A/N: Fraggin's Primus on a pogo-stick, this thing really is a monster. I've typed up almost fifty pages of text for it so far and have barely gotten to Chapter Four! As that's the case, expect no more than an update or two per month, because I seriously cannot handle working on a single project at once for the bare minimum amount of time it's going to take me to finish this thing.
That said, this story is a mix of various continuities, being mainly G1 with bits of Prime and Animated thrown in for posterity, all humanized for the sake of my drawing hand. There are already a couple of sequels in the works, a collection of accompanying short stories being worked on, and portraits of over two thirds of the character cast posted to my DeviantArt page, where I go by the same username if you want to take a look.
In no way official, but this is how I use 'em in this:
Klik (Second)
Breem (Minute) 100 kliks
Joor (Hour) 60 breems
Orn (Day) 30 joors - 15 for a day cycle, 15 for a night cycle
Deca-orn (Week) 10 orns
Groon (Month) 3 deca-orns/30 orns
Vorn (Year) 14 groons/42 decaorns/420 orns
And finally, please enjoy the first of my tales of an organic Cybertron. Those who actually make it all the way to the end will be welcomed with open arms, and the readers who successfully guess who each or any of the New Recruits are before they receive their assigned codenames in the next chapter will get a sneak peek! Have fun reading!
-Triscribe
Chapter 1 - Prologue to Adventure
Ducking another round of gunfire, Hank Veer cursed his stupidity for the millionth time that orn. His mother had been telling him for vorns that the young man was going to take a step too far one day, and tumble right off the edge of a cliff, literally or otherwise.
Now, he knew her words to be absolutely true.
Just the previous evening, he'd still been washing dishes in his mother's roadside eatery, desperately keeping his ears open for news of the War. At twenty vorns old, Hank had as much of a social life as was possible in the tiny settlement of Hillitrex - which was to say, none at all. So, rather than go out after the dinner hours to try and scrounge up something fun to do, he spent most evenings in the eatery, catching snippets of conversation between the travellers who stepped in for a quick meal. This far into the Prianti Mountains, the most they ever heard of the War between the Autobot Army and Decepticon Imperialists was who had won a recent victory, who was on another recruitment drive, and which city states were no longer safe to inhabit as battle raged through them. And all of that information was filtered from those fleeing the destruction - merchants trying to maintain their businesses, couriers hurrying towards distant outposts, or refugees whose homes had recently been destroyed.
In recent vorns, that latter category had seen more and more people counted within it, hardening Hank's heart against the Decepticons who caused the most devastating losses to civilian populations. Much as he would have liked to leave home and go do something about it, his mother always cautioned him about seeking out trouble; someone with his luck always had enough come to them on its own.
And last night, she had finally been proven right after all.
Just as Hank had been piling up the dirty dishes from a table at the rear of the room, a young man wearing green leather clothing that had seen better days ducked in the entrance. He ignored Mrs. Veer's welcome, not pausing as he snatched a menu pad from her hands and went straight to the booth in the most shadowy corner of the eatery. Curiosity overwhelming his sense of foreboding, Hank stepped over to him.
"Um, you okay there, buddy?" He asked cautiously. The dark-skinned youth glanced up from where he was pretending to scan over the menu, eyes nervously darting over to the front door and back.
"Can you make like you're taking my order, and that I've been here a while?" He hissed in a desperate tone. Blinking in confusion, Hank didn't even have time to ask why before the door was slammed open once again.
He was able to puzzle out an answer to the stranger's request when five heavily armored and thoroughly intimidating people stomped in.
"So, that's the Hexian sausages, with a double side order of Trax potatoes?" Hank said, grabbing his small datapad and swiftly tapping out some random words. The young man before him nodded, eyes expressing relief and gratitude. "Okay, that'll be right out." As Hank turned to head for the kitchen door, he watched as his mother nervously seated the group of newcomers, even as several other people in the room glanced over and prepared to leave.
Hank didn't blame them. The purple Decepticon sigil, prominently displayed on the scarred armor, was enough of a deterrent for anyone. He himself, though, just felt growing anger, especially as he saw how terrified the newcomers were making his middle-aged mother.
A few moments later, she joined him in the kitchen, and Hank wrapped her in a tight hug. He'd been a full foot taller than his mother for the last four vorns, and now tucked his chin over the top of her head.
"Why are they here?" Hanna Veer gasped out, her hands grasping the back of her son's orange vest. "Their kind have never come this far into the mountains before."
"I don't know, Mom." He replied, eyes trained on the door. "I'll handle taking their food over, though. You just look after everyone else, okay?" Composing herself, Mrs. Veer quickly agreed, and the two of them swapped the orders on their datapads before taking the lot to their cook. Hank quickly informed the man of what was going on out front, causing him to grow pale and swallow nervously.
"You said that young feller came in lookin' scared just before they did?"
"Yeah. I think he was running from them."
The elderly cook frowned. "Best see about getting that lad out of here quickly then, but not so obviously that they single him out."
"Or us either." Mrs. Veer added. Hank nodded to both of them, accepting the platters that held the Decepticons' meal orders and drinks. Steeling himself, the twenty vorn old used his shoulder to push open the door, and strode out with a brave face.
He froze upon seeing that all five Cons had left their table to surround the young man who'd run in just before them.
"...It's simple, kid." The tallest of them was demanding, halfway leaning over the still seated youth. "Did you come here from the north or the south?"
"And I'll ask again, what's it to you?" He responded calmly, hands folded in front of him. Two of the Decepticons had sat down on the booth's other bench, while the remaining pair stood directly behind the young man as the leader bent down to look him right in the eye.
"Cheeky fragger, aren't ya?" He snarled.
"Some of the time, yes."
"Hey, Onslaught, lookie here!" The woman standing behind the booth suddenly snatched something from the youth's neck, eliciting a yelp as his head was forced upward.
Hank felt his insides shrivel at the leader's next words: "Well, well, well! Guess we've found ourselves a Roamer."
Once a staple of Cybertronian society, Roamers had been large, extended families travelling around the world in their brightly colored caravans, exchanging goods and services at all the city states, and spreading important news to backwater towns that didn't have Hubs connected to the Global Communications System. In the last couple decades, though, they and other non-city dwellers had come under attack by the Decepticon Imperialists - first through hateful propaganda that turned numerous Cybertronians against them, and then actual bombardment when the War began in earnest. Very few of their caravans remained, with members of the formerly close-knit family clans scattered around the planet, seeking refuge wherever they could.
With this one so undoubtedly identified by his caravan's pendant, Hank knew the Roamer was looking at a gruesome execution if he didn't escape these Decepticons right away.
It only took him a few kliks to close the distance from the kitchen door to the oblivious Cons, and one more after that to hurl the platters he carried at them. Yelping in surprise and pain at the sudden barrage of dishes and foodstuffs, all five Decepticons leapt up and away, giving the Roamer the chance he needed to spring to his feet and take off out the front door.
For one glorious moment, Hank felt the thrill of victory - and then the Con leader's gaze locked onto his own with murderous intent. Suddenly, Hank lost any desire he might have had to know why the man was called "Onslaught."
The laser fire and plasma blasts started flying as he too bolted towards the door, and were all the encouragement Hank needed to speed up his steps. Outside, the night cycle had long since descended, leaving his surroundings in near darkness - but by the light of the moons and stars and his own memories, he was able to hurry on a convoluted path through the closely clustered buildings that made up Hillitrex. The screams of panicked civilians and enraged shouts of the Decepticons behind him slowly faded away, leaving only Hank's labored breathing as he hurried through the settlement, taking numerous twists and turns until he ended up at the edge of the forest that covered the lower slopes of the Prianti mountain range.
Rather unfortunately, he ran smack dab into someone else practically the instant he lurched into the shadows of the trees.
"Ow!" That someone yelled, and the voice alone was enough for Hank to identify him.
"You-!" He grabbed the front of a leather coat, and even if the night was dark enough they could barely see each other's faces, Hank knew the dark skinned stranger could tell how torqued off he was. "What were you thinking, coming into our place and sitting down like that?!"
"Well what was I supposed to do?" The other man protested weakly, attempting to take a step back but unable to pull himself out of Hank's white-knuckled grip. "They were about to catch up to me anyway - I needed to someplace to hide!"
"You could have come in our front door and gone straight out the back again! Or done the same thing at any other place on the street! Primus, do you realize how much trouble I'm in now?"
"How much you're in? I'm the one they're trying to kill on sight!"
"And now I'm in the same boat! Slag, do you even realize they might burn down my mom's business now?"
"Hey, I never asked you to help me, so don't go pinning the blame for this on me - I've had enough of being a scapegoat to last me a lifetime." The two glared at each other as best they could, before Hank finally sighed and released his grip.
"You're right. I'm sorry, I just... I didn't think back there, and now I can't help but picture all the horrible ways this could go, because I was a stupid idiot again."
The stranger rubbed the back of his head, expression sheepish. "Well... You did technically save my life, so it wasn't all that stupid. Thanks, by the way."
"You're welcome, I guess." Hank mumbled, sinking down to sit with his back against a tree trunk. "...What in the Pit am I supposed to do now?"
It took a few moments, but the other man stepped over and took a seat beside him. The two sat in silence for a while, listening to the subdued movements of wildlife through the vegetation around them, and the distant, lingering noises of civilization from the inhabitants of Hillitrex.
"My name's Spencer Ringer." Hank glanced over, and by a dim shaft of moonlight was able to pick up the silhouette of his new companion's face. He was looking down, poking at a few leaves with a twig. "I was on my way north when I ran into those Cons and got on their bad side. You're welcome to come with me if, you think you can't go back to your home safely."
"Why? What's up north?"
A ghost of a smile graced Spencer's lips. "Iacon, for one thing. And the secret headquarters of the Autobots, for another."
Hank stared. He blinked. He blinked again, and continued staring. Then, a grin of his own appeared, spreading until it made his face hurt. "Dude, I am so in."
-HF-ST-
In hindsight, Hank had acted without thinking. Again. When dawn broke, he and Spencer had clambered down from the tree where they'd spent the night cycle in fitful sleep, eager to get started. The latter still had his knapsack with several orns worth of food contained within, but Hank still needed to snag some of his own things from home.
The two of them managed to work their way back around town towards the eatery, which was thankfully still standing. Checking to make sure the coast was clear, Hank took a running start and jumped up to grasp the bottom of the second story balcony. He pulled himself up and quickly ducked in through the sliding door to his bedroom. Within a few breems, he had pulled out a messenger bag and filled it with several spare changes of clothes, a few datapads with useful things downloaded into them like maps and camping guides, and his private stash of late night snacks.
Then, he made his first idiotic decision of the morning. Deciding that leaving a note for his mother to find was too impersonal, Hank silently exited the room and made his way downstairs to the eatery. He'd planned just to briefly explain where he was going, hug her and take off again, but as usual, things didn't go according to plan. Hank's first clue that something was wrong came in the form of several loud voices in the kitchen.
Knowing full well that no townspeople would be up and visiting this early, the youth slowed his pace, creeping down the short hall and peering around the doorway. What he saw made his blood boil.
All five of the Decepticon bullies had invaded the pantry and refrigeration unit, helping themselves to most of the food and leaving the rest out to spoil. Mrs. Veer was standing off to one side, wringing her hands anxiously as the supplies meant to last them a further few deca-orns vanished down greedy gullets. The Cons took no notice of her or the mess they were making, merely enjoying gorging themselves.
As Hank pulled back, he had to forcibly make himself resist running in there and causing a repeat of the night before. Trying to find something to distract himself with, the young man's eyes came upon five travel packs lying haphazardly against the wall, an assortment of weapons attached to each: three plasma cannons, four mid-size blasters, two shock gauntlets, and half a dozen energon blades of varying sizes.
A wicked grin snuck its way onto his face as an idea took hold.
Meanwhile, waiting outside was driving Spencer's nerves to the edge of their limits. The last three orns of fleeing from this group of Cons, and numerous others for the groon before that, had worn most of his usual patience away. Now, while he would be glad to have someone else to travel and be on guard with, Spencer was convinced that the longer his new friend took, the more likely it was they would be caught and killed.
So when a small hand tapped him from behind, the Roamer had to muffle a scream as he whirled around in panic. A curly haired boy holding a fishing pole was looking up at him with confusion and curiosity.
"Ah, geez kid, don't sneak up on people like that!" Spencer whisper-yelled, trying to slow his racing pulse.
"Are you waiting for Hank too?" The boy asked, head tilting to one side slightly.
"Um... Yes?"
"Does that mean you're coming fishing with us? You're going to have to borrow Hank's rod, then."
"Uh, no, no I'm not - and he's not either. Listen, kid, there's a bunch of Decepticons around here somewhere, and as soon as Hank comes out, he and I are leaving this town-"
"There's more Cons? Like the ones in Ma'am Veer's store?"
"...What?"
It was just then that the back door was knocked open, and Hank hurtled out of it, making a beeline for Spencer's position. He had one bag bouncing behind him with its strap slung across his chest, and two more ragged-looking ones fit to burst clutched in his arms.
Spencer felt like groaning. "Dude, don't you know the meaning of 'travel light'?"
"No time - and these aren't mine!" He gasped, skidding to a halt beside them and ducking behind the corner of the building behind his mom's eatery. "Oh, hi Daniel. Sorry, I can't make it to the fishing trip today."
"I know. He said so."
"Yeah, I'm sorry - hey, have you sent that letter to your dad yet?"
"No. Mom wanted to put it with a care package."
"Good! Can you tell him that me and a Roamer are leaving Hillitrex, and see if he'll arrange a letter of introduction with the Autobots for us?" The kid's eyes grew really wide, and he grinned up at the young man, nodding vigorously. "Great. I dunno when we'll see each other again, but thanks for being a good friend Daniel."
"You're welcome Hank! And be careful! Say hi to Dad for me if you see him!" Daniel wrapped his short arms around Hank awkwardly in a quick hug, then took off down the dirt path behind the buildings with his fishing pole bouncing cheerfully.
"...What was that about?" Spencer finally asked.
"Huh? Oh, Daniel's dad Sam Witwicky works as a courier for the Autobot Army - I haven't seen him in vorns, but if he passed along a voucher for us, we could probably skip all that preliminary interview stuff or whatever it is those guys do to avoid spies getting in their ranks."
"That... That's a surprisingly smart thing for you to do, Veer. So, what all's in the bags?" Hank dropped one into his arms, and opened it to reveal the bulky and crammed-in weaponry. "...I spoke too soon. You're an idiot."
"Are you kidding? Those Decepti-creeps are way less dangerous without these!"
A sudden burst of blaster fire just over their heads caused both young men to flinch and drop to the ground. In the face of the torqued off Decepticon lady wielding a wide barrelled cannon and standing in the back doorway of the Veer eatery, Spencer turned his glare onto Hank. "And it never occurred to you that they might be carrying extras?"
"Hurry, Onslaught! Swindle! Blast Off! Vortex! The punks are back here!" The Con yelled back through the open door, prompting Hank and Spencer to scramble to their feet and start running.
"Remind me to kill you for this later!" The Roamer berated him as they raced back towards the treeline.
"Less complaining, more fleeing!"
The two of them continued ducking and dodging the gunfire, Hank cursing himself for being so short-sighted again. Things were hardly any better once they entered the forest - the fleeing youths had to drop their speed to avoid crashing, while three of the Decepticons continued after them, firing all the while.
Then there was a turn for the worst - Hank picked up the distinctive sound of a helicopter approaching, and realized the other two Cons must have gone to get their vehicles.
"We are so slagged." He moaned.
"Not just yet!" Spencer grabbed his arm and dragged the other out of a round of blaster fire, leading him towards what looked to be a mound of green bushes. With a sudden burst of strength, the Roamer leapt upward, hauling Hank with him to land squarely in the leafy pile.
Or rather... To land on the green vehicle hidden by the leafy pile.
"You're going to want to hold on now." Spencer informed his companion as he dropped into an open driver's cockpit, throwing pieces of shrubs and branches out of his way. Hank managed to find a handlebar to grip just as the vehicle was turned on, and launched forward with an exhilarating burst of power.
"Waaaa-hooooo!" Spencer howled, steering his truck along some unseen pathway through the trees, avoiding both the natural obstacles and the barrage of plasma fire coming down from the copter above. Holding on for dear life, Hank yelled right along with him, alternating between utter terror and pure exhilaration.
At one point, when they zoomed through a small clearing, he managed to pull out one of the stolen blasters and fire wildly into the air. Somehow, someway, on of his shots collided with the rear propeller of the Decepticon above them, sending the dark grey and blue copter spiralling.
"Holy Primus," Hank breathed in awe of his newfound skill. "Hey! Spencer! Did you see?! I actually managed to- WHOA!" With the sudden slamming of the brakes, Hank found himself propelled forward, landing awkwardly in the cockpit beside the driver's seat. Spencer was glaring ahead of them, where a massive, Primus-forsaken tank was pushing through the trees towards them, the Decepticon sigil prominently displayed on its battle scarred hood.
"I think you were right before." Hank chose to say after a moment, wincing from his new uncomfortable position. "Now is when we are so slagged."
"In most cases, I'd agree with you." The Roamer said dryly as his hand hovered over a red switch on the dashboard. "But this happens to be my grandmother's truck."
Hank was about to ask why that made a difference when the tank ahead of them lowered its front cannon and opened fire. Mere kliks before the artillery shell reached them, Spencer flipped the switch.
Inside his armored vehicle, the man called Onslaught by his allies and enemies alike smiled with grim satisfaction as the Roamer's green and yellow truck exploded, various pieces hurled upwards and outwards.
"Got 'em." He said into his team's comm frequency. "That'll teach the punks to mess with our outfit - if there's anything left of them, that is." The Combaticons shared a cheer, even Vortex, who was attempting to jerry-rig her helicopter's busted propeller in order to fly it out of the trees.
"Swindle, Brawl, Blast Off, go get your trucks and we'll head on out." Onslaught ordered. "V, can ya get the chopper up and running or do I need to come haul your sorry aft outta here?"
Over Vortex's grumbled curses, the others were complaining about not getting to return to the town and blow some of it up. "Think of all the goods we could get!" Swindle in particular begged.
"No deal, we need to report back to Hivus City on the double. Chasing down that Roamer brat took long enough already, I don't want us wasting any more time." Slowly but surely, he browbeat his teammates into loading up and driving or flying out.
Onslaught never did think to check to see where some of the green truck's pieces ended up.
-HF-ST-
"Think we can get down yet?" Hank asked again. Peering down at the forest floor, Spencer strained all his senses, but couldn't find anything to indicate that the Decepticons were still hanging around.
"I think so." He said cautiously. "But we might want to take it slow and-"
With a whoop, Hank slid down the tree at full speed, rolling when he reached the ground and then popping back up to his feet. "C'mon, Spence!"
"-quiet." Spencer finished. He sighed, taking a moment to grab his own bag and the remaining one of stolen weaponry before joining his companion. The two of them observed the blackened and warped pieces of Spencer's vehicle that were strewn around the area, each grateful for the device beneath the driver's seat that had launched the both of them up and into the tree tops.
"I'm sorry you had to sacrifice your truck." Hank offered, a few silent moments later.
"Thanks." Spencer returned in a subdued tone. Many times as a kid he'd asked for his grandmother to demonstrate that particular safety feature, and her response had always been that they should keep it a secret as long as possible, the better to surprise whoever they'd have to use it to get away from. He briefly wished she'd been able to see her sneakiness pay off in such a spectacular manner, but then shook those thoughts away. It was his choice to have left the family behind - longing to see them again at this point would only break his heart further.
"So, I guess this means we have a full few days of walking ahead of us, huh?" Hank joked, nudging the Roamer with his elbow.
"Yep." Spencer forced himself to grin. "At least it'll be more interesting now, with someone else to commiserate with over the aching feet and bug bites."
"...I really wish you hadn't brought those up."
"Tough. It's my revenge for you filching those stupid weapons."
"Hmph. Guess I can't complain about that, then." Spencer snorted at him. "So, any idea what route we're going or how long it'll take?"
In answer, the Roamer pulled out his map, unfolding the pliable plastic sheeting. "I had been going to take the northern road up from Hillitrex, then follow the old Praxian highway to the east. Now, though, I think it's be smarter to stay off the paved roads, and cut through these valleys towards Iacon, which should be about five orns, give or take. We might have to do some crosswise travel, and there's always the chance we'll have to backtrack if there's an obstacle we can't go over or around, but the further into the mountains we get the less risk there is of running into Decepticons."
"Sounds good to me!" Hank hoisted up his bags as Spencer refolded the map. "Which way?"
Rolling his eyes, Spencer pointed in the direction that the sun was rising from, and his companion set off with a purposeful stride that it took a few kliks for the Roamer to catch up with.
They hiked up the forested foothills for the rest of that orn, making camp shortly after sunset beside a creek and spending the night cycle sleeping in a tree again. When morning hit, Hank woke up more sore than he could recall being in vorns. His feet, his knees, his lower back - anything and everything ached. He made sure to say so to Spencer continuously for the following joor, thoroughly annoying the Roamer and forcing him to upend one of their water containers over Hank's head.
After Hank dried off and they both ate, the pair started walking again. They'd gotten into the mountains proper by that point, making progress over and around ridgelines that began to lose the thick tree cover. Grass stalks became thicker while bushes shrank into shrubs, and the wildlife shifted from birds and squirrels to mice and rabbits. Hank entertained himself a few times by swiping the longest energon blade, practically a sword, at some of the thick bunches of vegetation to disturb various critters.
By far the most interesting thing he disturbed, though, wasn't a critter at all.
Hank and Spencer had been coming over the top of another low ridge, the former swiping his stolen weapon at the tops of some tall shrubs in an imitation of a master swordfighter.
"You're going to hurt yourself if you keep that up." The Roamer said at one point.
"What makes you say that?" Hank replied, ignorant of his friend's annoyed expression. Just as he said it, though, he lunged forward with improper footing. Losing his balance with a yelp, Hank tumbled into the bushes, setting Spencer to chuckling. The laughter cut off, though, as the youth was thrown back out of the vegetation, something pale white and blue landing on top of him.
"Hey!" Spencer yelped as the blade was held against Hank's throat by an angry looking teenager. Before the Roamer could move to intervene, someone else jumped out of the bushes and aimed a rifle at his chest.
"Hold it right there." A serious looking, dark-haired young woman wearing a black and pink shirt growled at him. "One move and your buddy is toast." Slowly, so as to avoid being shot at point blank range, Spencer raised his hands into the air and attempted to look as nonthreatening as possible.
Hank, however, had no such desire, and once the blade was removed from his throat he started spewing curses like there was no tomorrow. "Primus! What the frag is your problem?! Jumping people for no slaggin' good reason-"
"Get up and shut up." The girl snapped at him, the barrel of her gun providing the incentive to obey. Still grumbling, Hank got to his feet and went to stand beside Spencer. Unlike the Roamer's position of surrender, though, he retained a wide stance with his arms crossed and a glare trained on their two assailants. The teen who'd first knocked him down remained crouched on the ground, holding the handle of the energon blade with a white knuckled grip.
Spencer did a double take. It wasn't just the teenager's knuckles that were white, all of his skin was - what little could be seen, anyway, which was mainly just his hands and face. His hair was a silvery color too, and behind the tangled curtain of it Spencer could just make out a pair of pink eyes.
"Now," the girl started speaking again. "Where are your friends hiding, and how many are there?"
The young men blinked first at her, and then at each other. "Uh... What friends?" Spencer asked.
"Don't play dumb with me, Con." She snarled at him. "We all know you creeps travel in packs! So quit stalling and tell me where the rest of them are!"
Hank's jaw dropped. "You think we're fraggin' Decepticons? Lady, did you take a knock to the head or something?"
"You're the ones with Con weapons." The albino teen offered, holding up the blade in his hand.
"We stole them! Just before those slaggers blew up my friend's truck, and after they'd completely wrecked my mom's eatery!" Indignant, Hank shook his head at the accusation. Seeing the new hesitation in the girl's eyes, Spencer went for the clincher.
"If it helps," He said softly, reaching for the collar of his shirt. "I'm a Roamer." That said, he pulled out the same caravan pendant that had identified him to the Decepticons. It was a rectangle of soft green leather, strung on a black cord and embroidered with the symbol of his family's line, the Greenbacks, as well as the specialized glyphs for The Spark cannot be Restrained.
No one other than a member of his people could wear such a thing, as they were crafted at such a size as to be placed over the heads of infants, who wouldn't be able to remove the pendants again as the children grew. Fortunately, the pair across from him and Hank obviously knew this fact by the way they lowered their weapons. The four of them continued to stare at one another for a moment, until the girl broke the silence.
"Well." She said awkwardly. "Um. Sorry about that. Bye!" With that, she turned and started to disappear back out of sight. Spencer and Hank both began to protest but were beaten out.
"Rhea! Hold on!" The pale teenager cried out. When he saw that she had paused, he looked at the other two with a beseeching expression. "If you guys aren't Cons, then what are you? Autobots?"
"Uh, no - but we're on our way to Iacon in order to sign up with them." Hank said hastily, instantly triggering a wide grin to appear on the teen's face. The dark haired girl quirked an eyebrow at them, but slowly returned to her original position, fortunately with rifle returning to its holster hanging from her shoulder.
"My name's Spencer Ringer, and this is Hank Veer." The Roamer introduced them, gesturing to each in turn. "We met two days ago in Hillitrex, while I was escaping from a group of Decepticons - you're right about them travelling in packs, by the way." He added as an aside to the girl.
"Hmph. I've dealt with enough of them to know." She muttered darkly. "I'm Rhea Curtis, from Hivus. This is Barry Fleet, of Axiom."
"The Pale Blurr?" Spencer asked, incredulous.
Hank looked at him in confusion. "Who?"
"Only the most famous rookie athlete in all the Paxian Forestlands!" His friend exclaimed. "What in Primus' name are you doing all the way out here?!"
"What I do best." Barry shrugged. "Running." Frowning, Rhea reached out and hesitantly set a hand on the slim teen's shoulder, then sent a meaningful glance at the older boys.
"Come on." She said. "We can all swap stories back at camp."
-HF-ST-
As it turned out, being a famous athlete in a city state that allowed Decepticons to freely roam its streets was a less than ideal situation. Barry had spent the last several groons trying to evade the progressively demanding "offers" of recruitment, to the point he'd begun fearing for his family's life. So, seven orns before, he'd helped his parents and little brother disguise themselves and hide away in one of the smaller towns on the edge of Axiom, and then Barry took off.
"...It wasn't that hard to get the timing right to slip off of the road whenever a group of Cons were heading my way, and even the couple of times someone spotted and chased me, well," Barry blushed. "Fastest runner of the century. No one was going to catch up to me once I got started."
"I'll bet!" Hank said in admiration. "So, you just came straight up the highway from Axiom? On foot?"
"Well, I had my rocket-skates for the roadway, but once I found Rhea we ditched the populated areas for cross-country hiking. Not my preferred sport, by the way."
"What did I warn you about the complaining?" The athlete grinned weakly at his travelling companion's glare.
"I'm going to go ahead and let you guys in on an important fact." Barry said in a stage whisper to the older boys. "Do not get into an argument with this girl - if she can't win with reason, she resorts to winning with her fists." Spencer started chuckling, while Hank felt his estimation of the lady rise a few degrees. Rhea, meanwhile, merely rolled her eyes and started pulling a package out from her messenger bag.
"Hope you guys don't mind eating sealed jerky - I don't have much else, and Barry's food supplies were lost to a bear."
Both Hank and Spencer blinked, turning to give questioning stares to the sheepish teen. "Long story," he muttered.
"Isn't that what we're supposed to be doing right now? Swapping stories?"
"Ringer's got a point. So spill, dude!"
Sighing and shaking his head ruefully, Barry started explaining how an unsealed container of sausage, coupled with a catch bag inexpertly secured in a tree for the night cycle, had led to him waking up in the early morning to a Prism-hide bear licking its snout and standing over his bedroll. When the teen mentioned that he had never run faster in his life, Hank snickered and suggested the next time he raced, Barry ought to arrange to have another bear brought in to sit by the starting line. That got all of them laughing, and prompted Spencer to bring up a time one of his cousins had left their caravan in the dead of night to go skinny dipping with a boy from the local town. Come sunrise, she still hadn't returned, and some family members eventually found both of them stuck in the tree that a pack of hunting cyber wolves had forced the young couple into climbing.
"It took us over two joors to get them down, and the whole time each was stuck covering themselves with each other's clothes!" The laughter rang out as the four of them attempted to get down the food Rhea had shared without choking. To the west, the sun had already vanished behind the mountains, though the sky remained glowing with a mixture of warm colors. Hank went ahead and suggest that they try to find a safe spot to sleep for the night cycle.
"Prefferably without any nearby bears, right, Barry?"
"Oh, stuff it Veer." The retort was delivered with a grin, and got another chuckle out of Spencer. While the boys gathered up their bags, Rhea went up the hill a short ways, stopping when she reached an almost spherical clump of bushes. She pulled a wide blade from a hidden sheath in her boot, and started cutting a section of the outer foliage away. Hank was the first to reach her, knapsacks in tow, and watched in amazement as the girl carved out first a doorway, then an interior room around the central trunk of the main plant. The result was a sleeping shelter completely hidden within the bushes, especially once she arranged some of the excess branches into a shield for the door.
"Wow," Hank grinned at her, getting a small smile in return. As the other two joined them, the youths piled into the shelter, Rhea closing it up behind them. There wasn't much head space, but the four were easily able to curl up within the snug room, and shortly afterward dropped off the sleep.
-HF-ST-
Hank was the first to wake up the next morning, with a mouse sniffing at his ear. From the young man's shrieks, the others had assumed they were under attack by something far more deadly, and as a consequence came to their feet brandishing various weapons. By the time Hank was able to calm himself down and explain, the mouse had scampered away, their shelter was pretty much demolished, and various belongings had been scattered around the hillside.
Rhea was not amused. Spencer and Barry both cracked up. Hank merely set about gathering everything together again, and spent much of the rest of the morning muttering about evil rodents.
Midday found the four of them hiking through a narrow valley between some of the lower mountains, each of the youths keeping their eyes open for any danger. Spencer was in the lead, having the best map of the area and the most experience in wild environments. Barry was close behind him, occasionally launching into a fast ramble when the teen spotted something interesting. At times, his words blurred together, leaving Spencer at a bit of a loss as to how to respond; Barry seemed to be used to that, though, and was able to slow himself down a bit again.
A little ways back from the pair, Hank was enjoying the mixture of human voices and natural sounds as he walked. Every now and then, he tried to pause to take in a bit more of the scenery, only for Rhea to prod him in the back. Bringing up the rear and constantly turning her gaze back to the ground they'd already traversed, the young woman internally wished that their little group could pick up the pace a bit. It wasn't that she didn't mind the pleasant setting - in fact, it was a wonderful change from the poorer district of Hivus she had grown up in. But if there was one lesson Rhea had learned over the vorns, it was that peace rarely lasted.
The sudden explosion that rang out from the next valley over seemed to agree with her.
Exchanging startled and worried glances, the four group members drew closer together, making their cautious way towards the mouth of the valley, weapons gradually shifting from holsters to tightly held grips. When they had almost reached the opening that led into a wide basin between mountains, Rhea shifted her position to be in front, near silent as she moved to a sheltered ledge that would allow her a bird's eye view of what would lie ahead of them. Hank found himself shifting anxiously from one foot to another, highly tempted to slip up beside her. He was just about to do so, but was halted mid-step as a very angry sounding voice made it's way over to them.
"...don't know what I did to deserve putting up with you young idiots! If you think yer gonna have such an easy time of it when I get you incompetent morons to Ark Valley, you've got another thing comin'! In fact, I think I'll go out of my way t' let old Ironhide know just what bumblers he's gonna have ta deal with in his weapons courses. And that's if the Autobot High Command agrees to even let you imbeciles into their base!"
Rhea and the boys listened with baffled expressions as the cranky tirade continued on for another few breems. Not until the shouter had worn himself out did a couple of other voices make themselves heard.
"But, Kup, all we were doing was-"
"We just wanted to see how-"
"-didn't realize the trigger was so sensitive-"
"-but the blast! That was fraggin' huge! How do you-"
"Alright, that's ENOUGH!" The first voice bellowed, immediately silencing the others. Hank found himself chuckling, finding the conversation reminiscent of times that the elders in his hometown would chew out misbehaving kids. Granted, he himself was often one of the troublemakers who received a "talkin'-to", but it just heightened the appreciation of when such an event occurred to someone else.
A few kliks later, Rhea's death glare quieted him, and Hank realized he'd just made a potentially terrible mistake in not remaining silent.
Suddenly, a lean figure wearing rugged Wilds Dweller clothing and at least a dozen weapons was standing above the boys in the valley's opening. Glaring eyes framed by a mass of wrinkled, weathered skin bored into the youths, causing Hank, Spencer and Barry to all shuffle back a little. Still on her perch above them, Rhea slowly lifted her rifle, only to freeze when dual whines from energon blasters being warmed up reached her ears.
"One warning, missy." The old man snarled without even looking at her. "You shoot at me, those boys behind me shoot at you, and I doubt yer as good at dodging as I am. Now, just what do you younglings think you all are doing out here, hm?"
Somehow, Hank managed to find his voice before the others. "Uh, well, we were on our way to Iacon, but after listening to you I think we ought to be headed towards some place called Ark Valley, right?"
The glare faded somewhat, shifting from dangerous rage to a look of exasperated annoyance. "Is that so." Some of the obvious tension went out from the man's stance as well, while he eyed the four of them with a studious gaze. "Roamer. Greenback caravan, if I'm not mistaken. You of age to have left yer clan without there bein' a big blow-up over it?"
Spencer blinked, startled by the sudden inquiry. "Um, yes. I'm nineteen vorns old. My grand-uncle agreed I could leave."
"Hmph. And you, Forestlander? Practically still a kid, you are."
"I turned eighteen two groons ago!" Barry protested. "It's my brother Wally who's still a kid."
"Yeah-huh. What about you, with the eye-searing orange?" The man snorted and shook his head. "Gotta be from Biniari or Hillitrex, those are the only places that think clothes colored like that are still allowed in public."
"Hey!" Hank glowered at him. "These were a present from my mom, you jerk."
"Yer age, punk?"
"Twenty vorns."
"Mm." Finally, he turned to arch an eyebrow up at Rhea, who still hadn't moved from her position. "And yourself, little missy? Hivusian, aren't you?"
Her response was a glare, and a muttered twenty one.
"Alrighty then. Since you all appear to meet the age requirement fer signin' up with the Autobots, I'll let ya tag along with me and the Dim Cousins here." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, reminding Hank of the presence of two more young people. "But, if I'm to find out at any point during the trip that any of you are Decepticon spies or sympathizers..." The old guy trailed off, his scorching glare more than enough of a warning.
Without another word, he turned and stepped back out of sight. After a few moments of hesitation, the boys trailed after him, Hank pausing until Rhea came back down from the ledge. On the other side of the valley's opening, a pair of very muscular young men stood with powered down blasters, identical grins upon their faces. The dark haired one, a good deal shorter than the other, came forward first to introduce himself.
"The name's Hepley, Trenton Hepley. This here's my cousin, Warren Palomine, and the Grouch Supreme over there is Kyle Kup. Who're you guys?" While the four gave their names, Barry was the only one to catch the old man muttering something about a grouchy ratchet - or was that hatchet? Shaking his head, the teen returned to the new conversation in time to hear Trenton say he was glad Rhea had stopped taking aim when she did, because it would have been a real shame to shoot such a pretty lady.
The girl eyed him for all of three kliks before yelling out to Kup. "Am I allowed to hit this one?"
"Missy, you can hit 'em both fer all I care!"
"What did I do?" Warren yelped in surprise, while his cousin had to start backpedaling away from Rhea's menacing expression.
"Whoa, easy lady, all I did was pay you a compli-YOW!" The sweeping high kick never actually connected with Trenton's face, but he over-compensated in trying to dodge away from Rhea, and ended up tumbling down the shallow hill to the basin's bottom.
"Consider that your only warning!" She called down, turning to march back to the others. Hank, while annoyed by Trenton's initial comment, was grinning widely as Rhea stomped her way over to stand beside him.
"And now's when it starts getting interesting." He laughed.
"So, what was that explosion we heard earlier?" Spencer asked after they had gotten moving again. Kup was in the lead now, guiding the half a dozen youngsters as they moved through one valley after another, following some path only he seemed to know. Barry and Rhea both managed to stay right behind him, while the other boys hung back a little bit to talk.
"Heh. Funny story, actually," Trenton began, before Warren cut him off.
"We wanted to see if Kup's old rifle actually still worked, so my dunderheaded cousin here filched it for a breem in order to take a shot."
Hank snorted. "I'm sorry, one rifle managed to make a blast that big?"
"It did!" Exclaimed Trenton, wide-eyed. "I have no idea how, but that thing packs a bigger kick than a grade three plasma cannon! It turned the tree I was aiming at into charcoal, and the shockwave knocked down everything else nearby-"
"Which I why I don't usually fire the fraggin' thing unless I'm shooting at a Decepticon's vehicle!" The old man roared back at them. All four boys jumped in surprise, while Rhea looked back with a smirk and Barry just shook his head in awe.
Eyebrows going up, Hank exchanged glances with the youths around him, all silently agreeing not to bring the subject up again.
For the rest of the orn, the young people of the group tentatively exchanged stories and got to know each other, even going so far as to hypothesize what sorts of exploits they'd do as Autobots (admittedly, this last bit was mostly Hank and Trenton). For the most part, Kup ignored their conversing, though he did occasionally call out to contradict something he'd heard and thought was exceptionally idiotic.
Even with this habit, it wasn't until the morning after their first night camping together that it became apparent just how evil the old man was...
A horrendous, terrible clanging noise jerked Hank into consciousness, along with all five of his companions. The lot of them struggled to their feet, Rhea and the cousins brandishing weaponry in different directions, until the source of the horrible cacophony was noticed.
Kup finished banging the pair of collapsible cooking pans together, watching them all with a smug grin.
"Oh, don't you lot look at me like that," He chuckled in the face of their combined glares. "Just be happy I didn't have any buckets of ice water on hand - now that is a refreshing way to wake up in the morning!" The youths didn't deign to respond, merely setting about gathering up their scattered bedding materials.
"Look on the bright sight, dude-" Spencer muttered to Hank. "At least it wasn't another rodent."
"Oh, shut up."
-HF-ST-
Kup frowned thoughtfully as he watched the dark clouds that gathered in the distance. "I'd hoped we'd have a little longer." He murmured, eyes taking a moment to check over his latest batch of youngling recruits. The young hot rod and younger Hepley boy were trying to compare past exploits to see who was the biggest idiot again, while the other boys listened in and the girl pretended to be ignoring the lot of them. Out of all the prospective Autobots Kup had brought to Ark Valley over the vorns, these didn't seem like they'd be anything special - but his instincts were saying otherwise.
If nothing else, the old Wilds Dweller certainly didn't want to lose any of them to the fierce storm headed their way.
"Listen up!" He barked, capturing all of their gazes immediately. "As I'm sure you all are aware, Cybertron is about to enter another of her periodic rainy seasons. I had hoped we'd be able to make it to Autobot Headquarters before the first of the storms set in, but it would seem we aren't that lucky. So, I'm going to put us on a little detour, to take shelter with a friend of mine until a break in the weather presents us with better timing for the last leg of the journey." And with that, he started down the game trail that clung to the edge of the mountainside they'd camped on the night before.
In the four days they'd been travelling in the same group, Hank hadn't had reason yet to distrust Kup (aside from that first morning's pot banging incident). He surprised both himself and the others by being the first one to hurry after the old man.
"Sooo, where are we detouring too?" Hank asked when he was a couple of steps behind Kup. The grey haired Wilds Dweller arched an eyebrow at his presence.
"Expected you t' be at the back again." He muttered, before speaking up. "A crash site that's been in these mountains fer about fourteen vorns at this point. I was present when it was made, and spent a nerve-wracking groon fixing up the poor slagger who'd been shot down by the Cons. He's been in that place every since."
"He's an Autobot, then?"
"No- not exactly. He sympathizes with our cause, but has family on the other side of the War. So, rather than actively joining our ranks, he just gives me a convenient place to take shelter from time to time, and occasionally other Wilds Dwellers as well."
Hank was silent for a little while as they continued down the path, the others stretched out in a line behind them. "How many of you guys are there, anyway? Wilds Dwellers and the like who work for the Autobot cause."
"Plenty. When the Decepticons started targeting us, there weren't very many who weren't willing to do something about it." Kup paused for a moment, seeming to mull something over in his mind. "I was one of 'em, fer the first vorn or two - and then Cons attacked my family's dwelling in the Forestlands." Hank felt his heart freeze at the words. "After I buried my wife and children, it was an old friend of mine who got me out of my depression and back to doing something practical. He's one of the oldest Autobots, both in terms of actual age and with how long he's been in the ranks; goes by the designation Ironhide."
"I heard you mention his name when you were yelling at the cousins."
"Heh, yeah, he's one tough fragger, and the poor man in charge of making sure all you young hot shots know one end of a blaster from the other. Do yourself a favor, kid, and try to avoid getting on his bad side when we reach Ark Valley." At Hank's 'who, me?' face, Kup revised his advice. "Actually, it might be more practical t' say just stay out of his way - I have a feeling yer exactly the type of troublemaker old 'Hide especially hates."
"Oh. Joy."
His deadpan look got a laugh out of the oldtimer, at least.
Half a joor later, just as the howling winds started to hurl fat raindrops down at the group, Kup lead them into a narrow valley and towards the massive air shuttle husk that dominated the upper half of it. Despite a fair amount of vegetation growing in the sheltered area, the scrubby bushes and long grasses couldn't do anything to hide the massive scores in the earth and along the cliffs that made the valley - remnants of the terrific crash that must have taken place vorns before.
"'Fire!" Kup shouted as he and the youths got closer. "Skyfire, ya in there!" A tall, lanky figure dressed in a stained and worn pilot's uniform appeared in the rear hatch of the shuttle's ruins.
"And here I didn't expect to see you for another groon, Kyle!" The scruffy man grinned, eyes twinkling as his gaze swept over the recruits. "Well, get in here before you all get soaked."
-HF-ST-
"So, Kup said that you weren't an Autobot - but you've still got one of their codenames?" Hank was a bit confused by this detail, hence why he took a chance in asking the old pilot while the other recruits made themselves comfortable in the surprisingly well-equipped ruins. All around what had been the main hold, Skyfire had set up dozens of low tables and cushion seats, lengths of wool and leather lining the walls to help hold in the warmth.
Ignoring the warning glare Kup sent at him, Hank remained where he was as their host started pulling out foodstuffs for lunch. "You're right, on both counts. My real name is Skylar Dawning. But I'll explain fully after we all have something in our bellies."
Sure enough, after he'd passed around toasted bread and cured ham, Skyfire sat himself down between Kup and Barry, and told them his tale.
"I was born in Vos, but moved to Cybertropolis at a young age to enroll in the flight program there. I'd always wanted to help those in the far reaches of Cybertron's wild places, by bringing them connections to the rest of the world, along with other supplies needed to survive the cold and rainy seasons. Every vorn, though, I'd always spend my vacation time back home, visiting my siblings and their wealth of children. When the early days of the Imperials got started, I was taken in along with many other by their oaths of bettering Cybertron by ensuring everyone was on equal footing, with opportunities to make something of themselves. I admit to being exceptionally proud when all six of my brother and sister's children grew up to join the ranks of the Seeker squadrons Vos was turning out... And then everything went wrong.
"After the Senate was disbanded, Morgan Triumphal, or Megatron as I hear he's been calling himself as of late, ordered all shuttle flights bringing material goods to Cybertron's outer reaches stopped. Many of my comrades did so, but I'd made an attachment with the people I delivered hope to - I refused to stop. On what turned out to be my final flight, a group of Vosian Seekers chased after me, all the way into these mountains. They... They were led by my eldest nephew, Steven Dawning. He ordered, pleaded with me to turn around, but when I continued to ignore his hails, he and the others opened fire on me."
"I was standing below 'em when it happened." Kup said quietly when Skyfire had a hard time continuing. "Saw the shots, watched as the shuttle dropped and the jets turned back. Dropped what I was doing and made a beeline for the crash site. This place was a mess, then - metal plating and crates strewn all about, fires dotting the valley. Somehow," he clapped Skyfire on the shoulder, getting a small smile out of the man. "This moron managed to survive all that. Granted, he was a right mess when I found him, what with the blood and burns and what not. Took me almost half a vorn to get him back on his feet."
Trenton looked back and forth between them, incredulous. "Wait, you mean you actually nursed someone back to health?"
"And just what is so surprising about that?" Kup eyed him.
"Uh... Nothing!"
"Anyway," Skyfire regained control of the conversation. "While he was keeping me from, as Kup likes to put it, 'croaking and keeling over,' I had a hard time thinking straight and was unable to give him a name. So, the old man started calling me 'Skyfire' in honor of my dramatic landing, and it was similar enough to my own name that I started answering to it in my delirious state - afterward we were both used to it, so the designation stuck."
"You are barely a decade younger than me, you slagger. That does not give you the right to call me an old man."
Rhea smirked at the Wilds Dweller's grumbled complaint. "So, does that mean us 'younglings' get to call you an old man? Seems only fair, after all." Skyfire and the boys started to laugh as Kup merely scowled into his sandwich.
"Interesting batch of recruits you've managed to gather this time around, Kyle." The other man finally said. "Dare I ask where you found them all?"
"Those two-" He pointed an accusatory finger at Warren and Trenton. "Tried t' follow me after I left the Coldhorn Slopes. Their stealth skills leave a lot to be desired. The rest, found 'em by accident about four and a half orns southwest of here."
"All at once, or...?"
"Yeah, we'd been travelling together for about an orn at that point, and in pairs before hand..." Spencer and Barry started to explain, while the others kept on eating. By the time they'd all finished, Skyfire had heard the full story. As the storm outside had only increased in strength over the joor, he led them all to some of the smaller storage bays, which had been converted into berth rooms. Rhea got her own, the boys another, while Skyfire and Kup retreated to the more private rooms up near the cockpit.
The storm didn't show any signs of letting up the next morning, so their guide decided to take the opportunity to start teaching the youths a bit more about the life they were all signing up for. "Optimus Prime's in charge. You try arguing with or going against his orders without a fraggin' good reason, you can bet yer sorry afts it's a one way ticket out of the Valley. Prowl is his 2nd in Command, a stickler fer the rules, but as long as you don't start pulling pranks or participating in senseless brawls, he won't be any harder on ya than anyone else. Jazz, on the other hand, is about as wild a partier as it gets. He's the 3rd in Command and runs Special Operations, sometimes disappears for a few deca-orns at a time, but then reappears when yer least expectin' him.
"Red Alert is the Security Director, and a more paranoid man you will never meet - not that he doesn't have good reason for it, growing up with his Pit-spawn younger brothers. Remind me to tell you sometime about the fun time I had taking them t' Ark Valley. Ratchet's the Chief Medical Officer, and Primus help ya if you manage to infuriate the man into one of his rages. He's always a grouch at any rate, but when some poor soul makes him really mad, the wrenches and other weapons start to fly at every head in the room. A bit more laid back is Blaster, the man in charge of Communications, who usually has his gaggle of nieces and nephews helping him-"
"Wait, kids? They actually let kids into the home base of the High Command of the Autobot Army?" Warren was shocked, to say the least.
"Bee was the first, and the rest followed. Granted, we usually only let younger family members in if they don't have anywhere else t' go. Now, the other man you really ought to know about is Ironhide..." Kup continued on for almost three joors, telling them about the soldiers and other specialty personnel stationed in the Valley, the chore rotations, basic training schedules, and other ins and outs of the base. Even after Warren's exclamation about teens and kids being present, though, none of the recruits were ready for the last warning Kup gave them. "The absolute worse thing you could do is mess with Bumblebee. He's around twelve vorns old - an estimate, on account of having been found as a toddler about a decade ago by the Command element themselves. In the vorns since then, the kid's never said a word to anyone, but he's as sharp as they come and holds a grudge even worse than old 'Hide. Everyone in Ark Valley has done something to contribute to Bee's growing up, from teaching him t' read and write t' throwing knives and worse. If you do something to bully him over his silence or fear of heights, I guarantee after yer stint in the brig is up that boy will do something downright awful to ya."
The youths all exchanged wide eyed glances, which got Kup to grin evilly. "Don't believe me? Just you wait then."
-HF-ST-
They ended up staying with Skyfire for another two orns, until the storm clouds had a big enough break in them that Kup deemed it a good time to move on. As the youths gathered up their things, the old Wilds Dweller and shuttle pilot arranged plans for a supply run the following groon, which Hank caught the tail end of.
"Wait a klik - aren't you staying at the Valley with us?" He asked, forehead creased in concern.
"I'm a guide, kid. I get people to Prime and Ironhide, and after that I head out again t' see who else I can find." Kup told him, feeling a bit uneasy at the dejected look on Hank's face. "That's not to say I don't show up fer a meal and a night in a real bed every now and then, though. And an evening of cards with the older lot." He added. Hank nodded, looking a little more cheerful as he stepped away to join the waiting group.
Skyfire smiled at his old friend, prompting the Wilds Dweller to scowl and ask what it was. "Nothing. I just haven't seen you care so much about those you come through here with before."
"What are ya talkin' about, 'Fire? I always care-"
"About getting them to their destination, but not so much about how they think of you. I suspect that boy and the others have all grown attached to you, regardless of how long you've been leading them through the mountains."
Sighing, Kup glanced over his shoulder at the chatting recruits. "...They're all about the age Kevin and Kayla were when the Cons killed them and Liesel. Just a bunch of kids... But I've got a feeling about this lot. They're special, each in their own way." Skyfire just smiled and gave his friend's shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"Then may I suggest you step up the amount of times you visit Ark Valley, at least during the duration of their training?"
"...I might just do that."