Hymn v2

by Soggy Phoenix

Remake of Hymn In this war, you're either for the Autobots or against them, not somewhere in between. In this war, you're either a casualty or a fighter. It's up to you to make that choice.

Hymn

A/N: This is a long fic, the rewrite of the original Hymn. It's basically made up of loosely connected oneshots that center on most of the main cast, or at least the main cast that won't be explained away in Mantra, Hymn's sequel piece. That'll come later, though. For right now you have Hymn, a rather in-depth character-driven story that takes a good long look at a what-if situation composing of what would happen if Megatron had actually succeeded in breaking through the Space Bridge to Cybertron. It's not really that clear here. Sorry. Units of time generally follow this pattern: Stellar cycle=year, megacycle=hour, nanoclick=second.

It's not meant to be an 'Autobots are terrible!' fic, though it may come across like that multiple times. It's not meant to be a 'Decepticons are terrible!' fic either. This is simply a fic that looks at both sides without bias and tries to determine a darker world that they live in and which the cartoon, due to its demographic, can only hint at. As such, Hymn can be angst-ridden or it can have its own humorous points. For some characters, it's impossible to avoid that humor. Mostly angst-ridden though.

There are also OCs in this, mostly because I can't accept the fact that the only Transformers are the ones that are presented to us. They are a race, not just a bunch of characters thrown at us by the writers. I also admit to an added bit, albeit small, of fanwank in the form of Optimal Magnus. He is nothing but a name now, really, and Ultra Magnus' predecessor. At some point Ultra Magnus was not the Magnus, which meant that the hammer belonged to someone else. And yes, the hammer is the Matrix of Animated. It's called Stormbringer, too. Fitting, right? Anyway, the OCs are as much characters and as important or not as the rest of the stories told here. You are welcome to read or not to read them, and concrit is always welcome.

I wouldn't dream of ruining anything, so I'll end this little introduction with a few more brief points. Hymn is merely a set-up for a verse called Mantra that will have one-shots focusing on the characters here and more not mentioned. Each section of this fic was carefully juxtaposed for the best effect. This can, as I have been told, loosely be affiliated with the Anthem-verse that Ironical Jester and Oxbridgefemme have created. In my terms, outside of the honor that was granted to Hymn, it is part of the Hymn-Mantra verse. The only one who has any permission to repost this elsewhere is Oxbridgefemme.

I do hope you find it as enjoyable to read as I found it to write.

"We are here today to bear witness to the sentencing of the Autobot Bulkhead, for aiding and abetting our enemy in creating a Space Bridge to Cybertron, despite the fact that they have been banned from setting servos onto the planet..." nearly all of the Autobots in the building quailed at the voice of Ultra Magnus, the great Autobot leader looking down on Bulkhead disapprovingly. Treachery did not go unpunished in the Autobot corps, even if the treachery was done to save an Autobot's spark. Bulkhead had acted out of a desire to save and prove himself versus working for the ultimate good of his comrades. Such a thing was punishable in the Autobot corps, and without a trial; the command did not take kindly to a soldier acting out of his own self-interest. "Do you have any words to say before permanent exile?"

"Exile? But, wait, the Decepticons had threatened my friends..." it was a small voice, and Optimus shrank back after realizing it came from Bulkhead. No one deserved exile; even Wasp hadn't been exiled, merely sent to the stockades. Not that the stockades weren't punishment enough, Optimus thought with a shudder, but anything was better than exile. The pained expressions of the other Autobots as they stared at Ultra Magnus was comforting, almost as comforting as the storm of anger that unleashed itself. Autobots always treated their own correctly, and this was barbaric. They had never exiled anyone in their long lives.

"Be silent, all of you!" barked Ultra Magnus. The great leader slammed his hammer to the ground, silencing everyone in the room. "This may be an unprecedented event, but this soldier has committed treason! There isn't any punishment fitting for the deaths that will rest on his shoulders, besides death. We, however, do not kill our own. The only thing that he will experience will be the pain of knowing what he has caused and never being able to correct his error."

Bulkhead quivered at the weight of the words and took a step backwards. His optics darted towards Optimus and Optimus looked away. There was nothing he could do for Bulkhead, not now anyway. The only one who could possibly help him was Ratchet, and the medic wasn't even paying attention. Ratchet's optics were locked upon Omega Supreme, and were unreadable. Optimus wasn't sure if even Prowl, if the ninja-bot had still been online, could read them.

"Guys?" Bulkhead pleaded, tearing Optimus' focus away from Ratchet. All optics were locked on the soon-to-be ex-Autobot, and the mech shrunk into himself. He suddenly looked very, very small to Optimus. "Guys, please, tell him it was nothing," begged Bulkhead. Optimus lifted his head and opened his mouth to speak, closing it just as suddenly. Fear stopped him when he would have the most reason to speak. His career already lay in shambles for insubordination as well as personal choice. To ruin it further was something he did not wish to do. Optimus paused, briefly wondering when what he wanted became important.

In the event that one was exiled, though it only happened once before in this type of manner and would never happen again, it was the duty of the second-in-command to strip the unfortunate Autobot of his insignia. The red patch was always temporary, as if reminding those who bore it into battle how fragile the Autobot way held onto life. Optimus knew already that Jazz had refused to be in such a position, and it was Sentinel that walked through the double doors. His face was expressionless, a living mask as he made his way to Bulkhead. Optimus took some comfort in Sentinel's body language. It, more than anything on his face, was a signal to how completely unwilling he was. Sentinel's hand lingered over Bulkhead's chest, hesitating for a brief moment, long enough for the doors to crash open. In stepped one small yellow Autobot, his optics blazing.

"Wait!" cried Bumblebee as he raced to Bulkhead's side. Pushing on Sentinel until the bigger mech gave way and stepped back, Bumblebee panted. "Sir, if you exile Bulkhead," he began, turning to the Autobot commander, "you will have to exile me too. This is against everything that I have been taught as an Autobot soldier, sir! There has been no trial, only your judgement! We uphold truth and justice, and we can't give it to one of our own?! I'm not about to leave a friend to deactivate rust-covered in some dark corner of Cybertron!"

"He's digging his own grave with that nonsense," Ratchet muttered in Optimus' audio. "Look at him. He's bringing up himself in front of Ultra Magnus. What he wants is irrelevant now," Optimus nodded at Ratchet's words. They made sense, but Optimus' hands still crumpled the arms of his seat.

No one in the room would later say that Ultra Magnus was unaffected, but in the heat of the moment his bland expression never faltered. The mark of a great leader among the Autobots was one who would never bend to the comments of others. "Bulkhead is a cog working against the Autobot machine, and must be removed for the good of the unit. You still work with us, and therefore you are not being exiled."

Magnus gestured to another Autobot standing in the corner, quiet, the newly created mech watching the proceedings with something akin to awe. Optimus stared at the newcomer, not wanting to believe what he knew was coming. "Crumplezone will have the unit running again just like new." There it was. That was the new Bulkhead, and they were all meant to forget about their friend. But that was how it was, argued another part of Optimus, and that was how it had to be. Parts were interchangeable, after all. Even Bumblebee would bend to that.

"No." Bumblebee's defiance drew attention that the young bot desperately did not need, and Optimus sank lower in his seat. "Bulkhead is my friend. I'm not going to just allow you to make me think he never existed! If this is how the Autobots conduct themselves, then I'm not sure that I want to be a part of it anymore!" Bumblebee tore off his own insignia, throwing it to the floor.

An uproar filled the air as every Autobot began shouting at once. How dare this simple little yellow worker disregard everything that he had been given? Personal preference meant nothing in this room or out of it, or even on Cybertron herself. Bumblebee was willfully disregarding the creed that had been beaten into every spark since they were created. Optimus looked down at Bumblebee and his mouth hung open. Only Ratchet wasn't surprised, his expression impassive and still locked on Omega Supreme.

It was too much for the young Prime and he jumped to his feet, raising a hand like a student. "Ultra Magnus, sir!" he shouted. All optics turned to him and he trembled. It passed in a matter of moments and he stood proud and tall, the spitting image of the mech he had been named for. "This is my crew, sir. You cannot exile them without exiling me. Where they go, I must follow. I am their leader."

The room was silent, the shock of Bumblebee's defiance forgotten. Optimus Prime, the mech to rival Sentinel Prime and perhaps even Ultra Magnus was going with his crew? The namesake of the greatest leader the Autobots ever had was leaving with only defiance as his legacy. Optimus dropped his gaze and looked at the ground. "I will not have my crew scattered to all ends of the world. It is enough that we have lost Prowl."

"So be it. Sentinel?" Optimus stepped down from the podium at Magnus' words, standing beside his men. No one could help but notice that Ratchet had not moved and had not cried out to disagree. To the crew below, Sentinel's hand gently taking off the very symbol that bound them to the Autobots, it hardly mattered. Optimus cast his optics up at Ratchet and the medic didn't bother to look back down. What was one medic, close to him as he was, compared with this loss?

"You should've kept your big trap shut, maintenance bot," Sentinel hissed with a look to Magnus. "Now you've gone and put my career on the line as well as ended yours. What were you thinking?"

"That's hardly the Autobot way, Sentinel, to think about yourself," Optimus answered. His dental platings grated against each other but he said nothing more; there was nothing more to say to his old friend. Sentinel's face was just a closed door to Optimus now, and he would never be allowed to know what Sentinel was thinking again, not even on the topic of their old friend Elita-One, better known as Blackarachnia. Only a stubborn sense of pride, suddenly rekindled, kept Optimus from spilling the truth to Sentinel then. Perhaps it was best; Sentinel wouldn't understand. It didn't matter to Optimus anymore. Telling him was no longer Optimus' responsibility. Being an Autobot was no longer his responsibility.

"Dismissed," Ultra Magnus said, and soon hands were shoving them out of the facility, pushing them out past the doors. "Till all are one, gentlemen." Ratchet looked at them all then, but his face was just as closed as Sentinel's and just as dispassionate. He watched his comrades be herded to the door, hands pressing on them from all sides. Slurs and threats raged from all sides

The doors swung shut and slammed in the ex-Autobots faces. They were alone, locked out of the only home that they had ever known. Soon Cybertron would be naught but their tomb if they stayed, and the three turned and staggered away. There could be no solace found in these halls anymore, not for them. Their brethren had turned their backs to them, and Optimus was willing to be he could turn his back as well. They had done nothing in his defense, and he had given them his all.

Optimus was beginning to wonder when he was going to get recognition for his deeds, and that scared him senseless.

--------------------------

It wasn't fair. An empty room that had no right to be empty, and only the memory of a family remained. Optimus Prime--gone. Prowl--offline. Even Ratchet, Bumblebee--her best friend--Bulkhead, and her father were gone. Sari stood in a lonely coffin and stared at the place where she had considered herself happy. The TV she and Bumblebee had watched numerous times stood proudly as did the same obstacle course that Sari had used to learn with Prowl watching on. The young techno-organic fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around her body. Prowl was offline, a piece of debris stabbing him through the spark. Optimus and the others, even Bumblebee, had left her. Her father...

Sari shut out the thought and pretended that it didn't exist. All she wanted to think about was that she had circuitry running through her. Electricity and circuitry, with no trace of any organic tissue. If Ratchet had been there he would have told her exactly what she was, but he was gone. They had all left once the Decepticons went through the space bridge and abandoned her to be alone. Megatron had made sure that she would never have comfort again.

Tears began to well in Sari's eyes as she stood and stumbled through the base. Everything was just as they left it as if they had never left at all. Bumblebee's quarters were just as messy as always, and Bulkhead's filled with odds and ends for his art projects. Ratchet's had his medical tools and a few holograms of those that he had lost. Optimus' was spare, as was Prowl, both preferring to live with the minimum. Sari could never live without some idea of comfort.

But that comfort that had been with her for almost a year was gone now. It could all have been a dream if it hadn't been for the key that hung loosely around her neck. The only thing that proved the last several months had been filled with danger and laughter was hanging around Sari's neck and taunting her with its presence. It was, of course, powerless now, but she knew it would have been easier if she had lost it in the battle when Omega swooped in too late. But she hadn't, and the last memory of her family she had was of them sternly telling her to stay put before jumping into the space bridge. Without any contact there was no way to know how they were or where they had been, or if they even cared that she was alone.

"Stupid..." she whispered as she came to her designated room. It was filled with memories of laughter and joy. The emotions were the furthest from Sari's mind and she slammed her metal fist into the wall. Sensors that she could no longer call nerves transmitted the pain to her mainframe that she could no longer call a brain. Did she even have a heart? There had to be something there, or she would never be able to feel the pain that ate away at her insides.

"Stupid!" she screamed at the ceiling, expecting no response and getting none save her own echo. Though so normally filled with laughter and joy when they were with her, the base was a memorial to the Autobots. Detroit agreed that they were all better off without the hulking menaces and were relieved to get on with their collective lives. "Stupid stupid stupid," she repeated over and over, clutching at the word like a sacred chant. "All of them are stupid! Don't they care what the Autobots sacrificed for them?!"

Sari caught a glimpse of herself reflected off of the TV and drew in a sharp breath. There was almost no recognizing her now--her hair had been shaken loose and was hanging down to the small of her back. A nick on her cheek revealed not blood but sparking wires that threatened to electrocute her, only they couldn't electrocute her unless she completed a circuit with something else. Tutor Bot had taught her that much. Her eyes were no longer the red that they had been but now a blue to rival that of the Autobots. Not pure metal and not pure organic, Sari didn't belong anywhere--a freak of nature.

Oh, and she was older as well, much older than she had been, if robots could age the same way organics did. Sari snorted and shook her head. Of course they didn't, she rationalized. If they did, she wouldn't look like she had aged ten years overnight. "Everything is so stupid," she wailed as she sobbed. Sinking to the ground was no longer a concept of thinking and having it be done but of willing her circuits to bend. Now that she realized she wasn't an organic, everything had become so much harder. Even breathing was harder as she had to will it to happen instead of the natural rhythm of in and out.

"I can't even breathe normally anymore, my dad is de--" she stopped. Sari would never say the word, not even when shoved with the truth in her face. That fusion cannon blast had never happened. Megatron had never fired. Isaac Sumdac was going to walk through that door and everything would be normal. The Autobots--her family--would be back and everything would be complete. No Decepticon attacks and no villains to stop. Only the Autobots, Isaac, and herself together in their own play.

But the curtains had fallen already on the twisted show that had become Sari's life. They were all scattered across various times and places. Curtain rise, curtain fall. Exeunt. And they all had.

"It doesn't make sense," Sari whimpered as the memories she tried so desperately to run from came rushing back to her. "Why did they leave me here all alone? They could have stayed. They could have taken me with them!" But they hadn't, a voice mocked, and she was alone on a planet that was no longer hers. Seekers swept across her vision and attacked the startled Autobots below. Megatron in command of the situation and blasting Starscream out of the sky and down into a forest. Optimus grappling with the Decepticon commander as the Autobot attempted to save the planet. Then Megatron was gone, as were the other Decepticons, but not without a parting shot.

Isaac Sumdac's words still resounded in Sari's ears--not ears, audios--before he had been... had been... Sari didn't know how to say it or what it was. Could something that wasn't ever truly alive be a murderer? All Megatron consisted of were wires and circuits like a computer. A computer didn't have a fusion cannon and an army, true, but it was what Megatron was. An oversized computer. An oversized creation of such vast power and a penchant for causing despair within those that he cared nothing for, and Megatron cared for no one.

"He's just a stupid machine," Sari hissed and balled her fists. "A stupid machine that caused the death of my father. No, not my father," she said and a hurt noise left her. Isaac wasn't her true father, not like Daniel and Spike. There was no Carly in her life to be assuring and make sure that her perfectly organic and normal human daughter was safe and loved. "Well, he's dead either way," she said in an attempt to write off the pain of losing the one man who had ever shown her a scrap of what a family could be. "Dead dead dead," she continued, quite past the point of sanity.

So she ached on the cold floor and did not move for as long as she could stand being still. Minutes, hours, or even days might have passed her by, but she didn't know and didn't care to know. Time wasn't an issue for her now and there was no biological clock ticking against her. Time was infinite and could only be ended by eventual starvation or deactivation. An idle reminder that she was definitely hungry ran through her processor but she ignored it. Eating was just another word that organics used, and she wasn't technically organic anymore.

"So what do I do?" she asked herself quietly. "Refuel? Recharge?" Sari shrugged and looked around the empty room. There was no Ratchet to ask for help, and her father would never be an open source of information to anyone again. Though she loathed the man, the best source of information would be Porter C. Powell and the vast amount of data that her father had gathered that Powell had at his fingertips.

Of course, he probably knew as much as she did and the thought of going within five feet of him made her physically ill, but Sari had no choice. Each step out of the Autobot base was a chore but there was a goal behind it. For once she could focus on the abstract absolute that was her need to preserve herself, everyone else be damned. Self-preservation was a skill that Isaac had never really taught her. He was always amidst bigger projects and learning skills Sari now regretted she never had the patience to learn.

The trip to Powell Tower was an agonizing one, and it was only to find that the place she had once called home was once again nearly destroyed. Sari couldn't find it in herself to care and trudged through the forcefield with a single touch and the wreckage to find Powell. The smug businessman that reminded her so much of Swindle without the sycophantic nature was there almost as if he had been waiting. Sari drew herself straighter and clenched her fist.

"To what do I owe the displeasure, Ms. Sumdac?" there was only wary condescension in Powell's voice and Sari knew why. Advantages came with looking older and having the Allspark-powered key integrate itself with her wiring, making her a living fragment of the Allspark. Obviously one of them included making her father's enemy fear what she was.

"You owe your position in his company, Powell," Sari's voice was something that she could never truly get used to; it was too old for her to enjoy using it now. It reminded her too much of how, as she had aged in a flash, all that she had loved had been stolen from her. "You're the only one who can help me to function as a techno-organic."

"I do hope you aren't so stupid as to come here asking for my help," Powell replied and turned his chair out to the ruined Detroit. "The answer is no, by the way. I don't have the time or the money to waste on little--excuse me, machines that have no connection to any profit. Sumdac Systems is an integral part of the city's economy, and to have it fall because of some misplaced sentiment on my behalf is out of the question."

"It's because of the Autobots and myself that you even exist right now!" Sari's hand let loose a small ball of energy that easily destroyed Powell's desk. Powell raised a hand that was both angry and weary but resigned, signaling that Sari could at least continue for the moment despite her indiscretion. It was a patronizing action that Sari found herself swallowing, reminded of hunger. "I'm not here to talk about the Autobots or you helping me out of a misplaced sentiment," her mouth twisted on the words. Misplaced sentiment indeed. Powell probably wouldn't spare a kind word to his own mother.

"Then why are you here? Do I need to call Captain Fanzone and have him remind you of all the pain your Autobots friends and yourself have put me through?" Powell swiveled back around and began to list incidents while ticking them away on his fingers. "There was the first incident with Colossus Rhodes. Oh, there was the whole debacle with Headmaster. Meltdown, when that stupid dinosaur tried to eat me... I could go on, but I see no need. I do believe we have come to an understanding."

"Oh, far from it," Sari answered. Her fingers extended and revealed the metallic joints underneath. A circle appeared as the palm of her hand, metallic and blue with reserved energy. "You see, I can help you. My father was a master of reverse engineering and so are those that he hired. If anything, you can get something from my circuitry and specs. In return, I get a place to stay and knowledge on how to run my own body."

The cruel smirk on Powell's face reminded her eerily of Lockdown, and then that analogy hit closer to home. Sari was behaving exactly as if she was utterly and completely selfish down to her core: selling herself for food and perhaps a shred of comfort. It spoke volumes of both her and Powell that they even considered such a twisted deal, but it made sense. There was no one left to take care of Sari, and no Autobots or Decepticons to syphon tech from. To improve on his new empire, Powell needed her tech, and to survive, Sari needed his money. Perverted, twisted, and sick. It felt like Sari had vomited all the morals she had so foolishly clung to when she was young enough to wonder what they meant. Now it was survival, plain and simple. Emotions only screwed her perception and the basic need to live, to keep breathing or aspirating or whatever it was called now.

"What's wrong with your own father?" Powell asked, finally breaking the silence. Sari looked at her feet and bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes, or at the very least a facsimile of, which she refused to release. "Oh. Well, in that case, I think I can accept your offer, provided that you allow tests to be done and reverse engineering."

"Done," Sari agreed swiftly. The curtain was rising on a new act in her life, and she bet she could name it. Self-preservation, the creed that the Autobots typically shunned in lieu of a more collective preservation. It hurt Sari that she could no longer think as they had, but her survival code was too strong for her to cling to old virtues of the past. The old Sari was gone, deleted by a larger need. As the new act strolled around, the past actor had been cast aside. Exeunt, the word used by Shakespeare to signal the actors that they were no longer needed and had to now rush off the stage to make way for the more important.

And so had the young Sari and all of her Autobot friends and her dreams. Exeunt indeed.

----------------------------

"What have you learned in the vorns since your activation, Phase?"

"That what the Autobots stand for is the supreme truth. We are undeniably the best army and government that Cybertron has ever witnessed. We walk the surface of our planet because we are the best, better than the Decepticons." A pale blue and white soldier stood before Ultra Magnus, her head tilted up. A faceplate guarded every mouth movement from her allies and enemies. Long gun barrels rested at her side, and they shifted as she folded her arms.

"Why are we more suited to be in command than the Decepticons?" Ultra Magnus urged, sitting in his command seat. No matter the whispers that ran through the base of it being a throne, it wasn't. There was no command amongst the Autobots; they were all in charge of each other, a team. "Why did we succeed when they failed?"

"We had Optimal Magnus, sir," Phase replied. Her tone was smug and proud as she spoke, her chin rising a little bit more. "He was the greatest leader that walked Cybertron's surface, and as such he was the one who led us to victory before he was deactivated." It was, of course, an exaggeration--Optimal Magnus had been leader, but he had only led the army against Megatron for a brief period before he was deactivated. In truth the cause of the Autobot victory laid with Omega Supreme, but Omega was not Phase's creator, and Optimal Magnus was.

"No!" Magnus slammed the hammer against the floor and electricity gathered around it. "The victory does not belong to one mech, Phase! There is no individualism in a victory; we all contributed as the cogs in the Autobot machine. We all gathered around Optimal Magnus to defend Cybertron, and then the Autobots gathered around me to defend Cybertron. The victory does not belong to me, nor does it belong to Optimal Magnus.

"There is no 'I' in team, Phase. We cannot win, cannot be a unit if we don't sacrifice pride in return. What is your pride compared to the eventual safety of Cybertron? What are you compared to the eventual safety of Cybertron? Only a Decepticon would ever suggest that one mech earned his spot in history to be exalted above another." Every word he uttered was spat from him like poison, his expression one of distaste. "Are you a Decepticon, Phase? Do you wish to be alone with only a need to fulfill your selfish desires to guide you?"

"N-no!" Phase shouted. While Magnus had been speaking, her body had shrunk back into the wall, a small bundle of wires. "I don't want to be alone... Don't make me. Please."

"Of course, you have pride and a desire," Magnus continued with a piercing glare and a powerful voice that drowned out Phase's protests. His words were like whips snaking around Phase and she was helpless to resist listening. "Perhaps you are like the Decepticons, doomed to fail as they did, guided only by a desire to serve yourself. I'll grant you one more chance, not because you deserve it, Phase, but because we all must have a second chance. Now, I ask you again: why did we succeed when they failed?"

"The Autobots worked together as a team, sir. All the Decepticons can think about is what they want instead of what is good for the whole. Their greed and selfishness was their downfall," Phase answered automatically as she dragged herself away from the comfort of the wall. The words were burned into her mind from vorns and vorns of continuous use. It wasn't Optimal Magnus alone that had led them to victory: the credit could never belong to one mech. It had been Optimal Magnus, Ariel, Dion, and every single Autobot that won their victory. Nothing belonged to one sole mech, ever.

"And still is," Ultra Magnus said gravely. "Why exactly is that their downfall, Phase? What did their greed and selfishness prove to them?" he leaned forward, his hammer shifting again. It was Phase's final training and interrogation before she could finally earn the wings that all Elite Guard members wore.

"It proved nothing, and made their leader incompetent," Phase answered with a sneer. "Megatron fell because he couldn't lead his troops to the utmost efficiency. They were all separate units in one large army, not one large army made up of separate parts. They acted as selfish individuals and so they fell apart before they'd even begun. No individual could ever fight for a higher cause than his own insignificant existence," she smirked. Pride tempted her to speak further about her creator's involvement, however short lived, but she remained silent.

"Very good," Magnus agreed and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was heavy, and Phase struggled to remain straight. Her body tilted to one side though she tried to hide it. "You have indeed passed the training, Phase."

"Then I can have the wings?" she asked, unable to stop herself from reaching out. Magnus pulled back and frowned down at her. His hand slipped off her shoulder to rest at his side. The hammer shifted once more and Phase winced at the resulting crackle of energy.

"Have?" Magnus rolled the word around in his mouth before grimacing as if it was spoilt energon. "No, you cannot have the wings. I can grant them to you, and you can bear them, but they are not yours. The Elite Guard belongs to the rest of the Autobots, and to Cybertron. We are here to serve them as leaders and as soldiers."

"And as their superiors," Phase supplied. She shrunk back when Ultra Magnus stared at her with cold optics. "I-i mean, as their comrades and protectors. That's what we are, really. Their comrades and protectors," she corrected. Magnus raised an optic ridge and Phase straightened. "And as their loyal servants, so do we serve."

"So do we serve," Magnus agreed and turned his back on her. His touch on the wings of the Elite Guard was reverential, and he turned to Phase. "This is a great honor, Phase, to serve as an Elite Guard member. Within this group you will be part of the force that symbolizes what the Autobots are: teamwork, defense, and unity. No one mech above the other, but all equal."

"So do we serve," Phase agreed, holding out her arm. The Autobot insignia was stuck on her forearm, waiting to be augmented with the wings that she had worked so hard for. All of her studies of ancient history and of weapons was serving her well in this one moment, where she would finally join the ranks of those like her creators. Optimal Magnus and Ariel, the leaders of the Autobots, would be proud of what she was about to become, Phase knew. They would caution her against ever being proud for this moment, and yet she could not stop the sickening thrill that ran through her when the stickers were finally laid into place.

"So we serve the Autobots and keep Cybertron safe from greed and corruption," Magnus echoed. "So you now serve, Phase, creation of Optimal Magnus and Ariel. There will come a time when all are one, but until then you will fight to the death to honor that ideal. Do you swear to uphold what we have given our sparks for?"

"I do swear, on the sparks of those that have passed," Phase vowed with vehemence. Magnus' hammer slammed against the floor, electricity gathering from every circuit in the room, even their own. It fed the hammer until it was the only light, illuminating the room in an icy blue.

"Then you will join them in the well of Allsparks when the time comes, Phase," Magnus said, and his voice was soft. "Welcome to the Elite Guard, niece. From here on in you have sworn to defend and serve those less skilled than you. If you truly mean to honor that agreement, you will follow my command until you are found deserving to command your own group."

"So, the more I work and the better I do, the farther I advance?" Phase asked with a hesitant smile hidden by her own faceplate. Magnus shook his head, frowning down at her.

"The more you commit yourself to others, and the more you realize that leading is never a reward but a service is how you will succeed. Until then, your pride will hold you back and make you loose focus. When you can see past yourself, you will be fit to lead," he said in his slow manner. Phase nodded, soaking up each word that he said.

"I understand, sir," she bowed her head. "What would you have me do as my first duty, Magnus sir?" Despite her rapt attention to what he had said, and her own understanding of what she was meant to do, Phase couldn't help but feel eager to prove herself to her uncle. He had always been aloof and cold, but the only contact with another Cybertronian she had had, besides her teachers. Phase wanted him to smile and praise her for a job well done instead of pointing out all the ways she could be better.

"First?" Magnus blinked before shrugging his shoulders. "Why don't you go and target practice? I'm sure you can use the training," his words would have been insulting if they had been spoken by any other Autobot, but this was Ultra Magnus. Nothing he said was an insult, but nothing he sad was praise either. "After that, report to Jazz. He can test your invisibility skills."

"Then I have your permission to transform and become invisible?" Phase asked. Another thrill ran through her and she shook her head. Pride was becoming more and more frequent, and she was scared of it.

"Yes, of course," Magnus answered absently, looking away. Someone was contacting him over the commlink and he stood. "I must go, Phase. There is an urgent matter that requires my attention."

"But there's so much I want to know!" Phase cried as she momentarily forgot herself. Magnus turned around to her faster than she thought possible with a face as stormy as his hammer. Phase shrank back, taking a step or two backwards. "I-i'm sorry, sir."

"You will do as ordered, soldier," he said stiffly, "and nothing more." Under his gaze Phase fled the room, discarding her shattered pride. It had no more use now that she was part of the Elite Guard.

--------------------------

"But of course we would transport to a dying planet that is overrun with Autobots," the female version of Starscream snipped. Megatron ignored her as he pointed a finger at Iacon. The hologram stared back at him with only a slight waver under his touch. "I mean, there can't be any other place we could go but here, right?"

Megatron didn't respond, his concentration on the city. One finger was stroking the tallest building in Iacon, the city that would soon be his. It maddened him, standing there, an Autobot city. Cybertron was his, and had always been his ever since he took the mantle of the Decepticon commander. Nothing would change that, not even Ultra Magnus and the rest of the Autobots.

"Are you even paying attention?" Megatron looked up at the female Starscream and raised an optic ridge. Her hands were thrown in the air and her face was fixed in a scowl. As Megatron stared her optics narrowed and she folded her arms. "Do you have anything to say, mighty Megatron?"

"You sound like Starscream," he answered and turned his attention back to Iacon. There was a weakness to the city in the northern district where most of the Autobots avoided. Shockwave, it seemed, was still performing his duty well. Megatron made a mental note to congratulate and reward the intelligence officer. There was a small sound from the seeker near him and he looked over at her again. "What?"

"I am not Starscream," she declared. "I may be his clone, and he may have imparted a specific part of his personality onto me, but I can't be him," she snarled. Hesitation seized her and she looked over at Megatron swiftly. "I'm not him," she whispered. "I'm not."

"You sound a lot like him," Megatron replied as he returned his gaze to Iacon, unimpressed with her uncertainty. Though she was the most intelligent and self-sufficient of all of Starscream's clones, her continuous lack of certainty bored him. "You both whine the same way."

They were silent for a long time; Megatron was studying his map while the female version of his ex-lieutenant stared at the wall. An old Autobot base served their needs far more than their life-long enemies, though she didn't understand why she was fighting. After all, all she knew was that Starscream hated the Autobots, and those were from his memories. She felt no enmity towards them. But she had to hate them or else bind herself to Megatron, for why would she be here?

"He hates the Autobots, and I can see why," she said slowly. Megatron looked up at her with his full attention, almost surprised that her thoughts had followed his. The femme might not be as incompetent as he thought. She wasn't screeching or mocking him and the rest of the Decepticons, but genuinely finding herself concerned. "But what he has experienced isn't what I have experienced. I'm not him. I don't understand why I should hate the Autobots."

"Hate them for the fact that they would school you on the proper way to think if they ever heard you express an opinion," Megatron answered. The hologram of Iacon faded and disappeared from under his hand as he focused his will and anger on Acidstorm. "There is no reason for their youngest soldiers to hate us, and yet they still do, because they are told to. I have dealt with many of my soldiers who have not hated the Autobots, yet cannot stand what they believe in."

"So it's not so much the individual as it is their ideals," she said, straightening when he nodded. "And, of course, the fact that they would dare to oppose you," she said with a smirk. "They must hate us for the same reason."

"They hate us because they have no other choice laid out in front of them, Acidstorm," Megatron answered. No one could have missed the seeker stiffening, least of all her commander. "They cannot choose whether or not they hate us, but are presented with evidence to see us as monsters. Most of the Autobots have never even looked upon us."

"Well, why shouldn't they hate and fear us? It is a compliment to what we are that they cannot get over their prejudice," Acidstorm spat. With a hop she left her perch and stood straight with her hands placed on her hips. "What else can they do but tremble as sparklings, their optics wide in terror? If we must live as childhood tales, then we must. But we can strike fear into them, and they have proven that much to us all."

Megatron raised an optic ridge once more as he stared at her. Acidstorm was even more capable than he had realized, and her posture was just as startling. Only a few breems before she had been despondent and slumped as if carrying a heavy load. "We already scare the spark from them," he replied with a sneer. "Magnus fears and hates us, because we are what he cannot understand."

"Yet we are not good," Acidstorm objected with a toss of her head. "If we weren't going to replace one dictatorship with another, their hatred would be unfounded. But we aren't."

"Do you have a problem?" Megatron asked acerbically. "If you don't appreciate that we are the end to the long-standing Autobot oppression, you have every opportunity to leave. I won't stop you."

Acidstorm rose and looked towards the door. It waited for her to open it with a touch though it remained closed now. She took a step forward and paused, looking back at Megatron. The curiosity that gnawed at her refused to release her and she stepped back over to him, mincing her steps as she did. "Why do you hate the Autobots?" she asked him. "Is it because they oppress and impose their will on others? Why do you fight them?"

"I fight them because they are tyrants of selflessness, forcing each of their soldiers and civilians to care for their neighbor," Megatron answered.

"You aren't better," Acidstorm pointed out. Her words were sharp as her optics weren't, and she found a new perch on the console next to him. "You may preach selfishness and acting against what the Autobots do, Megatron, but you bind those around you to you through fear."

"Do I?" Megatron asked and looked at her. He had never seen a seeker so curious and willfully defiant at the same time. Even Starscream was only one or the other, never both. Perhaps Acidstorm was her own identity after all. "Which side of him are you, Acidstorm?"

"What does it matter, Megatron?" she snapped and looked away. Her lips parted and an emotion ran through her optics. "I'm Acidstorm. That's all that's important. I may have been born from Starscream, but I'm not him! I'm not his side, or anything. Anything remotely similar to Starscream is pathetic."

"You may be right," Megatron answered calmly. "But if you look at his memories, which you do have, you'll see he came to me. You'll be witness to all of the others who came to me of their own free will. They weren't born into it; they had nowhere else to go. They placed themselves under me for profit or security or even just to fight."

"Or because you gave them something they never thought they'd have," Acidstorm whispered. They were both silent before Acidstorm stirred, hopping off the console. She made her way to the door before pausing, looking back at Megatron. "I wouldn't get anywhere if I tried to leave, would I?"

"I imagine that either your fellow clones or Lugnut would drag you back," Megatron replied. "Like I promised, I would not force you to stay."

"You have others to do that for you," Acidstorm nodded. "I can't leave. I haven't even tried and I know I can't leave. Not out of any great love for you or what you do, but because you gave me something that I never would have achieved on my own. A name. True, perhaps a small thing to you and the rest of the Decepticons--and the Autobots--but something irreplaceable to me." Her head rested against the door as she spoke. Words soaked in respect and thanks spilled from her as she continued. "I won't leave. Conquering a few cities is only a small price to pay for what you gave me."

She looked up at him and placed one hand on the panel to open the door. The panel rejected her and she destroyed it. "But you aren't better. I don't put myself at your command because you deserve it, but because I will it. That's it."

Before Megatron could reply, she left, a blur of purple and blue. He stood alone for a breem, staring at the closed doors, before turning back to the hologram projector, calling up the image of Iacon. The Autobots didn't deserve the city of skyscrapers, but the Decepticons did, and they would have it if Megatron had to send his entire army, including the soon-to-be-named seekers.

--------------------------

The city of Detroit was silent as its citizens all attempted to pick up its shattered pieces. The general consensus was that the absence of both Autobots and Decepticons alike could mean nothing but good for all of them, as they had payed dearly for the war thrust upon them. Lives were mourned each passing hour as the rubble yielded a new body. Lockdown didn't care. Somewhere among the rubble was the closest thing he had to a friend, and at the very least was a valued business partner. He was similar to the organics in that way, he supposed. There was someone he was looking for too.

But quite unlike the humans, he had a tracking device, and he had a signal. Faint, but still a signal that he could track. It led him to a seemingly rundown warehouse and beeped once before Lockdown turned it off. Transforming and destroying the door that separated him from Swindle was laughably easy. "What are these humans thinking?" he asked the grey SUV in front of him. "They know we can break down anything, and yet they refuse to fortify their defenses. Oh well, it just makes it easier for me to get what I want," he smirked. The humans were amazingly simple, and if they didn't want to defend their own 'prisons', it wasn't his fault.

"Ah, Swindle," he purred. There was his business partner, stuck in a rather embarrassing position. The humans had bested him--admittedly with the help of the Autobots--and now he was at their mercy. "It seems you need my help yet again, old /friend/."

Silence was his answer, predictably. Swindle was in a state of stasis brought to him by his own tinkering with the Allspark. The only way to reverse his problem was, well, the Allspark. Lockdown took out his shard that he had payed for dearly and stared at it. The glow directed itself towards Swindle and surrounded him. Life would soon return to the dormant circuits, but Swindle would be rusty. "You owe me vorns worth of free upgrades."

Color poured over Swindle and his circuits sparked with energy that was lost for earth weeks at a time. The trader transformed and rotated his arm. "Great. I'm brought back to activation by a mismatched hulk of parts and not some slim and attractive model-bot. Where do you get those anyway?"

"None of your business," Lockdown answered. "Now come on. I didn't reactivate you just to look at your sorry chassis." Lockdown tucked his allspark shard away and turned towards the ruined garage door. "Are you ready, or do we have to wait a breem or two for your rusting circuits to charge?"

"Why are you always so grumpy?" Swindle complained. The alternate mode that he had chosen was equated with huge amounts of money and jerks of the human race. The estimation wasn't far off from the truth: Swindle was insanely rich and a huge jerk to all but those he actually needed. Lockdown considered himself one of those cursed to be Swindle's confidante. "Was that an Allspark shard?"

"Yes, it was," Lockdown answered. Transforming was a complicated but quick process, and Lockdown was grateful for the speed it would lend him. "It's mine, and I bought it for a hefty price," he grimaced. Those upgrades that he had traded for his shard were dear to him, and to lose them was a hard blow. "You don't have anything that could ever be worth it."

"Fine, fine," Swindle answered. "Where are we going?" he asked; Lockdown was speeding out of the garage, and he had to speed as well. "What, is there some emergency?"

"A bit," Lockdown answered. The obstacles in the road seemed to be trying to confound him, and he cursed slightly. "Slag these humans and their twists and turns. I just want to get to Pr--another," Lockdown muttered. Prowl. An Autobot, the enemy of most of his suppliers. Megatron was the only Cybertronian who actually didn't mind free trade and so Lockdown was his bounty hunter. Still, Prowl was something of a friend to him, and Lockdown didn't want to leave the mech to rust.

"What, are we getting someone else too?" Swindle asked. "Lockdown, who else can we get? I'm only picking up a faint--really, really faint--signal, and it's an... Auto..." he trailed off. Lockdown sped up a little, moving out of range of Swindle's voice. The salesbot persisted by hacking into Lockdown's commlink. "You can't be serious. The signal is just residual energy! The mech is offline!"

"I am serious," the bounty hunter answered. "You'd want to be rescued if you were left behind, wouldn't you? Oh, look, you were. And I rescued you, much to your delight. I don't see the problem."

"Lockdown, he's the enemy," Swindle whined. "I have no desire to lose any business with Megatron because you feel sorry for this /offline/ Autobot," he snapped. Swindle may have worn the Decepticon insignia out of respect for Megatron alone, but he also was bound by the rules. Helping Autobots was strictly against those very rules that Megatron had laid out in for his soldiers. It was considered akin to an act of treason.

"Trust me, Swindle, you won't be held responsible for my misdeeds," Lockdown answered dryly. "Megatron's smart enough to know you wouldn't do anything to go against him. I, however, am not bound to him by anything but a tentative agreement."

"So, basically, I'm following you on a wild goose chase to find an Autobot that could potentially get us both branded as traitors and murdered, right? But hey, it's all okay because Lockdown doesn't really have an agreement with Megatron! Like that actually matters," Swindle jeered. "Why do you care so much?"

Lockdown didn't answer but pushed his engines to their limits. It wasn't so much that he didn't want to respond, but that he had no idea why he was risking a rather cushy job for an Autobot. Then again, the Autobot he was tracking was one of the feistiest and annoying mech Lockdown had ever met. Quick witted as well, almost to the point of knowing what Lockdown was going to do before he actually did it. Perhaps that was the reason he hunted for Prowl so fiercely, driving past the city and buildings at top speed with his engines screaming. Prowl was the only one who could figure out what Lockdown was without flinching.

"I see something of myself in him, Swindle," Lockdown finally answered. "I see an abandoned spark seeking freedom but not knowing how to accept it. He doesn't know how to ask for what he wants, and I don't know how to deny what I want. The Autobot isn't just a simpleton, but a mind as annoying as any Decepticon. He may be like day to my night, but there's a spark of selfish desire in him, same as you and I. Coaxing it out will be a challenge and a joy."

"Ah," Swindle answered. "I see. So you think all of us Decepticons are annoying. Right," the SUV lagged behind for a brief moment before surging forward, his curiosity too strong to sulk for long. "So what are you going to do, teach him what you think is a good lifestyle?"

"With a little manipulation, and the Allspark shard, I can," Lockdown answered with finality. The conversation ended and the two sped on, heading in the direction of the increasingly faint signal. It could all end up for naught, Lockdown knew, but there was never any harm in trying. At this point, he could only gain Prowl, not lose him.

--------------------------

Nothing had been right since Omega Supreme had come back online, confused from his long and achingly lonely stellar cycles as an Autobot ship. He did not mind that, of course, as he had been created to serve the Autobots, and serve he would. What Omega did mind was that the Decepticons once again touched their pedes to Cybertron's surface and he was not fighting them to deactivation once more. Another thing that bothered the giant was that his mentor--his friend, his master--was so much more tired than he had ever been before. Ratchet was old, certainly, but not old enough to be crashing as severely as he was. Omega shifted and placed a hand over the sleeping medic, gently grasping him and navigating him to rest on Omega's shoulder.

For Ratchet's credit, this newfound pessimism had been born when his team was exiled to another part of the galaxy. A harsh treatment to be sure, but one that was necessary for the good of the unit at large. Ratchet himself had told Omega what he was built for in one of their mentoring sessions, and what the Autobots stood for. Friendship, loyalty, and sacrificing the petty selfish desires each had for a more collective outlook. The deal had already been sealed ever since Omega had come online: he was /programmed/ that way. No one needed to tell him how to operate, yet the pleasing rise and fall of Ratchet's vocals had soothed the younger giant.

Now they were in a room similar to the one that Omega had learned so eagerly in long ago. There was no logical reason it could be the same room, especially since that base had long been blown to pieces by a wave of seekers. The steady cadence of Ratchet's vocals had been replaced by the whirring of his systems as he stayed in a contrived sleep mode. Omega knew what Ratchet was avoiding and was content enough with the medic's simple presence not to push anything further. If he allowed himself to think for just a moment about how Ratchet's slump related to him a brief pain would worm its way into his spark. Omega would feel pain for the very first time that didn't relate on a physical sense and wonder what it was.

Though it was not as if Omega was actually incapable of having feelings, having the precious mental quirks was a symbol of actually having a self to be happy, sad, or angry. Simple emotions passed through Omega's dull processor as some Autobot programmer had taken mercy and wired the basic circuits into his project's mainframe. He could be happy, sad, and angry. Especially angry. A large, destructive mech such as Omega thrived off of anger on the battlefield. More specifically, a large, destructive mech such as Omega defended each and every Autobot on nothing more than a hastily downed energon cube and anger. Emotions ran through him when they deigned to, but always simple and always understated. Pain simply was not an option when there was nothing left to hurt.

It was why Ratchet's company could be so easily tolerated by the larger mech despite the medic's distant behavior. It did not offend Omega simply because there was too little of the shattered giant to offend. Feeling that way had never been wired into his programming and had never been missed. Cold logic was his ally against the petty emotions that sometimes ran through even the best of Autobots. Ultra Magnus was the worst of this, and when Omega had been nothing more than a barely sentient ship, the leader would come into his hull and release a strangled scream of some kind of pain that couldn't be translated. It had only happened once or twice before the war finally ended and he was sent out with Ratchet. After that, the ship truly became insentient for many long stellar cycles of what Ratchet crankily told him was nothing but repairs, repairs, and more repairs.

Coming slowly online to an alien planet had been a surprise for Omega, and his joints and processor had locked up. Failure was written in every sharp jerk and twist that he had taken on the way to the battle with Ratchet's increasingly short-tempered phrases serving to make him more anxious. The last time that he had rushed into war he had been nearly terminated and had terminated so many more. A living weapon was not suited for diffusing a difficult situation, even if his programming screamed at him to protect all the Autobots and do it right this time. Omega simply could not, and the battle had ended in dismal spark-crushing defeat. Cybertron was chill with the knowledge that once again Decepticons walked her surface. Neutrals were moved closer to Iacon and there were whispered rumors of young, innocent bots being snatched out of the streets for experiments.

All of this passed over Omega's guilt-ridden spark as he went over the battle again and again. By the time he had finally navigated his way through his own miscalculations, Megatron had been about to disappear into the space bridge. In the time that it took to dump the organic and Ratchet out of his hull Megatron had not only terminated the other organic but had walked through the space bridge. It took no prodding for Omega to immediately follow the tyrant as his programming took control and guided each heavy footstep to protect and serve. The battle afterwards, on Cybertron's glistening and beautiful surface, had been anything but pleasant.

"Omega?" Ratchet's voice was slow and old, something Omega had never truly noticed before. Then, of course, Ratchet had been young when they first knew each other. Easy camaraderie and small amounts of time when the both of them could actually describe as being contented were long gone. War had made Ratchet something different and slippery to the touch. War had made Omega sleep for stellar cycles at a time. Ratchet's frame shifted on the giant's shoulder into a sitting position. The sleepy and almost youthful look quickly faded into the hostile and bitter countenance that Omega almost expected.

"Yes, Ratchet," Omega said simply, "I am here." It was all he needed to say. Ratchet may have been off-putting and cold, but it was beyond Omega's capacity to hate him. Hate was just another word reserved for those with the capacity to feel something beyond a need to defend the collective well-being. Omega was not one of those mechs and never had been. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine!" Ratchet half-snarled and turned away. Omega waited for long while, venting off the excess heat his frame generated until, slowly, Ratchet turned back and placed a warm servo against the side of Omega's helm. "I mean, I'm doing well, yes. Thank you, Omega," it was as close to an apology as Ratchet would ever come and Omega nodded. "More importantly, how are you faring? Any tune-ups you need?"

"I am perfectly functional, thank you," Omega rumbled in answer. Ratchet harrumphed and shifted once more. The servo didn't fall back down and instead began to stroke the side of Omega's helm absently. Keeping silent at such pleasing stimuli was a chore, but Omega persevered if only due to the lack that such an act was beyond his processor. It was not the first time that their convoluted relationship had attempted to jump onto a more physical tack. Long ago, Ratchet had attempted to explain overload amidst a confusing and awkward mix of mutterings and grunts. Omega had skirted the topic to discuss something else and both mechs had fastened onto the topic like greedy protoforms.

Now there was nothing to latch onto to distract himself from the slow, casual strokes of Ratchet's servo. Omega knew that his friend did not even know what he was doing, but it did not make the process any less uncomfortable. With a regretful shift and a polite rumble, Omega brought the stimulus to Ratchet's attention. The medic's hand stilled and quickly retracted to his side, ending the simple and affectionate gesture. Omega was shamed by the fact that he could not endure such a small and trifling matter for the comfort of his friend and said so in a rumbling, apologetic mumble.

"What?" Ratchet's voice rolled out waves of surprise and horror and that warm servo smacked itself against Omega's helm. It was a lecturing gesture that had not been used on the giant since the last battle and Omega made a hurt noise. "Don't ever think that I would force you to do something you didn't want to, soldier! Heh, I mean, you don't have to feel ashamed if what you want isn't necessarily what I'm doing."

"But, Ratchet, you said..." Omega trailed off after his weak protest died inside of him. "You said that I was meant to serve the greater good, and that I was supposed to do what was right even if it did not make sense." There was no pride in remembering a sentiment dictated to him long ago while his systems shut offline one by one, and there was no joy in Ratchet's optics either.

"I know what I said!" the latter shouted as that quick temper flared beyond Omega's control. "I know what I said, and I know what I've done contradicts everything I ever taught you! I wasn't equipped to handle a protoform, and definitely not the one that they saddled me with. You weren't meant to be taught all the things that I wanted to teach you, Omega," the medic was exhausted once more and sad as the words flew out of him, driven by some chasm that Omega knew instantly Ratchet couldn't fill. Guilt had eaten at Ratchet until there was nothing left but a wired and functioning pile of regret and bitterness. It would have made Omega recoil if the giant knew what was best for him, but he did not. "I had to teach you what was compatible with your programming. I didn't have a choice."

The conversation was too raw to switch topics or drop altogether. One or the other had to talk again, carry on the opening of wounds that should have been buried deep away and never discussed again. Omega knew it would have to be him and drew all of his resolve to him in one explosive effort. "I know, Ratchet. I have been... a burden to you. A friend, but a burden nonetheless."

"No, Omega, that's not what I meant--" Ratchet raised a hand to cut the giant off, optics wide and pleading. "You were never a burden to me. You were a constant reminder of what could be, what unfailing optimism was in the face of so much destruction and war. It was a joy and a honor serving by your side, old friend, not a challenge. I may not have had a choice in how you were taught, but I had a choice to accept you as a charge, and I took it," the half-smile Ratchet wore was all Omega would get from the old and tired medic, but it was all he needed. "I wouldn't trade those stellar-cycles for all the safety and comfort it would have afforded me."

Ratchet snorted after a moment and whacked Omega on the head, though this time both recognized it as affectionate. "Listen to an old 'bot ramble on about such sap," the medic snorted with disgust. "You already knew all that anyway."

"I did not," Omega rebuked calmly, and the two friends lapsed into silence. There was still something that hung between them that needed to be teared down before they could, collectively, move on. The giant's happiness and ease with Ratchet was contingent on Ratchet's personal well being. The subject of the recently exiled 'bots Ratchet had known for stellar-cycles had to be dealt with for better or for worse. "Why did you not go with them?"

"Why?" Ratchet asked, looking over at Omega. The question rolled around in his processor and was dismissed almost instantly. "Why did I not go with the group of 'bots that I had known for stellar-cycles at a time? Of course, they mean a lot to me, and they were close enough to me to be able to call themselves my friends. Going with them would have meant a lot, especially to Optimus; kid's so impressionable. But why?" Ratchet shrugged, the answer already there. It had been there ever since Omega was online. His answer was warm with none of the previous bitterness that so often ruled Ratchet's words. It was almost caring.

"You wouldn't have followed, you over-sized scrap heap."

--------------------------

The darkness was deafening, if such a state of nothingness could ever be deafening. He felt the world around him close in and found that he didn't mind. Drifting alone, at the mercy of whatever force guided him, was enough. He was content to be the only light in the darkness. Wherever he was, and whoever he was, if all he had to do was drift forever, he wouldn't mind. There were worse fates.

What tormented him were the brief flashes of life, something that he had once been and now could never be again. They flit before his eyes and showed him a life of friendship and beauty, reversing themselves. He had long since given up any hope that he would be able to escape them. It never meant that he couldn't ignore them, though, and did just that. Smiles and laughter broke through his walls sometimes, and he would be lying if he said he didn't beat at the darkness.

It was as constant as any companion and as detrimental as any enemy. More than once he had wondered why he was there and what his purpose was. The only concrete issue he could be sure of was that he was dead, and this was some sort of afterlife. It was odd; the one thing he did remember was that the afterlife was supposed to be brighter. There may have been no Primus, but there was still light and hope once one was dead. Here, there was nothing but darkness and despair. He could look on for miles and miles in any direction and see nothing worth seeing. In fact, he could see nothing at all, ever.

It was lonely, but it couldn't stay like that. Nothing ever could. Light was bound to find a way back to him. What else could the explanation be for the rapidly expanding burst of light? It was finally tearing the darkness aside, something that he was eternally grateful for, and he stepped through. The darkness was replaced with light, shapes, sounds, and pain. He bucked as the pain assaulted each and every circuit of his frame, screaming in his mind and out loud. Those precious flashes of life were gone, leaving him less. Corrupted.

He slipped into the cool blanket of darkness that promised to be less eternal than his previous prison. Surprisingly, it lasted a short while, and he awoke to find himself in a room. The lights above him were painfully bright, and his hands were strapped down to the berth below him. The pain had dulled into something tolerable and he was restless now, ready to be free. His hands clenched but could not break free, and he realized he was trapped.

There were no sounds around him, and it offered him a chance to wonder how to break free. Doubts assailed his mind, such as who he was, what he was doing, and why he was doing it. None of the questions could be answered and the concerns began to rise. The tight fist of panic was beginning to close around his spark and he tried to fight it off. Its power was intoxicating, though, and he began to feel the fear spread throughout his entire frame. Circuits, energon, and tubing were affected and he let out a low, primal moan, waiting for someone to set him free and tell him who he was. There were still no sounds around him save his vents desperately cycling for air. Anything that could cool his systems down would help.

Finally sounds approached his audios, footsteps resounding on an obviously metal floor. He looked over and watched the door slide open, revealing a fresh source of painful light. It was preferable to the dark and so he welcomed it.

"You're awake," it wasn't a surprised voice and the owner drifted closer. Spikes, tribal markings, and a hook assaulted any who dared to behold them and the mech leaned in closer. "How are you holding up, Prowl?"

Prowl. His name. It had to be his name, otherwise the mech before him wouldn't bother with such nonsense. Prowl looked up into the red optics, so challenging and cold, and managed a small smile. The stench of fear oozed off of him and he could feel his captor's energy signature. It was dark and powerful, snapping at the edges that bound it. "I... I am fine. Who are you?"

The briefest and most unexpected look of raw pain passed over the mech's faceplates. Feral in its honesty and completely unbound by any social grace, it hit Prowl like a slap. Somewhere he felt guilt well up inside and reached out to sooth the problem, clutching at air; the mech had moved away. The pain was gone, only there for a split second, and Prowl realized his captor was a business mech.

"Name's Lockdown," Lockdown rumbled in answer, scratching the back of his head. "Bounty hunter from Cybertron, same place you're from. Guess that blow must have taken too much out of ya," he turned away and headed towards the door, waving his hand. The bonds holding Prowl snapped and retracted, leaving him free. "You're welcome to any part of this ship. You have a standing invitation, after all."

"Standing invitation?" Prowl asked, rubbing his wrists, but Lockdown was gone. Prowl stood and followed him out, staring at the sights in awe. The ship itself was dark, the lights dimmer than Prowl had thought them. It was eerie, how dark and red it was, the whole ship thrown into a shadow. His steps were light and almost silent, born from an experience in something that Prowl could not remember. He passed through the long corridors at random, touching a panel here and there. It was almost as if he had been on the ship once before.

"He's not him, Swindle," it was Lockdown, the bounty hunter's calm voice sounding shattered. Prowl started and drifted closer, placing his audio to the door after a moment's hesitation. "I couldn't find any of his slagged honor. Not even that organic love that he had. He was wiped, or something."

"What do you expect when you bring someone back from the dead?" another voice cajoled; Swindle, Prowl thought. The words hit him like another slap, and he recoiled, only now taking the time to look at himself. A slim frame, black and gold, with one glaring red face staring out at the world. It was different than the shapeless black of Lockdown's, and a gnawing doubt began to eat at Prowl. Lockdown wasn't his ally, apparently, nor were they friends. From the tone of Lockdown's voice alone, it sounded as if they were something more than friends, but surely Prowl would remember. Then again, Prowl didn't remember anything about himself. The thought was genuinely disturbing and his optic ridges lowered for a brief moment.

"I brought you back," Lockdown countered, punching the wall near Prowl's head. There was silence in the room, punctuated by the heavy cycling of one of the two. "You were in something like he was, and yet I brought you back online. You can't be tellin' me that I didn't bring him back."

"No, no! Nothing like that, dear friend," Swindle paused, his voice dropping a few decibels. "Between you and me, Lockie, the Autobot's bad news in the first place. Best you could do is drop him off at Megatron's doorstep and be done with it altogether. Something isn't quite right with that one, you know? I mean, you brought him back from pure deactivation, not just stasis lock. That's kind of creepy, and even you have to agree."

"I don't have to do anything, Swindle," Lockdown snapped; there was a pause, and he continued in a subdued voice. "You really think there's somethin' lost about him? There's still something there, you know. I saw it in the way he smiled. It was just as timid, angry, and welcoming as it always had been. If he hadn't asked for my name..." Lockdown trailed off.

"Get a grip on yourself. The kid's not as important as you make it seem. If you ask me, old friend, you let someone under your armor to that smooth, grey protoform. An Autobot, no less. Don't you think you should forget it? Either way, Prowl or not Prowl or even just a facsimile of the mech that you want, he's the enemy of your supplier. Get over it, Lockdown, and move on. There are plenty of others than the disgusting Autobot."

"Like you?" Lockdown asked with a tone that was half-scorn, half-affection. Prowl backed away at the sounds of clangs that had nothing to do with fighting. Confused he staggered back to the room he had woken in, aware that he was nothing but a passenger in a ship that he could not understand. There had been pain in Lockdown's optics, the same optics that would be turned onto Swindle's wiring now, servos reaching in to touch and stroke wiring.

It hurt Prowl more that it should have, and the next morning found him a passenger on a ship whose occupants no longer cared.

--------------------------

They were all conversing together rather loudly, breaking his concentration on leading an assault to take back Iacon. It was not the first time a group of seekers had irritated Megatron, and the Decepticon leader knew that it wouldn't be the last. The only seeker that remained with him had been Starscream. It was almost a pity that the mech could not be with him today, but Megatron did not abide treachery. The lesson had been learned and could not be unlearned. Starscream had already made his bed once and had gotten away with it. Twice was intolerable.

The auditorium that Acidstorm had chosen to name her fellow clones was large and expansive, perfect for her words to travel far from the stage. It was dramatic and had all of the flair that the Autobots so dearly loved. Megatron resisted making a comment and leaned against the entrance way, watching the seeker with bright optics. Acidstorm was surely more competent than Starscream, competent enough to actually bind soldiers to her with names. Then again, Megatron had been wrong with seekers before.

Besides the failure that Starscream was, the most notable seekers that had failed Megatron time and time again had been Starscream's errant and sometimes pathetic trine mates, Skywarp and Thundercracker. Two of the most bungling idiots Megatron had /ever/ had the displeasure of working with: half the time they were too busy trying to weld their hands to each other's more delicate and sensitive circuitry to fight. The other half of their time was spent pulling pranks on the unsuspecting Decepticons. The one time that they had pulled a prank on Megatron was the one time the Decepticon commander had actually taken the time to slag them repeatedly and thoroughly, all other times tolerating their presence.

"Oh, shut up," Acidstorm broke into Megatron's concentration and he looked up. Her heels slammed against the orange floor as she walked back and forth, a cutting figure a step above her clone brothers. "Look you sorry excuses for seekers, can't you see we don't have to live in Starscream's shadow? We're better."

"Of course we are," the blue one agreed loudly. "I, of course, am the best out of all of you simpletons. My vast intellect is limitless! I could even devise a strategy that would leave Megatron speechless in awe!"

Megatron seriously doubted that the clone speaking could o anything to awe him. Seekers were vastly unimpressive at times, especially when it came to tactics. The only seeker that had ever proved him wrong was the original Acidstorm, an icy and determined mech. There was a seeker who not only defied tradition by refusing to take on any trine members but also had an intellect that was not focused on trying to achieve a new record on how high he could fly. Acidstorm cared more about the figurative rise up as the adept seeker climbed up the power ladder. It was why he had named the femme after his late second, out of an almost whim. Acidstorm had been highly competent and highly intelligent, more so than his other seekers. It was the same for the femme standing before him. Shame the mech had deactivated; Megatron remembered him with something close to fondness.

Looking over the assorted mess of colors and personality gave Megatron a broader perspective of how each functioned. Not that he had ever cared before, or really had cared about anything but himself and a few trusted subordinates, but each seeker had one overriding flaw twisting their circuits. Even Acidstorm fell prey to this fate. Egotism, cowardice, deceit, flattery, and self-loathing all came packaged in the forms of jets. Judging by their worth, he was tempted to call the coward and the egomaniac Skywarp and Thundercracker. It was only coincidence that their color scheme had the unfortunate honor of being the same as the two malfunctions that currently were spread across the universe as dust.

Hacking into Acidstorm's frequency was much easier than the time he had hacked into the original Acidstorm's. Making a small mental note to tell his new seeker to scramble her frequency every now and then, Megatron lifted his arm to his mouth slowly. "The blue one and the purple one should be Skywarp and Thundercracker," he murmured firmly. Acidstorm jerked on the stage quite noticeably but recovered before anyone could say anything. Megatron had spoken, and she would obey.

"As I was saying, you all need names." Acidstorm's voice only shook once before continuing on in smooth and strong tones. "I--and Megatron himself--can't continue to call you Starscream when it is so clear that we are sentient beings all of our own. That is why our egotistical brother shall be Thundercracker, and our cowardly sibling shall be Skywarp."

"And my name is of vast superiority to both yours and Skywarp's!" Thundercracker proclaimed loudly and rose swiftly. Skywarp next to him let out a small shriek and buried himself under a chair. Only red optics were visible and those quaked as Thundercracker threw his weight about. "My name is even more excellent than Megatron's!"

"Will you mute it you walking pile of scrap?' Acidstorm asked, cutting Thundercracker down to size. "Just sit down and keep your vocal circuits offline and you might actually learn something, you oversized glitch." Megatron watched as she looked at the two remaining seekers, clearly waiting for some signal as to what to name them. In truth Megatron was rather uninspired to name the others for her, almost curious to see how much of Starscream she held and how independent she could be when thrust into a complicated situation. There was no use in making her the commander of her band of misfits if the slagged seeker couldn't even name a few clones without him holding her hand.

"So that's the last bit of help I get?" Acidstorm's voice wafted over on her private channels, prompting Megatron to switch as well. It would undermine her authority over the seekers if they learned he was behind their names, though it would assert his. There was no rational need to assert his dominance over the underlings when he had the commander's loyalty, however. It would be redundant and a waste of his time.

"Call it curiosity; I want to see how you can handle pressure," Megatron replied easily. "They're waiting for you to grant them their identities. Let's see if you really are worthy of the name I gave you. Earn your place in the Decepticons, Acidstorm. Don't just take it for granted."

She was brilliant at ignoring him, he soon began to realize as he watched her pace along the stage. Fascinating in her own right while carefully flaunting her newfound independence in his face made Acidstorm what she was. Megatron could almost hear the cogs turning in her small helm and leaned forward a small fraction in anticipation. There weren't many names she could pull out of a hat, and unless she had hacked into a database, she was going to be left to think on her own. It satisfied Megatron to know that nothing came without work whichever path Acidstorm had ended up taking.

The cycles turned long and the seekers not-yet-named were becoming anxious, squirming in their seats. Acidstorm still paced and turned her attention to the ceiling every so often. Megatron waited, leaning against the doorway, out of sight. The test that Acidstorm was meant to pass was currently her downfall. With a small noise of annoyance Megatron turned to go, at least satisfied with the quiet that had settled over the group.

"Sunstorm!" Acidstorm finally declared, standing in front of the flattering and insincere yellow knockoff. Megatron half-turned back, cocking an audio into the air to listen. Sunstorm was the name of a valued warrior back when the Great Wars had just begun, and a fierce trine commander, if a little off the rocker. It had long since been proven that there was no Primus--though that didn't stop some from evoking the god's name at will--but Sunstorm had never cared. He was a worshipper, a cultivator of the lost faith that Primus actually existed and cared for lost sparks. Megatron had blasted a wing off when Sunstorm had tried to convince his leader of the existence of a higher being. Perhaps, then, it was suiting that a sycophantic clone born from something not even remotely similar to Primus would bear Sunstorm's name. Flattering those around him to the point of worship was something that both Sunstorms could understand.

"Most brilliant a name, my dear! Your skills at naming us so very correctly are surely worthy of the praise of every mech here," Sunstorm oozed. Each word reminded Megatron of the fanatical praise of Primus that had kept Sunstorm from ever reaching true potential. Primus was his undoing, in the end: the Autobots had shown less tolerance to the bubbling religious fool than Megatron had. Termination had been swift and brutal enough to have even the Decepticon leader floored. Then again, the loss of their god was a harsh blow to the Autobots, following the loss of Optimal Magnus as it had. This Sunstorm was already proving to be just as much of a nuisance and placing himself in more danger with his platitudes. No Autobot that he knew liked to hear themselves raised onto a pedestal.

"Thank you for that absolutely lovely comment," Acidstorm snapped back and turned to the last seeker. His arms were folded as he stared back, every inch of his frame a falsehood. Acidstorm fumbled for a moment as she ran through names in her head. They poured out of her and she mouthed them frantically. Megatron recognized the names as names of those long deactivated, coming to the easy conclusion that she had indeed learned how to hack. It was a valuable skill and lamentably short on the Decepticon side. The fact that Acidstorm knew how to do it was a score for her faction that would not go unrewarded. Skills had to be rewarded, after all, or they only became unconditional and easily manipulated services.

"Ramjet?" Acidstorm was remarkably less confident and Megatron could understand why. The name itself had loaded implications of a jet willing to ram into anything and sacrifice itself in a kamikaze-esque death. The bot that had once held it was of a different sort, convinced that he was fit to lead the Decepticons, much like Starscream. Ramjet had been the first seeker to openly declare his desire to lead, and the first seeker to go offline at Megatron's servos. Starscream had learned quite a few lessons before becoming Megatron's second, but clearly not enough to keep himself online for more than five cycles.

"That is a horrible name and I refuse to bear it!" Ramjet declared, his smile betraying his own lies. Acidstorm relaxed and drew herself up with pride--beautiful, selfish pride at a job well done. The test had been passed and the issue of her ability to command could be laid to rest. Megatron turned again and began to walk away, heavy footsteps clanging against the floor below him. A disgusting orange that, if torn away, would yield a more soothing purple beneath. Like the Decepticons that had built this base, the cold purple paneling below the bright orange had been overrun by the Autobots and stripped of all dignity. Megatron was the mastermind of bringing the pleasures his troops had once enjoyed back to the forefront of Cybertronian culture.

Of course, no good attempt could go without help, and help Megatron had plenty. Spies were everywhere in the Autobot fold, watching and waiting for a signal to begin tearing down the carefully constructed barriers that held the Decepticons out. There was one mech that had wormed his way past rigorous inspections and test, persevering even as the sickening sentiment of the Autobots threatened to crush his logic centers. This mech Megatron had quickly learned to value above those that currently stayed in his employ both for the loyalty and risk that Megatron's double-agent was taking to serve the Decepticon cause. Actions like that never went unrewarded, even if the reward required was a simple acknowledgment of a job well done.

"Shockwave, report," Megatron said, contacting the double-agent. The visage of an Autobot appeared before him; Longarm Prime, head of Autobot intelligence. How fitting that a spy would be the head of intelligence, but that was a deliberate move. No one would be able to detect his presence if he was the one directing all intelligence movements.

"Lord Megatron, they have successfully transplanted Starscream's specs onto three subjects. They are all fully functional jets," Shockwave discarded his Autobot disguise and peered at Megatron through a single optic. "While it is only at the testing stage, I fear that they will soon begin to form a more cohesive aerial unit."

"Much like ours, I assume," Megatron drawled and leaned back on his heels. It was always like Ultra Magnus to try and play the copying game, always one step behind the Decepticon leader. A childish game to be sure, but apparently one that Magnus had not abandoned with the creation of Omega Supreme. "Anything you can do to influence them would be extremely useful, Shockwave."

"They do have a spy that they plan to send to you," Shockwave replied with a certain amount of smugness. "She will have to go through me, of course, but it will be simple to nudge her in the right direction."

"As long as Iacon eventually falls into my hands, none of Ultra Magnus' scheming can affect me," Megatron straightened to his full height and stared at his loyal spy. "Continue to observe and report back to me with anything useful. Sway the fliers as much as you can, spy or not. Delay any contact with the Earth crew that Magnus can make."

"No longer necessary, my liege. They have been exiled and the one remaining member has locked himself with the walking weapon Omega Supreme." Shockwave's head turned and he morphed back into the Autobot Longarm Prime, an identity both knew he hated. "There is someone coming, Lord Megatron. I must terminate the connection. Hail the glorious Decepticon cause!" though spoken in a whisper, the pledge was no less fierce as Longarm cut off the transmission.

There was a sniff from behind him and Megatron turned to face Acidstorm casually standing. Eavesdropping, as Starscream had loved to do when Shockwave called. From the relish on her face at having caught an important and seemingly private exchange, Megatron could guess that the trait had passed from Starscream to Acidstorm.

"So there'll be a spy coming?" she asked, all eagerness and a bundle of wires. Megatron tilted his helm and /smirked/, pouring all of his frustration and confidence into the deceptively simple gesture. It succeeded in its goal of making Acidstorm take a step back and bow her head.

"You did well with naming your fellows, but do not push your luck," he reprimanded her sternly. "I do not tolerate betrayal or listening in on a private conversation, Acidstorm. You are capable enough to lead your sorry band of mismatched seekers, but do not think to overstep such boundaries. I will what to do with the spy, as you will decide what to do with your new squad." There was no need for a dismissal when Megatron was through; all he had to do was turn around and the other would take the hint and leave. It was pleasant to hear the clanks of Acidstorm's pedes as she proved to be intelligent enough to take the hint.

Despite the constant interruptions, Megatron mused, the day had not been a complete loss, and it was still young. Fliers once again flew the skies of Cybertron legally, and a spy was playing right into his lap. In the end, Magnus would lose due to that disgusting concept of trust that Megatron could never understand or tolerate. Trust undid all the careful planning that one took to keep an empire secure. Magnus' trust in Longarm and the now-exiled Earth soldiers would be his undoing. Flipping open his comlink was, once again, easier than it had been. Contacting his seeker captain was even easier than the simple act of opening a panel on his arm.

"Acidstorm. Prepare your seekers for a return to Earth. You are to collect a number of things for me..."

--------------------------

The ordeal was finished with and Sentinel could finally attempt to unwind. Witnessing an Autobot be drummed out of the entire /faction/ and not just sent to the stockades, let alone being the one to enact the decision, was shorting out his processor. Guilt was not a conceit allowed in the Autobots and Sentinel shook himself for feeling it. The emotion both irrational and against everything his logic circuits told him had gnawed at his spark ever since he had gone to that slagged organic infestation of a planet. Now he could not deny that what he had done to Optimus and the other two that had decided to break the rules was both cruel and unusual even to him.

He was sure that Magnus had a very good reason for kicking them out, however, even if it made no sense to Sentinel. Magnus was wise and strong and above all else, he was their leader. He had the power and the wisdom to wield Stormbringer and bring it to his will, and that alone was the sole reason that the Autobots followed him as their unquestionable leader. Any mech or femme could see his face plastered on posters or even advertisements for their favorite brand of energon and toys for the protoforms. Younglings played and dreamed of the day that they could one day become the magnus and be the leader of the Autobots. Ultra Magnus was everything that the Autobots wanted to be: selfless, kind, practiced, and wise.

Sentinel had daydreamed of becoming the Magnus when he was younger, so often and so vividly that it didn't seem like a daydream at times. It was almost as if it was a premonition of future events, ones that might have come true if Sentinel could just rid himself of his pride. It wasn't that he wanted to keep it--by all means necessary the mech had been trying to abandon it--but his pride was stronger than his efforts. It was similar to a protoform's security code, wrapping him and protecting his fragile emotions. It wasn't easy to get rid of, and Sentinel was finding it downright impossible.

It would figure that Jazz would refuse to do his duty, slagged ninja-bot. As the second-in-command, it was Jazz's duty to strip the other Autobots of their insignias, not Sentinel's. Sentinel hadn't even planned to go to the hearing and instead train with himself and check on the progress of the new fliers that Wheeljack and Perceptor were working on. A challenging and quite contrary project, but one that Ultra Magnus had ordered.

Ultra Magnus. Sentinel's leader, and when the mood struck the supreme commander of the Autobots, his companion as their frames intertwined. There was no existing pattern to when Magnus would want to interface but always clues: a slight tug on Sentinel's antennae, a warmed hand slipping between armored platings, and when they were alone, Magnus would lean so close to allow Sentinel to feel the heat from Magnus' spark. The meeting would usually end after any of those signs and Sentinel would be honored with the warm hands of his leader. It was a bliss that Sentinel could not deny and he didn't want to.

But it still wasn't fair of Magnus to use him against Optimus, even though the ex-Autobot was technically right, galling as it was to admit. By presenting it as if Optimus was doing something for his own glory, the Elite Guard washout had sealed his own doom. It didn't come across as a self-sacrificial act to any of the Autobots; it came off as a ego-bloating tactic to gain one last edge of glory. The name of Optimus had been defiled and stricken from the records--in a few centuries, and only then, it would once again be good for use. No one wanted to be named after a proud and willful exile.

Footsteps jarred Sentinel out of his musings and the soldier scrambled to attention as Ultra Magnus entered the Prime's quarters unannounced, for he needed no permission to come in. It was already granted, and always had been. "Sentinel Prime," Magnus began with a sharp tone and a disapproving optic, "you were missing from the rest of the meeting."

"I had to deal with other problems, sir," Sentinel Prime answered and it was the truth, though an evasive one. The real reason he had left lay in the past among the buried and destroyed remains of his old lover, Elita-One. Somehow, Sentinel knew that he didn't want to drag either of those holes in his life up. Optimus Prime and Elita-One were memories that should and would be buried underneath the more important parts of life.

"Yes, of course," Magnus' voice was distant but came slamming back with more severity, "but that does not excuse you from the meeting. We talked of things that would have benefitted from your opinion, such as what to do with the organic from Earth and her key." While his anger was rarely shown, Magnus could bring it out in full force when he wished, and now Sentinel could see it vividly. The Prime hung his head in defeat. There was no need for further lecture now and Magnus relaxed. "How are the other problems, Sentinel Prime?"

"Doing as well as you'd expect, sir," Sentinel responded and his words exploded from his mouth in an eagerness to expel the memories of both the hearing and the fateful outing to an organic planet. "Wheeljack and Perceptor expect them to be up and running in a few solar cycles.."

"Very good," Ultra Magnus sat on Sentinel's berth and looked at his third-in-command patiently. Sentinel stared back before starting and haltingly sitting down as well. Magnus shifted closer and reached up to run a practiced digit over the nearest antennae. "You are upset over the hearing," he stated calmly. It was not something Sentinel could deny, nor could he get mad. Magnus was too calm and collected for it to be a personal attack on his integrity. In any event, the Autobot leader would never stoop so low as to play off of any self-centered feelings one of his own might have. That was, again, reserved for the more self-centered leader of the Decepticons.

"I didn't want to," Sentinel muttered and winced at the accompanying feeling of shame. It wasn't a foreign feeling, but it was one that the mech hated and reviled to the bottom of his spark. There was in this instance something to feel very ashamed about, and that was his desire to do something that was against what the good of the Autobot army was, one of the only ways to get Magnus angered. "That's not what I meant," he added hastily. "I mean that I just..." he slumped as his processor spit back no other phrasing that could clarify what he meant. "I just didn't want to, sir. It didn't feel right."

"But it was right, you understand," Magnus' servo carefully tweaked Sentinel's antennae, eliciting a moan from the younger Autobot. "The good of the unit /must/ be preserved above all personal feelings..." Stormbringer rested against the wall as another servo joined Magnus' first one, bringing out another moan from Sentinel. They continued their ministrations as Magnus talked on, his voice soothing and low. "We are all cogs in the Autobot machine, Sentinel, and removing the faulty parts is something that we must do, even if we were their friends once."

The words broke through the haze of pleasure that Sentinel was so eager to hide behind and invaded his processor. He looked up quickly and nodded once to let Magnus know he was listening. "I know, sir. It was just that..."

"Just what, Sentinel?" Magnus' voice and touch hardened at the question and Sentinel made a small noise as the haze of pleasure came back once more. "There is no questioning the validity of our code. It is engraved in our processors from the moment of our activation and cannot be denied. The Autobots must function as a whole and not as individuals or the whole army will suffer. The actions of one can severely hamper our efforts to make a utopia where all are equal. Your Optimus Prime and his crew were defective parts, Sentinel. You did your duty in sacrificing what you wanted for yourself in the name of helping the whole. Well done."

Sentinel shifted closer to Magnus and pressed his face into the older mech's chestplating. Magnus' spark was giving off heat as the arousal and exertion of his frame escalated, and Sentinel made a small noise of need. "Why..." he attempted as Magnus' glossa flicked along his antennae, "why do you overload with me if we are to seek nothing for ourselves, sir?" he managed with a small groan. His processor was shorting out from the stimuli that Magnus was pressing onto him.

Ultra Magnus was silent and soon after his servos pressed into Sentinel's innards, winding around the wires lacing over the protoform beneath the armor. Sputtering, Sentinel laid back as Magnus attacked both externally and internally, hands and mouth winding around whatever caused Sentinel to groan the loudest and longest. It was a quick overload and Sentinel only attempted to prolong it once, but a quick nip from Magnus soon brought him back into the seizing ecstasy that was sweet electricity running through his circuits and blessed heat rolling off of him in waves. Coolant sprang and rushed in his tubes to avert any potential heat damage, and Sentinel sank into the pleasure.

"Spark..." he muttered and reached out to touch Magnus' Elite Guard insignia. It was the only one that was actually branded and not a sticker, as the supreme commander only received. It was a testament to how binding the position was, and how immensely dedicated a mech had to be in order to become a Magnus. "Please..." Sentinel pleaded, longing for another spark to take the pain away from him and another mind to hold his and cradle it. He willingly obeyed the sin of /wanting/ for the distant idea of pleasure so intense that it didn't matter that it was a sin of personal preference.

"My spark?" Magnus rumbled and immediately pulling away. Stormbringer once again in hand, the Autobot leader snorted and walked over to the door, leaving an overloaded Sentinel on his berth. "My spark is not mine to give, nor is your spark yours to give. Personal preference and wanting something for your own, Sentinel, is not a virtue, it is a morally reprehensible. Your spark belongs to everyone else but yourself, and you cannot consent to give it to another, and neither can I."

With those parting words of rejection so clear that Sentinel could never ask again, Ultra Magnus was gone. Sentinel, now alone, fell into recharge, where only his memories and darkest fantasies of the day Magnus finally agreed to spark-bond could keep him happy. It was the only time that Magnus actually agreed to take and not just give.

----------------------------

Cybertron was a vast and sprawling world that far surpassed what pictures Optimus had seen of Earth. Where Earth was soft and organic, with color bleeding from every surface and life dancing throughout, Cybertron was hard, cold, and colorless. Steel buildings cut jagged lines out of the sky and rose in straight lines from the planet's surface. They were buildings that Autobots had so carefully constructed, some sprawling mansions, others large and stiff office buildings. Architects brought the style of the elders before the Great War into play with every building, and the effect was a homage to what had been, to a better time and a better way. Earth may have been colorful and teeming with organic life, Cybertron was a comforting, frozen landscape of twisted metal and circuitry.

It was certainly the last place that Optimus would ever have thought himself no longer welcomed, and it cut into him deeply. Cybertron was now a prison to he and what remained of his crew, a beautiful prison to be sure, but confining nonetheless. Only if they escaped to the forbidden zones of Cybertron and somehow managed to avoid the Autobot guards stationed there would Optimus be able to lead his men out of danger. If they were caught not by any Autobot, it would be the stockades, as was only fitting for exiles. It was with great surprise that Optimus had learned this the bitter way, and his axe was stained with energon.

He wasn't speaking to either Bumblebee or Bulkhead. Some mean and angry part of him blamed them, not himself, for bringing this whole mess onto them. Once a Prime and the top of his class, Optimus was not only an exile but a murderer as well. The dying gasps of the Autobot that had only been doing his duty still haunted him. Grey had never been so ugly a color, so devoid of anything remotely similar to life until then. A tremor passed through him; he was no better than the Decepticons that he had claimed to fight.

Ever since the three exiles had left the Autobot headquarters, Optimus had felt and increasing awareness of just how terrible never being recognized for one's deeds had been. It was a slow pain that lived deep in his spark, but it existed, gnawing until there was nothing left but a slow burn that he had never noticed before. It was only when the burn had been compared to the small solace of earning respect instead of it being given that he realized, and even then he rejected it. No Autobot was above the Autobot cause. But he wasn't an Autobot, not anymore. The stains of energon that still dripped down to mar Cybertron's beautiful surface proved that well enough.

"Hey, boss-bot?" Bulkhead. Simple Bulkhead, or so had the rest of the team assumed. No one would have guessed that the same burning was in his spark and that burning had led him to seek praise from a Decepticon. A space-bridge technician, the best on Cybertron was an Autobot that was barely recognized. What a relief it had to have been for Bulkhead to help the ones they had all been raised to fight and destroy. Optimus almost envied Bulkhead, simple though he was. There, in his memory files, lay a taste of praise for a role that Bulkhead had worked hard to get. Optimus was like as not to never get that.

"Hey, Optimus?" Bulkhead's voice was a little louder now, and Optimus snapped his head up to look back. Energon still dripped from his hands and his axe, marking Cybertron and leaving a path easily followed. "You think you should, uh, clean that off somewhere?"

"And where would you like me to clean it off?" Optimus hissed, the burning coiling around his spark and encouraging him. The fearful optics flashed before his, and the sobs that called for life filled his audios. For a fearful moment he couldn't speak, the desire to be recognized for his achievements and the life he had taken to escape the stockades filling him. "I don't have anything to clean it off with. Would you like me to march right back to Ultra Magnus and ask for something? I'm sure he would love to know where it all came from."

"Hey, take it easy!" Bumblebee defended his friend, glaring down at Optimus. "You don't need to get so snappy! Bulkhead's right. You're making a bigger mess than when my own oil was dripping out of me, and it's easy to follow. So can you just /please/ do something about it?" he asked, intakes coming in short gasps. Optimus stared for a moment before nodding, bringing out a small and precious blanket. Sari's blanket, that she had given to him with a blush and shyness. That it would be used to clean another Cybertronian's energon had never occurred to him. Wiping it off was easy and Optimus immediately tucked the ruined blanket back.

Sari... she was on Earth. No Autobot needed to go to Earth now that the Allspark had been scattered and lost, and it could easily be a place of refuge. A proper burial could be given for Prowl, and they could be with Sari, blessedly alone. No one would tell them what to do again, and Optimus could spend the rest of Sari's life trying to make up for the creator she had lost. Purpose filled him once more and he turned to his crew, the few remaining members staring back at him in a mix of alarm and hope.

"I'm sorry I haven't been as good of a leader as I ought," he began, "and I'm sorry that I terminated that Autobot. There was no reason to other than fear of being sent to the stockades, where we should rightly be. I can't bring myself to care about what's right in the Autobot's eyes anymore, though. From day one we've been abused and locked out, forever frustrated and pinned with our failures rather than our strengths. We've defended the Allspark from Decepticon hands but the minute something goes wrong, we are to blame.

"I know that being forced to no longer consider ourselves Autobots hurts. I know that traveling with me, especially after I just deactivated that Autobot, isn't your idea of a good day. We're exiles, and I realize that. Cybertron isn't our home anymore, and despite everything, I still don't want to go to the Decepticons. There's really only one who still can ask for our friendship and allegiance, and I for one don't want to abandon her."

"But how can we get to Earth?" Bumblebee shook his head from his position atop Bulkhead and looked down at Optimus. "I miss Sari as much as you, but we can't reach her. In case you haven't noticed, Ratchet has our ship."

"So we steal a ship," Optimus shot back. "The Axalon is an older ship used long ago, and no one checks up on it very often. It's mostly used for a museum effect when the newest cadets of the Elite Guard are initiated. It was said to be Optimal Magnus' flagship. We take the Axalon, and we go back to Earth and to Sari."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, boss-bot," Bulkhead scratched his helm with a frown. "There are a lot of problems with the Axalon's transwarp device, so far as I've heard. Maybe we should consider another, newer ship that doesn't have problems? If we use the Axalon, we run the risk of bouncing all over space. It doesn't really accept coordinates well."

"We have all the time in the world, don't we?" Optimus snapped back. "There's two things we can do: turn ourselves in and go to the stockades, or throw ourselves on Decepticon mercy. I'm not willing to do either of them. For all we've done for the Autobot machine, we've been cast out like worn-out cogs. As for the Decepticons, they killed Isaac Sumdac."

Silence stretched between the three as they stared at each other. The emptiness of Cybertron yawned outwards on all sides. Cool, sweet Cybertron, the home that was no longer home. Bumblebee nodded once, and Bulkhead soon followed suit. Optimus hung his head for one last moment in memory of what he had been before straightening.

"Alright, men. Let's roll out and go take a ship."