A great many thanks to everyone who reviewed or added this story to their favorites and alerts! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much!

Once again, this is rated T for some coarse language.

Transformers and its characters belong to Hasbro.


"So your robots are actually alive?"

Kade took a moment to mull over Haley's question, leaning back in the very comfortable chair in the Command Center with his arms folded behind his head. "Well…yeah." He scratched his chin. "It used to be a government secret and all that, but, y'know. Things change. Evil alien overlords come hell-bent on taking over the world, and all that."

"You seem to be taking it very well," Haley teased onscreen.

Kade shrugged. "These alien things stop fazing you after a while. It's kind of a white noise now."

"I just think you're in denial," Haley replied loftily.

"Since when are you a shrink?" Kade inquired with a grin, leaning forward in his seat. Haley innocently returned the expression.

"I've been a preschool teacher for nearly two years, Kade. One learns to understand children." As Kade sputtered in indignation Haley laughed again. "Kade, you big baby—you have yet to learn how to properly accept insults with the grace befitting a person of your age and social standing."

Kade's sour expression turned into something rather evocative. "Maybe you could teach me, babe?" he suggested with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Don't call me 'babe'," she instructed firmly, though there was a glimmer of amusement present in her eyes. Kade grinned lecherously, though at another stern look from his girlfriend he relented and reclined in his chair again.

"Fine, Hale, but answer me this—did you ever think the 'bots were alive before the big reveal?"

Haley lifted a hand to her mouth in thought and brushed a lock of blonde hair from her cheek. "You know, I might have suspected something was off. And it didn't help that Heatwave would catch your fingers in his doors all the time."

Kade winced, rubbing his hands as if the injuries had been recently inflicted. "He only did that on date nights when my truck was in the shop. You wouldn't believe the glares I got afterward."

"Well that explains why you wouldn't come within a foot of me," Haley observed calmly, pointed mirth dancing behind her eyes. She was rewarded with a scarlet blush that spread upward from Kade's neck and up to his ears.

"You try getting comfortable with someone when you're sitting inside five tons of angry metal muscle," he muttered huffily, and Haley giggled.

"I'll do my best."

Something on the console pinged and began beeping in rapid succession, stopping Kade from answering.

"Kade?" Haley called her tone becoming solicitous when she saw her boyfriend's face pale. "Kade, is something wrong?"

He swallowed, Adams apple bobbing, and he typed in a code to stop the alarm. "Y-yeah, babe. Listen, I gotta go. I'll call you when I get back."

Haley bit her lip but nodded in understanding. "Be safe. And stop calling me 'babe'."

Kade gave her a strained laugh and ended the communication. With trembling hands that made him sneer at his own cowardliness, Kade thumbed the comm line that would connect him to his entire family.

"Team, we've got bogies incoming. Ten Cybertronian life signals heading out way."


Special Agent William Fowler woke with a snort, nearly falling out of his chair as his phone rang. Grumbling and groaning, he swung his legs off his nondescript, military-issued desk.

It was probably June calling, Fowler blearily acknowledged, fumbling for the telephone. The nurse had been checking in nearly twice a week since being reunited with her son, partly to see how he was holding up but mainly to ask if he'd had any luck in located 'the Big Guy'.

The federal agent finally wrenched his still-shrilly ringing phone from its cradle, mashing it sloppily against his ear.

"Fowler," he grunted. June was more than used to his lack of manners in the morning. Or, you know, midday.

"Agent Fowler?"

For many seconds Fowler was horribly confused by the baritone that answered before his sleep muddled brain came to a conclusion—June was not the caller. He quickly straightened in his seat and held the phone correctly, as if he and the owner of the voice were in the same room.

"Chief Burns?" he said, finally recognizing the deep voice on the other end. There was the sound of movement, and a multitude of distinctly panicked voices in the background battling for supremacy. Fowler's instincts flared.

"What happened? Is something wrong?"

The line crackled again and Charlie silenced someone on his end. "I'm afraid so, Agent Fowler," Charlie admitted, his voice alarmingly uncertain. "It's…well—"

Fowler felt his grip tighten around the plastic casing of the phone, threatening to crack. "What is it?"

A cool, crisp voice print replaced the chief's.

"I apologize for the interruption, Special Agent Fowler, but we have detected ten energon signatures rapidly approaching Griffin Rock. As of yet, we are still uncertain of whether or not they are hostile."

Fowler was grim. Chase was always a calm and collected 'Bot, and while his vocals were even and he spoke succinctly, there was a palpable tension underscoring his words that had the agent's stomach tying up in knots.

"Have you received any form of communication from them, Chase?" Fowler demanded, already throwing open a folder to reach through the file of every documented Decepticon they possessed. He no longer trusted computers to hold records anymore, not when they could be so easily hacked.

"None, sir," Chase replied smoothly. "Should we evacuate the island?"

Fowler leaned back in his seat, running a weary hand down his face. "You'll have to defer to Chief Burns for something like that. Chief?"

"I'm here," Charlie responded. "Do you have any idea of what we could be dealing with?"

Fowler exhaled heavily. "I could tell you who I hope it is."

"Has there been any word?" Charlie asked, making his voice lower, as if silence would keep his family from hearing him.

"Nothing."

Charlie grunted exasperatedly. "Then I guess we can't count on it to be him," he muttered sardonically, and Fowler winced in sympathy. Communications with the Autobots had been down ever since the base's destruction, and it was only by Ratchet, Graham, Doc Greene, and Boulder's careful manipulation were they able to contact the remainder of Team Prime. All minus one, of course.

"I have the National Guard about twenty miles out," Fowler said, turning his chair to face the monitors against the walls of his office.

"Good," Charlie answered distractedly, and Fowler could faintly hear Chase's voice as he consulted his teammates. "We've got Cody, Frankie, and the townsfolk underground now. If things go south, they know to get to safety through the tunnels."

"Make sure nothing goes south, then," Fowler advised with forced humor. He received a strained chuckle from the other end.

"We'll do our best. Wish us luck, Fowler."

Charlie hung up before Fowler could respond, and the agent did not move for many seconds, still holding the phone to his ear. It took him some time before he could remove it, and even then he did not endeavor to return it to its cradle.

Fowler dug his fingers through his hair, bloodshot eyes scanning over the multitude of consoles lining the room facing him. There was nothing he could do here in his corner office.

But then his gaze caught a blip on one of his screens, and momentarily dispelling any recurring feeling of uselessness, he rose to check it out. To his utmost surprise and tentative hope, it was a response to his endless loop of the Universal Greeting.

We come in peace.

Fowler felt a grin slide onto his face.

It looked like Chief Burns wouldn't need any luck after all.


"You made sure that this area was completely cleared out, right, Blades?" Charlie demanded from within Chase. The glowing dots on the police-bot's radar had not stopped drawing closer to the island.

"Triple-checked, sir," Blades declared swiftly, and it still amazed Charlie to hear the normally timid 'Bot sound controlled. He knew that it was due to protocol that had been ingrained into his CPU centuries ago, but it was nonetheless surprising to hear it.

A different, jauntier voice print replaced that of the helicopter-bot.

"Hey, cool it, Chief!" Jazz advised, as cheerful as ever despite the daunting circumstances. "We could still be dealin' with friendlies!"

"Forgive me if I disagree with you," Chase responded dryly, and Charlie patted the steering wheel apprehensively. If Chase was stressed enough to ditch his usual manners, there was definite reason to be concerned.

Heatwave caught the police-bot's change in tone as well. "Calm down, Chase. Even if it is 'Cons, we'll be ready for 'em."

"Probably just Vehicons," Bulkhead rumbled over the comm. "Since there's nothing comin' at us from the air. Right, Wings?"

"It's Blades," the helicopter-bot corrected adamantly.

"Whatever. Can you see anything?"

"Nothing," Blades informed him grudgingly. It was no secret that the ex-Wrecker was slow to trust anybot who flew. "They're traveling underwater," he continued.

Charlie regained control of the comm. line. "Bulkhead, how's your team handling things on your end?"

Bulkhead grunted. "Can't say 'Bee and I appreciate guard duty, but things are alright. Ratchet's still swearing up a storm down in the bunker, though."

Charlie nodded, even though he knew the Wrecker could not see him, and drummed his fingers against Chase's steering wheel. "Just make sure none of the kids are around if he starts throwing tools. What about Arcee and Smokescreen? Anything on the west side of the island?"

"Patrol's come up clean so far. But you might wanna check in with Ratch."

Charlie grimaced and stopped fidgeting. "Will do. Be sure to call if you detect anything on the home front."

Ending the call Charlie exhaled heavily, plowing a hand through his gray hair. He debated the pros and cons of putting off his call to Ratchet and contacting one of his children instead, but he knew nothing would come out of stalling. With a sympathetic hum from Chase, Charlie requested communication with the Autobot medic.

"What?" Ratchet snapped promptly, his sharp tone a welcome change from the slew of Cybertronian curses that served as his usual answer.

"Has there been any shift in the bogies' direction, Ratchet?" Charlie requested, and he caught the end of a grumble as the old 'Bot checked his sensors.

"Energon detectors note no change, Chief Burns," Ratchet informed him in his typical clipped tone. "Estimated arrival time is five minutes."

Charlie sighed again, making sure the rest of the team heard Ratchet's estimation. He could practically hear Boulder and Graham conjuring calculations as he spoke. "All right, thank you, Ratchet. Please inform us of any change."

Ratchet muttered something vague in response before terminating the connection. He was still displeased at being forced to remain in the bunker and monitor the proceedings from the Rescue Bots' command center, but there was nothing for it. He possessed the least combat experience, and it was prudent to keep a medic on hold in case things... ended badly. Ratchet did not have to be happy about it, however.

"Don't mind th' ol' Hatchet," Jazz suggested coolly. "He's just as wired as the rest o' us. Just never liked bein' cooped up."

"I know the feeling," Heatwave grumbled, to a warning growl from the sleek white Porsche to his right.

"You should cool down too, rookie. You' barely been training for real combat for a month. I wouldn't get too cocky."

If he were in bipedal mode Heatwave would have scowled, though he acknowledged rank enough to know to stay silent.

Blades suddenly came hurtling overhead, hovering anxiously over the crowd of gathered vehicles. "S-sir, there's some weird movement under the water!"

Charlie was quick to patch into Ratchet and ordered Blades to repeat what he said. "Ratchet, did you get that?" he barked, and heard the medic curse.

"Some of them are breaking off from the group. Four—fragfive of them, heading for the northern coast."

"That is the direction of the woods, if I am not mistaken?" Chase said for confirmation. Charlie nodded, exhaling heavily.

"Yes, it is. Bulkhead, Bumblebee, call Arcee and Smokescreen and rendezvous on the north shore—I want you ready for these guys."

Bulkhead did not second guess Charlie's orders as he might have done when he first arrived—it helped that Jazz did not correct him either—but the ex-Wrecker had developed a healthy respect for the chief and answered in affirmative.

"Jazz," Charlie then said, "do we hold our ground? It's your call."

The sleek, white Porsche was silent for a klik, before suddenly transforming into a silver and black Autobot that stood roughly fifteen feet tall. Sharp optics flickered behind a cobalt visor and Jazz grinned brazenly.

"I'd like t' see 'em try and move us."


"Jack? Jack, come in."

The tightening around Arcee's spark lessened as her partner's voice came through her comm.

"I'm here, Arcee. Have you found anything?"

Arcee exvented heatedly. "No. Whoever these fraggers are, they haven't tried contacting us."

"So…Decepticons?"

"Looks like it. A splinter group is advancing in on the north side of the island and Smokescreen and I are moving to intercept."

Jack hummed. "Yeah, Bulkhead said the same thing." The teen's voice dropped a few octaves and he continued in whisper, most likely to keep the others from overhearing. "Do you think they'll come to the firehouse? I mean, we can probably get away in time, Cody knows the tunnels like the back of his hand apparently, but I can tell Mom and Doctor Greene are worried."

"If they are 'Cons, they wouldn't know about the firehouse," Arcee assured, immensely grateful that there was no need to sugarcoat this truth—the children would be safe in the bunker. "You guys will be fine. But how's Ratchet taking things?"

Jack snorted, and if Arcee were in bipedal mode she would have smiled at the youth in his voice that had been sorely lacking. "Miko hasn't stopped bugging him," Jack said. "She's been in the command center with him for the past half-hour, and he's blown up on her a bunch of times. Still, I bet he appreciates the company."

"That's Ratchet for you," Arcee agreed. She slowed around a hairpin turn before doubling her speed on the incline. "Other than that, are you all holding up all right?"

"Uh huh. Frankie made my mom some tea and she and Cody are trying to calm her down. Greene and Raf are talking about computer software or something. What about you guys?"

Arcee turned her scanners on the sports car trailing several feet behind her, driving just above the speed limit that she was currently decimating. Smokescreen's usual chatter had been nearly nonexistent, but only since receiving news of the bogies.

"Well…some of us have been better," she finally said.

"Do you want me to talk to Smoke when you get back?" Jack asked seriously, and his unwavering belief that they would return at all was heartening.

"I'm going to see if I can get through to him." Arcee's comm link pinged. "Jack, we're getting close to the north side. Keep your phone on, and inform Ratchet."

"Okay. Be careful, Arcee."

"I always am," Arcee replied, allowing a modicum of warmth to enter her tone. She terminated the line and opened a new one. "Bulkhead, are you here yet?"

"Almost there, Cee—thrity seconds, tops!"

Arcee ended this communication as well, reverting to bipedal mode. Smokescreen followed suite, expression uncharacteristically grim as he prepped his blasters. They couldn't go anywhere just yet as their backup had yet to arrive, and Smokescreen rocked back on his heel struts impatiently as Arcee watched him out of the corner of her optics. Her vocals burned with the need to demand what had crawled up the rookie's tailpipe and died, but there was not enough time to give into her brusque nature.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the sound of a pair of engines reached them from down the road. Bulkhead and Bumblebee drove up and transformed, clearly agitated as they also emerged with guns blazing. Now that they were all together, Arcee contacted Ratchet.

"You've all arrived?" Ratchet demanded, skipping a customary greeting.

"Yeah, Ratchet," Arcee responded, and at the jerk of her helm, the group stepped through the tree line. "It's quiet so far. Anything on your end?"

"Blasted human technology," Ratchet muttered, and swore. "Alright, the signatures are only a few hundred feet away. Can you hear anything? Decepticons are not usually known for traveling silently."

Arcee motioned for the others to be quiet, and their whispering ceased at the same time they stopped moving. Stressing her audials to catch any close snippet of conversation, Arcee instead heard something much more disconcerting.

"Uh…I'm not the only one feeling that, right?" Bulkhead questioned uncertainly, as the ground began to shake repeatedly beneath them.

"What? What is it?" Ratchet pressed, though his order went unheard.

Bumblebee chirped in alarm as the quaking grew louder and stronger, growing nearer, almost like—

"Footsteps," Arcee whispered. She whirled around to face her teammates, optics hard and panicked. "Those are footsteps."

"Scrap," Bulkhead swore, and Bumblebee echoed him.

"What could it be?" Smokescreen asked, bypassing his shock and turning toward his superiors as the convoy advanced. The three other Autobots exchanged wary glances as they paused.

"It could be anything," Bulkhead muttered.

"Ratchet said there were five life signals, didn't he?" Bumblebee whirred worriedly.

"Bruticus?" Arcee asked incredulously, at the same time voicing what her teammates were thinking.

"Maybe," Bulkhead grunted, scanning the terrain.

Smokescreen glanced in the direction of the footsteps. "I've heard about Bruticus. He's a Combiner. How hard is it to take him down?"

Something appeared to finally snap within Arcee, and the femme spun on her heel strut and stalked up to Smokescreen, jabbing a slim digit into his chest plate. "Do you not understand what's happening?" she hissed, her words as quick and sharp as darts but her voice low to avoid attracting attention. "This isn't a game—what is it going to take to get that through your thick processor?"

"I know it's not a game!" Smokescreen countered at the same volume.

"You could have fooled me!" Arcee stopped herself, inhaling sharply through her intakes. "Smokescreen, I don't know what's wrong, but this isn't you. I'm not sure if it ever was. But we need you—Griffin Rock may be the only home we have left, with all our friends in the world living on it, and now it could be in danger. If we're not careful, we could lose them all. We don't…We don't have Optimus to set things right anymore."

"You think I don't know that?" Smokescreen retorted though gritted dentals. He loomed over Arcee's small frame, his trembling servos clenched at his sides.

Bulkhead rushed to separate them before it came to blows, Bumblebee holding Arcee back while the former planted himself in front of Smokescreen.

"That's enough!" Bulkhead declared. "We don't have time for this. You can settle…whatever this is, later. Okay?"

Smokescreen nodded stiffly, turning away to prep his gun, and Arcee mimicked him. The booming footsteps had not ceased their rhythm, although it was Bulkhead who led the group ahead now.

"Ratchet, what's your twenty on the 'Cons?"

"Now you respond," Ratchet complained distractedly, "I was unsure if you were still online."

"Online and kicking, Ratch," Bulkhead affirmed wryly. "Do you have anything on the 'Cons, 'cause we have somethin' big coming at us."

"A combiner?" Ratchet intoned warily. There was a pause before he continued in slight bewilderment. "I am still detecting five separate life signals."

Bulkhead grunted as the dirt gave a forceful jerk. "Well the ground's shaking like a sparkling under enemy fire. "

The gears in Ratchet's throat grated together in a scoff. "Are you insinuating—" The medic cut himself off sharply.

Bulkhead paused, raising a servo for his comrades to stop as well.

"Ratch? Ratchet?"

In the silence, the Autobots realized that the footsteps had also stilled.

"Bulkhead, the life signals have stopped only a few yards away," Ratchet said slowly, his voice tense. "One of them has broken off from the group. He's coming your way."

The Autobots swiftly moved into defensive positions in a semicircle, blasters trained on the surrounding trees.

"In what direction, Ratchet?" Arcee requested tersely.

"He keeps moving, there's no way to get a fix on his position," Ratchet muttered.

"Quiet!" Smokescreen whispered sharply. "There's no way he can move through these trees without making noise!"

Bumblebee buzzed an affirmative, and the others, though outranking the Praxian, did as they were told. Kliks passed without a sound other than the whirring of their systems.

"Oh my."

Arcee stiffened at the nonplussed tone of the unfamiliar voice at her back (how had she not heard his approach?) and swiveled to face the newcomer, her blaster charged.

A white mech around the same height as Bumblebee stared down the barrel of her gun in mild surprise. He made no move to attack her, but Arcee did not drop her guard or her gun.

"Who are you?" she barked, as her teammates belatedly realized that they were no longer alone.

The stranger made to answer, but the roar that was heard was not his own.

"Deadlock!" Bulkhead snarled, trading his blaster for his trademark battle mace. He shoved past Arcee and Smokescreen, wildly swinging his arm toward the bewildered stranger.

The white mech dodged Bulkhead's strikes with frightening ease, his expression falling into a troubled one.

"Please—" he ducked under Bulkhead's swing "—I—" he blocked the next blow with one of his swords "—don't go—" a leap back "—by—" the edge of Bulkhead's mace skimmed his chest plate "—that name—" he completed a flip to avoid a wider swing, landing in a crouch several feet away "—anymore", he finished, lifting his servos in surrender.

Bulkhead snorted. "Oh yeah? and you've changed sides too?"

"Yes."

Bumblebee and Smokescreen rushed to restrain Bulkhead, while Arcee turned on the ninja-bot. "Who are you?" she asked again, with more suspicion than before.

The white mech inclined his helm. "I was known as Deadlock eons ago."

"I've heard the horror stories," Arcee nodded, her optics narrow. He winced.

"Yes, well, I am endeavoring to make amends for what I did in the past." He bowed deeply. "You may call me Drift."

"I'll call you whatever I fragging like!" Bulkhead seethed, and Bumblebee and Smokescreen struggled to hold him back. "Arcee, don't listen to him! Everything Deadlock ever says is a lie!"

Out of the corner of her optic, the femme caught a quick flash of emotion across Drift's otherwise neutral faceplate –guilt, she noted— and Arcee set the gears of her jaw. "Bulkhead," she began, leveling her gaze on the struggling Autobot, "you were the one just telling me to calm down. Now it's your turn."

"But he's—"

"Since he's not attacking us—" Arcee interrupted, feeling Drift hovering behind her at a respectable distance "—we'll let him explain."

Bulkhead made to speak again, most likely to offer another argument, when the ground gave a tremendous jolt and an uprooted tree fell beside them with a crash, nearly landing on top of the former Wrecker. The culprits behind the sudden cacophony stood taller than the pines around them, the sun at their backs casting their features into shadow. Their identities were no mystery, however.

"We heard yelling," Grimlock announced shortly. "Everything OK?"

The Autobots all looked at Drift again, who tried not to wince. "Yes, Grimlock, everything is fine," Drift said carefully. "I have found Optimus Prime's team."

Swoop snickered. "We can see that. Hey, Grim, we're gonna patrol the rest of the island."

Grimlock acquiesced with a stiff nod, and the three Dinobots transformed and stomped off into the undergrowth. Grimlock then returned his bloodied gaze to the still-stunned Autobots.

"What are you doing here?" Arcee finally had the sense to demand of him, though was more shock than anger in her tone.

"Scouting," Grimlock grunted. "Didn't want to scare the fleshies."

"Well you scared us plenty," Bulkhead muttered, yanking his arms out of Bumblebee and Smokescreen's lingering hold. Grimlock ignored him in favor of Drift.

"So? Can we leave this mess of organic slag?" he questioned, jerking a servo toward the dense forest around them.

Drift's mouthplate quirked downward in the barest of frowns. "I was unable to complete my patrol due to the arrival of these Autobots, Grimlock." The ninja-bot turned to face Arcee and her teammates. "Would the native humans of this island panic upon seeing us? Or the Dinobots, in particular."

"What? Yes—no—what are you doing here?" Arcee sputtered. It was more than enough for an ex-Decepticon to arrive unannounced, but Dinobots? That was a bit much, even for her. Only adding to the multitude of confusion and annoyance she was suffering, Ratchet decided to contact them at that moment.

"Arcee?! What is going on?"

"We have Dinobots and an ex-'Con here, Ratchet," she barked. "Tell the guys on the shore that their bogies are probably Autobots too." She pointedly glanced Drift's way. "Right?"

Drift nodded

"Autobots?" Ratchet repeated, as if he did not dare believe it, but contacted the team by the docks as he spoke.

Arcee motioned for her teammates to begin exiting the woods. "Yeah. They must have finally gotten Optimus' message."

She heard a scoff, and looked back to find Grimlock appearing inexplicably amused.

"Have fun. I'm gonna meet up with my team."

Before Arcee could offer a word of protest—not that she was suicidal enough to even really consider it—Grimlock was gone, plowing through the trees like they were nothing more than matchsticks as his massive pedefalls faded.

Her teammates were already on the road back into town, hopefully contacting Chief Burns' team on the way, and she turned to Drift.

"I will accompany you," he supplied, "to explain to the others what had happened. The remainder of my…team may be a while."

"I wasn't going to let you out of my sight anyway," Arcee muttered, transforming and racing out of the woods with Drift close behind.