A/N: Another week, another chapter! Thank you to my lovely reviewers, your feedback lets me know what catches your attention in a chapter so I can give you more! Not to mention, it is my energon :l *geek alert*

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The mech's breathing is heavy and rough, each warm puff of air that blows across my face from his intakes making me cringe as I helplessly dangle in his hold. An entire eon seems to go by with every nano-klik as the Decepticon thug called Brawl stares at me, and I can see it in his gaze that he's been wanting this for a long time. I can sense it, all the anxiety and fury that I must've incited in him seven years ago has been building ever sense, and now he can finally vent it all out. For some reason, however, I'm still breathing; why hasn't he snuffed my spark out yet? What is he waiting for?

Then it hits me. Brawl's always been the type who likes games, he gets a high when he can bring out the most primal of emotions and instincts in a bot. I feel my tanks sink as his gruff vocalizer sounds.

"You're like a fraggin' spook or somethin'. You were in that warehouse with me when it exploded. I drowned you. I shot at you. Frag, everybot shot at you. The Smelting Pool should've swallowed you whole when it flowed over and consumed the base, like it did me." This is probably the most eerily calm I've ever heard the tank-former's voice. He brings me closer to his face as he continues, "All these years, I thought you finally bit the rust that cycle. But at the same time, I never quite felt closure, I had a feeling that you'd managed to crawl outta that mess in Kaon… and it turns out I was right…"

I feel my spine tingle as a low chuckle quietly leaves him.

"What a stroke of luck, who'd a' thunk that you'd stick that olfactory sensor of yours in my turf again? Maybe there really is a Primus." His single, yellow optic darkens as he slowly begins to tighten his hold on my helm, a sharp hiss coming from my intakes as I kick my pedes. "All these years of waiting for closure, and now I get to make it myself."

I've heard enough. Deciding that I've got a zero percent chance of survival in this lug's hands, I pull out my last resort, a remote detonator. Only problem in this scenario—I'm not very remote from what I'm detonating. A dark, burning amusement fills me as Brawl's dumb face takes on an even dumber look of surprise as I brandish the remote and proceed to slap it onto his face to make sure he can see what's coming.

Feeling the urge to frag the towering thug off one last time, I decide to wrap things up with a final line, "Maybe Primus doesn't like you very much." With that, I flick off the detonator's safety cap, offlining my optics as I hit the discharge button.

I feel a rush of cold through my energon lines, my chassis going numb as the charges I set on the edges of the highway about a klick behind us go off, my chest compartment filling with reverberations as I feel the heat of the flames on my cheeks. Onlining my optic sensors again, I find that Brawl is occupied with watching as the bridged highway behind him dissolves into the growing fireball, and I take my opening. Transforming quickly, my folding armor plates pinch the mech's thick fingers hard enough to make him release me, and I hit the road speeding. As I fly across the dirty highway, I feel a flutter of fear in my spark at the sound of Brawl's vengeful screams mixing with the collapsing highway. I release my own string of slurs as my back tires suddenly begin to lose their traction on the road—likely a result of the road falling out from beneath them as it topples down into the unwelcoming abyss below. Gunning my accelerator as hard as I can without blowing a fuel line, I rely primarily on my front tires to pull me through before releasing a hysterical laugh of relief as my back tires scrape onto solid ground again.

My skittish wheels take me a few more hics before I finally transform and turn, looking back at the gap in the bridge connecting Iacon to Tarn. Well, at least the cluster bombs I set were behind us rather than ahead, I don't know how I would've gotten back to Iacon otherwise. Now hopefully I won't be caught and charged with the destruction of city-state property, not that anybot in Iacon particularly cares for visits to Tarn. I walk over to the edge of the broken highway and look down into the deep chasm below, wondering if Brawl could've survived that one. I wouldn't count on it, but then again I'm crossing my pistons hoping I'm right.

With a heavy vent of air, I settle my nerves only a little before I turn and transform, starting towards Iacon once more with my mysterious samples of stone. As I pass around the debris and feel the cold breeze of the desolate highway, I start playing word games in my processor to keep myself distracted. What could these stones be? They could be the reason why the Decepticons are overtaking more city-states and enslaving the citizens. They're stones of a growing war machine. They're gained through the destruction of lives, and may be used for the creation of further death.

Dark stones. Chaos stones. Death stones. Perhaps they're valuable to the Decepticons like diamonds are to alien species from the history books. Blood diamonds. Has a ring to it.

They're blood diamonds.

"Commander Barricade."

The dark mech being addressed continues to brood for a moment, standing at a window overlooking an energon mine in the lower pits of Kaon. The Enforcer Department of this city has been subdued by the Decepticon's fear tactics and manipulation of the Department's greed, making it a useful tool for the rising army to obscure the true activities happening just below the surface. The Decepticons have achieved this in many of the city-states across Cybertron's Southern Hemisphere, and with every dominated city comes another handful of these energon mines. Only, energon isn't the only thing they're digging for.

The Decepticon grunt standing at attention grows jittery at his Commanding Officer's silence, "Commander…?"

Barricade turns his helm and shoots a sharp glance at the soldier, earning a twitch from the mech's pistons. "I told you not to bother me unless there's bleeding, fire, or orders from Megatron."

"Y-Yes, sir, I understand, but there's been an urgent message delivered," the soldier begins, his optics widening in fear as the dark commander begins to advance towards him with murder in his faceplates, "It's from Commander Brawl! He told me to give this to you right away, he said you'd understand!" The soldier's voice is something close to a high squeal at his point, cowering as the other mech—shorter in stature, ironically—nearly touches noses with him.

Barricade stares the pitiful grunt down for a klik before glancing to the soldier's hands, snatching away the datapad he's holding. He glances down at the screen before looking to the soldier again, deciding to give the bot a good reason to remember his orders next time, "So are you saying you're more afraid of Brawl than you are of me? You'll listen to his orders over mine?"

Barricade can't hold back a wicked smile as the trembling grunt goes pale in response, "N-No, sir! I mean, I brought you the message because it seemed urgent, and I thought you would be angrier if it wasn't delivered right away!"

"So you disobeyed me." Barricade responds dryly, walking towards the other bot as the other takes retreating steps backwards, the unsettling smile still present.

"Well, I—Sir, please accept my apologies, it won't happen again, sir, please!"

Figuring he's made his point well enough, Barricade drops the smile and frowns deeply at the grunt, "Get out my sight and get back to work." Turning his back to the fleeing mech, he onlines the datapad and opens the message file from his longtime comrade, Brawl. His frown deepens as the message plays before he throws the datapad at the wall, the screen flashing before it shatters into shimmering shards. "So the Capri brat's got his olfactory sensor back in the game…"

It's nearly time to stop by my mom's job and act like I've been learning hard in school all day by the time I make it back to Iacon, my home city-state. I work out some kinks in my joint hydraulics as I transform and stand in bipedal mode, growling lightly to myself when I find that my armor is covered in scratches and patches of black soot from the explosion. It's my usual look, and most bots are accustomed to seeing me around town like this, but it's a dead giveaway to what I've really been up to. I act casual as I pass through the heavily treaded streets of Sector Capri, aiming for my family's one-room apartment, but I don't get far as a familiar flash of white armor cuts me off.

I stop in my tracks and look up at the freshly-promoted Enforcer, mustering up as little enthusiasm as possible as I greet him, "Prowl."

The Praxian native doesn't seem to bear much gusto himself as he returns the gesture, "Nightbeat."

Taking the opening the tactician graduate unintentionally left widely awaiting, I make a move to step around the tall mech, "I'll just be going, then." As expected, I'm again brought to a halt as his arm darts in front of me, and I release an indignant groan. "What?" I ask almost innocently, though the growl in my voice probably betrays that I know too well what he plans on saying.

Prowl gives me an unimpressed look (something he's exceedingly good at) with a raised optic ridge, his blocking hand moving and resting on my shoulder to seem more friendly as opposed to being restraining. He doesn't fool either of us, and he surely knows it. Looking me over with scrutinizing optics, he states the obvious, "You've been busy. I wasn't aware that the academy had such extracurricular activities that would result in looking like you've been put through a scrap grinder."

I hold my lips tightly together to keep them from curling into a snarl at the Praxian's curt, knowing tone. He has such a way of acting oblivious while letting you know that he's quite aware of just what you've been up to. Sometimes, I think I would prefer it if he would just sling me over his shoulder and carry me home to my mother for grounding rather than go through these tangling dance motions. Though, I guess I'd be lying if I didn't say I get some amount of enjoyment from our mind games.

Taking my silence as an opportunity for further pricking, Prowl forcibly turns me around to walk alongside him, away from my home and towards the Enforcer Academy; where he currently has a position as an Officer in the Department branch of the campus, and I have mine as a student. I always find it interesting how such a prestigious school as Iacon's Enforcer Academy, which has a Department grouped within it for doubled purposes, is located in one of Iacon's lowest sectors of the caste system. Nonetheless, it has at least provided something of a hopeful opportunity for the local younglings of Sector Capri, as their families are given something of a hopeful "discount" on tuition. In my case, I somehow got a scholarship plastered onto me, likely the Department's way of keeping their optic on me—or so they think.

I huff as I walk along with Prowl, resisting the urge to tell him about my findings in Tarn. It used to be that I told him about everything I was investigating, as he's always been like a protective, older brother to me. Only, that's what has become the issue as of late. Ever since the incident seven years ago, he's been watching me like a cyber-hawk, and hasn't been too excited whenever he finds out I've been gumshoeing when I should be studying.

"You've been leaving city limits again. Your signature has shown up four times in the past week on the city checkpoint scanners," Prowl starts, looking down at me sternly, "You've been lying to your mother about school again."

I bite my lip to keep my mouth shut for a moment to give my gears a chance to cool off before I respond. Prowl can only assume it's my energy signal he's catching on the city's border scanners, namely due to the fact that I wear a black market signal scrambler whenever I leave Iacon to mask my trail. "So what is this, our routine interrogation? I've got the best grades in my class, Prowl, my mom knows all that she needs to…"

"You've got a smart mouth on you, Nightbeat, and it's starting to get old," he retorts with a tight frown.

That comeback is getting old, Prowl.

Shifting the spotlight from myself to the other mech, I look up at him with feigned interest, "That's a pretty sharp set of armor you've got on there, I haven't seen any other Enforcers wearing anything like it…"

I can tell that I've tapped onto an unwanted subject as the Praxian's optics shift away momentarily before he looks to me, sighing lightly as he gives up the chase for the moment, "Yes, it's a new prototype, only a select few of us have been given a set."

A prototype? Why would an Officer of his rank be set up with a prototype?

"What's so special about it?" I ask, my tone losing its edge. It's not often that we just talk to one another these days, like we used to.

"Actually, it has an upgrade you'd be… familiar with."

I frown lightly as he again shifts his optics away from me. Something's up. I keep the tone casual to see if I can prod out whatever he's hiding, "And that would be…"

He finally looks to me again, seeming to figure that I'm not going to let him avoid answering me, "Rheanimum. It's built with Reheanimum-coated Cybertanium. The Science Department salvaged what was left from the factory that the Smelting Pool overflowed in…"

The same Smelting Pool factory that Mirage and I had been held captive in seven years ago… and the same Rheanimum shipments that the gangs that created chaos in my home sector had brought in. I see.

"I can't imagine that there was a lot to salvage, after the damage that was caused… just how many sets of Rheanimum armor can be made from it?"

"It's only a prototype, nothing is for certain at this point." He responds, clearly trying to avert me from my set line of questioning.

"It looks pretty good for a prototype, Prowl. So here's what makes me curious: How come only a 'select' few—all of which I'm guessing are high-rankers like yourself here in Iacon—get the best armor rather than the front-liners who's job description might as well be 'cannon fodder'? I bet they sure as Pit could use that armor in Kaon, where the cops are practically shot on sight if they wander to far from their allotted precinct."

I know I've struck a chord too high up the tightly-laced mech's line of patience as he turns and looks down at me with a warning gaze, "This is your problem, Nightbeat. You think you know everything that's going on, and you think it's your job to fix it. You're a child, Nightbeat, your place is in school, with other children. Not to mention, I'm sure Siren would appreciate you being around more often."

Oh no he didn't… I again bite my lip, unable to suppress a hard frown as he crosses my line in mentioning Siren. I look away from him, swallowing a lump in my throat as guilt begins to consume me at the thought of the younger mech that I've grown up with.

Knowing that he's hit his mark good and deep, Prowl rolls his shoulders, loosening up some of the tension in them as he barks a final order at me, "Go home, Nightbeat. Your mother's gone through enough and needs you, so I expect you to be waiting for her when she returns tonight."

With that, he releases my shoulder and continues down the street towards the Department, leaving me to make my decision of whether or not to obey. This time, I will, for now. I turn and start the walk back towards the apartment.

Siren… I've been too busy for you. Too busy to be the brother I promised us both I'd be to you. I wonder if you still wait for me every morning at the front of the Academy, hoping to see me arrive. I hope you're not. But you probably do.