The signal had shown him where the next fugitive had gone. Bumblebee found it frustrating that whenever he and his team got closer to the target, it disappeared-thus leading them to another fallen trail. They figured out the pattern though, as the target's signal was close to the river, which signified them that their fugitive hides in the river. Deep it seems.

Bumblebee quickly thought up of a strategy to help capture this elusive fugitive. He split his team to help cover any possible future route to where their target would go, depending on where Fixit directs them to. if the pattern had given any clues, their target seems to go with the current of the river.

Confident enough that his own team would take care of themselves, Bumblebee followed another lead of the target, directed by Fixit, which wasn't too far away from where he was. He'll have to be careful though as he doesn't know how dangerous this fugitive would be.

The organic trees that he had grown up with were really helpful as he blended in. These dense forest helped covered his tracks and signal during the war, saving his own aft from time to time from Decepticons.

While weak, it was still a thankful blessing.

But that was long time ago now, Bumblebee mused as he found himself in his own memories. It was in the past, no matter how much he had assured himself, looking up to the blue lit sky, as if Starscream and his flying Vehicons were still roaming in the sky.

"Lieutenant," Strongarm's voice had jerked him back to the reality, "I got a message from Fixit that the target is few meters away from you."

Few meters, what're the odds in that?

"Got it, Strongarm." Bumblebee replied, "Round up the others and head towards to where I am. I'll try to distract the target."

With enough confirmation, Bumblebee turned his communication unit off, not wanting to alert his target and neared towards to the location. He was pretty thankful that the forest was covering his tracks well as well as the fact that his target doesn't seem to be paying attention to its own surroundings-focusing on something ahead while mumbling and scratching.

Concerned, Bumblebee approached closer, trying to understand what his target was saying.

"No, no, no, no" the fugitive mumbled, scratching the paint as the armor screamed in pain, "ugly, so ugly..."

To his horror, he saw his target's body was covered in scratches-scratches of self-harm littered across the red and silver armor, many seemed infected and some were freshly scratched. What was more horrifying is the fact that the large scar were marred to the thick, limp tail as if a sharp blade had tried to gash through it.

A harsh sob had made him think if Alchemore really house the criminals.

"Hands up," Bumblebee made his presence as he pushed that thought away for later. Right now, distracting his target is important, "I have my team coming here soon, so don't try to get away."

The said fugitive froze, body tensed in reflex as his target heard his voice. Slowly, the target turned its helm around, red familiar pupils that Bumblebee was sure he hadn't seen in such a long time was staring back at him.

Unicron's claws went through his spark.

No.

No way.

It can't be.

"B...Bumblebee..." red and silver mech whimpered, his black and red optics staring back at him fearfully, pale face filled with scars and scratches of self-harm, "Wh...wha..."

"No-" Bumblebee choked, "No, it can't be. They told me you died!"

The red and silver mech shook, lubricant starting to stream down his scarred face, claws scratching the paints as if it was the most diseased thing. Jagged tail twitched, showing the discomfort of being still for a long time. He started to babbled in mixed and broken sentences, only to sob again as more lubricant came out in whether of relief or fear.

Bumblebee just dropped everything; his weapon, his position, and his mission as he rushed towards to the mech whom had disappeared from his life. How is this possible? They told him that he had died! Why did they lie to him? What had they done to him?

He tried to take everything in, to make sure himself that this is real and not a dream. Here, is his old friend, alive and yet broken by the torture that he will never uncover. His EM field is pulsing with life; the warmth that he was touching to, is real. Hot, fresh tears of lubricant, is real as he felt the mech burrowed deep into his shoulder, hugging him tightly as if he would disappear from his life.

"Knockout..." Bumblebee choked as he tried to sort his emotion, "What have they done to you?"