𝔸𝕝𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕔 || 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚂𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙴𝚁𝚂

2.29 || WELCOME TO THE FIRE

Starscream stood up, putting his digits to the side of his helm as he was about opened his mouth. He felt his legs gave out for reasons unknown to him, he fell to the ground with a loud thud and like a discarded puppet; he felt himself lost the ability to speak.

"Did you really think I would just let you spoil my plans, Starscream?"

The mocking voice spoke inside of his helm closely followed by a laugh. No, no, he had changed. He didn't want to revert back into the past—he forcibly closed his optics and sucked in a deep breath, attempting to move his own limbs by his own will.

It didn't move. It didn't followed his commands.

Starscream felt the world weight down heavily on his shoulder plates; this wasn't supposed to happen—when did he exactly contracted the disease? Who, who was the carrier of this?

"Wow, you're really struggling!"

The voice laughed with full of amusement, seemingly satisfied with how the situation turned out to the weakened shrivelling Starscream, derived of any control of his own body. It clearly took satisfaction on his condition.

"Since you're the first one to realise this; I'll reward you. Now, aren't I too generous? Hmm, let's see. The carrier of this, it should be that idiot. You know the Fallen?"

Fallen? But, if this disease was infectious through physical touch, he shouldn't have received this. He didn't touch him, only—his optics widened, Breakdown. Then, passed to Knockout, and by Primus' mercy; that insufferable medic is the intemperate type to crave for physical interaction. He bowed his helm in frustration, clenching his jaw in anger as he narrowed his optics.

Then, as if things weren't worse enough. His thoughts became blurry, fazed by the presence of the intruder as he felt something from the pit of his spark; he felt fear. He felt himself stood up, smooth coordinated movements languidly moving in perfect rhythm as he helplessly watch everything with his own two conscious sight; disregarded in the back of their mind. He was useless.

He put his digit to the side of his helm, and with the voice that he came to sickeningly know, he heard the fluidity of how each words where unbelievably his, using it without his consent as he struggled to keep his vocalisers—or anything of that matter to just resist. "Seekers, our war will resume with the Autobots. Be ready for my command."

Soundwave, the observant and, without a doubt, an intelligent individual, it was clear that something was happening in his very surroundings to where he stood. Something was changing. Laserbeak cawed roughly beside him, flapping his wings by instinct as Ravage protectively stood beside him, fangs shown and boldly bared to the mech in front of them.

"Soundwave."

Megatron stood in front of him, the once pristine optics clouded by an indistinguishable subdued glow that he didn't personally like. Megatron is supposed to be a leader with clear unrelenting intentions, and currently staring at the present; this isn't the Megatron he had followed. Nod that anything changed that much with the past, but at least in the Megatron he have come to shortly knew at the time of his awakening; he noticed positive change.

But this Megatron? It felt like he yearned for pointless, undesirable war of lost cause.

He subtly heighten his defence, fully aware of how he had change in his movements; however, only with those of keen optics and the long familiarity of knowing him inside and out, he was able to tell the littlest signs that his movements that would appear to be rough, were grazed by subtle elegance—it was entirely replaced by roughened animalistic gestures, the kind of movements that the warlord would show when in the gladiator. The kind he showed when he felt threatened.