The sky above Vos was quiet.
Starscream stood alone on the upper observation platform, watching the first light of the cycle spread across the horizon. The floating city moved steadily through the upper atmosphere, its stabilizers humming beneath the deck plating while the towers caught the light in long silver bands. Above the outer ring, Seekers were already in the air, three wings cutting across the sky in clean triangular formations before breaking apart and reforming again under Dirge’s direction. Their spacing was tighter now. Their turns were sharper. They were improving.
Starscream folded his arms behind his back.
The drills had been running for cycles, and the pilots were beginning to move as units rather than individuals. That mattered. It mattered more now than it had when training began. Before, he had been preparing Vos because preparation was logical, because Altivus had left the city vulnerable, because the Senate had nearly grounded an aerial civilization and called it policy.
Now he had seen what Megatron was building beneath Kaon.
Now he had seen Devastator stand.
His processors replayed the memory from the testing chamber: six machines, one giant, red optics alive, one massive step shaking the reinforced floor.
Devastator.
Devastator obey Megatron.
Starscream had expected a weapon. What Shockwave had created was something else entirely. Devastator could break cities. When Megatron brought war to Cybertron, and Starscream had no doubt now that he would, the Senate would not survive it.
His optics followed the formations above Vos as they climbed higher into the morning sky. These flyers were his responsibility. Vos was his responsibility. If he intended to bring the Seekers through the coming war, he had to choose with precision. Not sentiment. Not loyalty to a Senate that had already proven itself corrupt, shortsighted, and weak. The question was no longer whether Megatron could challenge the existing order. The question was whether anyone could stop him.
Starscream said nothing aloud, but the decision had nearly formed.
Above him, the wings of Vos continued cutting across the morning sky, and now he knew exactly who those skies would belong to when the war began.
He remained on the observation platform long after the first drills had begun. The sky above Vos filled with movement as wings of Seekers cut through the air in disciplined triangular formations. Their engines carved pale lines across the morning light as they climbed, rolled, and reformed under the patterns he had established.
Improvement alone would not be enough.
Starscream’s optics tracked the formations carefully. He was no longer simply watching the drills. He was watching the pilots.
Dirge held his wing together well. The conehead Seeker corrected spacing errors quickly, adjusting altitude and direction with a precision that told Starscream he understood the purpose behind the formations rather than merely following orders. That was promising. Dirge had done well while Starscream and his trine had been away, and Starscream made a quiet note of it.
But one wing leader was not enough. If the Seekers were going to survive the war that was coming, he would need pilots he could trust to hold the line even when he was not present. His gaze shifted upward again as another formation crossed the horizon. One pilot drifted slightly out of position, and Dirge corrected it instantly.
Good.
Starscream watched another group farther out along the flight corridor. That wing hesitated when Thundercracker called for a sharp altitude change. One pilot reacted quickly. Another lagged half a second behind. Starscream marked that as well.
He was no longer evaluating skill alone. Speed mattered. Endurance mattered. But what he was really looking for now was something else.
Judgment.
Initiative.
Pilots who could lead without waiting to be told.
From this point forward, he would be watching intentionally. Every drill. Every formation. Every correction. The Seekers thought they were training. In reality, they were being selected.
By the time the Senate assembled again, Vos had changed.
Starscream stood at his platform in the chamber, wings folded neatly behind him as the session floor slowly filled with senators and aides. From the outside, nothing appeared different, but he knew better. Above Vos, hundreds of wings now answered to him. The drills had expanded far beyond the first few formations he had demonstrated. Squadrons had become wings, and wings had begun organizing into rotating patrol groups. Every time the arenas appeared in Kaon, more pilots found their way to Vos afterward. Some came quietly. Some openly. All of them understood what was coming, and they wanted to be on the side that would survive it.
Starscream kept his expression neutral as the chamber doors opened and Sentinel Prime entered.
“The Senate of Cybertron is now in session.”
The words sounded official, but Sentinel himself was anything but composed. Starscream noticed the change immediately. Two enforcers walked with him, and they did not remain at the entrance. They followed Sentinel all the way to the central dais and positioned themselves on either side of him.
Constantly.
Thundercracker, observing from the visitors’ gallery above, muttered quietly, “That’s new.”
Starscream said nothing.
Sentinel activated the chamber controls, but his movements lacked the calm authority he once carried. The frustration from the arena hunts and the growing unrest across Cybertron had begun to show. Starscream’s gaze shifted across the Senate floor, pausing briefly on one platform that remained empty.
Tarn.
Still without representation.
He filed that away again, then let his optics move farther across the chamber.
Kaon’s platform.
Soundwave stood there.
Silent. Motionless. No insignia marked his chest. Nothing declared the depth of his allegiance. To the Senate, he appeared to be the same controlled representative standing in Ratbat’s place, silent and exact, a functionary occupying a platform his superior had abandoned.
Starscream knew better.
Sentinel’s gaze flicked toward the Kaon platform anyway, and his expression hardened.
“The movement forming across Kaon’s industrial districts continues to destabilize Cybertron,” Sentinel said.
A ripple of conversation moved through the Senate.
Sentinel leaned forward slightly on the central console. “These uprisings are being fueled by illegal gatherings and gladiatorial arenas. The individual calling himself Megatron is openly challenging the authority of this government.”
Starscream watched the chamber carefully. Many of the senators did not look angry. They looked annoyed. Disrupted trade. Interrupted production. Profit margins threatened.
Sentinel continued, voice tightening with every word. “I am requesting authorization to deploy full enforcement divisions to eliminate this uprising.”
The word eliminate echoed through the chamber.
Several senators shifted uncomfortably. Others exchanged quiet glances. Starscream saw the pattern clearly. Greedy. Short-sighted. Most of them cared about only one thing.
Profit.
Sentinel was losing control of the room, but the anger in his voice was unmistakable. The rise of Megatron’s movement was becoming too much for him to contain, and he wanted permission to crush it.
A murmur rolled through the Senate chamber after Sentinel’s demand. Not all of it was agreement. Several senators shifted uneasily in their platforms, exchanging glances across the tiers of the amphitheater. A few leaned toward their consoles, activating private channels to speak quietly with their aides.
Then one voice rose above the noise.
“The lower castes cannot sustain an uprising.”
Starscream turned slightly to see who had spoken. A senator from one of the industrial districts stood rigidly at his platform, optics narrowed with clear disdain.
“They lack the coordination,” the senator continued. “They lack the resources. They lack the discipline.”
Another voice joined in from a different platform. “This so-called movement is nothing more than labor agitation.”
A third senator scoffed openly. “Gladiators and miners do not overthrow governments.”
Several others nodded.
These were the hardline caste loyalists, mechs who believed the system existed exactly as it should. Starscream watched them carefully. They were not arguing that Megatron was dangerous. They were arguing that Megatron was impossible. The lower castes simply could not do this.
Sentinel saw the opening immediately. His frustration hardened into something more controlled as he addressed the chamber again. “Exactly. These uprisings are not spontaneous.” He gestured toward Soundwave’s silent figure on Kaon’s platform. “They are being organized.”
Several senators quieted at that.
Sentinel pressed forward. “The lower castes do not possess the strategic capability to construct mobile arenas across half the industrial sectors. They do not possess the communications infrastructure to evade enforcement patrols repeatedly.” He paused, letting the words settle. “They are being directed.”
The implication hung heavily in the chamber.
Sentinel straightened. “And that is precisely why decisive action is required.”
Starscream watched the Senate closely. Sentinel was using their prejudice against them. If the lower castes could not do this, then someone must be leading them. Which meant this was no longer a labor disturbance.
It was, in Sentinel’s framing, a coordinated insurrection.
And that gave him the justification he wanted.
Sentinel’s gaze swept across the chamber. “I again request authorization to deploy full enforcement divisions to remove the leadership of this movement before it spreads further.”
The chamber fell into tense silence.
Starscream folded his arms slightly behind his back. The senators still believed they were debating a disturbance. He already knew better. Because beneath Kaon, he had seen what Megatron was building. And if the Senate thought the lower castes were incapable of organization, then they had already lost the war.
No one rushed to respond. Starscream watched the tiers of platforms carefully. Some senators whispered among themselves. Others stared down at their consoles, running calculations that had nothing to do with war and everything to do with trade routes, supply lines, and the stability of their investments.
Finally, one of the commerce senators spoke. “If these arenas continue to disrupt industrial production, the losses will spread across multiple sectors.”
Another answered from across the chamber. “Temporary disruption is preferable to a full enforcement campaign across the industrial cities.”
A third senator leaned forward sharply. “If the lower castes believe they can challenge Senate authority without consequence, the disruption will not remain temporary.”
The arguments continued for several minutes. Profit. Production. Control. Very few of them spoke about lives.
Starscream kept his optics forward, saying nothing. He did not need to. Sentinel was doing the work for him.
Eventually, the Speaker struck the console with a sharp tone that echoed across the amphitheater. “The matter will be decided by vote.”
The chamber quieted.
Sentinel’s voice carried across the tiers. “All senators will cast their decision on authorization for full enforcement deployment against the uprising.”
Lights appeared on every platform console.
Starscream watched the chamber, then cast his vote.
Against.
Not because he believed the Senate could be saved from itself. Not because he believed Megatron’s movement would vanish if Sentinel were denied authority. It was principle, and perhaps strategy, though the two aligned neatly enough here. He would not vote to grant Sentinel permission to crush workers for proving the Senate had failed them.
The votes began appearing one by one across the central display. Green. Red. Green. Red. The count climbed slowly. Some senators voted quickly. Others hesitated before committing. Starscream studied the shifting numbers carefully. For a moment, it looked as if the motion might fail.
Then another vote appeared.
And another.
The final tally locked into place above the chamber floor.
AUTHORIZATION APPROVED.
But only barely.
A thin margin.
The chamber murmured quietly as the results settled across the platforms. Sentinel looked up at the display, and the tension in his frame finally released slightly. He had his authority.
Starscream folded his arms behind his back again.
Barely.
That margin told him something important.
Even within the Senate, not everyone believed Sentinel could win this.
The chamber filled with low conversation as the vote finalized across the central display. Starscream remained still at his platform, wings folded neatly behind him as if the outcome had not surprised him in the slightest. Inside, however, he was already measuring the implications. Sentinel now had his authority, which meant the hunts would escalate. More patrols. More raids. More pressure on the arenas. But the narrow margin of the vote told another story entirely.
Even the Senate was uncertain.
Starscream let his gaze drift across the chamber as the murmurs continued. Many of the senators looked relieved. Others looked worried. A few already looked calculating.
Then his optics shifted slightly to the side.
Kaon’s platform.
Soundwave stood there exactly as before, still and silent, one hand resting lightly on the console before him as if he were simply attending the session like any other representative. To anyone watching, Soundwave appeared to be doing nothing at all. No visible reaction. No movement. Just quiet observation.
Starscream knew better.
Soundwave had built an information network that reached across Kaon and beyond. If anyone in this chamber was not truly alone, it was him.
Starscream allowed himself the smallest shift of his head, just enough to glance toward him.
If Megatron was listening, and Starscream was fairly certain he was, then he would already know exactly what had just happened here.
Sentinel believed he had gained control of the situation.
Starscream looked back toward the central display where the vote total still glowed above the chamber floor.
But Megatron would already know the truth.
The Senate had just declared war.
And Megatron’s side had been ready for it long before the vote ever happened.