The small off-world base was quiet, and the hallway lights were dimmed in synchronisation with the day-night cycle on the small asteroid. Whirl's head felt heavy and slow. His single optic was burning with heat, and it wouldn't be long before his protection systems would forcefully throw them offline.

He fumbled with the triple-encrypted locks, and latched all the security measures closed just as Starscream preferred. With his restored hand, he authorised the final lockdown procedures, and waited for the security check to come throug. A quick look at his chronometer told that almost an entire Cybetronian cycle had passed, even though it felt like only a few breems to Whirl.

The last lock clicked shut, and there was a hum as the slow-cells activated. Whirl exvented, and steadied himself against the wall. He should have long grown used to it by now, that drain of energy and time, but as always, he felt like he had taken a trip through a compactor.

Whirl looked up, and stared into the cell he had just exited. His patient was drooling a thin line of lubricant from behind a thick muzzle, his orange arms bound tightly to his frame, and his modified optics staring unseeingly into the cell. Small traces of rust were peeking out from between the locks, and Whirl doubted the bindings had ever been opened since their first application.

"Still trying to work with that thing?"

Whirl looked up, and found Brainstorm looking back at him. The overly careful scientist's plating was damp with cleansers, and he looked about as tired as Whirl felt.

Whirl heaved a sigh and offlined his optic. "He is not a thing," He repeats for what must be the thousandth time. "Even if that's what the Functionalists wanted him to think that – programmed him to think that... He's a mech, and I'm not giving up yet."

"Well, I suppose... If you say so." Brainstorm said meekly, and he rubbed his hands as if cleaning them under a stream of solvent. Whirl had more than a few theories as to Brainstorm's little habit. It took a very strong bot to infiltrate the Autobots, and an even stronger bot to uphold the act of a moralless scientist when his messages began to go unanswered. Brainstorm didn't like to talk about his time with the Autobots, and this was most certainly not the time to address it.

"I still think I made a mistake." Brainstorm said. "I should have destroyed it as soon as I knew what it was. It's not going to bring anything good to this war, nothing at all." Whirl didn't reply.

Brainstorm had broken his million-year cover to steal the pod and bring it to the Decepticons.

In all honesty, Whirl was still amazed that the scientist had been able to escape. It had been an amazing orchestra of luck and circumstance, almost to the point of absurdity.

The only help he'd gotten had been from the self appointed 'Decepticon Justice Devision', more commonly known as 'the defect newsparks that imprinted on Megatron'. Primus only knows how the five glitched bots had found their way so far into deepspace. Early in the war, Megatron had sent them to Messatine with the mission to keep an eye on a small abandoned Autobot base, mostly just to get them out of the line of fire. A blind mech, a mute mech, two mecha with severe fuel-pump problems and a fanatic did not belong on the frontlines.

But somehow, the band of impaired misfits had managed to get both Brainstorm and his pod on board of their little ship and fly off without the Autobots noticing. Whirl could still barely believe it.

Inside of the pod, they had found the orange bot, completely tangled in restrictive wiring, tied with chains from head to toe, and blinded with an optical inhibitor. A bit of research from a reluctant Trepan had shown that the mech was nearly labotomised. Not even a name was left in the ruin of a brainmodule, and to all appearances, the mech was comatose.

Unfortunately, that had turned out to be a well disguised trap.

As soon as the orange mech had gotten untied, and someone had removed his optical inhibitor, the mech had shown off his altmode. Maybe he had been a fusion cannon or a spark-snuffer at one point, but the Autobot experiments had warped his altmode to something thoroughly unrecognisable, and a hundred times more dangerous. They still didn't know how he did what he did.

Methodically and clean, the round-lensed optics had picked out a target, and eliminated it. Flywheels had been one of the first victims, closely followed by Blip and Blackshadow. Just small quick flashes of light, and bots would crumple like dolls, their systems cycling to an immediate halt with sickly 'grnks'.

Whirl had been in the room, frozen like an old computer as the yellowed optic lenses turned to target him. He had thought his life was over at that point- standing like a dolt in the middle of the room and awaiting the final shot.

Instead, the mech-turned weapon had whirred, clicked, and transformed back, settling a benign but thoroughly unsettling stare on Whirl's optic. Even when other bots had entered, the mech had not reacted. Trepan had even been able to slide his needles into the mech's neck without a single twitch- so fascinated did the orange bot seem to be by Whirl's faceless helm.

Apparently, his empurata had turned out to be good for something after all. Just like Optimus had promised when he had been ushered into the operating room, where Chromedome was greeting him with a chipper wave-...Whirl abruptly turned to Brainstorm, forcing the memories to the back of his mind. "How is Overlord by the way?"

Brainstorm's picked at some loose paint on his hand, and he looked at a spot on the wall. "It's... better, I guess. Deadlock came by. They talked."

Whirl tilted his head in surprise, the movement made it feel heavier. "What. Those two? They were on 'kill on sight' terms the last time I saw them. What changed?"

Brainstorm shrugged. "I think Overlord's lost his taste for Primus after the whole... you know... the whole "Gee-nine" business. Deadlock came in with the usual slandering of Primus' name, and Overlord actually seemed to go along with it instead of going into full-on preach mode." Brainstorm frowned. "Then they both trashed Overlord's old altar. I'm not sure if I can call it an achievement."

"With how much Overlord has been through, it's an understandable development if you ask me." Whirl said. "It's often the extreme fanatics that take the hardest falls when they can't justify their beliefs anymore."

"Hm." Brainstorm responded. Both mecha looked at the restrained mech inside of the room, and Whirl's optic started dimming by itself again. Brainstorm put an impeccably clean hand on his shoulder and gave him a little shake. "Do you want me to haul you over to your quarters?"

Whirl huffed, and let his entire weight sag against the scientist with a teasing flash of his optic. "Yes please."

Brainstorm chuckled good naturedly as he helped Whirl to his quarters, and the light-pink helicopter gave the scientist a small wave before going inside and collapsing on his berth. He made a mental note to hang around the scientist a little more, the mech could use friendly company.

His processor was still churning over the small notes and details from his session with the mystery mech, but he couldn't find the strength to get up and write them down.

Maybe tomorrow would be a day with progress. Maybe he would finally get to know the mech's name, or an answer to the questions he repeated day after day. Whirl sighed, and looked at the light denta-marks that marred his non-clawed hand.

Only time would tell.