A/N: So... snowmobile!Jazz. Any takers? I thought people would blow up about "daring" to take off his wheels for some ski experience. But I thought it was fitting seeing how awesome and tricky he is to begin with. Anyways, we finally get some fighting and Ironhide to boot in this chapter. Also why Jungler is scarier than Gravity, Anatoli and Dawnbreaker together. In one of the initial drafts I made for this story, she was actually a T&I specialist and she was less of a passive aggressive person and had more of a Batman/Punisher feel to her.

Anyways, about the cannon transformers designs that I went with. I've looked up the internet and found a variety of concept arts some of which had their WFC or G1 designs in mind while others focused on their movie designs.

For Jazz I had to ask myself "What does Jazz do and how to apply that to his design?" As you can see, with him there isn't an easy answer. Obviously, if I go by the MCA (Mechanoid Classification Act) I made, he is a G23 with focus on mobility, flexibility and tactical precision strikes. He is a sapper, a bad ass ninja infiltrator and a top-knotch spy when he has to be. I was wondering where had I seen such a combination of characteristics when suddenly Leliana from Dragon Age popped into my mind. Also, Jazz has a cool visor, he loves music and dancing, and even as an ally he is basically the hornet you put in your pants because it's better to have it there than to have it stinging the kids by the pool. So, in the end I went with a more streamline, sleeker design that would make his lurking and trolling easier in the long run. The closest to the image I had in my head was a concept art done by CaroRichards.

For Prowl I went with his official Prime concept art. Dawnbreaker's gonna lose her shit over the fact that he has warheads mounted on his shoulders. I will not lie- I have been giggling like an idiot for a few days now, making my household nervous. I've sooo many cool conversations in mind ABOUT him and INVOLVING him its just... giggles teeeheeeheee

Ironhide was probably the hardest, because I already have Anatoli, who is a certifiable war-machine – turned geologist – turned mechanoid. I think they'd make good buddies if they don't kill each other first. Ironhide is one of those bad asses that you just can't help but want on the team and he is also exactly the type of influence Fia DOESN'T want her Viking Boys to have. He is extra trigger happy. His loyalty and hardiness would do them a load of good, at least.

[May 3rd, year 2032, with Autobot Jazz, unknown location, 5:05 am]

:: I can't really move her, Prowl-Prowl, she'd rip the patches open. Also she's a big babe, you know? One hundred percent red hot shuttle hotness. With sexy blue grounder decals. ::

Prowl pursed his lip plates. True, given the war and their current predicament, it had been a while since either of them had even seen a femme proper, but that was hardly a reason to break protocol and act like a randy newspark and-

Prowl exvented. Jazz was a professional, no matter what some of the more skeptical Autobots said. Logically speaking, Jazz was either trying to get a rise out of him (his current most favorite game) or he was trying to deflect his own anxiousness with jokes and obnoxiousness. Prowl guessed it was probably 37.452 percent of the first and 62.547 percent of the other. He left that 0.001 percent as a probable error margin in his judgment. And to think that nowadays his Tac Net was mostly used for such useless observations. Yes, he was bored as pit. Yes, their situation was far from stellar. Yes, he may have filched Ironhide's last packet of rust sticks and he may have blamed it on Jazz with some help of his usual stoic and no-nonsense character and mannerisms...and maybe with some help from his Tac Net- Okay he was getting off track, but he had promised himself to get a packet of rust sticks to Ironhide and clear up that whole ordeal at first possible opportunity.

But back at the problem at hand. Jazz was in enemy territory with an unknown Neutral shuttle femme that could quite possibly be their only ticket out of this pit of an Energon Mining Complex. He couldn't move her and it would take too long for Jazz to simply leave her and get back for medical supplies. As scarce as those were. His only choice was to break radio silence with Ironhide too and send him to Jazz with said medical supplies. Hopefully it would be enough to get the femme out of stasis and get her to safety.

:: Jazz, I will send Ironhide with the medical supplies. Make sure to stay out of trouble. ::

:: Depends on what do you mean by trouble. I mean, if we are talking about Shuttle babe here, then the last thing I wanna do right now is staying out- ::

:: Jazz, behave. ::

::Ooh, I think somebody's sour 'cus they ain't getting any Prowie-Wowie time – ::

"Aww, he hung up. Well, it's just you and me, Bae. I'm Jazz by the way, Autobot saboteur extraordinaire at your service!" the femme in red was still completely unresponsive. "Aww, mech, this might take a while."

[May 3rd, year 2032, Abandoned Energon Mining Facility, Third Fleet Forward Camp, 5:28 am]

"You left Fiona to fend for herself?" Jungler repeated dangerously.

:: We are still looking for her. When that bomb went off under her feet, the avalanche swooped her in a completely different direction from us. We suspect she fell off the north-western edge of the plateau. First Lieutenant Zhukovsky requires immediate medical attention. His right knee gave out about half an hour ago and we don't have anything to strap to his leg. We need Mr. Frio to extract us and possibly help us find the Commander. Gravity out. ::

MJ turned to look at where Sky, Lewis, Jaeger and Fernandez were all huddled together and watching her intently, worried looks on their faces. She bit her lower lip. As the highest ranking officer present, it was her duty to authorize a rescue mission. She was worried whether or not Sky would be able to handle the flight. Ever since the hangar had gotten warm enough to be hospitable, he hadn't moved from it, preferring to stay inside and away from the cold and the snow, which seemed to cause him distress.

"Sky. I hate to ask this of you but -" she began.

"I understand, Michelle. I'd never leave Fiona out in the snow. If you hadn't suggested it, I would've gone anyways."

The organic part of the team were nodding along with him.

She smiled earnestly.

"Thank you." she said softly.

[May 3rd, year 2032, with Team Harry, 6:00 am]

"You feel that?" Brian whispered as all his cousins stilled and immediately perked their audial fins. Had there been anyone looking out at them, they would've been reminded of a pack of wolves on the hunt.

"Yeah. I feel that." Harry walked slowly forward, ahead of Brian and slid off the hood of his white camouflage cloak. He was as silent as he could be, the only sign of his presence being the soft crunching sounds made from his footsteps in the snow.

It was a single entity, not too far away from them, right on the edge of their thinly stretched fields. While they weren't as proficient as Fiona with their BEM sensing ability, they were still capable of basics.

A decision was made and wordlessly, Blacklash (Harry) took off his cloak and put it away in one of his many in-built compartments. He gave Viceclaw (Al) a quick hand signal and silently transformed into his alt. The three brothers regrouped, removed their cloaks as well and took out their weapons, in preparation for what was to come. They intently watched as Harry quietly sped off close to the ground, in order to make his ambush successful. After a minute or two, the three of them marched off in a hurried pace in the same direction.

[May 3rd, year 2032, with Autobot Ironhide, 6:15 am]

Ironhide cursed his luck on being stuck in this thrice-Unicron-damned icy Pit-hole. He often cursed his luck. This time, however, it was different. Mostly because his large, heavy frame sunk into snow far more than Prowl's frame and Jazz more often than not loved to rub it in their faces how he had the hindsight to modify his alt in order to slide around in circles and laughing while they, Ironhide and Prowl, had to grunt and suffer through this-THIS PRIMUS AWFUL FROZEN HYDROGEN-OXYGEN COMPOUND THAT'S EVERYWHERE! VECTOR FRAGGING SIGMA!

Ironhide took a few calming vents. He was made for honest to Primus combat situations where he and his many opponents duked it out in an honest, well meaning – oh who was he kidding? Not himself, quite obviously. He was actually disappointed there wasn't a single Con in the vicinity for him to royally slag to the Pit and back again. Pit, even those fragging mass produced Vehicons were better than nothing in this frozen Pithole. He took a customary glance at his improvised servo-mounted radar. He nearly turned back to his long trek when his processors caught onto the blinking little dot rapidly approaching him. A toothy grin spread from his lip plates.

"Pit, it's about time."

He powered his cannons just as his audial receptors caught the very quiet but still very well known tell-tale whine of seeker turbines. A blast roared from one of his cannons. The black seeker expertly dodged and transformed mid-flight, drawing a long thin two-handed sword and slamming both pedes onto his chest plates.

[May 3rd, year 2032, with Blacklash, 6:15 am]

The unknown alien mecha opened fire almost immediately upon detection. So much for caution. He was certain that he hadn't been detected via his BEM field, thus his only conclusion could be that this strange person had a contraption to specifically detect others. In the span of just a few seconds, he already had accumulated numerous questions that needed answers. But right now, he had to subdue this imposing, dual-cannon wielding, red and black mecha.

He landed and immediately rolled on his side to avoid being shot to smithereens. Perhaps it wasn't the best ideas to try to charge someone who could easily keep his distance. The alien mecha looked battle ready and battle weary. The nasty scar on his face was a testament to his experience with war. So, perhaps these people had some sort of war effort going on? Perhaps with themselves? Perhaps the Xarynthians? Fiona never really explained the why's and how she ended the war. It was a taboo topic and he suspected that even if MJ knew what the hell her best friend had done, she'd never share. There was a tone of finality whenever she spoke of their terrible adversaries. It always sent chills down his spine, just thinking about it.

But such thoughts were neither appropriate nor helpful in his current situation. The battlefield was uneven and ridged with ponty, sharp dagger rocks, deceptively covered by the soft, freshly fallen snow. The entire desolation of the area was made worse by the absolute lack of organic life in any form – something that was becoming more and more unnerving by the hour. This mecha before him knew well the dangers of their surroundings. Despite the heaviness of his footsteps and the way it was made obvious he struggled with the snow, he could tell that he knew exactly where he was stepping and how to step.

Harry took a basic defensive stance and gave his opponent a respectful nod, hoping he'd cease with his aggression so they could have a normal conversation. Or, well, buy him enough time to hit him over his tin head and drag his bound and unconscious metal ass back to base, where Lewis and Sky would do the interrogating. Perhaps MJ could help. She had this whole Femme Fatale thing going on whenever she wasn't busy being a sadistic doctor bitch. Fiona's words, by the way, not his.

Harry stepped out of the way from another wave of blasts aimed at critical, life-support areas and pulled out his gun. It was a small, standard issue, specifically designed to be used by mecha of his size. Like MJ's Machete, they were part of their mandatory equipment and even most of the civilians (those who had passed the training course and had their certificate) were armed with similar weapons. The idea was simple – better safe than sorry.

His issue was simple – he had to disable him without causing critical damage. Given his situation, that'd be incredibly hard. He suspected his cousins would be here in at least half an hour, which meant he had to tango with this fellow here – who just shouted something in his alien tongue. He did not know what he said, but he guessed the derogatory nature of the statement pretty easily.

He aimed.

Before he could react, something tore at his side.

The red and black mecha turned to look at whatever had shot him.

Harry blacked out.

[May 3rd, year 2032, with Autobot Jazz, 7:30 am]

::Hey, Prowlzers, I think someone's approaching my location. Can you check if it's Hide? ::

:: Prowl, Jazz. My designation is Prowl! And no, that cannot be Ironhide. It's too early. ::

:: Well, I'm bound to have a party, anyways. Think it might be more femmes, Prowlie? I can set you up, you know, say a few good words, be a good wing man* and all to my buddy, the Prowlinator and – Ack! ::

::Jazz! Do you read? Jazz, answer me! ::

"Pit to it all!" the normally calm and collected Prowl roared as he grabbed the desk before him and threw it to the side, delicate devices and data tabs with sensitive information be damned.

Communication with Ironhide was lost, Jazz was in enemy hands, communication also lost. He could not help but think the worst, in all of its tactical, logistic, nightmarish glory. He had no choice but to go out and help his fellow Autobots. His brothers in arms. His friends. Yes, even Jazz. He'd allow himself to reluctantly admit that.

Carefully he steadied his raging processor and carefully recalled his surroundings in relation to his current location. Unnatural calm spread through him as a three-dimensional map appeared inside his mind and swiftly, he made his way to where he had left his self-styled staff. His grip on the metal staff tightened as he paused at the exit of their secret base.

"Pit to it all." he repeated quietly.

Sometimes, despite his powerful processor, despite his training, despite the reassurances from Ironhide and Jazz that he'd be fixed as good as new as soon as they could get to Optimus and their medic, Ratchet, despite all of that, it was still hard on him. His tac net was telling him the odds were nigh impossible, but his spark was telling him he still had to try.

He still had to try, even if he was literally walking blind into the battlefield.