The mech sat in the dark of the Command Centre at midnight, his body illuminated only by the pale glow of the monitor in front of him. One hand rested against the keyboard, stilled now, from having been typing in a flurry not too long ago. The other hand was clasped around the handle of an Energon mug. He was alone, which was to be expected at this insane hour, so with no discomfort, the mech removed his mask and took a sip of his drink.

He was not pleased. The slagger had escaped him yet again.

Just then, a small window opened on the screen of its own volition, and the mech found himself looking at a communications alert flashing at the bottom of the screen.

A transmission? From Cybertron? He thought. But before he could think further, the audio to the message opened.

"'Nate? 'Nate, are you there? Come in already, this is Point! Come in, damnit!!" Said the distorted voice.

'Nate blinked. Point? He hadn't heard from Point since the last time he was on Cybertron. How did... how did that minibot know where to get in contact with him? Or how? He blinked and looked to the cable that flowed from his wrist to the computer console he was using. Oh yeah. Point was probably just sending his communications to 'Nate's individual signal and it was being relayed through the console. Unorthodox, but none the less, effective. He tapped a few buttons on the keypad and a visual connection was opened. "Point, I read you. By Primus, what has gotten your buffers in a bind?"

"'Nate! Thank Primus!" The black minibot on the screen said with a sigh of relief. Behind him, it was a live battlefield. Not unusual fare for the time, but still somewhat unexpected from 'Nate's point of view. "I need back up!"

'Nate arched an optic ridge at the mech on the screen. "Back up? For what?"

An explosion went off near the black minibot, who ducked for cover.

"Does that answer your rather redundant question?!" Point's voice asked, his face still hiding from the hail of laser fire that snapped overhead.

'Nate stood in alarm, putting his hands on the console on either side of the keyboard. "Point! What is going on?!" He exclaimed.

"Started about two hours ago!" Point said, peeking back onto the screen. "It's the Decepticons, 'Nate, they're expanding their influence this way, apparently. They've bombed the bloody Institute! Half the Premiums died in that first attack alone!" Point ducked out of sight again as the roll of a barrage weapon sounded nearby, closer than the minibot was comfortable with. "There was nothing to even suggest it was going to happen! Things just started blowing up! The Premiums who didn't die at once were ordering people out and about, and, well, you get the idea. Send some back up already!!"

"Who do you want me to send, exactly?" 'Nate asked, a feeling of dread starting to well up in the pit of his fuel pump. "I don't have the authority to send anyone anywhere!"

"What?!" Point exclaimed back. "Aren't you stationed with a unit of soldiers somewhere?"

"I have been assigned to the Autobots, Point, under the command of Optimus Prime! I'm not even an officer! I can't send anyone! And I'm on Earth besides! Even if I could, they wouldn't get there in time!"

Point appeared on the screen again. "But, what about u...-" He cut off. The sounds of battle around him had stopped. 'Nate watched, the dread feeling growing, as the minibot looked around. "...It stopped... the Decepticons... they've... retreated..."

"It's... over? Just like that?"

"I'll go look." Point reached for the off switch on his communications console.

"Point," The minibot froze at 'Nate's word. "Bring me survivors."

"I hope to."

'Nate slumped back into his chair with a defeated groan. He couldn't believe it. They, of all organisations, were caught off guard. They were caught unprepared. And now... who knows how many of them were left?

They weren't the oldest of Cybertron's secret organisations by far... no, they had only been founded a century or two before 'Nate had been created. And, how did he end up there again? He found he couldn't remember.

But it didn't matter so much. They were the best. They were the Clandestine Institute! Proud, powerful infiltration agents from all walks of life were trained there, with loyalties to the Institute and no one else! If you needed a comparison between them and something on earth, they were pretty much ninjas, for Primus' sake!

So how did the Institute fall?

He would wait all night to find the answer, if he had to. And woe betides any Autobot who would try and coerce him out of the Command Centre before he knew what had befallen his comrades... even if it mean blowing his cover among the Autobots, he would know. The Clandestine Institute came first!

But as the hours wore on, and more and more Autobots started drifting in for the day's routine, 'Nate was becoming less and less hopeful. What if there weren't any survivors? What if... what if the Decepticons hadn't retreated, and were hiding in the shadows, waiting for Point to start picking through the rubble in search of their comrades? It was a position to consider.

And... He looked up. The Autobots who had been looking at him quickly turned back to what it was they were supposed to be doing. He was beginning to draw attention to himself... in a bad way. He needed to know what had happened to the other Students! To the Premiums, the Teachers... to everyone! But... years of training at that same place that had just fallen was starting to eat at him, telling him not to blow his cover. He was torn between his training and his loyalty.

He sighed and let his head fall to the desk in front of him, causing optics to drift his way once more. He didn't look up. He didn't care about them right now. He was worried. What was he... supposed to do? What could he do now?

He looked up as someone put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you alright man?"

"Sort of."

"You look terrible. Have you been here all night?"

"There was... something I wanted to get done. Didn't, but wanted to."

"You can always come back to it, y'know." The mech smiled. "Go and get some 'zeez'. You look like you could use it."

'Nate smiled behind his mask. "Thanks, Jazz." He said, standing up and trotting out.

Poor Jazz. 'Nate really considered the head of Special Operations a good friend, and a powerful ally. He was nearly, if not quite, the Autobot trained equivalent of him... the best to ever come out of the Clandestine Institute. It would be too bad, he thought, if the war ended, and Jazz never learned just what kind of power 'Nate had at his disposal... just what kind of mech he was in the real world...

As for Jazz, after 'Nate had left, he took the mech's seat at the computer. And he blinked in surprise. The screen was blank. The computer was idle. But... hadn't he been using it? And, he hadn't touched it as he had gotten up to leave. So... what had he been doing?

- - -

It was two days before 'Nate heard anything from Point on Cybertron. When the spy's communications link started buzzing, he bolted to his quarters and plugged his comm. link into his computer console. And, sure enough, Point appeared on the screen.

"Point!" 'Nate exclaimed, not allowing the clearly exhausted minibot to get the first word. "What is the status of the Institute population? Survivors? Please tell me you found survivors."

Point looked at 'Nate with a tired sigh. "Survivor, 'Nate. Only one."

'Nate blinked. "One? That was all?"

"Mostly anyone who didn't get blown away by the initial bombing was crushed to powder by falling debris. This one escaped, just, caught in a pocket under a support beam. She's a lucky kid, tell you what..."

"...She?"

"Oh yeah, didn't I tell you? The survivor I found? It's a femme." Point managed a smirk at this little piece of information.

"A femme." 'Nate restrained a groan. Were they going to have to babysit one of the library staff, or something? "What's her rank? Her title?"

"She's, and you're not going to believe this, A-Class. And not only that, she's a Relay Saboteur too."

"A RS? An A-Class RS?!"

"Yeah, I thought she was yankin' me too, but, she's got all her qualifications all nice and neat in subspace. Musta figured she'd cop a lot of flak."

The black minibot sighed. "So what do we do now? With everyone gone, and the Institute razed to the ground, we've become an easy target to any stray Decepticon patrols. And, we're not Autobots neither, so... going to them is no help..."

'Nate was contemplative. "You should come here. I'll rig some 'legit' transfer papers for you and the femme, so you can take refuge in the Autobot camp without attracting any unwanted attention."

"I thought I just explained the fact that we're not Autobots."

"Don't be a sparkling. Get a pot of paint, for crying out loud."

"All Autobot femmes have been uprigged here somewhere though, haven't they? She can't come in the first place."

"True, for their own protection, or so Prime says. But I'm sure if the proper misunderstandings occur, Prime will let the girl stay. What's her call sign anyhow?"

"Scape, but she says everyone calls her Runt. And I ain' surprised about that; she's rather slight."

"Scape? As in... goat?"

There was a pause as the other Clandestine tried to figure out what 'Nate meant.

"Scape... goat... oooh, scapegoat. Right. Funny, 'Nate, funny."

'Nate chuckled despite himself. "I thought so. Forward me all your information, and I'll set about inputting you into Teletraan-1. In the mean time, get yourself and the Runt to the nearest harbour and haul your afts to Earth."

"You got it boss."

So, the Decepticons wanted to play hard ball huh? Time to play it hard.

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A/N: I received constructive criticisms! Yay! I love those! And so, in light of this most inspiring advice, I decided to give the three existing chapters an overhaul, as well as apply this advice to the subsequent chapters to come.

Soooo... like this version better? I do. I love reviews that are helpful! Yay! Yay I say!