The Planet Smasher was gone. The moon engines rumbled beneath their feet. The Decepticons were in chaos. And Megatron—Megatron stumbled. Starscream’s optics lit with unhinged glee. He pounced, a whirlwind of missiles and claws, driving his master into the ground. “Your reign is over! I am the rightful leader of the Decepticons!” His laughter echoed through the control room, manic, desperate. But triumph soured fast. The Autobots pressed closer. Shockwave armed the self-destruct. Starscream abandoned Megatron in the dust, declaring himself leader and scrambling back to the Nemesis. On the bridge, he strutted to the command throne, booted Soundwave aside with a cruel kick, wings high. “Decepticons—behold your new commander!” Sabotage, though, unraveled everything. The engines reversed. The Nemesis shook violently.

And then—Megatron returned. Silent. Relentless. The Seeker’s bravado melted into shrieks as Megatron’s fists pummeled him across the warship, crimson energon painting the deck. Starscream begged, whimpered, clawed for the doors—until the fusion cannon roared. Pain seared through his back, and his broken frame was tossed onto the moon like discarded refuse.

Starscream’s optics flickered. He should have gone dark. But fragged, barely alive, he clung on. And when Megatron’s looming shadow fell over him again, Starscream realized he wasn’t granted death. No, far worse.

When next he opened his optics, a leash bound around his neck plating. Dragged to the throne, knees digging into cold metal, he remained at Megatron’s feet. A trophy. A pet. Humiliation radiated through every wire of his frame, but Megatron’s hand on the leash yanked him closer. “You’ll stay where you belong, Starscream,” Megatron snarled.

And for once, Starscream had no clever retort. Only silence—and a burning hatred that refused to extinguish.