[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]The Common Good [Starscream]

[Megatron]

Megatron did not attempt to grip his open wound—or even to stop the pain as many would do on reflex. Though the injury was not insignificant, he barely even flinched after the initial impact. Certainly, he'd felt it in full after the shock subsided—the torn cabling, the broken pistons, and the neural netting firing off agonizing pulses through his arm and shoulder, directly to his processor. But he fought through the dull pain as he had done so many times before and maintained his focus on the battlefield. He watched the turret spin out of control, the lone human wrangling it, and taking aim once more, at his second-in-command. It was at that moment that the tyrant mustered his strength again, giving him a few mortal instants to act.

"Starscream!" He barked out in that dreadful voice of his—urgent and violent, but bereft of his typically chastising inclination. There was no intent to scold Starscream or any other form of derision he would usually employ were they not amidst mortal danger. His sole purpose in yelling out the seeker's name was to get him to turn to the side—to give him an opportunity to flee the turret's firing range before it found its mark. It was a warning from one comrade to another and nothing more.

That is all it had to be right now.

From there, Megatron wasted no more time, rejoining the fray as if his injuries meant nothing to him. Perhaps he was too late to stop the weapon from firing again, but the resilient human controlling it would not escape his wrath. He began to move through the ruined camp in a hurry—towards the now-stationary turret. He waded through any lesser fire coming from the handheld weaponry they would bear down on him, unworthy of his attention, and there, amidst the flurry, a blue-and-purple corona lit up in the deep-set barrel of his cannon for the third time. The cannon needed some time to unleash another onslaught—a matter of seconds—but it would very likely come too late to stop the enterprising scavenger from taking his shot at Starscream.

The warning would have to be enough...

And if not, there was always vengeance; swift and final, a split-second of silence in which the dark tyrant stared the soldier in the eye, through the featureless mask and the fog of war, in acknowledgement, and then, finally, death itself. A violet frenzy of annihilating force and energy, emptied from its metal nest—point-blank—into the enemy's tool and soldier alike. It was a rare honor to perish at the hand of Megatron, and rarer still for the Warlord to make it a matter so personal as to bask in the presence of his enemy so pointedly. This human has earned his end, should he meet it there and then.

[Starscream]

Starscream's first mistake was trusting that Megatron could hit his mark.

His second had been not to check and confirm things for himself before he'd pushed off into movement.

Oh, he heard the ruptured booms of destruction as the blast from the fusion cannon hit something - and the noise was satisfying enough to make him smirk. The shrieking, familiar groan of twisting metal, and the subsequent smoke that could be seen even without looking directly could only mean that the Warlord had been accurate for a second time, thus ridding them of the immediate and more dangerous threat.

Doing his own part in disposing of the lesser issue - one so insignificant to the point he hadn't shifted into his altmode, Starscream fired quickly and ruthlessly upon the few scattered MECH soldiers that he could see, and in the general area of those he could not, hoping to end them in the explosions that followed. The silver Seeker snarled as a few of their shots hit him in his upper chassis– none of which, thankfully, hit him in the optics or faceplate despite their best efforts, though even despite the annoyance, they did little to stop his forward movement.

While the two Cybertronians had been caught unawares by the turret and following ambush, the Warlord and his Second in Command appeared to have made quick work of things, and could soon go back to the more important matter at hand, including the new task of trying to work out how their human enemy had learned of the Hymn. Perhaps it was simply luck - a case of being in the right place at the right time, or maybe they had found a way to track the unique signature of its remains.

He wouldn't put it past them, they were clever little things indeed.

Despite the injuries both he and Megatron had suffered, it would be a victory all the same - and should MECH have somehow gotten word out in their dying moments, perhaps it'd be a reminder that the Decepticons were to be rightly feared.

Only, when he heard his name – spoken with such urgency by the other mech – did he realize that something had gone wrong. Too distracted by the destruction in front of himself to pay attention to what Megatron was dealing with, it took but a moment for everything to sink in all at once.

Another noise. A familiar one, heard only mere seconds earlier as the turret roared to life once more.

Megatron had missed. The turret was still functional, and the warning did not bode well.

Then, almost as instantaneously as the noise started, was there the immediate feeling of blistering, white-hot pain. It was sharp and excruciating, making him flinch - almost as if whatever it was that'd hit had gone right through him. Then, again- and again he felt it, causing the Seeker to hiss out in agony, a squawked, desperate gasp of pain as he turned in what would be just a few seconds too late.

The turret had torn through one of his wings, violently peppering it with shredded, gaping holes that trailed down and along the delicate limb as the turret operator had fought desperately to keep the Seeker in his sights even as the Tyrant moved toward him, piercing into his upper arm and chassis before it finally ceased - if only because Megatron had finally, finally put an end to its assault.

Staggering backward, and bleeding profusely - it was then the Seeker turned fully in the direction of the Warlord. A familiar, short transformation sounded as the blaster shifted and eased back into his arm, which hung pathetically limp at his side. His left arm and the missile that'd remained unscathed, however – now aimed directly at both Megatron and the offending turret, as shaky as he was.

Should his Master have failed for a second time, even at point-blank range, he would end it himself, even if the other mech did not move.

[Zercon]

When the turret's assault landed true, the soldiers who had put in so much effort to try to down the aerial mech were almost bolstered in their efforts, the opportunity taken to reload and prepare the next steps accordingly while he was too busy dealing with being borderline shot through due to his lesser armor quality. They worked fast, gaining new points of shelter to try to assist the turret's assault, only plans started to change when the inevitable occurred, and they were forced to adapt once again.

As Megatron came up to the weapon, the soldier did his best to try to push the mechanics of the system to turn further. An angry groan of the hinges... a crackled strain of two plates of metal scraping against one another... no matter what he could do however there was no way to level off its maw at the monster that now stood above him. It was there that the ominous reality settled where it was what it was, and there was nothing that could be done to avoid its cruel outcome. Fierce red eyes locked with the glass lenses of goggles, a hesitation as things seemed to stall out... flickered seconds feeling like a lifetime... until the soldier wrenched back, fumbling instantly for a handgun on his side. What else could be done? Running was an impossibility, and the main weapon was invalid, and soon enough? He too was invalid, the plasma blast obliterating the weapon in full, which then caused a secondary issue.

The ignited rolls of the chain ammunition.

Booms and pops, crackled bangs of the interior charges all catching on fire at once. No single bullet would be sent far, if far at all due to the fact they had been mounted into the belt feed, though it didn't mean none of the hard metals were sent flying. A sharp thwip here or there, scrap metal from the outer casings flung from the combustive force of whatever Energon fuel was compressed in its inner walls. It created red flames that flicked with pops of blue every now and again, there nothing remaining of the machine to even see what mechanics may have been poached to reverse engineer what they had done.

All evidence erased in a moment.

A small loss when the alternative meant possible death for the two Cybertronian.

Should it just be Starscream left, MECH may have continued their assault to finish what they had started. Obtaining one more entity to throw into the mill that was their facility's interior. Contributing whatever he could offer to their valiant cause. This said, the larger one of the two seemed to still be effectively fully functional, and as such to remain would be a futile endeavor. It was better to retreat and save what soldiers they had left, and the intel they obtained, than it was to hold their ground for some sake of pride or arrogance. No. They were out to win, not to fall under a sense of superiority. Due to this, the gunshots seemed to quickly abate before Megatron could turn his focus fully over, the remaining soldiers folding further back into the dense forest that carpeted the entire valley under the auditory blanket of the exploding turret shells.

Spreading out, scattering in a way... even if they were to pinpoint one in their stealthy retreat, it did not mean they would be able to gun down numerous at once due to one lone soldier's negligence.

Flames would crackle along the abandoned campsite, some continuing to burn the surrounding shrubs and foliage, others fizzling out as they failed to eat the fire-retardant fabrics of the tents. There were other vehicles present that were tarped as well, however, they were much shorter and did not have any space for a turret of any kind, it apparent that they were strictly utility for their own needs. The largest of the tents appeared to be more of an overhang cover than it was a temporary living environment, perhaps hiding below that which was being sought out, yet it was hard to say on surfaces alone.

[Megatron]

More eruptions. Red-and-blue flames. Chaos, unbound and untamed, in all directions. Shrapnel in his outer mesh. The forlorn call of Cybertron beckoned, an image not unlike his distant home spread across an organic canvas. Megatron understood. The past would become the future, should MECH persist in their pursuits unabated. Yet it was none of his concern. Such dire portents were the burdens of Optimus Prime. Megatron concerned himself with only one thing.

He had fought back the intruders and secured what was rightfully his. The cost mattered little. A few scrapes to buff out, an arm to repair and re-align. As the fire flickered on, fueled ceaselessly by Energon and oil, he turned from the remnants and watched his enemies withdraw back into their surroundings. His gaze remained fixed upon this retreat—an observation of their tactics, though one tainted by a cold and steady hatred.

He was reluctant to let them walk, alert to the possibility that another assault may soon come. MECH was always an unpredictable enemy. They walked the shadows and often rebound from seeming defeats with a new ace up their sleeves. This put Megatron ill at ease, and so he watched.

And he would have continued to do so for a long time, were he not to notice Starscream’s hand falling limp to the side of his body. Its position, the sudden movement, it gave away what had transpired ere he turned to observe the aftermath.

He knew, but he said nothing.

Instead, Megatron trudged towards the ailing mech.

“Can you walk?” He asked, knowing full well that it must have been a struggle for him to simply remain upright. Over the years, the two of them have become quite aware of each other’s limits, and it was clear to Megatron that Starscream had now been pushed to the margins of his.

In that respect, this outing had failed as a display of power, but it mattered far too little now. He had a second-in-command to take care of and a component to collect. Already, his mind drifted away from his original intentions, knowing full well that they had gained little from this encounter except from the pilfered piece.

Resigned to the current outcome, Megatron contacted someone over comms. They would be leaving soon, should his concerns of a second assault prove unfounded—and in the opposite scenario, MECH would face a harsher opposition than Megatron alone.

[Starscream]

Watching with narrowed optics as the turret – and its operator – were taken out in a rather satisfying eruption of flame and noise, Starscream would take another step back, and with it, his arm, and the missile that'd been ready to finish the weapon himself, would lower.

A low, pained gasp would escape him, finally, as the momentary relief upon seeing the thing destroyed sank in. While he did not doubt Megatron's aim a second time around, fool me once- shame on you… Fool me twice? Well, he wasn't about to take that risk, not after the damage that'd already been inflicted on his frame, and as the other mech turned, the silver Seeker could only hope that the Warlord knew the desperate reasons why he had raised his arm at all.

Those that managed to survive the scattered blasts, as probably few and far between as they currently were? He paid them no mind as they ran. Unless they had a backup plan that involved further heavy artillery, then he cared very little for what they did.

His gaze did not leave the Warlord as he made his way over, tentatively moving his left arm across himself to hold his right - wings twitching, only to immediately regret it as a surge of stinging pain shot through him at even the slightest movement, causing him to wince.

A quick nod was the immediate reply to the question. As hurt as he was, and as painful as it was to move? He did not want to lower himself to the point of asking for assistance – especially not from Megatron, whose disdain for weakness was palpable.

Gritting his denta, Starscream carefully shifted his weight - forcing himself to remain upright despite the searing white-hot pain that screamed at him to do anything but in this moment of stillness, determined to prove that he was still a valuable asset, even in his compromised state. He did not see this as a failure, merely a dangerous enemy getting a temporary win, with him taking the brunt of things due to the other mech failing to hit his target the first time.

It would not happen again.

"Yes." he hissed, after a moment. "I'll manage."

Flying would be all but impossible, and he did not dare look at his wings and the damage that'd been inflicted. No attempts were made to keep them held upright, and he'd let them relax behind himself, trying to ignore the pain that seemed to radiate across his entire frame.

"Are you alright?"

While his Master seemed to have fared far better than he, MECH had managed to inflict damage to him as well. The silver Seeker's voice was strained, though laced with concern, optics searching Megatron's form for signs of critical injury, even as he struggled to keep his own pain in check.

[Megatron]

Megatron did not acknowledge Starscream's answer with much more than the subtlest of nods, if even that. It was more akin to a slight incline of the helm, a flicker in the optic, and not much else. However, the question that followed did chip away at his walled facade for a spell. He felt tempted to spur the Seeker's concern instinctively. Starscream's ambition, he thought, would not allow for him to genuinely consider the well-being of his lord, and so any worries voiced by him would have very likely been understood as mere formalities, ones not truly meant.

Lies.

Yet Megatron did nothing to disparage his words. After a moment of hesitance, he put aside the constant, little mind-game of theirs in favor of reality. The cold hard truth was that Starscream had been injured, severely, and far more than the Warlord himself. He posed no threat. He would require the utmost care, and aught else was secondary, including his own injuries. They paled in comparison to the Seeker's. He understood that the grievousness of it all outweighed any would-be schemes or double meanings he could read into their situation.

And so, harsh yet plain-spoken coldness was restored, only skirting the line of their usual stock.

"Never you mind that, Starscream," the Warlord answered sternly, "We both know that it takes more than this to kill me."

Was he hinting at something specific, or was it a general statement? It mattered little in the then and there. Megatron continued as if there was nothing more to be said on his present condition, even as blue Energon continued to trickle down the length of his arm. It would not be long then before the sea-foam hues of a bridge overpowered the faint glow of the tyrant's lifeblood.

"Medical attention awaits us upon arrival, so make haste."

For a moment, his attention slipped from Starscream as he scanned his surroundings, the dying embers of ambient flames and the still-constant chemical fires coalesced around spilled Energon and destroyed machinery. A piece of the Hymn could very well remain here, he surmised. An investigation would have to be launched, the camp put under surveillance, but that was a matter for another day.

For now, they had wounds to tend to. Megatron almost seemed melancholy when he finally faced the opening portal—as if he had failed at something important tonight, or perhaps at something he had intended to do, had this confrontation turned out differently. No matter. Now, he waited for Starscream to pass through, so that he could turn the key and close the gate behind them.

[Starscream]

The subtle helm incline from his Master went unnoticed, with the silver Seeker momentarily averting his gaze from the other mech as he winced, hissing out with a sharp intake as he struggled to maintain his composure. It was only when the Warlord spoke did his attention drift back in his direction.

Under normal circumstances, the words would've left Starscream reading between the lines and frantically searching for some sort of hint or clue as to the exact meaning behind them. Not this day, however, and a weary grimace was the only reply - paired with a nod.

Unaware that anyone had been contacted, the sight of the bridge was a welcome one indeed - and a careful step toward it was taken. Despite his own injuries, he certainly knew his place; and only upon realizing that the Warlord was waiting on him to go first did he proceed further. Moving with staggered steps, each footfall was a painful testament to his frailty, a trail of brilliant blue left in his wake. His once-proud wings sank low behind himself, twitching involuntarily - sending spasms of agony throughout his frame as the nerves beneath them fired in a chaotic dance of distress.

Yet even despite this, his pride remained resolute. Stubborn, he continued onward - not once glancing to Megatron as a silent request for assistance. No. He could – and would – make his own way through the offered bridge.

He could only hope Flatline was ready on the other side.

-Fin