The secret base was buried deep within an unnamed desert.
Inside, a vast chamber of polished silver alloy housed rows of silent, towering figures. They were forged from dark steel and complex composites, their armor absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. Intricate, glowing circuitry traced paths across their chassis, hinting at volatile power dormant within.
Though each frame varied slightly in design, they shared a uniform feature on their right shoulders: a stylized emblem of a angular, harsh face.
The Decepticon insignia.
One of the machines, previously inert, suddenly flared to life. Two crimson points of light ignited deep within its optical sockets.
It was the first ripple in a pond.
Following its lead, the other units began to sequence online. The silence of the hangar was broken by the rising hum of capacitors charging, the whine of servos engaging, and the heavy thud of metal shifting against metal. It sounded like a heavy industrial assembly line spinning up to maximum output.
Is that... Starscream?
The moment Nathan's optics focused, they locked onto a figure standing apart from the ranks.
The design was unmistakable. The sleek, aerodynamic F-22 Raptor components integrated into the robot mode. The spindly, predatory limbs. The triangular, helm-like head. The distinct, inverted-triangle torso.
It was the Decepticon Air Commander. The traitor. The Second-in-Command.
Starscream stood motionless, his posture tense, as if waiting for a specific signal or simply basking in his own magnificence.
Nathan didn't immediately move. Instead, he analyzed the figure with a mix of awe and apprehension.
It's really him. The chassis 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 processed his situation rapidly.
Between the conversation he had overheard during boot-up and the data in his cerebral chip, the conclusion was obvious: he was Starscream's creation. He was a direct subordinate.
Starscream was powerful—a Commander class, leader of the Seeker armada. But his fame didn't come from his strength. It came from his ambition.
Every Decepticon knew Starscream wanted to usurp Megatron. And Nathan, knowing the "script" of this universe, knew exactly how that ambition ended.
It was always a failure. A delusion.
"Little one... what are you looking at?"
The voice cut through Nathan's analysis like a whip.
Starscream had been inspecting his new army with satisfaction until he felt a gaze that lingered too long. A gaze that felt... judgmental.
He turned his head. His optics narrowed on a freshly activated drone that was staring at him. Not with the blank obedience of a machine, but with a look that bordered on disrespect.
"No reaction? Are your cognitive circuits lagging?"
When the drone didn't immediately avert its gaze, Starscream's suspicion spiked. He took a step forward.
What?
Nathan's spark pulsed in alarm. He saw Starscream stalking toward him and realized his mistake too late.
Idiot. I was staring.
He had forgotten he was no longer watching a movie screen. In the Decepticon ranks, prolonged eye contact wasn't curiosity—it was a challenge.
"Tell me, little one. Why were you staring at me?"
Starscream loomed over him. The Air Commander was massive compared to a mid-tier ground unit. His voice dripped with malice.
For a Cybertronian who had lived for eons, calling a minutes-old drone "little one" was a literal statement.
Nathan's internal cooling fans spun up to maximum. If he had a human heart, it would have burst.
"Lord Starscream."
Nathan dipped his head, forcing his vocalizer to remain steady. He knew that silence was often the safest defense, but not when a Seeker was asking a direct question.
Please don't notice anything wrong. Please just be paranoid...
BAM!
"Gah—!!"
The prayer died in his vocalizer.
A clawed hand shot out, seizing Nathan by the throat cables. The world tilted violently as he was hoisted into the air. With a casual flick of his wrist, Starscream slammed him backward.
CRASH!
Nathan's chassis collided with the reinforced wall.
SKREEEE—
Metal shrieked against metal as he slid, sparks showering the floor like fireworks.
[ WARNING: IMPACT DETECTED! ]
[ INTEGRITY COMPROMISED: TORSO PLATING. ]
His HUD went red. A combat interface—strikingly similar to a First-Person Shooter game—snapped into place, highlighting the damage vectors.
CLACK.
Instinct took over. Nathan's right arm shifted, panels sliding back to deploy a heavy-caliber blaster. He raised it, targeting the threat.
But then he met Starscream's eyes.
Cold. Dead. Utterly devoid of mercy.
Nathan froze. He forced his targeting computer to disengage. He forced the weapon to retract.
Don't shoot. Decepticons don't do mercy. If I fight back, he shreds me.
Starscream watched the hesitation. A cruel smirk twisted his faceplates. He thrived on hierarchy, on the absolute submission of those beneath him. A drone that knew its place was a useful drone.
"You know, little one..."
Starscream leaned in, his breath venting hot exhaust against Nathan's face.
"The way you looked at me... I found it very unpleasant."
Nathan remained silent, projecting an aura of total 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 crushed against Nathan's neck struts. "You still haven't answered. Why. Were. You. Staring?"
"Urgh..." The light in Nathan's optics flickered uncontrollably.
He finally understood why the robots in the movies groaned when hit. It wasn't sound effects. It was pain. His sensors were screaming, transmitting the crushing pressure as genuine agony.
He had to answer. A wrong word meant scrap metal.
A desperate 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 jagged 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 his chest casing where the Energy Core hummed. Finally, he seemed to lose interest.
"Good. Keep it that way. You know the consequences of deception."
He released his grip.
Nathan dropped to the floor, metal scraping harshly.
Safe.
He vented a burst of hot air. He hadn't been gambling blindly. He knew that artificially created Decepticons were viewed as simple tools. They had learning algorithms, but fresh out of the tank, they were expected to be blank slates.
As long as I play the idiot, he won't suspect I'm smart.
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 room with a thunderous THUD.
[ MINOR DAMAGE DETECTED. ]
[ AUTO-REPAIR INITIATED... ]
"Motherf— Starscream, you son of a—"
Nathan lay in a heap, his internal monologue unleashing a stream of profanity that would have made a sailor blush.
He groaned, his servos whining as he pushed himself upright. He retracted his weapon, shaking the dizziness from his gyroscope.
The floor was pristine. Not a scratch. His armor, however, was dented.
So this is the Decepticon life.
I looked at him wrong, and he threw me 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, of someone who knew the plot. Subconsciously, he had felt superior because he knew the future.
Starscream had sensed that arrogance.
It's like staring at a tiger in a zoo, forgetting that the glass is 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 I don't treat this world with the terror it deserves, the next time I hit a wall, I won't get up.