My beta reader iratepirate is overseas, so this chapter is being posted without being revised. I apologize in advance for the grammar mistakes you will certainly find. My English has improved a lot since I write fanfiction, but it's still very far away from being perfect. Hopefully, the typos won't be that big…

Anyway, the ride you are about to take will be intense. Hopefully that will make you guys forget the mistakes you may find. Anyway, if you find something really ugly, please let me know and I'll change it. Thanks in advance!

Safety belts on? Okay, let's start!

Chapter 10

Meet Superion

Chip Chase made some very important decisions as soon as he more or less stabilized himself on Wildrider's driver seat: he would not scream, or beg for mercy, or call the Decepticon offensive names. Those would be natural and stereotyped responses to his predicament, not to mention that they were also the kind of reactions his captor would be expecting. Wildrider was unstable and seemed to act following sudden, improvised impulses; resourcing to old clichés between Decepticons and their human captives would only stimulate his reckless behavior, which would considerably endanger Chip's life.

So the analytical twenty one year old scientist wrapped the safety belt around him with firm, yet not hurried, movements, wondering why in the world Wildrider had safety belts in the first place. It was probably a leftover of the days in which he was nothing but the fancy Ferrari of some very wealthy speed lover. Chip had always wondered if the Stunticons had some sort of complex because of their terrestrial origins. He knew that the Decepticons and some Autobots despised them for that same reason.

That train of thought was brutally interrupted when Wildrider's speakers came to life and the extremely loud Rammstein's song almost deafened the human element in that peculiar hostage situation.

"Gggg… Where do you think you're going?" Chip asked, putting his hands on his ears in an attempt to protect them from permanent damage.

Wildrider didn't reply. He seemed very busy murmuring to himself, perhaps looking for the exit of the Ark. Although soon, despite of the murderous decibels drilling his timpani, Chip realized that Wildrider was singing, apparently not caring for the direction he was heading as long as he kept riding.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Chip repeated, hating to resource to the very rude habit of shouting.

This time Wildrider heard him, because the volume of the music went down, much to Chip's relief.

"Uh… you were here, Andy?" the Stunticon said, apparently confused with Chip's presence. Could it be that Wildrider had already forgotten that he had just acquired a human hostage? It seemed that what the Autobots said about that Decepticon's lunacy was true.

"You're heading in the opposite way to the exit," Chip said as calmly as he could. "Although I wouldn't go there if I were you. The entire Ark's crew must be waiting for you."

Wildrider seemed to shrug, even though being in vehicle mode. "No problemo. I'll bust them all up."

Chip did his best to not lose his glasses when Wildrider made a drastic turn at supersonic speed. His efforts to keep his voice serene were even higher. "There is a secret exit at the bottom of the base. Nobody ever uses it, so most likely it will be unguarded. I can guide you there if you want."

A snort-like sound came from Wildrider's console. "Yeah? And why would you do that for me, Andy?"

The my name is not Andy died at the tip of Chip's tongue. He didn't have time for trivialities, after all. "I have two very good reasons. I'll tell you one now, but you will only hear the second if you follow my advice. And trust me, it's worth it."

Wildrider remained silent for a moment, as silent as he could be with 'Du hast mich' playing at a volume that was definitely too much on the unbearable side for Chip's taste.

"We've got a deal, Andy. Shoot your first reason or I'll shoot you through the window," Wildrider said laughing, but somehow Chip knew he had meant every word.

"If your destination is the Ark's entrance, the Autobots will attack you at sight, which will put me into a very hazardous position."

"Doubt so. I have a forcefield, see?"

"Mm… can your forcefield hold against Optimus Prime's laser rifle?"

"Maybe. I have never tried, really… but hey, I got in this fray with the Triplechangers once and Blitzwing was so pissed that he shot me in tank mode. Point blank, see? Right in the chest."

"And what happened?"

"I'm still riding, aren't I?"

"Still, I don't think you can take an entire battalion of Autobots firing at you, and neither can I."

"You should get yourself a forcefield."

"I…" Chip winced, trying to control his nausea as Wildrider continued defying physics with his frenetic riding. He knew that the Autobots wouldn't attack Wildrider as long as Chip remained as his hostage, but he had a personal interest in the recent incident that involved the Aerialbots and the Stunticons, and he was determined to avoid a serious confrontation between the new Aerialbot and his improvised teammates by all means. "Look, let's just say that I happen to be in love with being alive and I think my chances are higher if we avoid a fight with the Autobots. Now would you mind taking the corridor to your left?"

Wildrider giggled, but followed Chip's directions. "I happen to be in love with being alive… I have to tell that one to Dead End sometime. Thanks for the tip, Andy."

Chip closed his eyes as his stomach hit his throat and went down again. Wildrider was definitely insane, but he was not being aggressive, not even sarcastic. Perhaps there was a way to get to him.

Fervent lover of the Gestalt technology as he was, Chip had took a hard hit when he had failed in averting the Constructicons from their evil ways. It had taken him a while to understand that the Decepticon engineers had made their choice and that no device could overrun one sentient being's beliefs, especially if they belonged to a gestalt group which bond humans couldn't fully comprehend.

But Wildrider was an entirely different case. As the rest of the Stunticons and the Aerialbots themselves, he had been forced into a war that wasn't his own and programmed to take for granted beliefs he didn't even understand. And now the table had taken another drastic turn with his sudden intrusion to the Aerialbot Gestalt. That was a major problem for all the Autobots, and certainly for the Decepticons as well, but Chip had very different thoughts about that matter. Where others saw disgrace, he saw hope.

"Now take your right on the next corridor... Alright, you'll see a door at the middle. The opening code is 04-745—" Chip yelped when Wildrider typed his own code by crashing against the door and taking it down. That forcefield of his was a really amazing thing, even more than Trailbreaker's.

"Nice place for a race," Wildrider said, hitting on purpose some of the irregular rock formations scattered through the entire subterraneous passage.

Chip gasped and closed his eyes to the rain of debris that hit Wildrider's windshield without even scratching it. "I'm glad… you like it. See that wall rock at the bottom? The exit is right there."

Wildrider pierced it faster than a heart beat, this time without any additional destruction. "Uh… what just happened?" he asked, confused, as the sun light suddenly bathed his chassis.

"The door was a hologram," Chip explained, welcoming the relative peace by resting his head against Wildrider's seat.

"Bummer…" The volume of the speakers increased again.

"Wait, wait! What are you planning to do with me? You escaped the Ark already!"

When Wildrider didn't reply, Chip started to pound the steering wheel with his fists. "I asked you a question, Wildrider! Would you mind answering?"

"Ya said something, Andy?"

Chip reached Wildrider's console and turned the stereo off. He was surprised he hadn't thought about that before. Extreme fear could really do things to a mind that had scored almost 200 points in its last IQ test.

"Hey, why did you do that?" Wildrider immediately complained. "That was the best part!"

Chip hurried to reply before Wildrider activated his infamous stereo again. "I would like to have a word with you, if that's okay."

"About what?"

"I take it your destination is the Nemesis base."

"I was actually thinking about going to Disneyland, but yep, the Nemesis would be better."

Chip took a deep breath, as deep as he could take it at two hundred miles per hour. He was about to get into a conversation that could get him killed, but his fascination with the Gestalt technology wouldn't allow him to take an alternative route.

"I don't think you want to go back to the Nemesis."

As expected, Wildrider chuckled. "And why wouldn't I? You're much funnier in TV, Andy!"

Chip was about to state the obvious but a green light on Wildrider's console did it much better.

"Wildrider," Silverbolt's voice could be heard. "Return to the Ark immediately."

Wildrider seemed to hesitate, or at least that's how Chip interpreted the noticeable decrease on the Ferrari's speed and the short but very tense seconds he took to reply.

"Are the other flyboys okay?" Wildrider asked with a voice that Chip could have sworn it was an apology. "I didn't mean to knock them out, you know? It was that chastity belt—"

"They are fine," Silverbolt interrupted him. "But you have to return immediately. I hope you'll agree with me that there's no need to have an entire squad of Autobots on your tail."

"Why not? I kind of enjoy the attention."

Another voice cracked to life on Wildrider's comm link. "This is no joke, frag face!" Chip immediately recognized Slingshot. "We're catching up with you and will take you down unless you fraggin' come back! Last warning, Decepticon! Dead or alive, you're coming with us!"

Wildrider burst in laughter. "Sure thing, Robocop," he said and turned his comm link off.

"That's useless and you know it," Chip cautiously said, suspecting that Wildrider's amusement on the entire situation was a pose. The sudden decrease of the Ferrari's speed was also a clear signal of his disturbance.

Chip got the confirmation he was looking for – and dreading – when Wildrider's voice sounded more serious than expected. "What do you mean?"

"Switching off your communicator… As far as I know, there's no way a Combiner robot can be isolated from his Gestalt bond… The Aerialbots can always reach you there."

Wildrider didn't reply, confirming that he was definitely not amused anymore, as he certainly hadn't been since the beginning. His stereo also remained uncomfortably silent.

After a couple of minutes, Chip dared to speak again. "Why are you taking this highway? Last time I checked, the Nemesis wasn't in the way to Portland."

"You ask too much questions, Andy," Wildrider grumbled, entering a warehouse at the beginning of an industrial zone. When he finally hit the brakes and parked beside some cargo machines, his speedometer was barely above twenty miles an hour.

Wildrider's door opened.

"Out."

Chip stared at freedom the same way he would have stared at an abysm.

"Out," Wildrider repeated, his voice dangerously cold. "I know you can walk, so get the frag out. One and only chance, Andy!"

His legs miraculously getting into motion was a dream that Chip had stopped having years ago. He could have dragged himself out, of course, but he hadn't gone that far for nothing. He could see now that Wildrider was seriously disturbed.

"What about you? What are you planning to do?"

Wildrider didn't reply. Shit, the situation was getting worse…

"Wildrider—"

The world jolted again when Wildrider transformed and suddenly Chip found himself pending by his jacket from the Stunticon's fingers.

"End of the road, Andy."

In other words, death sentence for sure. Once again, the possibility of pleading for his life didn't cross Chip's mind. If Wildrider had already taken the decision of killing him, begging would serve for nothing.

But what happened was quite a surprise, as every action in Wildrider's existence had to be. After scanning the warehouse in search for some place to hang his human charge, Wildrider ended placing Chip on a pile of big rubber wheels and headed toward the exit.

Surprises were in order, as the Decepticon continued proving when he didn't leave, but sat on a big metallic container instead and rested his elbows on his knees, hiding his face between his hands in an attitude that reflected absolute defeat. Chip had seen a lot during his involvement in the Cybertronian war, but that image was devastating.

"You can't do it… As much as you want to, you can't leave your teammates behind," Chip said, more to himself than to Wildrider, but his statement was heard.

The container creaked when Wildrider stood up, his face deformed by anguish. "I've got a question for you, Andy! What would shut you up faster? Shooting my own audio receptors, or ripping your vocalizer off?"

A wave of panic spread through Chip's body. There was a limit to his bravery and there was a limit to Wildrider's patience. He had reached them both.

But Wildrider stopped after a couple of steps, his motionless status obeying another revelation that just had hit him hard.

He wasn't alone anymore.

At the bottom of the warehouse, Slingshot was standing, both hands at the frame of the big exit. The main entrance was covered by Skydive and Fireflight, who stepped away to allow their leader to get in first.

With an enemy within perhaps, but the Aerialbots were complete again.

"Stay away from Chip," Silverbolt said firmly, "and step back, Wildrider."

The proximity of his unwanted teammates seemed to shatter Wildrider's depression and returned him to his usual mood.

"Mmh, where's the fun in that?" he said, subspacing his scattershot gun and pointing it toward Chip. "I have a better idea. Why don't I blow Andy here to pieces and you see if you can patch him up?"

"Put your gun down or I'll fraggin'—" Slingshot started to say as he took a step forward, but Silverbolt stopped him with a firm movement of his arm.

"You won't do such thing," the Aerialbot leader said, addressing Wildrider.

Wildrider snorted. "And why not?"

Silverbolt remained calm as he continued talking. "First, because ever since your days as a Stunticon you were never notable for murdering humans, and most importantly, because I, your leader, am telling you to back off."

Wildrider's fingers trembled around the trigger of his gun.

"You ain't my leader. Motormaster is."

Silverbolt's expression didn't change. "Motormaster has nothing to do with you, not anymore, neither any of your former teammates. The Stunticon Gestalt is as foreign to you as it is to me. It's time for you to understand that."

Wildrider looked from Aerialbot to Aerialbot, his expression totally lost. "I'm a Stunticon!" he said, desperation making him raise his voice. "See the wheels? The insignia? What? Did you think that just because some stupid glitch happened I was an Aerialbot now?"

"Yes, Wildrider. That's exactly what I think, because that's exactly what happened."

It seemed that a bomb had just hit Wildrider and he didn't know where to start to pick up his pieces. He stepped back, tripping with a crate and falling on his aft. He immediately raised his gun again and aimed it to Slingshot, who had taken a step toward him.

"You stay away! All of you!" he cried, turning to face Silverbolt. "You lied, fat lips! You said you were gonna fix this mess!"

"I said I would do everything in my hands to reverse this situation," Silverbolt severely explained, "which is precisely what I'm doing. In return, the only thing I asked for you was your cooperation, a simple commit you were unable to honour. I don't know how temporal or permanent this failure in our respective Gestalts is, but whether you like it or not, whether we like it or not, you are an Aerialbot now and there's nothing you or anybody else can do to change it. I tried to reason with you, I tried to protect you, I tried to be kind with you and I tried to listen to you… but time has come to discipline you. I'm very sorry, Wildrider, but you leave me no choice."

Wildrider smirked. "So now I become you flyboys punching bag, huh? No problem with me, do your worst."

Silverbolt slowly shook his head. "No, Wildrider. The only Aerialbot that you will face today will be me, Silverbolt, your team leader. It's time for you to learn that you are part of this Gestalt and that you, as everybody else, must respect hierarchies."

Wildrider seemed taken aback, but he immediately recovered himself from his shock, used to abrupt turns as he was. "It took Motormaster twenty seven beatings – twelve of them that almost put me in the junkyard – to… what did you say? Oh yeah, discipline me…" He returned his gun to subspace. "You are no bigger than the boss, definitely not stronger... How many times do you think you'll have to beat me up, fat lips, for me to actually consider you my leader? Oh, and let's not forget the important part here. This time I'm fighting back!"

That's all Wildrider said before pouncing at Silverbolt with all his strength.

Both combatants fell outside the warehouse, breaking the concrete of the ground and starting a battle that was meant to happen one time, and one time only.

In response to his own question, Wildrider realized that he didn't know how many times he had been tempted to punch Motormaster back, especially during all those times in which he had been punished for no further reason than being himself. Five years of life, hundreds of beatings. Wildrider admitted that he had messed up some missions because of his inability to focus, but there were also times in which he had actually saved the day. The result of his mistakes? Pain, humiliation, eventual mutilation, the hatred ceiling of the Nemesis' Repair Bay after being brought back online by the Constructicons… And what about his achievements? Nothing, not a word congratulating him, not a palm on his shoulder, not a friendly stare… Nothing.

That was Motormaster's style, it would always be. Attacking the boss was simply impossible, the kind of thing that just couldn't exist in this or whatever Universe Dead End assured was meant to be doomed.

But now Wildrider had the opportunity to fight back, to unleash a little bit of his frustration on that blurry figure of authority that his spark was forcing him to recognize as his leader.

So he threw the first punch once he and Silverbolt landed outside the warehouse. He could feel the face plates of the Aerialbot denting beneath his fist, and he hated himself for not enjoying the moment as he should have. It felt good to punch something, but at the same time it felt so wrong because he was beating the one bot he wasn't supposed to beat…

He's not Motormaster, he's not Motormaster— Wildrider found his mantra very quickly, but it wasn't enough. His fist hurt, acidly when he punched Silverbolt a second time. It was like punching himself and everything he was.

And then, Silverbolt fought back.

It was true that the Aerialbot leader wasn't as strong as Motormaster, and definitely not as brutal, but he had no problems to kick Wildrider in the midsection and sending him backwards to crash against a formation of metal cylinders, which collapsed over the Decepticon.

Wildrider ended on his fours and rubbing his helm. "Ouch… nice move, fat lips," he said, standing up and picking one of the tubes. "My turn to the bat now!"

Wildrider swung the tube and hit his rival as hard as he could. Silverbolt received the attack with his two hands, groaning in pain with the impact but managing to grab the improvised weapon.

"My name is Silverbolt," he said, struggling with Wildrider. "From now on, you will refer to me as such or as Commander. Disrespect will no further be tolerated."

The three remaining Aerialbots, Fireflight with Chip Chase on his hands, stared agape at the scene before them. They all seemed to understand the meaningful moment that was happening in the very core of the Aerialbot Gestalt team.

Wildrider roared and suddenly lost his grip on the weapon in dispute. Silverbolt fell toward him and was received by a blow with the head that impacted him right on his chin.

"I've been told I have a hard head!" Wildrider said, laughing. "What do you think, fat li— aaarrgh!"

Silverbolt didn't allow him to finish. Recovering immediately, the Aerialbot punched Wildrider on the face and sent him flying toward a formation of crates. Wildrider crashed against it and brought it down. This time it took him longer to get on his knees.

"That… actually hurt," he mumbled.

Silverbolt approached and stood a few meters before him. "Did you have enough, Wildrider?"

The Stunticon grinned. "No… not really."

"GUN!" Skydive cried when he saw Wildrider subspacing his scattershot gun again and pointing it toward Silverbolt.

"Stay where you are, all of you!" Silverbolt said, not impressed by the gun aiming at his head. "So, a gun? Is that how you're going to end this, Wildrider? By shooting me?"

Wildrider raised his free hand and wiped a thin stream of energon coming out of his mouth. "If I said no, would you believe me?"

"Yes, I would believe you."

Wildrider's optics narrowed and the hand holding the gun trembled.

"I would believe you because I know you won't shoot me," Silverbolt continued. "You don't want to shoot me. Gestalt teammates don't shoot each other, not like this. You may be different from us, but you are part of us, as we are part of you. You wouldn't dare to shoot me because everything you are forbids you to do it."

Wildrider lowered his head, but kept the aim of his gun fixed on Silverbolt. "Maybe I won't shoot you… but I'm not like you, I'll never be like you. Wanna know why?"

Wildrider answered his own question by averting his arm slightly to the right. "'Cause I can do this!" And he shot, impacting a big building behind Silverbolt, which immediately started to collapse.

"Silverbolt, there are humans in there!" Fireflight cried.

Slingshot pounced toward Wildrider. "You fraggin' lunatic, I'll slag you for this!"

Silverbolt firmly shook his head. "There's no time for stupid fights! The humans are in danger and we need to act now! AERIALBOTS, UNITE AND TRANSFORM INTO SUPERION!"

Time seemed to stop. Inside that place without boundaries, without disruptions and without limitations, Wildrider knew what he had to do. His will didn't matter anymore, neither his lunacy. He had to reach the perfect communion with the rest of his team, it was as simple as that.

He had to become the left leg.

He hesitated, his scattershot gun falling to the ground and his arms twisting in a last attempt of resistance. But it was futile; a storm of inexistent winds dragged him, not with violence but with the undeniable strength of the embrace of brotherhood.

After that, his only priority was to avoid the falling façade of the building from crushing the humans beneath.

Wildrider didn't care about the dozens of fleshies cheering, waving their hands in stop motion to their saviours.

It was a dream, one of those very bad dreams in which he was alone.

He didn't care when Fireflight grabbed his arm and said something to him, his voice so kind. The dream continued stretching with all those bad jokes, all those inner voices reminding him that he had no clue of how insane he really was.

He didn't understand words; they were there, but they were meaningless. His physical self had separated from Superion, but his mind remained there, holding hands with that dormant being that claimed him as part of his giant, engulfing being.

He turned around slowly, always slowly, to the figure he knew was his leader. Once again, his will didn't matter. There were strings pulling him, forces he couldn't describe, even less control. But they were there, guiding him toward places he was not strong enough to reject.

"I won't call you Commander... Boss is my final offer."

Had he actually said that, or had he just thought he did? It didn't matter, because Silverbolt nodded. Or perhaps he didn't. Wildrider didn't care.

His legs were heavier than ever when he launched himself forward and transformed. He heard something distant, very distant, howling like a wounded animal. It took him some seconds to recognize the sound of his engine on that lament.

He didn't care.

He also didn't care when his wheels started to devour the miles. The road ahead of him was endless, amazingly clear but not less painful because of that.

At some point of the nightmare, he could feel the four familiar presences flying above him.

He didn't care.

Because it didn't matter that the Aerialbots weren't pushing him to go back to them anymore. They wouldn't do that again, and he perfectly knew why.

Slag them all, he didn't care.

Orange walls seemed colorless when he returned to the place that didn't look like home, that wasn't home, but yet it felt like home. An ugly, asphyxiating home, but home nevertheless.

Drag Strip, Breakdown, Dead End, Motormaster.

Drag Strip, Breakdown, Dead End, Motormaster.

Drag Strip, Breakdown, Dead End, Motormaster.

Drag Strip, Breakdown, Dead End, Motormaster.

Drag Strip, Breakdown, Dead End, Motormaster.

The names he had known since the very beginning of his life, the only faces that had ever meant anything to him, felt so empty now. He knew them, he recognized them, but they were now so distant, so foreigner.

He didn't belong to them anymore.

Perhaps, if he would have cared, he would have laughed of himself at the ultimate display of self-pity.

There were, of course, the other names, the other faces…

Those he recognized, but he denied acknowledge them, not in high voice, not to himself, not through whatever means he was able to communicate. He was sure he was one of those zombies that movies were made of, those undead…

See, Deadster? I told you zombies were real, didn't I tell you?

But Dead End didn't reply. None of his former teammates would.

Back to the nightmare, he didn't care about hands pushing him, and he certainly didn't care about raising fists and guns threatening him.

"Leave him alone!"

"I'm done with this psycho punk, Slingshot, I mean it!"

"You touch him and I touch you. How about that, Ironhide? Go on! Make my day!"

The voices become every moment more distant, losing themselves in a cacophony of nonsense that Wildrider didn't care either. His faltering arm found the switch he was looking for and the door opened, welcoming him into darkness.

He collapsed on the berth, his berth, on his room… Then he started to shut all his systems down, his lunacy mocking him because this time he wouldn't awake to realize that it had only been a bad dream. This time everything would go on, names mixed and faces discarded, and he trapped in the middle of the monster he knew it was his family.

The last thought he had before losing himself into oblivion was more painful than any beating, than any defeat, than any flirt with termination he had had before.

He wasn't a Stunticon anymore.

To be continued.

This chapter turned out to be longer than I expected, so I had to leave Air Raid's side of the coin for next time.

Hope you liked! Thanks a lot for your reviews. I love to receive your opinions :o)