The secret base was entombed deep within the silent heart of an unnamed desert.
Inside, a vast chamber of polished silver alloy housed rows of towering, motionless figures. They were forged from dark steel and jagged composites, their armor designed to swallow light rather than reflect it. Faint, pulsing circuitry traced glowing red paths across their chassis, hinting at the volatile power dormant within their frames.
Though each design varied, they all bore a singular mark on their right shoulders: a harsh, angular face with cold, raked lines.
The Decepticon insignia.
Suddenly, one of the machines flared to life. Two crimson pinpricks of light ignited deep within its optical sockets. It was the first ripple in a dark pond. Following its lead, the other units began to sequence online. The heavy silence of the hangar shattered under the rising hum of charging capacitors, the whine of high-torque servos, and the tectonic thud of metal shifting against metal. It was the sound of a heavy industrial assembly line spinning up to a lethal maximum.
Is that... Starscream?
The moment Nathan's optics achieved focus, they locked onto a figure standing apart from the ranks. The design was unmistakable: the sleek, predatory lines of an F-22 Raptor integrated into a spindly, avian robot mode. The helm-like head, the distinct inverted-triangle torso—it was the Air Commander. The Traitor. The Second-in-Command.
Starscream stood perfectly still, his posture radiating a restless, coiled tension as if he were basking in the cold perfection of his own reflection. Nathan didn't move. He analyzed the seeker with a volatile mix of awe and rising dread.
It's really him. The design is even more vicious in person. But... following the guy famous for backstabbing Megatron? Is this a career opportunity or a death sentence?
Nathan's processors whirred. Between the overheard conversation and the data burning into his cerebral chip, the conclusion was inescapable: he was Starscream's personal project. A direct subordinate in a coup waiting to happen.
Starscream was a Commander-class powerhouse, lord of the Seeker armada, but his true reputation was built on a foundation of treacherous ambition. Every Decepticon knew Starscream wanted the throne. And Nathan, possessing the "script" of this universe, knew exactly how that play ended.
It was a cycle of ego and agonizing failure.
"Little one... what are you looking at?"
The voice sliced through Nathan's internal monologue like a vibro-blade.
Starscream had been inspecting his new silent army with smug satisfaction until he felt it—a gaze that lingered too long. A gaze that felt... calculating. Judgmental.
He turned his head slowly. His optics narrowed on a freshly activated drone that was staring back at him. It wasn't the blank, glassy obedience of a fresh machine; it was a look that bordered on a challenge.
"No reaction? Are your cognitive circuits lagging?"
When the drone didn't immediately avert its gaze, Starscream's suspicion spiked into irritation. He took a heavy step forward.
Shit.
Nathan's spark pulsed in a sudden, frantic rhythm. He saw Starscream stalking toward him and realized his mistake too late.
Idiot. I was staring at him like a movie screen. He had forgotten he was no longer a spectator. In the Decepticon ranks, prolonged eye contact wasn't curiosity—it was an act of insubordination.
"Tell me, little one. Why were you staring at me?"
Starscream loomed over him, massive and suffocating. To a Seeker who had lived for eons, calling a minutes-old drone "little one" was a literal statement of fact. His voice dripped with the casual malice of a predator. Nathan's internal cooling fans spun to a desperate maximum.
"Lord Starscream."
Nathan dipped his head, forcing his vocalizer to remain steady. He knew silence was often the best shield, but not when a Seeker demanded a blood sacrifice of words.
Please don't notice. Please just be paranoid...
BAM!
"Gah—!!"
The prayer died in his vocalizer.
A clawed hand shot out, seizing Nathan by the throat cables with bone-crushing force. The world tilted violently as he was hoisted off the floor. With a casual, contemptuous flick of his wrist, Starscream slammed him backward.
CRASH!
Nathan's chassis collided with the reinforced bulkhead.
SKREEEE—
Metal shrieked against metal as he slid down the wall, sparks showering the floor like a dying firework display.
[ WARNING: CRITICAL IMPACT DETECTED! ]
[ INTEGRITY COMPROMISED: TORSO PLATING. ]
His HUD flashed a violent crimson. A combat interface—eerily similar to a high-end tactical shooter—snapped into place, highlighting his damage vectors in flickering wireframes.
CLACK.
Pure instinct took over. Nathan's right arm shifted, armor panels sliding back with a hydraulic hiss to deploy a heavy-caliber blaster. He raised it, his targeting computer locking onto the threat.
But then, he met Starscream's eyes.
They were cold. Dead. Utterly devoid of mercy.
Nathan froze. He forced the targeting computer to disengage, overriding his survival subroutines. He retracted the weapon, his panels snapping shut with a hollow sound.
Don't shoot. Decepticons don't do mercy. If I fight back, he shreds me into scrap.
Starscream watched the hesitation. A cruel smirk twisted his faceplates. He thrived on the absolute submission of those beneath him. A drone that knew its place was a tool; a drone that fought back was target practice.
"You know, little one..."
Starscream leaned in, his hot exhaust venting against Nathan's face. "The way you looked at me... I found it very unpleasant."
Nathan remained pinned against the wall, projecting an aura of total, hollow submission. He had just arrived in this universe; he wasn't planning on checking out five minutes later.
"Well?" Starscream tightened his grip. Hydraulic pressure groaned against Nathan's neck struts. "You still haven't answered. Why. Were. You. Staring?"
"Urgh..." The light in Nathan's optics flickered.
He finally understood why the robots in the movies groaned when they were hit. It wasn't for the audience. It was genuine agony. His sensors were screaming, translating the crushing pressure into a digital hell. He had to answer. One wrong word meant the smelter.
A desperate, low-logic idea sparked in his processor.
"Forgive me... Lord Starscream. I... I do not understand... what you are saying."
"You don't understand?" Starscream's smirk widened, revealing rows of jagged, metallic teeth. "Heh. You better not be lying to me, little one."
"Lord Starscream... I truly... do not understand."
Starscream scrutinized him. His red optics scanned Nathan's frame, lingering on the chest casing where the Energy Core hummed with a synthetic vibration. Finally, he seemed to lose interest, as one might lose interest in a malfunctioning toaster.
"Good. Keep it that way. You know the consequences of deception."
He released his grip. Nathan dropped to the floor, his metal limbs scraping harshly against the silver alloy.
Safe.
He vented a sharp burst of hot air. It hadn't been a blind gamble. He knew that artificially created Decepticons were viewed as simple, blank-slate tools. As long as he played the idiot, he could hide the intellect.
But before his systems could stabilize, Starscream's voice returned. "But tell me, little one... how should I discipline you for the annoyance?"
What? Nathan looked up sharply.
WHAM!
"Aaaah—!"
The world spun again. He was airborne.
I didn't even transform into a jet! How am I flying?!
He wasn't flying. He had been kicked. He tumbled through the air, crashing into the far corner of the hangar with a thunderous, bone-rattling THUD.
[ MINOR DAMAGE DETECTED. ]
[ AUTO-REPAIR INITIATED... ]
Motherf— Starscream, you son of a—
Nathan lay in a heap, his internal monologue unleashed a stream of profanity that would have short-circuited a human. He groaned, servos whining as he pushed himself upright. He retracted his weapons fully, shaking the dizziness from his gyroscope.
The floor was pristine. His armor, however, was dented and scorched.
This was the Decepticon life. He had looked at a superior incorrectly, and he had been thrown into a wall.
The reality of his situation crashed down on him harder than the impact. He had been naive. He had looked at Starscream with the eyes of a fan, a man who "knew the plot." Subconsciously, he had felt superior because he knew the future.
Starscream had sensed that arrogance. It was like staring at a tiger in a zoo, forgetting that the glass was gone.
I have to change.
Nathan's optics dimmed as he recalibrated his personality subroutines. No more "God's Eye View." No more fanboying. If he didn't treat this world with the terror it deserved, the next time he hit a wall, he wouldn't get up.