The last of the arena equipment clanged softly as the builders stacked their crates along the bunker wall.
The sound echoed through the underground space, muted by the thick foundations of Kaon above them. Somewhere overhead, Sentinel Prime was still hunting an arena that no longer existed, following traces that had already gone cold while the real machinery of Megatron’s operation settled back into place beneath his feet.
Starscream watched the room in silence.
The bunker was larger than the arena had made it seem from outside. It was not a single chamber so much as a hidden working complex carved into the foundation beneath Kaon: one central operations room, several adjoining corridors, equipment bays beyond that, storage alcoves filled with modular arena components, and a series of reinforced side passages that seemed to lead deeper into the city’s buried infrastructure. Thundercracker and Skywarp had been brought in through a separate access a few minutes earlier, close enough that Starscream knew they were in the bunker, but not in the same room. Scrapper’s crew moved between the outer equipment bay and the central chamber, already discussing the next build location among themselves in low, practical voices.
Scrapper paused at the entrance long enough to report to Megatron. “Arena’s clean. We left enough marks to send Sentinel three blocks east if he bothers reading the ground wrong.”
Megatron’s mouth curved faintly. “He will.”
Scrapper looked pleased by that, though he kept it contained. He was still growing into the shape of leadership, Starscream thought. Not uncertain exactly, but aware of the space he occupied and careful about how he filled it. In the arena, he had directed his team by instinct and necessity. Here, under Megatron’s optics, that same authority sharpened into something he was learning to trust.
“We’ll start breaking down the remaining crates,” Scrapper said. “Unless you need us.”
“Continue.”
Scrapper nodded, then looked briefly toward Starscream. Not deferential. Not dismissive. Assessing. The senator of Vos, standing in a bunker beneath Kaon, surrounded by the machinery of a rebellion that the Senate still insisted on calling unrest.
Starscream inclined his head slightly.
Scrapper returned the gesture, then left the room to rejoin his team in the adjoining bay. The door did not close behind him. Their voices carried faintly through the opening: a rumble that was likely the large hauler Skywarp had been bothering, the sharper tone of Hook giving a medical correction to someone who did not appreciate needing one, and Scrapper’s measured response as he redirected the discussion back to the next build.
Starscream’s optics shifted to Shockwave.
The altered scientist stood near one of the data terminals, his single yellow optic watching everything in the room with quiet calculation. The smooth metal faceplate remained unreadable. The clamps where his hands had once been rested still at his sides. If he had reacted to Starscream’s offhand remark about the six builders becoming one machine, he gave no visible sign now.
That made Starscream trust the silence less.
Soundwave stood at another console, red visor focused on several data feeds moving too quickly for most mechs to follow. His silence was not absence. It was function. Patrol routes adjusted on one screen. Crowd dispersal paths closed on another. Enforcement chatter scrolled in clipped fragments, then vanished into organized files. Soundwave did not ask for attention. He moved information as if the room’s survival depended on his not needing to explain himself.
Megatron remained near the central console, broad arms folded, red optics fixed on a map of Kaon’s industrial sectors.
Starscream studied the screens, the builders moving beyond the doorway, Soundwave silently managing the data feeds, and Shockwave standing with that impossible stillness beside the terminal.
An operation.
Organized.
Deliberate.
Starscream had seen enough.
He folded his arms. “Let’s stop pretending this is only about gladiatorial fights.”
The room quieted slightly.
Megatron turned toward him.
Starscream stepped closer to the center of the chamber. “You are assembling infrastructure.” He gestured toward the screens. “Information networks.” His gaze moved to Soundwave. “Engineering teams.” Then toward the open doorway where Scrapper’s crew worked beyond the central room. “Strategic analysis.” His optics flicked briefly toward Shockwave before returning to Megatron. “So let’s dispense with the theatrics.”
The words were calm. Direct. No gallery performance, no Senate phrasing, no attempt to soften the accusation into diplomacy.
Starscream tilted his head slightly. “What is it you actually want?”
The question hung in the bunker.
Megatron did not answer immediately. He watched Starscream for several seconds, weighing the tone, the timing, and perhaps the fact that Starscream had asked the question without flinching.
Finally, Megatron spoke.
“Cybertron.”
Starscream did not react.
Megatron continued, voice controlled and certain. “The Senate governs a dying system. The caste structure assigns value at creation and buries potential beneath it. You have seen it yourself.”
Starscream nodded once. “Yes.”
Megatron stepped closer to the central table. “The arenas are not the objective. They are a signal. A place where workers gather. A place where they hear the truth.”
Starscream studied him carefully. “And the end of that truth?”
Megatron met his gaze without hesitation. “The end of the Senate.”
Shockwave’s yellow optic flickered faintly in the dim light.
Soundwave remained perfectly still.
Starscream considered the statement for a moment, then nodded slightly. “That was my conclusion as well.”
From the adjoining room, Scrapper’s voice drifted in, dry and just loud enough to carry. “Yeah, that’s usually where this conversation goes.”
Starscream ignored the comment.
Instead, he studied Megatron more closely. “You are not just starting a rebellion.”
Megatron said nothing.
Starscream finished the thought. “You are building a government.”
Megatron’s optics burned slightly brighter. “Yes.”
Starscream allowed the faintest smile. “Good.”
Megatron tilted his head slightly. “You approve.”
“I prefer systems that work.”
The room went quiet again.
Megatron studied him a moment longer, then asked calmly, “And you, senator of Vos? What do you want?”
Starscream did not hesitate. “Information.”
He gestured around the bunker. “Because whatever happens next, I intend to understand it before anyone else does.”
The low hum of the tactical displays filled the pause that followed. Megatron did not seem surprised. Shockwave’s optic remained fixed on him, and Soundwave’s visor did not turn, though Starscream had no doubt he was listening.
Starscream held Megatron’s gaze. “The Senate’s days are numbered.”
No one in the room seemed startled by the statement.
“They silence scientists,” Starscream continued. “They manipulate energon distribution. And now Sentinel hunts gladiators through the streets without the Senate’s approval.” His optics narrowed slightly. “That system cannot sustain itself.”
Megatron nodded once. “You have reached the same conclusion.”
Starscream allowed the faintest hint of a smile. “You already knew I would.” He tilted his head slightly. “Our first meeting. You said the Senate believes the arenas created this movement. I told you revolutions built on anger rarely produce stable systems.”
Shockwave’s optic flickered faintly as he listened.
“You also said something else,” Starscream went on.
Megatron waited.
“That perhaps our interests would align when the time came.”
The room remained silent for a moment.
Starscream glanced briefly toward Soundwave, then back to Megatron. “It would seem that moment is approaching.”
Megatron regarded him for several seconds. “Yes.”
Starscream nodded slightly. “The Senate will not survive what is coming. And I have no intention of going down with it.”
Scrapper let out a quiet chuckle from the equipment bay. “Yeah, that’s been pretty obvious Bif.”
This time Megatron’s optics shifted briefly toward the doorway.
Scrapper’s voice did not return.
Starscream did not look away from Megatron. “For now, our goals appear compatible.”
Megatron’s optics brightened slightly. “For now.”
Shockwave spoke quietly from the terminal. “A temporary alignment of interests is statistically probable.”
Somewhere beyond the room, Skywarp’s voice carried from the corridor. “See? I told you this was going to get interesting.”
Thundercracker muttered something too low to make out.
Starscream’s attention remained on Megatron. “No,” he said calmly. “It already is.”
He let the silence settle, then tilted his head slightly. Alignments were never free. Megatron did not gather pieces without purpose, and he had not allowed Starscream into this bunker out of generosity.
“What would I have that interests you?”
The question was direct.
Megatron did not hesitate. “Aerial superiority.”
The words hung in the room.
Starscream’s optics narrowed slightly.
Megatron continued calmly. “The Senate’s strength is concentrated on the ground.” He gestured toward the tactical displays showing the industrial sectors of Kaon. “Factories. Transportation networks. Energon supply routes.”
Starscream nodded slightly. “Yes.”
Megatron’s gaze sharpened. “But the skies of Cybertron belong to Vos.”
Starscream did not deny it.
Megatron stepped closer to the central table. “When this conflict escalates, control of the air will determine the outcome of every battle.”
Shockwave’s optic flickered faintly. “Strategically accurate.”
Megatron looked directly at Starscream. “The Seekers possess speed, mobility, and altitude advantage.”
From the corridor, Skywarp called, “Well, that’s flattering.”
Thundercracker’s voice followed, dry and restrained. “He’s not wrong.”
Megatron’s optics did not leave Starscream. “I want the skies.”
Starscream considered the request carefully.
He already knew Megatron’s revolution was no passing disturbance. He had seen the corruption in the Senate, seen the workers in Kaon, seen Soundwave’s network move ahead of Sentinel, seen Shockwave’s mutilated frame standing in a laboratory after the Senate tried to erase him. He had seen the builders assemble and dissolve an arena faster than enforcement could reach it. He had watched Megatron turn combat into message, message into movement, and movement into structure.
But this was the first time Megatron had asked him for something specific.
Starscream folded his arms slowly. “You are asking for Vos.”
Megatron shook his head. “No.”
His red optics held steady.
“I am asking for you.”
The room went quiet again.
From the corridor, Skywarp’s voice softened with interest. “Oh.”
Thundercracker sighed. “I had a feeling that was coming.”
Starscream did not answer immediately. He studied Megatron, measuring the difference between ambition and strategy. Megatron wanted an Air Commander because he already understood what the war would require before the war had fully formed. Ground forces could take factories. Workers could disrupt supply. Builders could move infrastructure. Soundwave could control information. Shockwave could shape the logic of the next step.
But Cybertron’s skies were another battlefield entirely.
Megatron was not asking late.
He was asking early.
Eight steps ahead.
“That would depend on how this revolution unfolds,” Starscream said.
Megatron nodded once. “A logical response.”
Starscream allowed the faintest smile. “For now, Vos remains in the sky.” He looked back at Megatron. “And so do I.”
Megatron held his gaze for a few moments longer. “That is acceptable.”
Starscream tilted his head. “You are not concerned with my answer.”
“No.”
Megatron stepped back toward the tactical console. “Because you already know the Senate will not last.”
Starscream did not respond.
Megatron added one last thing.
“Think it over, Air Commander.”
The title hung in the air.
Not a compliment.
Not flattery.
A position named before it existed, offered before Starscream had accepted, placed into the room like a future Megatron already considered likely.
“The Senate will not stand much longer,” Megatron said.
Starscream studied him carefully.
Megatron had not spoken it as a threat.
Only as certainty.
Soundwave stepped forward silently. “Sentinel Prime remains in the district.”
Starscream nodded once. “Of course he does.”
Soundwave gestured toward the exit corridor. "This way."
Starscream followed without argument.
The bunker door opened quietly, and they stepped into a narrow passage leading deeper beneath Kaon’s foundations. Starscream noticed immediately that Soundwave did not lead him back toward the arena district. Instead, they moved through a winding network of maintenance tunnels and abandoned transport corridors.
The route bent away from direct access lifts, descended twice, then cut through a disused service channel that smelled faintly of old coolant and oxidized metal.
Starscream glanced sideways. “This route is inefficient.”
Soundwave answered calmly. “Correct.”
They turned another corner, descending a ramp into a darker section of the underground network.
Starscream understood. “You are avoiding Sentinel.”
“Affirmative.”
Starscream allowed the faintest smile. “Efficient.”
Soundwave did not reply.
They continued through the tunnels for several minutes before reaching an old cargo lift shaft that opened toward the surface levels of the city. Soundwave stopped there, precise and silent as ever.
Starscream stepped onto the lift platform. Before activating it, he looked back at the blue mech.
“You anticipated Sentinel’s movements.”
Soundwave’s red visor held steady. “Observation.”
Starscream nodded slightly. “Of course.”
He paused.
“Tell Megatron something for me.”
Soundwave waited.
Starscream’s optics narrowed slightly as he looked back toward the dark tunnel behind them. “He may be correct about the Senate.”
A faint pause.
“But revolutions have a habit of devouring their own leaders.”
Soundwave processed the statement for a moment.
“Noted.”
Starscream activated the lift. As the platform rose toward the dim lights of Kaon above, he looked back down one last time.
Soundwave was already gone.
Starscream folded his arms slowly.
Megatron wanted the skies.
Perhaps he would have them.
But if the Senate truly was collapsing—
Starscream intended to be standing above it when it did.