A Cybertronian chassis is a holistic system. It is defined by more than just the tensile strength of its armor or the output of its core; it is a synthesis of weapon modules, raw materials, and processing logic.
To truly evolve beyond one's factory settings—barring experimental reformatting—a unit requires a catalyst of cosmic scale. A relic of the Primes. An artifact like the AllSpark.
Despite the surge of satisfaction at his new titanium plating and multi-launchers, Nathan suppressed the impulse to celebrate. He needed to calibrate. With a flicker of intent, his cerebral module broadcast a deployment command.
From his right forearm, three high-tensile barrels extended with a sharp mechanical hiss, their muzzles gleaming with cold potential. Simultaneously, the plating on his left shoulder split open, revealing the four dark apertures of the tracking-missile rack.
"By the Pit! T-22, cease weapons-deployment immediately!"
Scalpel scuttled toward him, clutching a large data-tablet. The medic was practically vibrating with systemic stress. "I spent decacycles perfecting the shielding in this lab! If you trigger a live-fire glitch and scorch my consoles, I will dismantle you while your processors are still active!"
"My apologies, Doctor. I was merely running a synchronization check," Nathan replied, though he mentally noted Scalpel's frantic reaction. With a series of rhythmic clicks, the weapons retracted, and Nathan's chassis smoothed back into its "passive" state.
His attention shifted to the object in Scalpel's grip. It was a massive logic-chip, larger than a terrestrial laptop. "Is that the reconstructed data, Doctor?"
"Obviously. I don't carry scrap metal for the exercise."
Scalpel had clearly been prepared. Nathan hadn't seen the medic code a single line during the last three days, yet the chip was complete. It was a pre-meditated move.
"You'll take this with you when you leave," Scalpel buzzed. "Deliver it to the Air Commander."
"Understood, Doc—"
HISSS.
The heavy lab doors, sealed for seventy-two hours, began to slide apart. A familiar, towering silhouette was framed in the harsh sodium light of the corridor.
"Lord Starscream," the Tentacle-Bot chirped, appearing from the shadows.
Nathan lowered his head, falling into the blank-slate persona of a loyal T-series drone. Starscream entered with a restless, predatory stride, his optics scanning the room for signs of inefficiency.
"Time is up, Scalpel. The data-chip?"
"Right here," Scalpel replied, pointing to the massive component. "The logic-gates are verified. Check it yourself."
Starscream seized the chip, a scanning beam erupting from his optics to verify the code. After a moment, he grunted in satisfaction. "Adequate work, Doctor. You haven't lost your touch." He then turned his gaze to Nathan. "Move out, T-22. We have a schedule to keep."
"As you command, Lord Starscream."
Nathan offered a final, subtle optical pulse toward Scalpel—a silent acknowledgment of their secret pact. Scalpel tapped his head-casing in return. The search for the spider-ship. The surveillance of the Commander. Nathan stepped into the corridor, feeling a strange sense of progression. He was leaving the "safe zone" of the lab and entering the true theater of war.
"T-22. With me."
To Nathan's surprise, another Decepticon was waiting in the hallway. It was T-19, one of his "batch-mates" from the activation sequence.
"Follow T-19," Starscream barked over his shoulder, already walking away with the data-chip. "He will brief you on your operational duties. I have other matters to attend to."
Nathan stood in the silence of the corridor, his processors running a diagnostic on the interaction. No interrogation? No questions about what I saw in the lab? He had prepared a dozen different lies to explain his three days with Scalpel, but Starscream hadn't even bothered to look at him. Perhaps the Commander truly viewed him as a mindless tool, or perhaps the Egypt mission was consuming every cycle of his attention.
"T-22. Follow."
T-19's voice was flat, lacking the human nuance Nathan had developed. Nathan nodded. "Lead the way."
As they walked, Nathan finally got a true sense of the base's scale. Starscream had been busy. The fortress was carved into the raw rock of the Great Basin Desert in Nevada, a subterranean labyrinth of reinforced alloy. The main corridors were wide enough for heavy-transport convoys, easily dwarfing a six-lane terrestrial highway.
They passed a massive sector labeled RESOURCE EXTRACTION. Automated logistics drones—non-sentient machines on treads or wheels—moved in a synchronized dance. They carried crates of raw ore into the refining vats and returned with empty bins.
"Refined from local crust," T-19 explained, his pace steady. "The yield is inefficient. We process tons of terrestrial rock just to synthesize a single Energon cube. But it is necessary for the build-up."
Nathan nodded. He knew why Starscream chose this location. This wasn't just a hiding spot; it was a mining operation. Nevada was rich in minerals—specifically silver and rare earths—and the isolation of the desert provided the perfect cover from human satellite sweeps.
We're four hundred kilometers from Hoover Dam, Nathan calculated, his internal map overlaying the coordinates of the AllSpark. Starscream is hiding right in the Americans' backyard, and they have no idea.
He watched the drones work. To the humans, Starscream was a myth. To the drones, Nathan was an officer. But to the cosmos, they were all just ghosts of a dead planet, trying to rebuild a kingdom in the dirt of a primitive world.
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