"Ze-ze-ze~ Excellent. Not a single scrap wasted."
Scalpel trilled with a static-filled delight as he inspected the remains of T-18. It was unclear whether the medic was excited by the act of deconstruction itself or the sheer efficiency of the salvage. He gestured toward a sphere of pulsating blue crystal resting on the deck.
"Starscream, your Synthetic Core."
Nathan's optics tracked the movement, his gaze sweeping over the object with hidden curiosity. The core was small enough to fit in a single clawed hand, its surface polished to a mirror finish. Deep within the translucent blue crystal, jagged streaks of indigo energy flickered like trapped lightning.
So that's the engine keeping me alive, Nathan thought. A terrestrial battery for a mechanical god.
"My property," Starscream rumbled, seizing the core. He held it up to the laboratory lights, watching the energy swirl within. "Unblemished. I'll forge a new chassis in a few cycles and recycle the unit. Waste is for the weak."
To a Commander like Starscream, any soldier below High-tier was a disposable asset—a battery-powered tool to be used until it burnt out. T-18's existence was less valuable than the core that had powered it.
"Take the core," Starscream said, gesturing to the mangled pile of parts on the floor. "As for the scrap... aside from the T-Cog, consider it a research grant, Scalpel. Use it for your little experiments."
"Ze-ze-ze~ Generous, Starscream." Scalpel's many limbs twitched in anticipation. "I've been wanting to run a comparative analysis on terrestrial alloys versus Cybertronian smelting. This is the perfect sample."
"Hmph." Starscream's optics flared. "Don't forget, Doctor—you still owe me a data chip."
Scalpel didn't flinch. "Seventy-two hours, Starscream. Give me three solar cycles and I'll have the code reconstructed. Your previous payment covered the processing time."
So it's a transaction, Nathan noted. Even the medics in this army don't move a limb without a price.
"Fine. I'll return in three days. I expect the chip to be ready for the next batch." Starscream turned to leave, his restless energy finally pushing him toward the exit. Nathan felt a flicker of hope; with the Commander gone, he might finally find a way to scout the base.
But Scalpel's raspy voice shattered the hope instantly.
"A moment, Starscream. I have a minor requirement."
The Air Commander paused at the threshold, his wings twitching with annoyance. "What now, Scalpel?"
"I need an assistant," the medic buzzed, his bulbous eyes swiveling toward the line of drones. "I forgot to backup the logic-gate architecture for the original chip. It was destroyed along with T-18's cerebral module. I need one of the drones to remain behind so I can map its neural pathways to reconstruct the data. Otherwise, the deadline is impossible."
Scalpel's predatory gaze drifted over the units, eventually settling on Nathan with a sinister flicker of yellow light.
Assistant? Nathan's processors spiked with dread. He had spent enough time in labs in his past life. He wanted to get out into the world, to find the AllSpark, not be a pin-cushion for an insectoid medic.
"Choose one and be quick about it," Starscream barked. He lacked the technical knowledge to challenge Scalpel's claim.
Don't pick me. Pick anyone else, Nathan prayed, his internal systems cycling with stress.
But as the saying goes, the outlier probability always hits when you least want it. Scalpel raised a metallic limb, pointing a sharp claw directly at Nathan.
"T-22. I require T-22. Take the others and begone."
Nathan stood frozen. He looked at Starscream, his optics dimming in a silent plea for a different assignment.
"As you wish," Starscream replied. "T-22, you will remain and assist the medic. I'll assign your field mission once the data is reconstructed."
"Understood, Lord Starscream," Nathan replied, his vocalizer flat and obedient despite the internal chaos.
The heavy hangar doors groaned open, and Starscream led the remaining five drones out into the long, metallic corridors of the bunker. As they vanished, Nathan caught a glimpse of the base's architecture—brutal, industrial, and lit by a harsh sodium glow.
But as the doors hissed shut, a high-priority data packet slammed into Nathan's consciousness. It was a direct-neural injection, bypassing his sensory arrays to display text across his mind:
[ T-22. THIS IS STARSCREAM. WATCH THE DOCTOR. ]
[ IF HE DISPLAYS ANY ANOMALOUS BEHAVIOR OR ATTEMPTS TO ALTER YOUR CORE DATA, REPORT TO ME IMMEDIATELY. ]
Nathan's optics flickered violently. The sheer violation of the link was jarring. Starscream had treated the command as a casual footnote, but it left Nathan's logic processors reeling.
Why? Does Starscream expect a betrayal? Or is something else happening?
He couldn't analyze the command without more data, but he knew one thing: being a double-agent for a paranoid Seeker while serving as a test subject for a mad scientist was a recipe for a short lifespan.
"Ze-ze-ze~ Come here, T-22," Scalpel buzzed, his many legs clicking as he approached.
Nathan recalibrated his persona. If he was stuck here for seventy-two hours, he would use the time to master his new body. He moved toward the medic, his heavy footsteps echoing in the now-empty lab.
"Doctor Scalpel," Nathan said, his voice a smooth, deferential baritone. "How may I assist your research?"
Better to play the willing pupil. If Scalpel was an "outlier" powerhouse, Nathan wanted him as an ally—or at least, as someone who wouldn't dismantle him for spare parts.