For the seventh time that day, Bumblebee was sitting in front of the memorial for Prowl. Prowl's remains were encased in a glass tomb with an inscription engraved on a silver plaque, an inscription that Bumblebee had never read because it hurt too much, reminding him of one of his friends. Instead, he focused on the flowers Sari had brought from Earth or the black and purple sky above the capital of Cybertron. Everything seemed so lonely and empty. Wasp was gone, twisted by hate and revenge. Blurr was missing, probably off-line. Longarm Prime—Shockwave—was in the stockade. And then there was Prowl, never to be sitting, meditating in his room ever again.

Ever since they returned, everyone's been very busy. Optimus was leading the Autobots. Bulkhead and Sari worked on space bridges together. Ratchet was spending all his time helping Arcee and Omega Supreme get settled in. Bumblebee was left all alone.

"Well, Prowl," Bumblebee began, "not much is happening. Everyone's…everyone's running around like crazy, trying to do their jobs." He paused, looking up at Prowl's listless face, like he was waiting for a reply. He imagined Prowl chuckling. "So, I decided to come and visit you. I know you like to be by yourself, but I wouldn't want ya to get lonely. I know you don't have a problem with me botherin' you all the time—I'm sure you're used to it. But I'm going to be on my way, soon. Boss-bot told me to go check out the bad side of town because there've been complaints about a gang or muggers or somethin' like that." There was another pause. "But I won't get into any trouble. Prime—well, I guess he's Magnus now—told me to just observe. I gotta lay low, and play it cool, just like a ninja, right? I…I know I can do this."

Prowl, of course, was silent. Bumblebee got to his feet. "Well, wish me luck." He transformed into his yellow alt-mode, adding, "I'll make sure to stop by when I'm back, to tell you how it went," and then sped off, using his built-in GPS as a guide. He was completely unaware of the dangers he was about to face, and what role he was about to play in what would become the biggest battle in Iacon history.

In the slums, Bumblebee knew that he stuck out at least a little. He was not sure what tipped him off at first. Maybe it was the weird looks and glances, or maybe it was the whispering and finger pointing. Bumblebee investigated the lowermost part of the slums and was utterly horrified by how horrible the living conditions were. Buildings slumped and decayed, leaning on one another for support. Gruff mechs prowled the streets and scandalous femmes stood in doorways, giving the former what Ratchet would call "givin' 'im th' optic". Every Transformer's face was creased with a wide range of emotions, but mostly worry, sorrow, and bitterness.

Bumblebee eventually ended up stopping by a bar; the only establishment open in the area. He sat on a stool at the end of the counter and gave his order to a weary waitress. The bar wasn't very crowded, but the prickling sensation Bumblebee felt on the back of his neck told him that all optics were on him. Everything was going to be fine, until a very pretty femme slid up next to him and smiled.

"Hello, stranger," she began. "I haven't seen you 'round here before."

Another femme, not as pretty, but gorgeous all the same, soon was on his opposite side. "Aw, lookit 'im blush! Such a lil' modest sweetie."

Bumblebee, despite the worrisome doubt forming in the back of his mind, was flattered by their attention. "Geez, ladies, don't worry! There's enough of me to go around—" he began, but as soon as the words left his mouth, a door to the back room of the bar slid open. A hulking mech with a tattered Autobot symbol and a form filled with scars emerged. His glare instantly zoned in on Bumblebee.' "Whu th' slag d'yeh think yer doin' wit' mah galz?" he roared, speaking in an almost undeterminable speech. His fist slammed against a table, flipping it on its side with a new, freshly formed dent. Bumblebee slid down from his seat, sidestepping the femmes, and tried to get to the door.

"I wasn't doing anything, honest! I was just leaving…" he stuttered. The mech crossed the room with two long strides, and blocked the door.

"Yew ain' goin' nowhere, yeh punk," spat the mech. "Yeh touch mah galz, an' ah tear yah limb from limb." He cracked his knuckles. Bumblebee scanned the room for another way out. There was none. The mech smacked Bumblebee so hard that the poor yellow 'bot was thrown half way across the room. He tumbled into a booth where another mech with a jagged scar running from his helm to his visor sat. Bumblebee was stunned, lying there in a daze. "Yer screwed, yeh glitch!"

Bumblebee tried to scramble out of the way, but the mech with the visor stood up and placed himself between the hulking terror and the yellow midget. The terror was first confused, then enraged. "Whu th'—whu're yeh doin', Breach? Git th' frag outta mah way."

The mech with the visor—Breach—shook his head very slowly. Two blue blades ejected and rested on his forearms, ready to fight. The terror snarled, and tried swatting Breach out of the way. Breach easily ducked and sidestepped the terror, grabbing Bumblebee and dragging him out of the way as well. Seeing their chance, the two bolted from the building with the furious mech lumbering after them and an amazed crowd watching from the windows. The terror grabbed random scraps of metal and hurled the pieces at Bumblebee and Breach. They dodged the first few, but a well-aimed shot flattened the fleeing mechs and forced them to the ground. Bumblebee drew his stingers, ready to fight back, preparing himself for the beating that was sure to come. Man, I didn't want it to end like this, he thought, rather annoyed with himself.

The terror reached out for them, but he stopped. He froze, staring past Breach and Bumblebee at someone everyone in the slums feared, respected, or both.

The voice, oddly enough, was feminine. "Littell, what th' frag d'yeh think yer doin'?"

A dark looming shadow fell across Bumblebee and Breach. A giant being, even larger than the terror himself, took one giant step over Breach and Bumblebee without any hesitation or strain. It stalked towards Littell, hands balled into fists, and the terror shrunk back. "Yeah, that's right, yeh coward! What'd I tell you about pickin' on people? Git th'frag outta here, an' leave Breach an' th' yellah fellah 'lone." The 'bot shooed him, waving her hands. "Scat."

The terror, with surprising agility, scurried back into the bar. The new hulking mass turned and stretched out a hand towards Breach. Breach grabbed it and was pulled onto his feet with ease. Then the 'bot turned to Bumblebee, and revealed the face of a femme. She cracked an admiring smile. "So, yeh got th' guts t' take on Littell, huh? Primus, yer luck th't Breach found yeh or yew'd be a rottin' corpse in th' scrap heap."

Bumblebee checked both of them out, from head to toe. Breach, oddly enough, had the same mold as an Autotrooper, the Autobot police force of Cybertron. Yet his coloring was all wrong. Unlike the Autotroopers, he was not a flawless white with black markings, but a dark blue with light yellow markings. His Autotrooper symbol was missing, replaced with a faded, average Autobot symbol. The large being, with the shape of the chassis and legs, was a femme. A very, very, large femme shaded in purples, greys, and blacks that was even larger than Bulkhead when Bumblebee got a good look at her. Broad shoulders and tank treads gave away that she was not some dainty femme that stood by the sidelines in battle, but was usually in the thick of it. The large cannon strapped to her back did not improve the image. She reached down, grabbed his arm in her hand, and pulled him up to his feet.

"Who are you?" Bumblebee asked lamely, unable to think of anything better to say. He felt so incredibly small. Not to mention that the scrap of metal was in reality quite heavy and he could no longer put weight on his right foot. He wasn't sure if he could even transform anymore.

"Now, I think I should be askin' th't. Yew ain't from 'round 'ere, are you? Whut's yer name?"

"…Bumblebee," he replied, hating how pathetic he sounded. The femme grinned.

"Nice t' meet yeh, Bum'lebee. M' Retro. He's Breach."

Bumblebee tried to lean on his good foot. "Why'd you help me?"

Retro shrugged. "Ah guess yeh can say we're th' nice guys of this cesspool. 'Sides, we've seen too many mechs git crushed by Littell only 'cuz of his temper. No one d'serves th't, fer sure."

"Well, thanks for the help, but I'd outta get going." Bumblebee got two steps away, and stumbled, his weak leg giving him trouble.

Retro and Breach watched him try to walk away, before Retro called, "Look, ah know it ain' much, but if yeh need ah place to stay while yer here, we've got a room t' rent out. An' it ain' wise t' be walkin' 'round 'ere when it's the high-grade hour at th' bar. You'll end up in a trash heap."

For a brief moment, Retro's slum-accent disappeared, and was replaced with a simple, clean city speech. Bumblebee stopped and turned.

"Hey, your voice just changed!"

Retro gave him a confused look. "Wut're yeh talkin' 'bout?" Breach pulled a small data pad from his subspace compartment, handed it to Bumblebee. "But like ah said, if yeh need a place to crash, stop by. We'll reserve th' room fer yeh tonight. I'm a friend of th' owner's. Jus' tell 'er that Retro set yeh, an' she'll give yeh th' room."

Bumblebee read the name on the data pad aloud. "Widow's Café Cybertronian?"

"Yep. Run by this ex-con, Crystal Widow. She's a nice lady. She'll give yeh a hand if yeh need it, 'kay?" Retro and Breach began to walk away, before Retro stopped one more time. "Oh, an' yeh might wanna git th't leg looked at. 'Round here, yeh need to be able t' fight, or t' run."

"…Yeah. Thanks for the tip."

Waving, Retro said, "No problem," and turned the corner. Breach followed suit, leaving Bumblebee on the empty street with only the data pad and a wounded leg. The poor yellow 'bot didn't know what to do at first, so he decided to take his chances. Bumblebee found it more than slightly creepy that two random 'bots came to his rescue from the terror, Littell. They had no reason to get involved. Bumblebee's first impression of the slums—that everyone just looked out for themselves—didn't fit these two.

Things were very, very weird. He needed to blend in better. The first thing he did was drive through the dirtiest streets he could find, scuffing up his yellow paintjob. Normally, he took a little pride in his appearance, and tried to stay yellow after his identity crisis with Wasp, but this was different. If he stood out like a sore thumb, there were going to be issues. Soon he was streaked with oil, grime, and a few things he wasn't even sure what they were, but that was okay. He needed to blend, like a ninja.

Everything was running as smoothly as it could go. Cruising down the street, soon there was no one in sight. That should have tipped him off that something was incredibly wrong. The femmes in the doorways disappeared. Mechs were nowhere to be found.

A group of scrappy Transformers rolled around the corner of the street, transforming into their robot modes and turning towards him. Bumblebee's wheels screeched to a halt, and he quickly transformed as well. They snarled at him, like deranged animals, and he sputtered, "Whoa…wait a minute, can't we talk this out?" when the screaming tires of other vehicles came from behind him. He whirled around to see another scrappy group transform and take a step towards him.

At that particular moment, he realized that the first group wasn't after him. He was in the middle of a gang fight. Things were about to get nasty. Though he was an Autobot, who were all for promoting justice and stop crazy things like senseless violence, he wasn't about to get caught up in a gang war. He transformed and sped away as quickly as he could, ducking into an alley, listening to taunts and insults thrown back and forth between the groups before the obvious sound of fighting echoed on the streets.

After he was positive that he was far enough away from the fighting, he paused, and rethought about his situation. Had he bit off more than he could chew? Prime had said to stay in the slums until Bumblebee dug deep and figured out what was going on with the gangs, so Bumblebee knew that he was stuck here for a while. He did not want to return to the Elite Guard empty handed. That would mean that he was a failure, which he wasn't.

With a sigh, Bumblebee inserted the address into the GPS of Widow's Café Cybertronian. It wasn't very far away, just on the farthest side of the slums near a tremendously large scrap yard that stretched to the next city-state, previously a Decepticon-ruled one. That made Bumblebee uneasy, but he had nothing else to go on. Besides, Retro and Breach, though their appearance was rough and that of the slums, Breach's visor was blue. Retro's optics were purple, but there were still Autobot symbols. He hoped he could trust them.

Bumblebee rolled down the alley to the Widow's Café Cybertronian. Just like Bumblebee suspected, the establishment was just about as run down as the rest of the slums. Three stories tall, the third story had cracked windows, and the walls were tarnishing with rust. There were originally two lights near the door to get in, but one of the lights hung by a few wires. Despite the dismal appearance, hearty laughter and shouting was coming from inside, and a soft yellow light was slipping underneath the doors. Transforming, Bumblebee took a deep breath, and then pushed one of the doors open to peek inside.

Through the tiny sliver, he could see tables, chairs, and a bar, neatly polished. An old-fashioned station that played music was pushed into the corner, belting out old tunes that he had not heard in a very long time. He could see a few feet kicked up on a table, and another Transformer's hand waving around.

"…And then the fraggin' mech expected me to pay for it! Can you believe it?"

"I'm tellin' yah, we need to get better jobs."

"Would th' two of you shut up? I'm tryin' to listen to the tunes."

"You shut up."

"Yeah."

The argument was short-lived, like the three Transformers involved had done it multiple times, almost like how Bumblebee and Prowl used to argue. It made Bumblebee crack a small, nearly invisible smile, until a soft, sad voice said from behind him, "Are you going to stand there all day, or go inside?"

Bumblebee jumped a foot in the air. An extremely large spider had crept down from one of the walls nearby. Bumblebee drew his stingers, until the spider transformed into a red and blue femme carrying a crate of energon. She smirked, not impressed. "Now, boy, put those away. I'm not looking for a fight."

The yellow bot stuttered, "Y-you're a techno organic!" his knowledge of the Decepticon Blackarachnia aiding his opinion.

The femme smiled. "I'm surprised you know what I am. Not many people do." She set the crate down on the ground, and put claw-like pincers on her hips that served as hands. "How did you find this place? I've never seen you before."

Bumblebee straitened his posture. "Name's Bumblebee. I ran into someone who said she was Retro. Does that name ring a bell?"

The femme nodded. "Of course. She helps me with the repairs around the café. Did the gal send you?"

"Yeah. She said that I could have a room for the night."

The femme shook her head slowly, frowning deeply. "Of course she found another one. Ret just doesn't know when to quit," she murmured to herself.

" 'Scuse me?"

"Nothing. Come on in."

She pushed the door open and called, "Sideswipe! Get your aft out here and help me with this crate. Blaster, bring up a round on the house. We've got a new one."

A voice called back, "Did you find him?"

"Naw. Ret did."

"Hopefully this one'll be in better shape than the last one," called another voice, "That way we won't have t' pay fer a better medic than Breach."

"Slag yeah. Poor ol' Speedy was so mashed up—"

"—and cracked t' bits so bad—"

"—that he almost didn't make it!"

A red and black mech swung the door wide and frowned down at Bumblebee, saying, "Frag, he's small! Wonder what Ret's got in store fer 'im." His alt-mode doors hung over his arms like sleeves, and a custom made rocket launcher (or something of the like, Bubmlebee wasn't entirely sure), and he had laugh lines. Bumblebee had never seen a mech that pulled of the serious-but-good-at-telling-jokes look this good. He hunched over, grabbing the crate in one quick swing, and walked back in. The femme held the door open for Bumblebee, and with a claw-like hand she made a sweeping motion that invited him inside.

"Welcome to Widow's Café Cybertronian," she said.

The Widow's Café Cybertronian was somewhat nicer than the bar Bumblebee had been to previously. A gloomy setting, the walls were dull blues and greys, with a few yellow lights glowing from the ceiling and behind the bar. It was rather a small room, but a hallway in the back alluded to more rooms. The red and black mech set the crate down on the bar counter as a yellow and black mech took his feet off the table he sat at, quietly nursing a cube of energon. A third mech, redder than the first, was behind the bar, cleaning out cubes with a spray gun that protruded out from under the counter. They were all studying him carefully, and Bumblebee was ready to back out of the room when the femme shut the door behind her.

Well, slag.

"Who th' frag's this dude?" spat the yellow mech.

"Watch your manner's when you're under my roof, boy," warned the femme.

Bumblebee's optics widened at the red mech behind the counter. He recognized him from the Elite Guard. "Hey, you're Blaster!"

The mech set down the cube he was cleaning, arching an optic at Bumblebee. "…How do you know who I am?"

"I saw you in the news—with the…um…yeah, never mind."

Cycles back, Bumblebee heard from Bulkhead, who heard from Ratchet, who heard from Optimus that an Elite Guard member named Blaster had been stripped of his status because of some scandal between himself and a femme. There had been a small news report on it, with Blaster's mug plastered on screens like he was some sort of wanted criminal.

But then again, he did disappear as soon as it hit headlines. No one had seen him since. He might have been a criminal.

Yet he smiled kindly at Bumblebee, the smile border lining a smirk. "That whole deal with Rosanna's where you've heard of me, I bet. I didn't know the news traveled this far." He ducked under the counter to bring up more cubes.

The femme put a claw on Bumblebee's shoulder, and said, "I'm Crystal Widow, who runs this joint. You can call me Miss Widow. There will be no back talk, no cussing, and you're in here by closing time or you're sleeping in the streets—"

"Oh, c'mon Miz Widow. He'll learn soon enough," said the red and black mech. He sat next to the yellow mech and grinned. "M' Sideswipe. This here's my baby brother, Sunstreaker."

"Only by two clicks, for Primus's sake!" protested the yellow mech grumpily. "It's not my fault you were in such a hurry."

"Anyway, we've got about two more tenants," said Sideswipe, counting on his fingers. "There's Speedy and Rhyme Time—"

"—Use their real names, bro, an' don't forget Ret' an' Breach—"

"Aw, shut up, Sunny. He already knows Ret because he wouldn' be here if he hadn't, and Breach's never far behind an' I will use their nicknames 'cuz they suit 'em—"

Bumblebee opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Crystal Widow. "Boys, boys! Get your act together! Blaster, how are those drinks coming?"

Blaster bounced up from the counter with enough energon for everyone. He passed it around. "Does anyone know where Retro an' Breach are? Normally they're here by now. I poured a cube for them too—"

Bumblebee slowly began to drain his cube when a child's voice called from the other side of the door, coming from the outside. "Miz Widow, Miz Widow, let me in, please! I've seen to have lost my keys!"

"Again, Wheelie?" Crystal Widow said with a sigh, pushing the door open. A little Transformer, smaller than Bumblebee, ducked inside in a blur of yellow and orange and climbed up on a table and giggled. He held a slingshot and some metal orbs in his hands like they were the greatest thing ever created. This Transformer was just barely out of sparkhood.

Sideswipe downed his cube and grinned. "Hey, Rhyme Time. Where've you been all day?"

Blaster patted his head and pulled the little guy off the table. "You weren't botherin' the cyber foxes again, where you?"

"I don't hurt the foxes. I was hiding in the boxes."

Crystal Widow shook her head and laughed. "Bumblebee, this is Wheelie."

Wheelie stuck out his tongue and ran off down one of the hallways, disappearing around one of the corners and out of sight, giggling some more. Sunstreaker watched him go, and shrugged.

"Don't worry. He's like that a lot—talking in rhymes, goofing around, but that's normal for him. The poor kid lost his parents to a gang war a while back. He hasn't been the same since."

"That's awful," was all Bumblebee could say.

"That's how things roll in the slums," replied Sunstreaker. "He was just lucky Miz Widow found him." The mech slowly sipped his cube just like Bumblebee was, staring at him from over the rim. "What 'bout you?"

"Excuse me?"

Blaster sat on the counter as Crystal Widow peeked out the door. Blaster said, "You have a city accent. How the pit did you end up here?"

…Slag. Bumblebee hadn't thought this far.

Bumblebee's mind whirled at a million miles an hour, trying to come up with an excuse that would be passable for the café members' standards. He floundered for a moment—his mouth opening and closing partially as words threatened to come out, but quickly ducked back in before they actually took up a voice.

Yet very swiftly, Crystal Widow clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Boys, boys! Leave him be. He doesn't have to share if he wants to. You better not forget how long it took to pry your stories out of you." Crystal widow took Bumblebee's half-finished cube and topped it off at the counter. As she returned it to him, she said, "You stay here as long as you need, okay? If Retro thinks you're okay, I can't go against her judgment. That girl has a good spark."

Bumblebee once again began to drain his cube. "Yeah…she helped me out earlier. She's…nice."

"Yeh mean huge," chuckled Sideswipe. "She can't even fit through the door sometimes, on a bad day. I bet she scared the frag outta yah—"

"Watch your mouth, Sideswipe," warned Crystal Widow.

"—with how she stalks 'round. Or didja run into Breach first?"

Bumblebee nodded. "Yeah, he's the one I met. What's with him? He didn't say a word when I met him. Doesn't he speak?"

"Naw. Breach hasn't said a word since any of us have met him," Blaster answered. "Not even a laugh or a sigh. Retro seems to understand what he's thinking, but even then, she has to take a few guesses. No one's sure what's up with him, but he's good with Wheelie and keeps the kid outta trouble when he's around."

"Weird."

"Oi, Breach ain' gotta say anythin'. Yew all seem t' know whut he's thinkin' anyway."

Everyone jumped as the café's door swung open slowly, and Breach shuffled in with Retro close behind. She ducked to avoid the low door frame (which, in Bumblebee's respect, wasn't low at all) and stretched as soon as she got in the main room. She looked geniuenly surprised, and pleased, to see Bumblebee.

"Hey, glad yeh could make it, Bum'lebee. Didn' think yew'd come. I take it yeh already met he guys and Miz Widow, right? Right."

Sunstreaker set his feet off the table and on the ground. "Yeh seen Speedy? He hasn' gotten back, yet."

"Naw, I sent 'im on a undercover mission. He seemed really happy 'bout that."

"Aw, but he just got back!" complained Sideswipe.

"Sides, don' give me no lip. Git yer act together."

The two bickered, and the entire room sprung to life. Extremely quickly, Bumblebee found the entire atmosphere comforting. People laughed and jeered at one another, Wheelie came in and practiced hitting targets of broken cubes on the counter, and Blaster got the radio working in the corner, which started to play soft tunes.

This was a good place for Bumblebee to start.