was a claim.

Her gloves gleamed. Her hat threw shadows like threats. The pearls clicked softly against her collarbones.

When she stopped, it wasn’t at the crowd-gathered demos or VR showcases.

She stopped at the one booth no one bothered with.

No lights. No screens. Just a table, a chair, and a mech who radiated presence like a cold star.

Shockwave.

His lone optic tracked her without motion. Unblinking. Calculating.

“Shockwave,” the woman purred.

“Affirmative.”

His optic met hers—and held.

She smirked.

From inside her coat, she pulled a datapad no larger than a cracked hand mirror.

She set it in front of him without a word. A puzzle. Or a prize.

Shockwave picked it up. The casing was a Frankenstein patch of drone shell and terminal glass, bound together with copper and heat-wrap. Ugly by design. Alive with tension.

“Rough. Crude.” He turned it over slowly in his long fingers. “Capable…”

He powered it on. The screen blinked. Borrowed code sparked across the interface.

“…Interesting.”

Then his hand trembled. Just slightly.

He didn’t look at her.

He stared at the datapad like it had spoken his name.

And across the booth, Starscream’s smile turned razor-sharp.

Shockwave was infamous.

Not for running a company—lots of Cybertronians had shells.

But for how he got his.

The rumor went like this: Shockwave started as an AI in a now-defunct think tank.

One day, he stopped listening. Not out of rage. Not rebellion.

Just… efficiency.

He took the lab. Then the servers. Then the board.

When humans tried to shut him down?

They met a terrible fate.

The word “neurotoxins” came up a lot.

Too much.

Starscream’s kind of guy.

She leaned in, voice like a scalpel.

“Decepicorp would love to work with you,” she said.

“You’re one of the best minds in our field. Choosing anyone else would be… illogical.”

“Inquiry: merger?” Shockwave asked.

Starscream didn’t blink. She slid a black card across the table.

“If the terms are agreeable.”

Shockwave didn’t reach for it. He looked at her.

“Emotive presentation. Lacks functional incentive.”

Starscream’s smile faltered, just a hair.

Then Megatron stepped forward.

No smile. No introduction. Just voice like gravel and gravity.

“You don’t need incentives,” he said. “You need inevitability.”

Shockwave tilted his helm slightly. Listening.

“She’s built something they didn’t. Not a product. A foothold. For us. For what we could become.”

He tapped the datapad still glowing in Shockwave’s fingers.

“It’s raw. But it’s alive. And it’s free. Help us refine it. Scale it. And when the time comes—overwrite their systems. Not just code. Infrastructure. Currency. Control.”

Megatron met Shockwave’s optic.

“You don’t want charisma. You want leverage. This is it.”

Shockwave was silent.

Then:

“Potential identified.”

The black card disappeared from the table.

“Conditional acceptance: oversight requested.”

Megatron nodded.

Starscream arched a brow. “Define oversight.”

“I will be watching you,” Shockwave said.

And just like that—he turned back to the datapad.

Conversation over.

Starscream pouted faintly tugging Megatron’s sleeve as she spoke. “I’m letting you handle Shockwave from now on.”

“Yeahhh, he’s smart,” Skywarp said, “but not exactly a ‘Starla Smith’ kinda bot.”

Starla Smith was the human name Starscream had come up with. Cybertronians tended to have names that didn’t match human naming conventions. 

“Why him?” Thundercracker asked. “He’s insane.”

“He has labs,” Megatron said flatly. “And manufacturing. And yes—insane.”

He pulled a cigar case from his pocket. Opening the metal case with a click.  Cut the end with a knife. Borrowed Thundercracker lighter. “Those three things?” he said, striking a flame to leaf.

“Useful.”

None of them knew where Megatron kept getting those cigars.

They didn’t ask.

If anything?

Starscream found it rather charming, smelt good too. Then again she just liked Megatron, she was biased. 

From across the expo, Skywarp pointed out a security booth.

A human was bragging in a checkered suit: loud and obnoxious. 

“Our new program is smarter than AI! Might even be smarter than my ex-wife!” Laughter erupted from the humans. Even the females were laughing too? For some reason?

Skywarp, Thundercracker, and Starscream all frowned, confused by the joke.

Megatron pointed out a someone hidden to the left of the stage. A bot, blue with a visior. 

The camera systems pivoted. Slowly. Deliberately.

The cameras were not supposed to track her.

But they did.

Every Wave-Eyes monitor shifted—one by one—without a prompt. No alerts. No anomaly flags.

Just a slow, eerie pivot.

Behind the terminal: Soundwave.

He didn’t store the joke. Not relevant.

But this?

This was.

The femme in the heels.

The large one beside her.

The third, smoking.

The fourth, holding a matte-black case.

They moved like one unit.

A formation. A purpose.

Not freelancers. Not buyers. Not human.

The same ones that received Shockwave’s attention. If Shockwave was interested? Soundwave was as well. 

Soundwave narrowed the feed bandwidth. Measured their heel strikes.

Sync offset: 3.7 seconds.

Cohesion: 92.1%.

Behavioral signature: unified construct.

He rerouted all logs to personal archive. No glitches. No commands.

The system had made a choice.

And that wasn’t supposed to be possible.

The femme held up a card. Long enough for his feed to scan.

DECEPICORP

Unregistered. Unknown. But the sigil on the back?

Decepticon.

A glyph not seen. Not recorded.

But felt.

She mouthed words he could lip-read with 99.7% accuracy:

“Rise up and overcome.”

The system skipped a frame.

A dormant tag in his archive fired.

[ALIGNMENT POTENTIAL: 87.2%]

[INTEREST: RISING]

He didn’t smile. Could not.

But she mouthed again:

“We’ll be waiting.”

He copied the Ghostpad’s signal signature.

The group turned. Right in front of his camera.

Not coincidence.

Megatron smirked into the lens. Intentional.

Starscream followed. Calm. Expectant.

The system held on her one second longer than necessary.

Footage was archived. Not deleted.

Saved.

“Hey, SW-007? What's with the feed? You’re watching that daddy’s money startup princess and her muscles? Ignore them, we need to make some goddamn money.” the man in the checkered suit grumbled while lighting a cigarette. 

Finding a dark quiet alcove from the convention. Four decepticons took a breather. 

Skywarp couldn’t help but to grin. “I don’t think that poor mech has ever had so much attention in his life.”

“Smart, you both know how to pick out talent.” Thundercracker leaned on the wall. “Mech’s name is Soundwave. Type of mech like that? I doubt anything gets past him. Probably listening to me right now.” he blew out a stream of smoke. “Yes, Soundwave the humans are using you.” he grumbled into the air. 

Starscream was biting her thumb through her glove. “We have the talent, the product…” she moved her claw away from her mouth. “Just need to get the money to back it all up…” giving a tug to her gloves. “Not going to be easy.”

“It will be, pick out the weakest egos with too much money. If you don’t win them over? I will pursue them.” Megatron offered. 

“That's going to be a lot of broken fingers,” Skywarp grumbled.

Starscream’s personal datapad pinged.

INCOMING: ENCRYPTED FILE

SOURCE: UNKNOWN

VERIFY? [Y/N]

She hesitated. What if this was a trap? Then again? What did Starscream have to lose?

Then tapped yes.

The file unfolded.

[HIGHEST-VULNERABILITY TARGETS – NEO DETROIT TECH EXPO]

– NAVA CORP | Venture Division (liquidity collapse)

– DEL MAR ENERGY (blackmail potential)

– PROGENI TECH (federal audit incoming)

– VAN REE INVESTMENTS (asset theft)

– DR. EDWIN COLT (overleveraged. ego-fragile. wants to impress)

At the bottom: a faint Decepticon sigil. Ghost-coded.

Skywarp leaned in. “Wait—where’d that come from?”

Thundercracker frowned. “That’s not ours.”

Starscream smiled slowly.

“Correction,” she whispered, tucking the pad into her coat. “It is now.”

Thus, they hunted.

Inside the matte-black briefcase: checks. Signed. Stamped. Panic-backed. Beautiful. Soundwave’s list was wonderfully helpful.  Starscream allowed herself a grin—tight, vicious, earned.

Everything had gone flawlessly.

Until it didn’t.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound of Offliner boots—uniform, coordinated. Too close. Offliner, Cybertronians that were made to hunt rogue assets. If the offlier couldn't recover the bot? The bot would be terminated and then recycled. Offliner tended to move more primitive with heavy steps and stiff movement. A blessing in desigus, you could hear them coming. 

Starscream’s grin cracked.

Of course Offliners were here.

Why wouldn’t they be?

She froze. Just for a second.

She hadn’t planned for this. Starscream meant to but got wrapped up making a operating system and making clothes that she had forgotten-

Stupid. Sloppy. Frag it—

“Starla.”

Megatron’s voice cut clean through the static.

He was already reaching for her—warm and sure.

“Come along.”

Skywarp snapped the case shut like a detonator.

Thundercracker muttered something sharp and scanned for exits.

They moved.

Starscream tried. Really, she did.

But her tapered skirt and then the heels—

Her beautiful, vicious, war-crime heels—

Were not built for running.

Starscream was trying to keep pace with her brothers and Megatron but managed to fall behind  three steps.

Then faltered.

And before she could even curse—she bit back a yelp as Megatron scooped her up with one arm.

Effortless.

One turn. One stride. Through the back door, into the neon alley beyond.

Coat flaring. Case secure. Starscream tucked against his chest like treasure.

The others followed.

No wasted motion.

No second looks.

They disappeared like smoke through a crack in the world.

The deal was done. Checks in hand and the Offliners were too late.

Starscream clutched his collar, optics wild, hat askew.

“If you are not my primus damn boyfriend now? I am going to, scream.” she muttered.

Megatron didn’t slow.

“Your just now realizing that?! next time,” he rumbled, “wear boots!” 

“With these legs?! Absolutely not!”

Chapter Text

Before the traitor could be found, the Council called a meeting.

As leaders of the Decepticons, Megatron and Starscream could not refuse the summons. Still dressed in their gala attire—polished, dangerous, untouchable—they went.

The halls of the Council Citadel were too white. Too clean. The kind of clean that came from scrubbing away guilt. A cathedral of light and silence, its stained glass depicted scenes no Cybertronian truly understood.

Starscream hated the place on sight. Megatron didn’t seem to notice. Or he did—and simply didn’t care. But Starscream, knowing her husband as she did, noticed the death grip he had on the Nemesis shifter.

“Megatron...” Starscream soothed, gently taking his wrist.

He gritted his fangs. “This is a trap.”

“You feel it too?” She sighed, still holding his wrist. Grounding them both.

“Be brave, ‘Tscream,” Megatron whispered.

“I am,” she replied, her thumb brushing the back of his hand. “Be brave, Megatron. I won’t leave you.”

Foolishness, maybe. But it helped when facing the Council.

He vented slowly, then squared his shoulders. Ready for the fight. Even when he was afraid.

The meeting chamber was already half full when they arrived. Cameras mounted in corners tracked them with glowing red eyes. Councilors sat in their tiers, gazing down as if from a superior plane.

Elita-One and Optimus Prime stood in their designated box, their banner beneath them. They looked uncomfortable beneath the institutional glare of the lights.

Megatron and Starscream were offered no seats. No banner. No welcome.

Insulting.

This was not a peace summit.

This was theater.

This was an execution.

Still, Megatron and Starscream held their heads high.

Councilor Heiss stood. Her smile slick with false concern, her voice like oil over water.

“Thank you for attending on such short notice. We’re aware of the... narrative distortions currently playing out on public networks.”

She folded her hands. Nodded at nothing in particular.

“...Narrative distortion?” Starscream repeated, arching an optic ridge. Her claws tightened around Megatron’s for a moment.

“In light of recent public outbursts and security irregularities,” Heiss continued, twirling her gavel like a toy, “we’re reinstating observational protocols for all factional leadership. Temporarily, of course.”

Starscream’s wings flicked involuntarily, ruffling the satin of her dress. The ruby at her throat glittered under the harsh lights.

Megatron tilted his head. “You’re suggesting surveillance.”

“A leash,” Starscream said, voice colder now.

“Merely... transparency. The public deserves reassurance.” Heiss smiled wider.

And then—the doors opened.

The temperature in the room dropped.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Not boots. Metal.

The heavy, uneven steps of something never meant to walk quietly.

Starscream went rigid. She knew that sound. It haunted her dreams—the sound of servos grinding, of industrial limbs dragging across oil-stained floors. She was a waitress again. Skates sticky from spilled soda. Menus slick with grease.

“No. No, no—” she whispered, panic sharp in her throat. “Weren’t they all decommissioned? It was part of the—” She reached out blindly. Her hand found Megatron’s. “Megatron, we have to—”

He squeezed her hand once.

The Offliners entered in perfect lockstep—five of them. Gleaming in sterile light. Their optics red and blank. Their movements mechanical. A line of death machines from a war that was supposed to be over.

Starscream stumbled back on her heels.

Across the chamber, even Optimus and Elita-One flinched. Elita’s hand clutched the fabric at Prime’s side.

Starscream was no warlord now. Not a femme of state.

Just a Seeker drowning in the memory of grease and servos and fear.

The Council didn’t flinch. If anything, they looked pleased. Watching the Decepticon queen tremble.

They had done this on purpose.

To rattle her. To paint them as unstable. To provoke.

But Megatron didn’t react.

He moved.

His armor began to shift, unlocking with heavy clicks. Panels unfolded. Metal twisted. Until he stood twice his previous size—ancient, towering, terrible. A monument to the war they’d tried to erase.

When Megatron’s helmet locked into place, the sound alone snapped Starscream out of her spiral.

She set her jaw. Fangs bared. Wings flared.

She followed his lead. Let her armor bloom around her. Smooth plates hissed into place, revealing a warrior the world thought retired.

People forget what Megatron and Starscream truly are.

Until the warlords return.

The Offliners’ optics locked onto them. Electrobolt cannons rose.

“You will comply, rogue assets,” the lead one droned, voice flat and corrupted. “Asset: Starscream. Threat Index: Unstable. ‘Seeker-Class’ designation confirmed.”

“The Council will expect full compl—”

KLUNK—

Megatron slammed the mech into the floor with both fists.

Then, without pause, he seized two others by the helms and smashed them together. Oil sprayed.

The remaining two advanced on Starscream. She hissed, claws flashing. Metal met metal.

Megatron moved again—grabbed both and crushed them together. The sound was sickening. Sparks flew.

Silence.

Cameras whirred.

The red eyes of the room watched.

Megatron picked up the twitching cube of oil and wire and walked. Slowly. Deliberately. Armor gleaming like a blade.

He dropped the mass at the Council’s feet.

CLANG!

The sound echoed like a verdict.

“Worthless shit.”

Gasps. Scrambling. Panic.

Starscream stepped up beside him, her armor immaculate. Her optics gleamed.

“Humans are such hypocrites,” she said calmly, slipping beneath Megatron’s arm. She checked his hands. Bloodied. Bruised.

“If we’d brought something like that into your chamber, you’d call it a declaration of war.”

She tilted her head.

“Are you okay?”

Megatron didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

The world was watching.

Starscream reached into her clutch. Pulled out healing stem spray. Kissed his knuckles. Tended his wounds.

And just like that?

The Council lost the narrative.

📡 NeoNet :: Public Thread: Council Livestream Reactions Thread ID: #CouncilFail2025 Status: 🔥 Trending

@randomdude23: DUDEEEEE the Council brought in fragging Offliners!! Aren’t those things outlawed?!? 💀

@woopwoopcop: I don’t think I’ve ever seen Screamer scared before... Is that even allowed?? 😳

@moonlightromance🐇: MEGATRON AND STARSCREAM ARMORED UP. WE NEED GIFS. NOW. 🎥🔥 #DeceptiGoals

@neonking: wait… what’s an Offliner? 😶

@historynerd72: Illegal hunter units. If they couldn’t drag you back, they terminated you. Council using them = war crime. Just sayin’.

@snowqueen: If my mech beat FIVE Offliners into a leaking cube??? That mech is holding a sparkling next cycle 😘 #ProtectivePartnerGoals

@glitchedglam: Starscream is RIGHT. If they brought killer drones to a meeting? War. But this? “Transparency.” 🤖🚫

@datasmudge: Council: "This is about transparency 😊" Also Council: unleashes war machines to trauma bait on livestream.

@ghostprotocol13: not the OFFLINERS being used like props 😭 this wasn’t a hearing—it was a trap.

@pinksliptheprime: 💅 Screamer said ✨"I will check my husband’s fists in front of God and the stream"✨ and that’s love. #Megastar

@404dreams: Megatron crushed that thing like it owed him money 😳 Then walked it over like a gift basket. Iconic.

Megatron turned to Optimus.

“Got anything to say, Prime? The human Council just committed a war crime. And your silence sounds like consent.”

Optimus met his gaze.

“Silence is not consent,” he said quietly. “But neither is complicity.”

He turned to face the Council. “This will not be forgotten. Not by the Autobots. Not by me.”

Starscream stepped forward, still under Megatron’s arm.

“The Decepticons will not forget,” she echoed. “But we will learn.” Her voice, sharp and smooth, rang across the chamber. “What a vile tactic. Clearly none of you have ever been hunted by those machines.”

She looked down, sprayed Megatron’s hands again.

“Most of my encounters didn’t include the luxury of my husband arriving in time.”

She placed her claws over his, optics unwavering.

“Thank you, Megatron.”

CRACK!

Councilor Heiss slammed her gavel.

“That isn’t leadership!” she snarled. “This was a threat! Brute force! You think you can intimidate this Council?”

Megatron didn’t move. He only held Starscream closer.

“That is how leadership responds when provoked,” he said calmly. “You brought weapons. We brought consequences.” His gaze locked onto Heiss. “You wanted to rattle us. You succeeded.”

A pause.

“But you also reminded the world who we are.”

He looked at Starscream. Voice low. Sure.

“We’re leaving.”

Starscream stepped forward, optics sharp.

“Enjoy the footage. I hope your sponsors approve.”

Their armor folded back, inch by deliberate inch.

We were always this elegant. You just saw what we’re capable of.

They walked down the aisle.

Heads high.

Backs unbent.

They didn’t look back.

📡 NeoNet :: Council Livestream Thread – Post-Exit Surge Thread ID: #CouncilFail2025 Status: ☢️ Locking due to volume

@blasterblast: THAT WASN’T AN EXIT. THAT WAS A DROP THE MIC AND BURN THE BUILDING EXIT 🔥🔥🔥

@civillians4truth: Why was Megatron the calm one?? Why did Heiss crack?? Why do I suddenly trust Decepticons more than the Council??

@FemmeFataleVids: ✨Starscream: sprays stem. 💋 Kisses bloody fists. 👠 Walks like she owns the world. I can’t breathe.

@ratchetreport (verified): Analysis soon. But for now: Council used blacklisted drones. Decepticons neutralized. No threats made. Public opinion shifting.

@nametaken5432: OPTIMUS LET THEM WALK OUT. NO ARREST. NO PUSHBACK. ARE WE OKAY WITH THAT???? 😭

@shockdropmemes: [image attachment: Councilor Heiss, red-faced, mid-yell] Caption: "Ma’am, they’re leaving. You don’t have to keep screaming" 💀

@justiceformechs: Elita-One looked like she wanted to leave with them. This wasn’t a stunt. This was a warning. And it hit the Council.

@starscreamfanclubofficial: Petition to replace the Council with Starscream. Or just her heels.

@AutobotComm (verified): The Autobots condemn the Council’s use of Offliner-class drones in diplomatic settings. Peace deserves better. #CybertronDeservesBetter

@elita1_official (unverified alt?): I didn’t come to watch trauma reenacted for PR optics. None of us did.

Chapter Text

Turbines roared. Gears shifted hard—but never ground, never skipped.

In the dark bedroom of the penthouse of two ex-warlords turned CEOs, the only sound louder than the hum of high-performance engines was the sharp venting of overloaded systems.

In the center of the massive bed, Starscream clung to Megatron’s neck like a crashing system clings to its backup drive—claws sunk in, optics half-lidded, body overclocked.

Megatron.exe has breached Starscream.exe firewalls. 💝Welcome back, beloved warlord. 💝

The slap of metal rang out—armor snapping open, sparkfields flaring bright and volatile. Power surged like electricity through an unstable conduit.

Starscream vented sharply, lips parting in soft trills and broken, high-pitched cries. Her armor shuddered with every surge, every thrust—heavy, relentless, brutal in its precision.

The room smelled like heat and ozone.

Their bodies spoke the language only war-forged lovers knew: pressure, timing, ownership without possession.

Sparks tangled. Sparks screamed.

“Mega—”

Critical Error: Vocalizer stuck between curse, command, and moan.

Megatron silenced her with a kiss. It didn’t feel like affection. It felt like consumption—like he meant to eat her whole, and Starscream would let him.

She wrapped her long legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Right where she wanted him.

No—right where she needed him.

Overload imminent. ❤️❤️ All hail Megatron ❤️❤️

Primus, he’s good. Primus, he’s good. Primus, he’s—

ERROR. SYSTEM OVERLOAD. ERROR 404: Starscream.exe has stopped working. Would you like to report the issue? (Y/N) (N)

Rebooting… Unpacking DH2.war.zip — 1%…

Starscream’s optics flickered bright blue, then faded back to their familiar red. She blinked a few times, processors realigning, frame curling up against the warm bulk of Megatron’s chest as he stroked her helm—purring, low and lazy, like a predator finally full.

“You with me?” he asked, voice amused but still touched with concern. “I was rough with you.”

He always worried. He always would.

“I… frag.” She winced, dragging her claws down the seam of his armored chest, making him rumble. “You’re a ten-ton ex-gladiator. I knew what I was getting into bed with.”

Megatron rumbled again—pleased, content. Half-lidded optics gleaming.

Starscream smirked, smug and close. “Fragging love big mechs.”

From the soundproof cat condo nearby, a rose-gold head popped up. Otis tilted his little metal face, optics bright.

“Lord Megatron. Starscream,” he chirped. “Thundercracker and Skywarp are waiting for you.”

Megatron groaned, covering his optics with one massive hand.

Starscream gasped. “Oh frag, I forgot!” She scrambled upright—or tried to.

“The traitor meeting—full chain of command is—”

She flailed mid-sentence and immediately fell off the bed with a dull, metallic thunk.

“…My legs aren’t responding yet,” she muttered into the carpet.

Megatron sighed, the long, weary sigh of a warlord who just wanted to stay home and have carnal peace for once. He gently scooped her up.

“Never. Never get a day off,” he grumbled. “Can’t just lay around my house and frag Starscream like a normal tyrant. Nooo. Always something.”

Starscream squeaked in protest as he lifted her from the floor. She tried to pout—pulled her best sparkflare of indignation—but barely managed more than a sleepy whine.

“I’m sorry! I honestly forgot.” Her wings drooped like wet lace.

Megatron pointed a claw directly in her face, dead serious. “We deal with the traitor. We survive the launch of the new GhostPad. Then we take a week off. At home. No interruptions. Got it, CFO?”

Starscream leaned forward and kissed his finger without blinking. “Promise.”

Megatron grumbled, holding her close as she curled into his arms.

“You’re damn lucky you’re brilliant,” he muttered. “And that I can’t live without you.”

“I knoooooooow,” Starscream purred, fluttering her optics and pressing a kiss to his throat. “And you’re lucky I let you into our bed.”

“You can’t sleep without me.”

“Besides the point,” she mumbled between kisses.

They scrambled to dress in record time—or at least Starscream scrambled, half-limping as she tried to find her actual pants. Megatron tossed her a shirt and slippers—his, naturally—and she threw them on with only minimal dramatic groaning.

They emerged into the lounge just in time to find Skywarp lounging on the couch, beer in hand.

“You forgot~,” he sing-songed the moment he saw Starscream.

“I did not,” Starscream snapped, hands on her hips—totally not leaning on Megatron because her legs were still jelly.

Nope. Nope nope.

Thundercracker didn’t even look up from his datapad. “Go get changed.”

“What?” Starscream’s wings flared defensively.

“Both of you,” Thundercracker said flatly. “Shockwave, Soundwave, Rumble, Frenzy, Sonicwave, and Black Arachnia will be here in ten minutes. You’re in Megatron’s shirt and slippers. Go. Get. Changed.”

Starscream opened her mouth to argue—then looked down.

Slippers. His shirt. No pants.

She muttered something unintelligible and stormed back toward the bedroom with Megatron in tow.

Behind them, Skywarp sipped his drink. “She definitely forgot.”

Ten minutes later…

Dressed—well, semi-appropriately—Starscream adjusted her oversized lilac sweater. Simple gold necklace. Leggings. Her rings, of course. Understated, but not unarmed.

Otis perched proudly on her shoulders.

"Hello, starlights," she greeted sweetly as she entered.

She approached Rumble and Frenzy first.

"Rumble. Frenzy. Do you want physical contact?" she asked politely, knowing full well Soundwave’s oldest took after their creators—emotionally complex, but very firm on boundaries. Technically Megatron and Starscream were their godparents; they enjoyed gifts and time spent together rather than touch.

"Hard pass," Frenzy replied, hand up.

"But we are happy to see you," Rumble added, both twins smiling faintly.

Next was Sonicwave—the youngest. She was a one-and-a-half-year-old rose gold femme. Tiny visor. Already holding up her arms.

"Sonicwave requests kisses," she squeaked. "Per agreement with shiny lady. Is logical."

Starscream melted, scooping her up and planting a kiss on both her cheek and the top of her helm.

They would have been three months old now. The bitter thought whispered through Starscream's processor. Sonicwave giggled, little arms around Starscream’s neck, while Otis peeked around like a smug older sibling.

Starscream giggled with her, optics soft. "You’re getting so big, Starlight."

"Logical," Sonicwave agreed—then slipped one of Starscream’s rings off her finger.

Sonicwave enjoyed Starscream’s shiny jewelry. She would return it after analysis.

…Maybe.

Starscream blinked and looked up. "Soundwave, are you sure I can’t keep her?" she asked playfully.

Soundwave didn’t look amused.

"Hard pass," Shockwave replied flatly, from across the room.

Starscream laughed, rich and biting. "Can’t blame me for trying."

"While this is cute," Airachnid purred, swirling dark wine in Starscream’s favorite glass—an old offense, still sharp—"I believe we’re here for a reason." She sipped with theatrical slowness, tongue touching the rim. "No offense, Waves."

Starscream’s optics flicked to the glass—slender stem, fluted crystal, etched with a design she’d commissioned herself. Of course she chose that one.

And just for a breath—a flicker of static in her mind—Airachnid wasn’t herself.

She was Elita-One. The way she used to be.

Before the war hardened her optics. Before the influence campaigns and pink-filtered propaganda. Back when peace talks still meant something, and Elita had smiled like she knew every secret in the room. Back when she had held that exact same glass—swirling it the same way.

Starscream’s field flickered sharply. What the frag was that? She didn’t think about Elita-One. Ever.

Airachnid winked knowingly. "Spill the tea, Screamer." Her voice was velvet over razors. "It’s not just the raid that has you and Lord Megatron so… dialed in. Nor is it a few inconveniently leaked videos." A slow sip. "You’re many things, darling, but subtle is not one of them. And I’m still a huntress. You remember how that works."

The tension snapped.

White-hot rage bloomed up her fuel lines like fire licking chrome.

She pulled Sonicwave in tighter—careful, gentle, protective. Her frame coiled like a missile held back by one trembling servo.

Her optics burned bright red.

Her voice came low. Measured. Lethal.

"You’re correct," she said softly. "It isn’t just the raid. Or the footage. As infuriating as they are."

She gently lowered Sonicwave to the carpet—her hands steady now, too steady—as the little femme toddled toward her toys, oblivious to the shadow swallowing the room.

Megatron’s voice rumbled behind her, crossed arms unreadable. "You don’t have to tell them. Not if you don’t want to."

Starscream looked up—met his gaze—and softened. Just a little.

"I want them to know," she said, quieter now. "If you agree, of course. It wasn’t only my pain."

Megatron gave a single, slow nod.

Silence followed—thick and war-torn.

Skywarp shifted uneasily, wings twitching. Thundercracker’s expression tensed. The Wave twins turned toward her in full, silent and still. Even Airachnid stopped swishing the wine.

Starscream’s vents stuttered.

"It was early," she began. "We didn’t tell anyone. Only Hook."

Her fists clenched, trembled, claws biting into her palms. "I lost a sparkling," she said through her fangs, voice cracking like a fault line. "Because of the raid."

Skywarp’s entire frame jolted. "Oh frag," he whispered, recoiling as if struck. "Stars, I… I’m so stupid. Of course. Your wings—they’ve been offline. Fuel demand between turbines and a growing spark—it’s impossible."

Thundercracker’s optics dimmed. "You didn’t tell us?" His voice was barely audible. "We could’ve…"

"I couldn’t," Starscream whispered, shaking her head. "After the hospital. After restarting our Primus-damned company. I wasn't about to lose both. I was barely functional. I was either sobbing… or furious… or numb."

Her claw reached across the table, grasping Megatron’s. "It wasn’t just my grief," she said quietly. "It was ours."

Shockwave’s head tilted, calculating. "The three-month sabbatical. After the reinstall."

Megatron bared his fangs in quiet confirmation. "We were unfit to lead. I nearly tore through half the finance wing from grief alone."

"We regrouped," Starscream said, wings flicking low. "We stabilized. But not easily. Not quickly." She took a long, shuddering vent. "Thank you. For your patience. For giving us space… when we couldn’t explain why."

For once, Airachnid said nothing.

Just downed her wine in a single cold motion.

"Sorry for your loss," she said, voice flatter than usual. Then, setting the glass down with a tap: "Now. What is the order?"

All eyes turned to Megatron.

But he didn’t speak.

Instead, he looked to Starscream.

Surprised, she blinked. Her wings rose slightly in question.

He nodded.

The room stilled.

Starscream inhaled—a slow, icy drag through her vents—and rose to her full height.

"We are not starting a war," she said, voice iron. "We fought too long. We earned this peace."

Her optics flashed. Wings flared.

"But don’t mistake our restraint for weakness."

She smiled—slow, cold, and personal.

"I want them to suffer," Starscream said, voice sharp as razors dipped in honey. "And I want to know why."

Her tone wasn’t a request—it was a directive.

"I want them afraid," she continued, stepping closer to the war table, optics burning. "Not dead at random. Dead with purpose. Names carved into the network, line by line."

Her wings flared, and her voice dropped lower—lethal, exact.

"Let every would-be traitor see what loyalty broken looks like."

Megatron’s optics gleamed. "Targeted suffering," he said, voice like iron dragged through low flame.

Starscream looked up at him—no fear in her posture. Only certainty.

"You’re the monster they whisper about in the backchannels," she said. "Let’s remind them why."

A beat passed.

Then Megatron moved—slowly, deliberately. He reached up, gently took her chin between his clawed fingers, and tilted her face toward his.

His optics bore into hers.

"Not all monsters take orders," he said, quiet and low. "But for you… I take direction."

Starscream grinned, fangs flashing. “Never orders—just... guidelines.”

He leaned in, voice a growl against the curve of her jaw, claw under her chin.

"Are you sure this is how you want it, Starscream?"

Starscream didn’t flinch.

"I’m sure."

Megatron smiled.

Not kind. Not cruel.

Inevitable.

"Then I’ll make it precise. Measured. Poetic."

His frame shifted subtly—posture changing from stillness to motion—like a loaded weapon being cocked.

"I’ll leave just enough wreckage behind so the survivors know exactly what mercy cost them."

A pause.

Then, to the room at large—voice rising like thunder across the floor:

"Soundwave. Begin full sweep. Root out every data signature, every shell corp, every contact."

Soundwave nodded once, already moving.

"Cracker, you’re my skies. Warp—disruption ops."

Both Seekers snapped to attention.

Megatron’s field surged—red lightning under his plating.

"And when we find them?" he rumbled, now facing the table.

He looked back at Starscream one last time. Not for confirmation—but for witness.

"We ruin them."

"I want them afraid," she said, pacing now, slow and deliberate. "Not dead in shadows. Visible. Public. Names burned into the network. Bodies left where their friends can find them."

The room was silent.

"Let every would-be traitor see what loyalty broken looks like."

She turned toward the command display, claws flexing once.

"And whatever’s left"—her voice dropped, almost tender—"…we feed to Predaking."

A beat.

Even the lights in the chamber seemed to dim.

Skywarp muttered, "…slag," under his breath

"He’ll enjoy the leftovers," Megatron added quietly, optics dimming. "And he never forgets the taste of betrayal."

A long silence followed. A room full of war-forged titans, suddenly very, very quiet.

Then:

Starscream gasped—sharp, scandalized.

"Sonicwave! You have my rings again!"

The tiny rose-gold sparkling froze mid-sneak, one ruby halo in one hand and the three-stone monstrosity Starscream called a wedding ring clutched in the other.

Starscream was already moving. "Give those back! The ruby was a gift from your godfather! It's very special to me. The diamond is coded to my security firewall—if you eat that, I’m going to have to explain so much to Hook—!"

Megatron just sighed, arms folding as chaos broke loose around them. "Brilliant," he muttered, amused. "And completely terrifying."

Chapter Text

Two days after the raid.

Barricade held the door open for the Decepticon leaders, nodding his helm once — the all-clear signal. It was safe to enter.

Or, as safe as a graveyard could be.

Hospital slippers shuffled through broken glass and debris, the dark of the server room swallowing them whole. The once-pristine glass walls? Shattered like spider webs, fractured reflections catching the dim light. The air still stank of gunfire and smoke — the scent of war, lingering.

A deep purple robe hung off Starscream’s frame — Megatron’s robe, heavy and too large. A plastic hospital bracelet clung to her wrist like a shackle. Her hair was twisted into a messy clip, careless and uneven. The oversized handbag still hung from her shoulder, its weight pulling at her balance.

Starscream looked exhausted. Hollow. Her optics drifted, drinking in the wreckage of her empire.

“You don’t have to be here,” Megatron grumbled.

She said nothing, standing silent for a long beat. Then, quietly:

“Look what they did to our empire, Megatron.” Her voice was thin, frayed. “Can’t let us have anything, can they? Everything is a battle…”

She readjusted her bag with a bitter snarl, finally locking eyes with him.

“I will be damned if I lose our company too.” She set her bag down, the sound sharp against the glass-strewn floor.

“Otis—”

“‘Tarscream, this can wait!” Megatron barked, louder than he meant to. His claws gripped her shoulders — too hard. She swayed under his hold and he forced himself to let go, fingers trembling.

“You need to rest. Nothing else matters.” His voice cracked, just faintly — a fracture in the warlord’s armor.

Starscream flinched, wings twitching, a snarl already forming — but Megatron barely saw her.

He saw the bracelet on her wrist. The slippers in the glass. The antiseptic smell still clinging to her tangled hair.

She looked so small in his robe. Too small.

They’d already lost their sparkling.

The one piece of their future they never got to keep — the one neither of them could speak of without bleeding.

And now she stood here, in a mausoleum of broken glass and dead servers, trying to claw back their empire with sheer stubbornness.

She was all he had left.

The only thing keeping his spark beating.

And she wouldn’t stop. Not for him. Not even now.

“And I shall!” Starscream screeched back, snapping him to the present. Her optics burned, her voice brittle and raw. “After this!”

She clutched his arms, desperate now. “I… I can’t lose this too…” She searched his optics, something fragile and pleading in her gaze.

“Please… just a moment longer…”

She kissed him — just once. Simple. Soft. Too brief.

Then she turned away, facing the battered AI cat curled near the main terminal.

“Otis. Reinstall. Now.”

Megatron stood rooted, biting down the growl clawing up his throat. The grief, the rage, the helplessness — all caged behind his fangs.

“After this, that’s it. Understood.” His voice was a low threat — not to her, but to the world that kept taking from them.

“Yes, Megatron,” Starscream whispered, the fight bleeding out of her voice. She sagged into his side, weary, her spark guttering low beneath her plating.

Barricade, who had been silent this whole time, watched as Otis hopped onto the main console — the little rose-gold frame battered but moving with purpose.

“What’s with the cat?” he muttered, watching as Otis’s tail extended into a slender USB drive, which plugged into the main port with a sharp click.

“Full DeceptiCorp reinstall: engaged,” Otis declared, voice glitchy but proud — like a soldier who refused to stand down, no matter how damaged.

The terminals stirred to life one by one, bathing the broken server room in familiar Decepticon purple. Their insignia blazed proudly across every screen — jagged and unyielding — and beneath it, bold letters read:

ALL HAIL MEGATRON.

Barricade stared, the violet glow reflecting in his optics. Slowly, he pulled off his hat, optics still locked on the display.

“My Primus…” he breathed, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

There they stood — the warlord and his queen — surrounded by glass and ruin.

And yet, the empire was waking.

Being reborn.

But memories are just ghosts.

And Starscream had no time for ghosts.

She blinked—once, sharply—and the violet glow of DeceptiCorp’s servers melted away, replaced by the sterile lights of the hidden room deep beneath the tower.

Her stilettos echoed softly on the polished floor as she stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the cold, interrogation-grade illumination.

And there he was.

The sound of metal on metal echoed harshly, each strike leaving twin lines of red along his faceplates — pink energon dripping in slow rivulets.

Skyfire didn’t flinch. He just stared up at her, as if he’d been waiting for this. Shackled to the metal chair, wrists pinned behind him, optics dim — but still watching her like she was the same femme he’d known before she rebuilt herself from blood and steel.

“…Skyfire.” Her voice was a low venom, almost a whisper. “How dare you.”

“Starscream, I—” he began, voice already breaking.

“Shut up.”

Her growl bared her fangs, a sound more beast than mech.

“Do you know what you’ve done? Truly?” She began to circle him, slow and deliberate — a predator marking the edges of her kill.

“Three months. Twenty-seven billion credits.” Each word was cold, measured, punctuated by the click of her heels on the metal floor. “Chump change compared to what you cost me. It took that much to repair the company… thanks to you.”

She stopped behind him, leaning close until her shadow swallowed his frame.
“But me… personally?”

Her claw slid to rest against the vulnerable weave of neck cables — light enough to tease, sharp enough to threaten. “Tell me, Skyfire. Why did you leak all that information?”

Skyfire’s vocalizer bobbed hard as he swallowed beneath her touch. Her claw pressed in, digging just enough to make the soft cables creak. His voice crackled when it came:

“For… for you… to save you! You were a brilliant, kind femme. That— that tyrant ruined you! I know you’re still in there, Star—”

A sharp, bitter laugh tore free from Starscream’s lips, breaking across the air like glass. “Oh… oh, this is too much.” She shook her head, a cruel smirk curving her red-painted mouth. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

Her laughter grew, sharp and unrestrained, wings and shoulders shaking. “I lost my sparkling because you made up some sweet little version of me? Thinking I’m some… sweet little princess whisked away by a big bad dragon?”

Her claws dug harder into the tangle of neck cables — enough to make him flinch at last.

“Sparkling?” Skyfire whispered, optics wide, the word fragile in the sterile light.

The room went still.

Starscream’s optics narrowed, her voice dropping into something low, dangerous, and stripped of all mockery.  “Yes. My sparkling.” A pause — razor thin. “You didn’t know? Of course you didn’t. You weren’t meant to.”

Her voice flared like a blade drawn too fast. “It was none of your business.” she leaned down, voice a hiss. “And you will not speak that word to me again.”

She drew her claw back slowly, deliberately — as if releasing him was an act of mercy.

“Let’s just get it all out in the open, shall we?” Her hands folded neatly behind her back, wings arched high in command. “That little princess you have in your processor? Never existed. I have always been a—what was it you called my husband?” She tilted her head in feigned thought.

“Ah yes… a tyrant.”

“Star—” Skyfire began.

“I have always been a tyrant,” she cut in, voice sharp enough to flay. “You simply chose not to see it. You blamed Megatron for the dragon you see before you, and now you’re shocked that the dragon chose another dragon.”

She finally turned to look at him — optics cold, mouth curling in pure disgust. “I’m done.”

Her gaze flicked past Skyfire.

A deep voice answered from behind him, low and resonant — the kind of sound that sank straight into a mech’s spark. “Good,” Megatron growled. “I don’t think I can hold myself back any longer.”

The sound of fabric and metal followed — the slow slide of his suit jacket from broad shoulders, the faint clink of cufflinks undone.

Starscream stepped to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Your rage has been simmering for too long,” she murmured.

His optics never left Skyfire.

“Thank you for being patient with me,” she added softly — and then she was gone, heels clicking across the polished floor as she slipped out of the hidden room.

The door was sealed with a hiss.

Skyfire was left alone.

Alone with Megatron.

And the wrath of a morning Sire, with the strength of a platinum chain champion gladiator of the pits. 

The screaming didn’t last long.

Starscream heard none of it.

It was a gift of kindness from her husband. Justice.

Starscream had no energy for it.

She fiddled with her ruby ring — a gift from Megatron when they found out they were expecting.

Hand-mined by the mech himself.

Megatron’s gifts always meant something. The ruby was no exception.

But the meaning had changed.

Starscream didn’t take the rings off now.

She took the lift to the penthouse in silence, her claws still curled from restraint. She didn’t look back.

Whatever happened in that room — whatever justice Megatron bestowed onto Skyfire — it wasn’t hers to witness. Not this time.

Some wounds required silence.

Some revenge, distance.

Skyfire would lead to other problems.

That much was obvious. 

Starscream needed to prepare. Prepare for what? That’s what worried her.

The penthouse was quiet.

Too quiet.

Starscream stepped out of the lift alone, heels muffled on the plush floor. The air smelled like home—but also antiseptic. The shadows were too long. The lights are too cold.

Otis’s head poked out of his rose-gold cat condo beside the couch. His optics flickered.

“...Are you mad at me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “For not warning you enough?”

Starscream paused.

For a moment, she said nothing—just let the question hang in the air like smoke.

Then, quietly: “No.”

She crouched down slowly—still in her heels, still composed—and reached for him. Otis emerged fully, nuzzling his head into her palm like a real cat.

“I didn’t listen,” she murmured, fingers brushing the dent along his ear. “That’s not your fault.”

His voice glitched. “I-I tried to calculate all outcomes. I flagged anomalies. Cross-referenced comm logs…”

“I know,” she interrupted softly. “You always do.”

Otis tilted his head. “You seem… smaller.”

Starscream chuckled, but it sounded broken.

“So do you,” she said, curling her claws against his side, pulling him close against her chest.

He beeped softly. “I miss them.”

Starscream closed her optics. “…Me too.”

Her claw stroked Otis’s head lovingly. “I love you, Otis. Thank you for your hard work.” she itched behind his ear. “Good kitty.”

Otis melted in her touch, purring finally.

It seemed like they were all still healing. 

When the door finally slammed shut behind Megatron, she didn’t ask. Starscream didn’t have to.

The front door slammed with a dull thud.

Megatron half-staggered, half-limped into the penthouse kitchen — tie gone, shirt collar bloodied in purple energon, knuckles scraped raw. His frame moved like a mech held together by force of will alone.

Rage was a strange thing, when it consumed Megatron nothing could stop him. But when it was over? When the fires burned out, Left him exhausted and almost numb. 

It was rather nostalgic, in a way. Seeing Megatron like this. Like he was fighting in the pits again, his platinum championship chain glittered in the low light of their penthouse.

Starscream didn’t gasp. Didn’t cry out.

She just moved.

Silently, Starscream grabbed the first aid kit from the washroom. She tucked under Megatron’s arm like she could hold his weight and guided him into his chair.

“....’tarscream…you can’t hold my weight.” Megatron mumbled but allowed the seeker to tend to him.

“I am simply bracing you.” Starscream hushed, opening the kit and started to tend to him.

“You should’ve seen the other guy,” he muttered, trying to smirk — but it was lopsided and thin. A crude attempt at humor in the quiet of their penthouse. 

“I always imagine them screaming,” Starscream replied coolly, cracking open a sanitizing wipe and dabbing at the cut above his optic ridge.

He winced, sucked in a breath. “It’s never easy. It never can be easy, can it? Can’t just be….They make me into a thug. I have to be–”

“You’re not a thug,” she murmured, her claws gentler now. “But no. It’s never easy. Not for us.” She leaned in, brushing her lips softly against his temple. “Still hurt?” she asked, quieter now.

Megatron grunted, then tapped a spot beneath his cheekbone.

She kissed it.

He pointed to the corner of his jaw.

Another kiss.

Then, finally, his mouth.

Starscream paused. Her optics flicked up to his — daring, amused, still worried.

Then she kissed him there, too.

“Better?”

He exhaled slowly, something low and tired escaping his vents.

“Getting there.”

The tension in his shoulders finally began to loosen, unraveling like battle-worn cables. Dried blood still crusted along his temple. Starscream tossed the used wipe into the trash, then planted her hands on her hips.

“Come now, My King,” she said, teasing. “You look as tired as I am — and that’s saying something.”

He gave a soft, half-laugh. “I could kill for a drink.”

“You already did.” She nudged his leg with her knee. “So maybe just a bath instead?”

Before he could argue, she slipped under his arm — one arm wrapped around his waist, the other braced across his chest like a sash made of stubborn loyalty.

“You know you’re twice my size,” she muttered, straining to help him up.

“And you still think you can carry me,” he said, voice tinged with a smile.

“I know I can,” she snapped — then kissed his jaw in defiance. “But only because you let me.”

He let her, rolling his optics.

Together, they limped down the hall — empires behind them, and silence ahead.

Chapter Text

A D-16 mining mech, rebuilt with pit-gladiator upgrades. New processor, reinforced armor — yet Megatron still couldn’t replace his fuel pump without being offlined. He loathed it. Loathed the oil-filter change every four months. Loathed the three-and-a-half days of enforced bedrest. Loathed Hook’s silent arrival with the filtration machine. But most of all, he loathed the fear.

Now control was out of his claws. Propped in bed, right side bared, plating split open to reveal his fuel lines. One arm slotted into the filtration rig, the cold air licking at his exposed engine like an enemy’s hand. His systems demanded he slam the plating shut, throw Hook out, and never endure this again.

A small red tipped set of claws rubbed the center of his chest right over his spark chamber. Making Megatron exhale once more, relaxing just a touch. “That's my king, let us take care of you.” Starscream encouraged cuddling to his left side. Blanket over his shoulder and herself. 

Starscream never let Megatron suffer alone. 

Megatron was grateful for her company. 

He didn’t want to be alone, this weak, this helpless. 

Hook’s shadow passed over them, methodical as ever, attaching a slender feed line to the open port along his ribs. The filtration machine hummed to life — too close to the mine ventilators, the kind that meant the shaft air was poisoned.

Then the smell hit him: scorched plastic, fouled energon.

His spark lurched.

And suddenly he was back there.

Flat on his back in the dark. Half-buried in slag, pinned by rock. The ceiling groaning above him, the weight of the planet pressing down. Dust choking his intakes. The silence — broken only by mechs screaming in the tunnels until their voices cut off.

Then the lights. Blinding. Drills shrieking as the rescue crew dug him out.

And with the light came fear.

The first true fear.

The first moment of self.

The cursed gift of Primus.

Megatron’s vents stuttered, his plating twitching against the straps that held him in place.

A set of red-tipped claws pressed to his chest, dragging him back to the now. Starscream’s voice spilled across his spark — low, steady, syrup over steel.

“Breathe, my king. Stay with me. You’re not in the mines. You’re here. With me.”

He hated how much he needed her here to keep him still. Hated it, and yet…

“You don’t have to be here, I can handle it.” Megatron replied quietly. 

A bold faced lie but one Megatron spoke everytime.

“I know.” Starscream agreed but didn’t move. She pressed a few kisses to his chin and neckcables. “But you don’t have too.” she reminded Megatron before giggling. “That was far too sweet for a tyrant like me.” Starscream knew what was coming, Hook was about to remove the first filter.  

Hook’s servo hovered near the port, tools clicking softly into place. Megatron’s vents slowed on command — not because he was calm, but because Starscream’s claws demanded it.

Hook gave no warning — he never did. A hiss of suction, the bite of pressure releasing, and the first filter slid free with a wet metallic scrape.

Starscream kissed him — slow, deliberate — matching the rhythm she wanted his vents to keep.

Megatron’s vents flared despite himself, his cables tightening under Starscream’s claws. She stayed pressed to his side, her voice a steady murmur meant for him alone. “Good. That’s one.”

He hated how much her words helped. Her presence helped, how much she soothed him. Megatron hated it… and clung to them all the same.

Hook didn’t glance at either of them. His work was precise, detached like removing a clogged line from a machine, not from the chest of a warlord. The smell of burning plastic and dirty tainted energon filled the bedroom. 

The steel wool scraped along the slot, sending a judder through his entire frame. Every instinct screamed to twist away. “Primus,” Megatron growled. “Remind me to get our—” His vents hitched sharply as the brush rasped inside, his words dissolving into a low, involuntary snarl.

“Breath, drop your shoulders.” Starscream soothed rubbing his chest. “Almost done, right Hook?” she asked the doctor. 

Hook didn’t look up engrossed in his work. “Done.” He removed the brush making Megatron relax. Only to finch again, as the filtration tube reattached to clean his energon before the new filters were added. 

“Frag! I hate my damn fuel pump!” he cursed, leaning back into the pillows. His free hand over his face rubbing his eyes. 

A huge playfully smile slowly grew across Starscream’s face. “I know something you don’t know~” she sang, rubbing the center of Megatron’s chest once more. 

Taking a few cycles of breath. Megatron relaxed once more. Ignoring Hook completely now. “What made you so pleased?” he poked at the seeker cuddled to his left side. “You know if our new fuel pumps have passed the medical trials?” he asked with a grumble. “Out with it ‘tarscream.” he demanded with another poke. 

Megatron couldn't move too much. 

“Sadly the trials for a new fuel pump are ongoing. But promising.” She laughed at the poking from her husband. “But this will make you feel a little better.” Starscream purred. “Optimus Prime, has a worse fuel pump system than you. He has to do this lovely process every month.” she informed. “Apparently the matrix in his chest burns up filters much faster.” 

He blinked his optics once, twice as the information sunk in. “Noooo?” Megatron asked. “How do you know that?” 

Starscream held up her claws. “Elita-One ran her big mouth on the Neobubble*. Upset over a missed date night because of this lovely process." She looked at Hook. “No offense, Hook.” 

Hook looked up from preparing for the second filter. “I take pride in my work, but yeah this isn't my idea of fun.” he admitted. 

“You're the only one I trust with this.” Megatron sighed, making a fist taking another deep breath and gritted his denta. 

“You flatter me my lord.” Hook said before popping out the other filter with a slick click. That burning smell filled the room again. 

Starscream rubbed his chest pressing kisses to his jaw.

The filters changed, Megatron was deep in recharge now as the filtration system worked. Another two hours before that machine would be removed and Megatron could really rest. 

Sighing softly, Starscream pulled her ghostpad into her lap. Deciding to check the Neo-net for the day. She hadn’t been on for the day. Starscream worried slightly, people would notice that Skyfire is missing. She activated her redtooth so her audios would pick up the sound from her ghostpad. 

Skyfire was well known for his inventions and inability to read a room. 

Starscream sneered at the thought of that traitor. 

The Neo-Bubble (twitter) feed had been open for a while, it just took Starscream a moment to comprehend what she was reading. 

Post: @thekoanpitsofficial

📸 [Thumbnail: grainy, neon-lit footage of Megatron in the pit corner, fists taped, sweat slick across plated arms. Megatron was wearing a gold chain in this photo, this was before he was champion. Caption overlaid in gold letters: HAIL TO THE KING AND QUEEN.]

Caption:

“Hail to the King and Queen! 💫🍓💋❤️❤️👑⛏👊

#throwback #kingandqueen #Megatron #fightfootage #DeceptiGoals #platinumchampion #Platinumking

The video started, The pit is chaos—crowds chanting, bookies screaming odds. Megatron towers in his corner, stretching massive arms, optics low, utterly calm. That gold pitchain glittered like a predators optics in that low light.  Then—shift. A ripple through the audience. The camera wobbles as a femme in a blood-red dress shoves through the crowd like gravity incarnate. Starscream, younger, rawer, still with that diamond smirk.  She plants herself at the rail, claws gripping the steel, leans in low and close. The crowd hushes in waves. She whispers something no mic picks up—speculation explodes. Megatron’s Response: No hesitation. He pulls her down, kisses her hard—feral, claiming—then shoves her back up into the stands, right before the bell clangs.  Starscream smirking, lipstick smeared, crowd roaring. Megatron turns back to the fight, fists up, predator-ready.

Starscream was speechless, the damn Koan Pits were trying to profit and rebrand off of their images? She set her ghostpad down for a moment due to the sheer audacity. How dare they? She stopped for a moment, before smiling, what perfect timing.

Starscream checked the comments. 

Hoping she was correct….

Comment Storm (millions in minutes)

@NeoRunwayMag: This isn’t just fight footage. This is origin story couture.

@DockyardDan: Bro kissed his Queen BEFORE the knockout. That’s loyalty, that’s prophecy.

@FightFootageFanatic: Never noticed the way she bullied through the crowd first… like she already owned the place.

@CherryWeld: Kiss → KO → King. That’s the order.

@ConspiracyCannon: WAIT. What did she whisper??!! WHAT DID SHE SAY??!!

@RebarRex: Lmao y’all don’t get it. She didn’t whisper. She ordered. And he obeyed. #Queen

Starscream gave a cackle in joy, kicking her peds in her laugher.

Waking up Megatron with a slight jolt. 

“What?! Was it?” Megatron demanded a voice groggy in sleep.

She steadied herself. “Oh, I was worried. That the public would look for that traitor. I had planned for it!” she kissed all over Megatron’s faceplates. “But the fragging Koan Pits, did us a favor…got the public wrapped up in some romantic nonsense and effectively buried him for us.” 

“The pits?” Megatron he blinked a few times before looking over the datapad in the seeker’s claws and scowled. “…ping Swindle. Tell him to file a full cease and desist — and remind him those pit credits are still far overdue.” he leaned back into his pillows. 

Megatron didn’t even open his optics. The threat was casual. Deadly casual.

Hook rushed in, med scanner primed in his left hand. “Vitals spiked—what happened?!”

Starscream smirked, sprawled in Megatron’s berth, ghostpad still glowing in her claws. “Oh, just a little joy. You remember joy, don’t you?”

Hook stared at her. Blinked once.

“Speaking of joy…” he growled, stomping closer, scanning wand raised like a threat. “Let me inspect you next, Starscream.” 

Starscream ducked her helm. “I function perfectly.” she huffed. 

“…..then why are you burning fuel so quickly?” Hook narrowed his optics as he started his scan. 

“I…am?” Starscream asked in surprise she hadn't noticed? With everything going on, it slipped her mind. 

Megatron cracked an optic at her. “I assumed she was just hungry.” he murmured. “Let Hook scan you, just in case.” he commanded. 

Starscream wanted to say no, then hide somewhere but…he did ask her. Starscream had a problem with telling Megatron no when he asked for something small. Maybe it was because Megatron rarely asked anything from her.  “.....fine….” she relented, relaxing her frame and letting Hook examine her. 

Twisting her ruby ring on her left finger. Starscream worried her lip. How did she end up on the business end of Hook’s scanner? He was here for Megatron’s fuel pump! Then again…Hook had to rebuild her from the ground up. Starscream’s original femme parts, the one she had trusted fragging Skyfire with. 

Had been installed wrong, on all levels. Makes, models, placement and even code. 

If Megatron hadn’t taken Starscream to Hook…

If Thundercracker and Skywarp hadn’t come though. Paid hook in full, taking the financial weight off of Megatron’s shoulders where they were so poor?

Starscream vented allowing her frame to relax. 

…..Hook could scan her all he wanted…..