Howdy, I hope y'all like this.

Request: Status update.

No response.

Requesting Report: Mining quadrant C location 6. Distress Signal: Acknowledged.

Five klicks pass.

No response.

This would have to be dealt with.

Dark slender digits remove themselves from their terminal, smoothly coming to rest at the sides of a pair of digitigrade legs. The slim mech turns to face the rest of the bridge, awaiting his leader's attention. It's currently preoccupied, vapidly so if Starscream's...screaming meant anything. It seems Megatron was quite publicly dealing out punishment for another one of his second in command's foolish assassination attempts.
A large chunk of Starscream's arm, including its mounted weapon, clatters against the TIC's terminal. He stares at it reproachfully, then nudges it out of his workspace with his pede. The scrape of it against the flooring is enough to garner his master's focus. Frustration bleeds from the hulking con's frame, and his mood shifts in an instant. He steps toward his TIC calmly, as if he hadn't just been performing a brutal act of violence on one of his underlings mere moments ago.

"Soundwave, what do you have to report of the energon mines statuses?" Megatron comes to rest a few feet away, respectful of the silent mech's space. In turn the spymaster flickers on his visor, concisely displaying the current issue of the quadrant C mine. A frown graces his leader's faceplate, then something cunning flashes in his burning optics. Soundwave had no need to to dip into his processor to sense the plan he was concocting, though for whatever reason something in his tanks gave a sharp twist.
"A distress signal, hm?"

The silver mech looks over his shoulder, down at the sulking form of his SIC. He smirks ever so slightly, in a way that would normally bring about a content thrum of the spy's core.

"Looks like we'll have to send someone to investigate, won't we?"

This was wholly beneath a mech of his caliber. Completely. Disgustingly so. He could still see Megatron's stupidly smug grin as he gave him the preposterous order to take a squad of vehicons and inspect the mine failing to respond. Like he was needed for something as mundane as that! Idiot drones probably just broke their comm equipment.

Starscream huffs, kicking a rock into the area below. It clatters against metal, loud against the odd silence. A mine of all places shouldn't be silent, but if this mine was doing what it was suppose to then he wouldn't have been ordered here. At least being here meant he wasn't having to tolerate that tyrant, and his mute lapdog.
The vehicons mill about behind him, awaiting orders. He draws out the wait, inspecting his claws primly, and resolutely refusing to acknowledge the ruined plating of his arms. The dumb warlord didn't even let him replace his weapons before he was sent off.

"What are you waiting for?" Starscream hisses at the drones, shooing them toward the edge of the clearing, where the mine lay below. "Go on, inspect."

They peer down the crevasse, but make no move to go any further. The seeker kicks a cloud of dirt at them impatiently. One vehicon swivels around to face him a bit frantically.

"Uh, sir? The guards they're..." It trails off nervously.

Starscream groans at their incompetence, marching forth and pushing them aside. The reason for the mine's silence becoming quite clear.

There's no-one there. Not a single guard nor miner working below. It's feverishly still. Drag marks paint the earth in splattered blue trails, each leading straight into the mine's gaping maw. His instincts screech at him to flee, just to fly back to the Nemesis and face whatever punishment Megatron had in store for him. But he doesn't. Haughty pride taking precedence over that lingering fear, he would not be cowed by a task for drones.

With a dismissive flick of his wings he drops into the crevasse, the vehicons obediently following his lead. He nears the mine's entrance, unease trickling down his spinal strut. Planting himself in front of it he waves the drones ahead. "Go on."

The squad shares uncertain looks amongst themselves, but nevertheless obey. They drag their pedes as if in line for a firing squad, all tense frames and shaking plating. Then they're gone, consumed by the depths of the mine, far into that simmering darkness of endless tunnels.

Starscream is left alone at the entrance, silence baring its teeth in sharp droves.
Time takes its pleasure in passing impossibly slowly.
By all means the vehicons should have returned long before now. So with little choice to the contrary, Starscream enters the mine.

Inside the air is stagnant with the overpowering reek of energon. It fluffs his plating in an unconscious effort to appear larger. At first he sees bits of wires, and plating littered about like garbage. However the volume of gore increases as he ventures further into the mine, becoming severed limbs, and pools of congealing energon. Nervously slipping past the drone parts, the seeker spots one of his squad idling halfway around the next corner.

Starscream masks his relief with ire.
"What's taking you imbeciles so long!?" He stomps toward the vehicon into a much larger cavern of the mine. Unfortunately the vehicon can't respond, seeing as it's just a corpse skewered to the wall by one its own arm. The remnants of the rest of his squad are scattered about the room. A few aren't entirely dead yet, greying frames twitching periodically. One reaches out for help, grasping feebly at his pedes. The pathetic gurgle of its fluid filled vents splashes energon around the remains of its dismembered frame. Purely on habit he kicks the dying drone away from himself, the racket of metal on metal blaring throughout the space. The drone's heaving attempts at venting end, and the entire cavern is blanketed in an eerie hush. Something from the depths of the mine scrapes out its discontent across the rocks. He should leave now, clearly this operation had failed, there was nothing but spare parts here now. The scraping sound continues. His whole frame feels like it's been dipped in ice, he can't seem to get his pedes working. One of the entrances to the cavern bleeds another loud scrape, sending a shudder through the seeker's plating. Whatever killed the vehicons hadn't left.
Dread curdles in his tanks like an infectious disease. He waits frozen in place as if being still would stave off his fate.

A shambling blue monster rounds the corner, dragging the mutilated corpse of a miner with a crushed helm. Macabre golden light is cast in his direction, and the creature halts. It drops the body from its huge pinchers with a muted thunk that echos ominously throughout the tunnels. Claws twitch haphazardly in an aborted motion, as if trying to grasp something from the air. A gaping hole in its abdomen drains pink down its gangly legs. It chuckles.

Spark beating wildly in his chassis Starscream tries to retreat backward, reaching blindly behind himself for an exit. His servos skitter uselessly against the damning cold metal of a drill. His frantic movements provokes the creature into motion, and it's on him in an instant. Its mechanoid body slams into him like a deadweight, toppling him over onto the ground whilst it manages to catch itself on the wall.
It staggers from its excessive momentum, ripping a shard of metal from its body and lunging forward. Desperately scrabbling away, Starscream manages to get out of the way when the creature stabs the shard deep into the flooring where he had been. It rears back to its pedes, leaving its makeshift weapon in the earth, and stalks toward him. Something stark red on its chassis stands out in the dim light of its optic valiantly. On most days Starscream would groan at the sight of it, but now floods him with relief. Because this monster was an autobot, and unlike decepticons, autobots can be appealed to via their foolish moral codes. Megatron's second in command holds his servos up in surrender.

"Wait wait, I'm unarmed!" Starscream displays the ragged holes where his mounted weapons once were on his arms. "I'm helpless, I surrender."

"Cool." The sound of those twin guns warming up might as well be deafening. Starscream gapes at the unexpected reaction, his silver-tongue faltering.

"B-but you're an autobot, you're not suppose to shoot unarmed mechs!"

"Yeah but, who's here to enforce that dumb rule?"

Starscream sputters. "Optimus Prime!? Your leader!"

The name drop earns a blank stare and a cocked helm. "Is he here? On Earth? This is Earth right? Looks sorta like Swerve's fantasy of it. Much less exciting. I miss the laugh track." He pauses, as if expecting something, then gives his leaking frame a disappointed shake. The blue mech continues speaking as if he had never stopped. "Anyway, I was kinda hoping Prime died sacrificing himself to save some scraplets, or something equally heroically idiotic."

It's safe to say Starscream is dumbfounded by the other mech's causal death wish on the Prime.

"Are...you sure you're an autobot?" He's given an intimate view down the barrels of those twin guns, and hastily tries a different tactic. "No wait! Spare me, I can give you anything you want! Anything!"

"Anything...?"

At that the bot tilts his helm in the other direction, sizing up the decepticon with his off putting gaze. Uncharacteristically the seeker finds himself without words, just waiting. The two fliers linger in a tense lull. It crawls past in an agonizing drawl of seconds, unblinking. Unbidden the blue mech's frame sags as if releasing a deep sigh, his gaze flickering to himself for a moment. He no longer appears as threatening-despite the dried energon all over his frame-just tired. It's enough of a reaction to brew confidence back into the silver mech's lines. So he pulls himself back up to his pedes carefully, mentally preparing a speech about the benefits of a partnership. Further assurance comes in the form of a dirty claw dropping onto his shoulder lightly, giving it a companionable squeeze. Starscream fights the urge to slap it away. 'With this dangerous of a monster on my side I'll be unstoppable.' He puts on a winning grin, preening internally over his ability to turn a bad situation in his favor. That friendly touch on his shoulder tightens near imperceptibly, and he thinks the mech is trying to smile back.

"...No you can't. So, I'm kinda just going to kill you a little."

Shock works like a catalyst, sending his emotions skipping straight over fear into anger. Who was this buffoon, to deny his capabilities and threaten him in the same breath? The seeker's wings hike high up on his back, and he doesn't quite resist the urge to stomp his pede.

"Do you know who I am!?" He sneers at the other's faceless helm, drawing himself up tall and prideful. "I am the great Starscream, and I will not be put down like an unruly turbo-fox!"

If the strange mech is affected by the outburst he doesn't show it. "Uh, no?" The words come bluntly, but feel like they're being spat into his faceplate. "Pretty sure that slagger is livin' it up on Cybertron. I know a lotta people think I'm dumb, but pal, you don't even look like him."

"What!? How dare you! I am the one and only Starsc-uRK!"

Wrenched forward painfully, the claws on his shoulder are joined by a twin pair around his throat. They squeeze tightly, biting into cabling and lifting him into the air.

"Get a load of this guy," The autobot jeers, addressing the nearby corpse as one would a partner in crime. Close proximity has the curling smoke from his rotors clogging into Starscream's intakes. Likely on purpose. "Thinks he can pretend to be Ol' Screamer just by having a really annoying voice."

The cavern becomes a tumbling blurr, and it takes a moment for it to register that he had been thrown. Metal protests in vehement screeches as he lands slam into the control panel of a parked drill. It surges to life. Lurching on its treads it races forward uncontrollably. Starscream squawks, bouncing off the drill's platform when it collides with something far too fast. The cavern trembles. Several large rocks break loose from the ceiling, shattering against the ground. The blue mech releases a startled yelp, falling over onto his skid plate as the ground shifts beneath them.

"Was that thing important?" From the floor the jet looks up, following the outstretched claw to see the chamber's main support beam come crashing down. He blanches and the blue mech takes it as confirmation, spilling into a clumsy transformation. He shifts into a rotorcraft, and takes to the air, narrowly avoiding being crushed beneath a falling boulder. He moves with an unprecedented agility for a mech that had appeared previously injured, and clearly has no qualms about abandoning his quarry in the failing mine. The jet screeches, taking flight as well to avoid being entombed in the chamber.
Alone now, the grey corpses remain as they were, blissfully unaware of the chaos around them.

Maybe the blue energon wasn't agreeing with his tanks, or maybe it was the boulders that had nicked him several times over. Either way this tree was holding up his weight rather well. Having crashed into it several klicks ago after his harrowing escape from the mine, Whirl reasoned he could simply climb down in his root mode. However transforming had left him tangled in the branches, too sluggish from his injuries to tear himself out. His HUD blinks a torrent of red throughout his vision, refusing its dismissal.

Urgent: primary energon line severed. Energon levels approaching critical. Oh, he had forgotten to deal with that. Stabilizing gyros functioning at 43%. Spinal strut severely fractured. GPS System Offline. Core temperature overheating. Abdominal plating ruptured, foreign object located. Left leg severely damaged-

He ignores the rest of the report constructing a tide of errors across his HUD. A smoldering branch makes a nice pillow for his helm, another finds a cozy home through his stomach. Pink energon seeps down the tree's bark in fanciful rivers. Whirl wonders how fast it'll all go up if he inched a bit closer with his sparking wires.

The autobots had pinned down an unfamiliar energy signature coming from this area, and were fairly confident it was the reported mystery mech. However, actually locating the mech was proving difficult in the dense woods.

Bulkhead skirts between the thick trunks of two trees, Bee beeping a negative for the area he was searching in his comm. They hadn't been out here for too long, though if the mech wanted to avoid them he'd likely have heard Bulkhead's lumbering and booked it awhile ago. Part of him thinks it would be better that way, he'd rather be back at base, he and Miko had plans later. A particularly bendy branch snaps back into his faceplate, and he groans in frustration.

"Hey!" A young voice breaks his train of thought, and for a moment he thinks Miko had hijacked the comms. "Big, green, and bulbous, over here!"

He looks down, and deeper within the woods stands a human. It's a little girl, younger than Miko maybe Raf's age, with a pair of blue pigtails. He notes the eyepatch crossing her face briefly, confusion overriding the fact that he had just been seen by an unknown human. The girl's face splits in an too wide grin, then she brings her hands up to the sides of her head and blows a raspberry at him. Whirling around the child races off with a high pitched laugh. With the knowledge that human younglings don't belong in the wilderness, Bulkhead follows the girl, albeit at a slower pace.
She leads him to a large tree that's been partially uprooted and stands at its base, grinning as he makes his way into the clearing carefully. The girl doesn't say anything and neither does the autobot, already pinging Bumblebee to get in contact with Fowler about any missing children. Suddenly she points upward, and he follows her gesture up the trunk of the massive tree to the sight of a twisted mass of blue metal staring down at him.

He's several different shades of blue, one of which he realizes isn't paint. One of his legs is twisted strangely, the thin plating bent much too far. The mech is impaled through his abdomen, though the hole was likely created by something else then further exasperated by the branch fitted through it. Exposed wires spit sparks haphazardly from his frame. Pink liquid dribbles down the bark of the tree, a strange contrast against all the blue. It's a sickening sight.

Bulkhead rips his gaze back downward to tell the girl to move, it wasn't safe under that tree, but she's already gone. Regretfully he doesn't have time for another chase through the woods, so he hopes she'll be okay for awhile longer.

Bulkhead reports his finding back to base, and a groundbridge swirls to life in the clearing a few moments later as he's breaking branches to pull the mech from the tree. Ratchet as well as Optimus exit the bridge, and set to work untangling the blue mech.

"He's in stasis lock," The medic reports grimly once the rotormech is laid out on the ground. He hovers his servos over the mech uncertainly, faceplate pulled into a frown. "I'm not familiar with this frame-type..."

"Is he going to...?" Bulkhead wisely doesn't finish his question, earning a scathing glare from the red and white mech.

"I can fix him!" Ratchet says, tone clipped, but then his expression grows worried, and he looks to Optimus. "He's critically injured though, and couple that with the fact that I don't recognize his frame-type, I can't do this without my medbay."

Taking an unknown mech back to their home base was beyond risky, they all knew that. But they also knew there was no way Optimus would stand by and let someone die. The bright red autobot emblem on the blue mech's cockpit had nothing to do with it.

Optimus nods solemnly, gathering the injured blue mech into his arms, and carrying him with gentle steps into the groundbridge.

Back at the base, despite their protests the humans are sent to their homes immediately. Autobot or not, an unknown mech wasn't safe for them to be around.

At Fowler's behest a human search party is sent to the area where Bulkhead saw the little girl, and they find nothing. Not a trace, like she didn't even exist.

Maybe he feels a little responsible for the weird mech he found, or perhaps Miko's suspicion is rubbing off on him, but something in the back of his processor remains apprehensive about the bot being left alone and unrestrained. A little guilt rises up when he thinks back to those various dents and scratches on the fragile looking bot. Nevertheless, Bulkhead can't help but feel the need to check-in on the mech they rescued yesterday.

He enters the medbay as quietly as someone of his size can.
The area is silent, save for the eerie monotone drone of flatlining spark monitor. There's a little pool of pink liquid smeared over the berth which is considerably empty of injured blue mechs. Unease builds in a crescendo. Hydraulics hiss softly. He turns in search of the noise, calling out into the thick hush.

"Uh, hello?"

A weight suddenly crashes down on Bulkhead's back and his vision is obscured, he staggers blindly into a nearby table its contents clattering onto the floor. Pain blooms around his faceplate and he realizes whatever is latched onto his back has claws. Claws that are currently scrabbling at his optics.

"Just mixing things up, been going for the throat a lot lately," A cheery voice explains helpfully, right into his audital. "Don't want anyone thinking they can get off callin' me predictable."

Pointed prongs hold his helm in place, preventing him from getting a glimpse of their owner. He grunts, a lance of hot pain striking him as the glass of one of his optics is cracked. Sharp claws jostle against his faceplate, messily trying for a entrance into his optic's socket. Reaching around himself proves fruitless, his arms too short, and his adversary easily avoiding his grasp. He flails, but despite the mech's lightweight he can't shake him off, ending up with those claws digging into his faceplate painfully. It doesn't leave him with many options. Bulkhead stumbles backward and slams his back into a wall. There's a sickening crunch. A strange keen peters off into a laugh, then something fierce rakes itself down his backstrut. Reacting to the pain Bulkhead smashes his attacker into the wall again, and again. The grip on his helm loosens on the fourth clash. With a grunt he manages to grab ahold of the pinchers on his faceplate and pull. The mech follows, tumbling over his shoulder and onto the floor with a loud thud. Undaunted he shifts as if preparing to launch himself at the green mech again, but then swivels his faceless helm toward the entrance and falls limp against the ground.

"Bulkhead! What are you doing!? I just finished repairing him!" Ratchet enters the medbay in response to the commotion, none to pleased with what he sees. The white and red medic fumes, optics flashing over the mess. "And my tools!? I needed those!"

"Yeah Bulky," Croons the rabid blue mech, looking far too comfortable from where he was still sprawled out on the floor. "What's your problem?"

"He attacked me!" Bulkhead protests, motioning helplessly to the leaking blue mech. Ratchet is unimpressed.

"He's been in stasis lock since we brought him here, I strongly doubt he's capable of inflicting any real damage to you in his current state."

Ratchet makes his way over to the prone mech, casting a scan over his frame to inspect him for any new injuries. The blue mech seems to take that as permission to rear up and throw one of his arms around the medic's shoulders, causing Ratchet to stumble halfway to his knees. Alarmed Bulkhead steps forward to pry the 'copter off, but a glare from the medic stops him. Ratchet doesn't try to escape the grasp, clearly assuming the mech simply needed help getting up on his pedes. However, when he attempts to pull his patient upward the mech resists, yanking downward instead in an impressive show of strength that leaves the medic kneeling beside him. Ratchet scowls, iconic temper flaring at the blue mech's antics. "Quit that, I'm trying to assist you."

"Assist me? How about you start by tellin' me where I know you from," He's leaning into Ratchet now, seemingly oblivious to the medic's grimace. A single claw gives the old mech's red chevron a flick. "You're awfully familiar, and it isn't just your shining personality."

Ratchet scowls further, and swats the prodding claw away from his chevron. "I've never met you before, I think I'd remember something that unpleasant."

In response the mech gasps theatrically, the sound in contrast with the joyful squint of his optic. Whatever nonsense he's about to say next is thankfully stopped by the presence of another bot entering the room.

Optimus Prime gives the occupants a look over, raising an eyebrow ridge at the two mechs on the floor. Embarrassed the medic stands up quickly, allowing his patient to spill back onto the floor with an undignified yelp.

"Greetings," Prime offers the mech a servo which is rudely ignored by the mech who rolls over onto his side instead, his back facing Optimus. He returns his servo to his side, sending his autobots a questioning glance and getting a pair of shrugs in return. "Welcome to Earth, I am Optimus Prime, the leader of the autobots. We found you in critical condition and brought you to our base for treatment. I understand you may be confus-"

"You here to arrest me again?"

"Arrest you? No...I dont-" He's cut off again, now by the blue mech clambering up to his pedes. It looks painful, but he shows no signs of discomfort as he steps toward Optimus, plating creaking.

"You've gotten shorter," He comments, sounding almost awed. To his surprise and somewhat childish chagrin, Prime finds himself at equal optic-level with a mech that wasn't in the process of shooting a fusion cannon at him. The rotormech appears to find some mirth in this, standing at the tips of his pedes to gain some more height on the autobot. "I like you better this way."

For diplomacy's sake Optimus decides to ignore the claw that hovers over their helms, comparing their heights. He also ignores the fact that the other mech is several inches taller when he's standing straight. Optimus clears his throat, a habit most of his team has picked up from the humans.

"It would help us if you could provide us with your designation," Perhaps they could find something about this strange mech in their database. Doubtful considering they didn't have the same resources here as they did on Cybertron, nevertheless it was still important to figure out this mech's identity. "As well as where you hail from."

The blue mech's response is a bit unexpected, though it seemed unexpected was his forte.

"You don't remember me?" His singular gold optic is blown wide, and his blue plating ruffles about his protoform in a wave. "At all? Zero? Zip? Zilch? Nada?"

Something unpleasant churns in his tanks at the reaction.

"My apologies, I don't believe we've met before no." Optimus attempts a placating tilt of his helm. There was little doubt that one could easily forget this mech. That wouldn't stop the other from perceiving his lack of recognition as an insult. Thankfully he isn't offended, though the gleeful shine to his yellow optic is disconcerting.

"In that case my name is Cyclonus of Whereeverthefrag." He leans in and clicks the tips of his pinchers together mischievously. "I enjoy brooding and threatening hugs."

"You're from where?" Ratchet cuts in, crossing his arms over his chassis. The faceless mech contorts himself awkwardly to address him, instead of simply turning around.

"Wherewhatsitslag."

"Uh-huh. For some reason I don't believe you."

"Rude. Wherewhothescrap may not be as fancy as Iacon, but it's still home."

"No, that place doesn't exist and you're not Cyclonus."

The blue mech narrows his yellow optic with a huff. "Always the buzzkill huh, Doc-bot?" Not-Cyclonus uncontorts himself to face Optimus and strikes a pose. "The names Whirl. Don't wear it out, or better yet don't use it at all, you can call me ShootyMcFragU."

Optimus blinks.
"...Whirl, if you're feeling well enough, I'd like to discuss your options now that you're here on Earth." Further questioning would have to wait, he needed to establish some sort of framework before he accidentally set him off. Sadly, empurata victims were known for being unstable. "As of now we have been unable to confirm your status as an autobot. We'll require you to answer some questions pertaining to that-" Whirl's rotors begin to spin. "-later. If you do not wish to partake in that you'll be reclassified as a neutral. For now though, I insist you stay on base."

Whirl's single gold optic flickers wide, and he cocks his helm slowly, looking all too similar to the Earth creature known as an owl. In turn Optimus tenses slightly, watching the other carefully.

"Wow. Why even say options when it all boils down to being grounded like a sparkling?"

"I know this situation is unfavorable, however we have a duty to this planet and its inhabitants. I cannot allow you to roam unrestricted, until you are both understanding and willing to carry out that duty."

"I'll have you know I don't understand many things, and I do duties all the time." Whirl retorts, claws on his narrow hips.

Ratchet drags a servo down his faceplate with a long suffering sigh. "Optimus, we can't just let him stay here, what if he's a Decepticon spy?"

Whirl's plating flares, but instead of lashing out at the medic as Prime feared he just stares.

"Yeah, he tried to rip out my optics!" Bulkhead chimes in, pointing an accusing digit at the rotormech. Indeed his faceplate did look as if a turbo-fox had been scratching at his optics.

"Still mad about that?"

"It happened like five nanosecs ago!"

"If you didn't want to be twins you could have just said so," Whirl looms over the other mech, forcing Bulkhead to bend back uncomfortably. "You probably couldn't pull off the one optic look nearly as well as me though."

Prime steps in between the two, separating them without actually touching the blue mech. His knowledge of empurata victims now felt like it was woefully lacking, but he knew better than to grab at Whirl's claws.

"Enough. Where Whirl's loyalties lie is a discussion for later." Optimus stresses the last word, giving his autobots a pointed look. If they really wanted to do a full blown interrogation right now, it wouldn't end well for any of them. They knew better than that. He returns his focus to Whirl who seems to be enjoying the autobots's scolding. "I must ask you to refrain from attacking anyone."

Whirl's entire frame recoils with disgust, then he falls into a deceptively lazy slouch. His burning optic regards Optimus with an odd glint, and Optimus dearly hopes he isn't planning something. It'd been a long time since he had to deal with anyone completely unknown and unpredictable like this. Earth had certainly brought about it's fair share of surprises, but this was something else entirely. While he was sure they had the advantage here he wasn't keen on finding out what kind of damage Whirl could inflict when he was cornered. If the dried energon he had previously been covered in meant anything, it was probably a lot.

"Anyone is a bit of a broad term, can you pick something else? Like: don't punch anyone yay high-" Whirl gestures to about seven feet off the ground. "-or like shooting yes, stabbing no. I dunno, limiting my violence gives me the icks."

"...I see."

Part of him wonders if he should have expected this from a mech whose first words to him was to ask if he was getting arrested again.