[ DATA CHIP DETECTED... ]
[ INITIATING UPLOAD... ]
[ UPLOAD COMPLETE. ]
Where is that sound coming from?
Consciousness didn't return to Nathan; it flickered on like a faulty monitor. He tried to open his eyes, but the command terminated in a silent error. His eyelids felt nonexistent. It was the sensation of a lucid dream—the mind churning sluggishly while the senses remained drowned in a heavy, suffocating ink.
Wasn't I watching a movie? Did I pass out?
His final memory was a chaotic, low-res blur: a desk cluttered with the remnants of fried chicken and warm cola, the glowing monitor playing Transformers, and then... static. The image had dissolved into a sudden, sickening vertigo.
Classic. Worked overtime for a month straight only to crash five minutes into my day off.
Nathan dismissed the darkness as pure exhaustion. He mentally sighed, attempting to jolt his limbs awake, waiting for the familiar pins-and-needles sensation of a sleeping arm.
Nothing happened.
Panic, cold and sharp, began to seep into his thoughts. No matter how hard he pushed his will against the void, he could not feel his hands. He couldn't feel his chest rise or fall. The heavy, biological tether of the body he knew was simply gone.
No way. I'm too young to end up as a karoshi statistic on the evening news.
"Lord Starscream, you have arrived!"
A sudden voice sliced through the darkness, arresting Nathan's spiraling thoughts. He suppressed his terror, focusing his audio receptors—ears?—on the source. The voice was uncomfortably close, chattering with a bizarre, clicking cadence. The syntax was twisted and alien, yet the meaning decoded instantly in his mind. He didn't just understand the words; he felt the sickening layer of sycophancy and terror dripping from them.
Starscream?
Nathan's mental processes stalled. That's the character from the movie. Is this a hallucination? A vivid dream because I fell asleep mid-scene?
Before he could process the absurdity, a second voice cut in—shrill, arrogant, and dripping with habitual disdain.
"Enough, you wretched tentacle-bot. Get out of my way. Where is Scalpel?"
"Lord Starscream, the Master is inside."
Scalpel? The Decepticon Chief Medical Officer? The "Doctor" from the sequels?
Nathan knew the lore. He had watched the franchise until the lines were burned into his memory. Autobots, Decepticons—he knew the players, the betrayals, and the endless, grinding war.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
Heavy, rhythmic impacts vibrated through the floor—metallic footsteps drawing closer. The audio resolution sharpened.
"Scalpel. You know why I am here." The shrill voice dropped an octave, turning menacingly low. "I have waited long enough. Tell me my requirements have been met."
"Ze-ze-ze~ Rest assured, Starscream." The response was a manic, high-pitched rasp. "The Information Chips you requested? I have formatted them into the cerebral modules of this entire batch. Every single drone."
"Wait until they possess a Spark—or an energy unit. The moment they activate, they will be the most loyal soldiers you have ever commanded!"
"Excellent, Scalpel. You haven't disappointed me."
"Look at this. I modified it using Cybertronian storage tech. A concentrated Energy Core. It should serve as a sufficient substitute for a natural Spark."
"Understood, Starscream. Leave the rest to me."
The conversation ceased. Seconds later, the air filled with the deafening clamor of metal striking metal—drills whirring, saws grinding. The noise grew louder, vibrating through Nathan's very essence. He felt a looming presence. A heavy pressure against what felt like his hull.
Cerebral modules? Energy Cores? What is this insanity?
[ WARNING! ]
[ CRITICAL SURGE DETECTED! ]
A piercing alarm shrieked inside his skull.
Gah—!
Nathan's consciousness convulsed. It felt like a white-hot spike being driven directly into his brainstem. The pain vanished as quickly as it arrived, replaced instantly by a sterile, emotionless mechanical synthesis:
[ ENERGY CORE INSTALLED. ]
[ SYSTEM INITIALIZING... ]
[ ENERGY CORE ONLINE. ]
Nathan's irritation spiked through the bewilderment. If this is a dream, let me wake up! One thing after another—is there no off switch?
As if mocking his internal plea, a cascade of system prompts accelerated, scrolling across his internal vision in neon glyphs:
[ CONSTRUCTING ENERGON CONDUITS... COMPLETE. ]
[ OPENING NEURAL PATHWAYS... COMPLETE. ]
[ ENERGON FLOW: STABLE. SYSTEM ACTIVATION IMMINENT. ]
[ CEREBRAL MODULE: ONLINE. ]
[ WEAPONS SYSTEMS: ONLINE. ]
[ T-COG: ONLINE. ]
[ SERVOMOTOR LINKAGE: SYNCHRONIZED. ]
With the final chime, the world slammed into focus.
It was not the groggy awakening of a human. It was a sudden, violent clarity. Sensory data flooded in—not the warmth of skin or the smell of air, but the cold hum of hydraulics, the heavy tensile strength of alloy, and the thrum of a reactor spinning up in his chest.
The dream-like haze evaporated. This was real.
This metallic weight... this cold power... my body...
Nathan, fully lucid, realized he was no longer flesh and blood. Before he could inspect his new form, the HUD flashed again.
[ UNIT ID: T-22 ACTIVATED. ]
[ EXECUTING LOYALTY PROTOCOL... READING DATA CHIP. ]
Something forced its way into his mind—a hard-line download of alien data jamming directly into his memory banks. It was a stream of jagged, complex Cybertronian algorithms. The file size was small, barely a blip compared to the twenty-odd years of human memories Nathan retained. It failed to overwrite his personality, but the metadata told him everything he needed to know.
He had transmigrated. He was a Decepticon grunt.
I stayed up late to watch a movie and wound up inside it?
In his past life, Nathan was a cog in a corporate machine. He worked, he slept, he consumed. He had no family, no anchors. I just wanted to rewatch a classic, he thought, the irony bitter in his processors. Instead, I get to live the reboot.
Fine. He was here. Being a wage slave was a slow death. Being a Decepticon? At least the sky was the limit. He adjusted his mental parameters with frightening speed. Denial was inefficient.
How I got here is irrelevant. Survival is the only metric that matters now. And honestly... this world is far more interesting.
He had no desire to be human here. In a war between titan machines, humans were insects. Ants beneath the feet of elephants. To be human here was to pray you didn't get stepped on. Being a Decepticon had its perks. He was durable. He was armed.
But a warning subroutine flagged in his logic center. Decepticons are the villains. And in the movies, villains die.
He didn't know if this reality followed the movie script exactly—if the Autobots had plot armor or if destiny was fluid. He wouldn't bet his life on it.
I need to be careful. I am currently a "Mid-Tier" warrior. Better than a drone, but mass-produced. And artificial.
He recalled the conversation. His creation wasn't natural. He was a tool forged for a coup. Starscream provided the Energy Core; Scalpel performed the surgery.
A voice boomed through the chamber, confirming his deduction.
"Look at these little ones! Are they not magnificent?"
"Awake, Decepticons!"
"I AM YOUR MASTER! I AM STARSCREAM!"
Nathan processed the audio input. The tone was distinct—arrogance mixed with a desperate need for validation. He seized control of his new motor functions, rerouting power to his optical sensors.
With a sharp mechanical hiss, Nathan's optics flared to life, glowing a menacing, deep red.