Well, here we are - the second and final installment of 'The Catalyst' series (which, if you have not read 'The Catalyst', fear not as this story is designed to be read alone). Much like its predecessor, it will be Ironhide-centric but this time around we are alsi going to see Ratchet facing some issues and struggles as well. I hope you'll enjoy the journey and feel free to comment & fave below!

"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival." –C. S. Lewis

Ironhide fired off another shot before taking cover behind a fairly sizeable rock. His armor glinted in the bright sunlight, and he spun his cannons to try to cool them faster.

The firefight he was in was mediocre at best, really nothing more than a skirmish in an unimportant swatch of desert, and add to that the fact that he was basically just a foot soldier and it was a recipe for boredom for the weapons specialist. He had wandered away from his squadron a little while ago, because if he could not help lead the fight then he would rather just be on his own, but he understood why he was being placed on assignments like this. He needed to understand how the Autobot protocols and chain of command worked before he could hope to take on a role as a field commander with this faction.

Not that any of the Autobots had ever actually said that he was going to be a field commander, but of the skills he had that would be most useful to them—weapons design and military strategy—they were giving him primarily field assignments rather than engineering work and so he assumed that they were wanting to take advantage of his expertise in the latter area.

Or at least the veteran warrior liked to think so. He had been adapting well to being a member of the Autobots, and although he was fine right where he was, if he was completely honest with himself he knew he was eventually going to get a bit bored if they did not move him on to something better. He was the type of the mech that needed to feel challenged and have enough autonomy to be able to accomplish things the way he saw fit. In fact, he had been that way since a fairly young age—fiercely independent and with a strong desire to have the power to make a difference.

That was actually why the black mech had gotten into designing weapons. He had seen for himself as a youngling how just the threat of force could right a wrong, and it turned out that the work itself was challenging enough to provide him with the mental stimulation he needed.

But there was no sense in dwelling on things of the past. Ironhide quickly scanned his surroundings, locating another Decepticon soldier that was quickly dispatched by a blast from his plasma cannon. He did not dwell on that fact either, instead twirling his cannons again as he simultaneously looked for the flash of distant gunfire that might alert him to a more active fight somewhere else.

But the weapons specialist saw nothing, and as he looked out over the vast expanse of empty desert, for a fleeting moment he could not help but feel that his life was the same. Almost always alone, having no real or known purpose, and... and there was something else too, but he could not clearly define it at the moment. It was almost like he somehow... identified with this place. Which was odd, because he had no history here.

Ironhide shook his head in dismissal, forcing himself to push the thoughts aside. Primus, why was he being so sentimental? This was exactly why he needed to keep his processor occupied—otherwise the obtrusive notions did not stop. He huffed before drawing in a vent of warm air, turning to head back the way he came and meet up with his squadron. They were probably wondering where he was or what he was doing.

However, he never completed the turn.

A blast from an unknown assailant's weapon hit Ironhide squarely in the back, knocking the large mech forward. He would have caught himself had a second shot not hit him in the side, this one burning through the paint on his armor and scrambling the electrical circuits he used for balance. He sent out a distress signal just before slamming into the ground, though he was unable to verify if anyone received it...

/* * */

The skies were clear blue, and the weather perfect for flying even if such good visibility was not so good for remaining hidden. But at the altitude he was at, he would go unseen, unheard, and nearly undetectable.

His task was quite simple, and rather boring—with the latest in Decepticon cloaking technology, Starscream was merely to observe and document certain identifiable characteristics of the Autobots involved in the fight and then tabulate how often the same mechs were seen. It was part of an ongoing project to estimate the number of fighters in the Autobot forces.

But, when he circled around to identify a particular mech that was all alone, Starscream quickly realized that he did not need any identifying markers to know who this mech was.

And he would not have guessed in a hundred decavorns that he would see this particular individual in such an insignificant and rather frivolous fight such as this.

It was Ironhide.

While many members of the Decepticon ranks now talked of Ironhide as a traitorous brute or a weak old-timer too gullible to resist Autobot brainwashing, Starscream himself did not actually subscribe to those ideas. After all, rarely did the silver flier see a mech make decisions based on wise self-interest rather than pointless blind loyalty, and if Ironhide believed that being a part of the Autobot cause served him, then Starscream could respect that. He did not believe that it was the intelligent choice, but he respected it.

Though that did not mean he was going to give the mech a free pass.

Starscream fired off a low-powered round while he was at the right angle, quickly switching to a more powerful weapon that would have more of an impact on a mech of Ironhide's size. That shot hit its target only a second later, before the black mech would even know where the first came from.

Starscream knew he would have to act fast, as any other mechs in the area might now be aware of his presence. It was hard to mask gunfire.

However, he did not land right away. Ironhide was on the ground now, and Starscream circled above him as he pondered what to do next. He had not exactly been expecting a stroke of luck such as this, and he wanted to be sure he used it to his best advantage.

Perhaps, with this, he could even edge himself up ahead of Shockwave as the favorite. After all, Megatron would certainly be very pleased to hear of Ironhide's capture.

"Commander Starscream, reporting," the silver Decepticon transmitted through a comm link as he finally transformed and landed, his feet lightly touching the sand.

"Go ahead, Commander," the generic voice of a Decepticon dispatcher responded.

"Please inform Lord Megatron that I have..."

Starscream paused, suddenly rethinking his approach.

"Inform him that I have nothing of interest to report here," he continued instead. "I have collected all relevant data and will be returning shortly."

"As you wish, Commander Starscream."

Starscream ended the communication, walking toward the incapacitated mech that lay before him.

No, he was not going to tell Megatron. He had a better idea.