Nature of the Beast

One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight

Part 10: Guardian Angel

*More of a focus on Charity's life.'Bee will be getting another bit to himself next.


Tension pervaded the room. The Predacon on the table, a small wingless Draconian the color of a pale afternoon sky, bore a dozen gashes caused by illegal bladed weapons. One pale yellow optic bore a spider-webbing crack. A massive dent in his chassis prevented easy air cycling, and a faint wheeze occurred with every intake. His tail, which had once borne a spear-tip, now bore nothing more than a stub – hacked off according to the eyewitness who stood beyond the door. He'd promised to give a full statement once the little Draconian was stable and taken care of, even though he really shouldn't have been out there on the streets to start with. But if not for him this little drakeling might've been left for dead in that Talon-Quarter alley, nutrition for the retro-rats or the Scavengebots.

He'd disobeyed orders...but he'd saved a life in the process. Sometimes 'bots did the wrong thing for the right reason. And apparently he'd stumbled across the drakeling by accident while driving around in the Talon Quarter. Unfortunately he hadn't seen the culprits; just the aftermath of the attack.

'Who would do this?'

Her mind couldn't compute such needless violence against another. Mini-cons in general were more delicate than their larger brethren, be they Predacon or city-dweller. But this was a child, not a mini-con. There was no justifiable reason to assault a small Predacon and leave them for dead in an alley, just as there was no justifiable reason to do the same to a vehicle-former.

With a slight shake of her helm she moved the ion torch towards his anterior regions. The little drakeling issued a whining hiss when the ion torch hit one of his forelimbs. His tail whipped instinctively, nearly grazing the red mech's mesh as he struggled against the pain. The senior medic stood back, unwilling to risk his finish. The femme medic gave the mini-con beast a gentle stroke and hushed him. He stilled, but the whining continued. He sounded less like a dragon and more like a wounded turbo-fox or rust hound.

"You'll be okay, sweet-spark..." she murmured softly. "Shh. You're safe here. It's okay..."

The question rang again in her mind:

'Who would do this?'

Hard on that came another.

'Why?'

She just...couldn't understand.


Earlier

Smokescreen had officially had it with being cooped up in the clinic. For Primus's sake he was fine! And still neither Knockout nor Charity would let him off the leash! At this rate he had half a mind to just walk out of here regardless of whether or not they gave him the all clear. He needed to get back out there!

He strode for the door, determined. Screw the official order. Yeah! He'd prove he was fit for active duty. Then they'd finally let him out.

The door hissed open and he promptly cannoned into Bumblebee.

"Ah. You were trying to break out again, weren't you?" joked the bright yellow mech.

"N-No..." Smokescreen half-sparkedly lied, dropping his gaze. He blinked, met the other mech's optics, and his pauldrons sagged. "Yes..."

"Guess you didn't learn anything from the last time you tried to bust out."

The Elite Guardsmech argued back, "Can't keep me in here if they can't catch me."

Bumblebee was quick to smack a hand to his forehelm, rolling his optics in the process. He had to give him kudos for pig-headed persistence. This was his third attempt in the span of a deca-cycle. His brains department was looking in need of a tune up. Apparently he was choosing to ignore the fact there were speedy emergency responders and quick-footed Predacons milling around in the building who could easily catch him. They'd done so every other time.

"Mech, are you trying to get yourself chained down to that berth? Has the stir-crazies finally gotten you?"

He playfully rapped on the other mech's helm as if to test if it were suddenly hollow. Smokescreen grabbed the limb and shoved it aside.

"I'm serious here, 'Bee! All those reports you've been bringing me show that Pred/City tensions are getting worse and Contrail and Saber are stoking the fires so the conservatives keep them in power. The Preds are being patient with these attacks, but it's only a matter of time before the explosion takes place. I know thanks to Trailblazer that once you've got their fires good and pumped they'll lash out without even thinking about it. I can't just sit here and write up reports when I'm well enough to be out there on patrol and helping stop attacks like the ones you've told me about. If the Guard can show the Preds were not their enemy by curbing these incidents..."

Bumblebee blinked once. One brow ridge rose. "You've never been this focused on the Pred issue before."

"That was because I got saved by some that tried to kill me and befriended one who's head honcho on her own survey ship, and she could probably hold a nerd conversation with Perceptor as easy as blinking. Everyone thinks they're just big wild animals because the 'bots who have that opinion have never actually met one. It's kind of hard to keep a dumb opinion like that when you meet a little geek Avioid who's scared to death of social interaction. Even harder when the guy who slammed you into the Canyons comes up to you and formally apologizes. Pit, I always thought 'Cons were just instant bad guys until I met the navigator for the Intervention he's a 'Con and he's totally cool."

"Don't judge a book by it's cover, huh?"

"Exactly."

The two mechs shared a look.

"'Bee. Come on. Please. I just need a chance to get back on the streets. Just for a while. Half a joor, tops."

The yellow mech's brow ridge rose again. He knew from experience with him that even the simplest act with Smokescreen could implode on him at a moment's notice, and he had a rather unfortunate trend of attracting trouble. His own desire to help (and his tendency to give in to petty revenge like he had with Vince) often led him to walk straight into a mess.

"Please."

"...Don't you dare pull the puppy face on me. Smoke – Smoke, no."

Smokescreen's desperate look had morphed into the most pitiful puppy-dog face he could possibly muster. Bumblebee swore under his breath. It wasn't even a puppy-dog face after a split second – it was his trademark "I'm an innocent angel, don't you trust me?" look. He always did this. And the sad part was that he had yet to be able to resist it like June. He'd heard from Moonracer that he'd used it on Magnus once and it had actually slagging worked. It was terrifying sometimes how good he was at emotional coercion.

He sighed. "Fine! Fine. I'll help smuggle you out. But if we get caught it was your idea and it's your fault. Not mine."

"Deal. You don't even need to smuggle me out. All you need to do is get my Phase Shifter. I heard they're keeping it in one of the back storage rooms. Last time I tried getting in some Harian guy jumped me. Pun fully intended."

Sighing again, the former scout left the room. He was going against the orders of Smokescreen's superior and his care givers so his friend could potentially get himself in trouble just because he was stir-crazy and bored. Because, y'know, that totally wouldn't get him in trouble with own boss: aiding the escape of a patient in a clinic who was still on medical leave. Oh, yeah. No trouble at all...

"You owe me for this," he muttered. "You owe me so much..."


Out in the halls, some in-patient Predacons wandered around as easily as if this clinic was their home territory. Some even gave him little tilts of the helm in greeting or else let out a noise of greeting. An exceptionally tall mech with what looked like a feathered headdress who looked like he belonged in the ritual chamber of an old Mayan temple strolled along beside a lean vehicle-former who bore some nasty chemical burns on her chassis and arms. The taller mech was speaking with her animatedly over, from the snippets of conversation he overheard, chemistry. The femme seemed enraptured in the conversation, intelligently answering back.

The former scout shook his helm in amazement.

Every time Bumblebee had come in here he had admitted himself astonished by the sheer variety in frame models – and the incredible fact that none of the vehicle-formers in the clinic ever gave the beasts trouble, or vice versa. It was like the clinic was an unofficial neutral zone for both parties. Heck, maybe that was in the rules for the place: no being jerks to each other. They were all in here to recuperate from wounds (some of them for quite some time, like Smokescreen) so they might as well get along and get to know each other in the interim.

He'd had the suspicion for some time now that this place was intended as a model of what society could be if 'bots got over their xenophobia. Pretty clever idea. Clinics as a concept were supposed to be even ground owing to the Triage Code, but only a handful interpreted the Code as literally (and liberally) as was done here. 'Cons were always rebels he supposed.

'As are some 'bots I know...'

Primus, Smokescreen owed him a big favor for going along with this.

A Harian with an ear looking suspiciously chewed at bounded by (he had to wonder if this was the same Harian who had jumped Smokescreen) and was followed by a Hopper pseudo-beast who looked well enough to be out of the clinic. Only when the latter bounced past did he spot the savage claw marks on its backstrut. Somebody had obviously gotten into a spat of some kind, or else had been ambushed for whatever reason. He'd heard from Arcee that Hoppers were nomadic pseudo-beasts skilled at trading that mainly worked out of the city of Vizanthus, but this was the first time he'd seen one in person. Odd looking little guys, but kinda cute too – like mechanical kangaroo rats, tail plume, long legs, and all.

Checking that no one was watching (and keeping an optic on the security camera looking down on from the top of the wall) Bumblebee slipped around the corner and into the hall where the storage bays were.

"Ok. If I were Knockout, where would I store a Phase Shifter...?" he mused softly.

He checked the plaques by the doors, reading them off to himself.

"Medical tools...Chemicals...Energon – medical grade; duh...Hard records...spare parts...Confiscated goods."

The mech grinned. Knockout had never been one for subtlety.

"Confiscated goods it is then."

He slipped inside, surprised to find the door unguarded by any kind of security measure. The room itself wasn't large by any means and was mainly filled with labeled crates, boxes, and industrial-strength but sheque shelves, all of which lined the walls. There was enough room to move and grab what one needed, but not room for much else. The place sort of reminded him of a large broom closet – small, a bit cramped, but well organized. His optics scanned the labeled crates, boxes, and shelves. He was mildly surprised that almost all of them contained non-integrated weaponry such as pistols, shotguns, mortars, and on. There were even a few crates that, judging by their labels, held energy shield projectors. Well, he had to give credit where credit was due: Knockout and his subordinates certainly weren't taking any chances when it came to armaments. But all of this told him he was probably in the right place. Though not a weapon in the literal sense, the Phase Shifter had seen some pretty extensive combat-related use on Earth. Honestly it was more of a tool, but with Smokescreen trying to pull a fast one on him he couldn't exactly blame him for keeping the thing away from him.

He checked a few more of the smaller boxes until he found one labeled as "Obnoxious Idiot" that had recently been crossed out and replaced with "Elite Guard Lieutenant Smokescreen" by someone else in neat, semi-calligraphic writing. To him, the writing looked distinctly feminine. Charity's? He'd had a couple of quick chats with her; pleasant, sweet young femme.

A smirk formed. He had a feeling he'd found what he was looking for.

Checking the door, he grabbed the box and put a hand on the sensor. It hissed open. Inside sat the inconspicuous little white and silver device he and Arcee had found in the subways of New York. He still felt he was doing the wrong thing by taking it, but...well, there no going back now. Smokescreen had agreed he would be the one to take the fall. And so he took the device out of the crate, stowed it in a subspace compartment on his hip, and slipped back out of the bay. A Geckoid clinging to the walls (and whose color-morphing ability seemed broken, considering he was black against a white background) spotted him, but a friendly, disarming wave made him scurry off.

Feeling home free, he made his way back to the room his friend was staying in. That had gone better than he'd thought, really.


Smokescreen paced to and fro impatiently. In hindsight, asking 'Bee to legitimately steal something for him might've been asking a little too much all things considered. Some on the Council still didn't like him very much, and even some in law enforcement. No one much trusted members of Team Prime, considering them outliers and potential threats to the establishment. One Councilor, Ratbat, had once called them "too loyal." What in the heck was wrong with being loyal to the guy who saved your aft time after time? Who had tried and tried and tried to get the two opposing sides to come to terms, only to meet his end right when Megatron called an end to the War? What was wrong in sharing and believing in his ideals and not being okay with the fact that all his hard work was seeming to amount to nothing thanks to the Council?

Funny thing was, the Council hadn't been all that bad to start with. Slow, but they'd gotten stuff done. Contrail, Ratbat, and Star Saber had been less progressive than their associates and a little more xenophobic, but they hadn't tried to to stonewall virtually every socially progressive idea that passed the Council's way. Something had...changed with them. He hadn't brought it up because it – well, it might make him sound like some crazy conspiracy theorist. 'Bots did change, after all. Some more than others. It was just...odd. Weird. Strange.

'I'll make it up to him.' he decided without a second thought. 'I better be okay by the time that meet up rolls around...'

He started and whirled when a familiar field reached out.

"So?" he prompted.

The former scout came further into the room and hit the panel to shut the doors. A moment later – out came the Phase Shifter.

Smokescreen let his jaw drop.

"You better make my theft worth it."

A fierce grin.

"I will. I owe you a big favor, too."

"Alright. So what are you standing around for?"

Both mechs whirred to find Knockout lounging against the door frame. Neither of them had even heard the door open. There was a smirk on his lip-plates that spoke of schemes and devilry.

"Well? Get going. I can't keep my underlings away from here forever, you know. There was a wreck a few klicks away but they'll be back soon."

The two mechs shared a glance. Smokescreen shrugged. Hey, if the guy in charge was willing to help with the great escape he wasn't gonna argue with him.

"Guess I owe you a favor, too."

Knockout snorted. He said unless he was any good with medical training to help with the clinic or skilled at body work to help at the shop he ran, he couldn't really do much for him.

"Thanks anyway, Red," said Smokescreen. "I mean it. Seriously."

The red medic merely winked.

As Knockout and Bumblebee watched, Smokescreen activated the device on his wrist. The device shone faintly, and the mech turned and melted into the walls as easily as he were himself a specter. The room was thus left with two occupants. Bumblebee glanced to the side to snap at Knockout for helping with this in the first place, but the red medic's expression was that of a mind deep in thought.

"Hmm. I wonder if that's why the Preds who visited called him Ftzolm't qera li O'elqal – the Phantom of the Old Hall. Interesting they word it like that..."

Bumblebee honestly didn't know how to answer that, but something about it rang as unusual to him. Mirroring Smokescreen's own shrug, Bumblebee left the room. He'd figure out what was unusual about the phrase; he just needed some time to think. He thought best when on patrol in the city, and his next shift was coming up soon. Never hurt to get any early start when your superior tended to be the kind to sneer at you for being an astrosecond late to report for duty.


Freedom!

Smokescreen stood on the walkway a block beyond the clinic. He simply enjoyed the warmth of the sun streaming down, the buzz and roar of the traffic, and the light north east breeze. He really did believe he'd chosen the best solar cycle to break out of the doghouse – and succeed at it. He hadn't expected to help out with that but slagged if he was complaining.

Grinning to himself, he started off.

He stuck to the walkways at first, optics roving for any familiar faces or unwanted trouble. A thought struck him as he passed by a business that specialized in body art: maybe he could pay a surprise visit to Zodiac's place. All he had to do was ask. He needed to check in with her anyway, see how she was doing. Two birds with one stone like the humans said. Actually, that probably wasn't the best comparison to use come to think of it...

A hand went to his audial and a line was opened. There was silence for a while, and then the call went through. He swore he distinctly heard music coming from the background, and a quick diagnostic showed it was not interference. Terran from the sound of it. But it quickly cut off. He kept moving.

"Hey, 'Zee? You there?"

[Smokescreen? Oh! Um. Hi.]

"I didn't call at a bad time, did I?"

[N-no...] said Zodiac. [I was just, um, practicing. Why? Something happen? You hear from Predaking or somebody?]

"No," he reassured her with a touch of annoyance, "Now, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but...where do you live?"

The voice that answered back was suddenly hesitant and suspicious: [...Why?]

"Just an innocent question. Nothing to it."

But Zodiac wasn't convinced.

[...You're up to something.]

Smokescreen laughed, "No I'm not."

[Yes, you are. You are way too chipper. Every other time you've called me you've sounded pretty normal or else annoyed, exasperated, tired, curious, or confused. Ergo, you must've done something you're pleased about to result in the shift in mood and, by correlation, your tone of voice.]

His laugh died abruptly.

"Anyone ever tell you you're completely and utterly terrifying when you analyze people like scientific specimens? You may not be good at in-person social skills but you're scary good at analyzing from a distance."

[So I'm right. You're up to something. Seeing as you're pleased, you've probably already done the thing you were going to do. What did you do?]

Well, lying got you nowhere with the inherently mistrusting. All that did was reinforce their beliefs that they couldn't place trust in others.

"Okay, I may or may not have busted out of the clinic to stretch my wheels for a bit..."

[Smokescreen!] Zodiac said in a strange wailing moan, [Are you frackin' kidding me right now?! What did I tell you about causing tr–?!]

"But I made a promise I'd be right back. I won't even be out for a half joor. I just need to get out in the open air. You're an Avioid. You can understand that, right? The need for open space?]

He heard the astronomer sigh on the other end. He could almost imagine her pinching the nasal of her helm the same way Ratchet did when he was at his wit's end.

[Just because I understand doesn't mean I support your actions. I'm expecting you to stick to that promise of yours and sincerely apologize to the medics when you get back.]

"I will, I will. I promise."

[Okay. Do that, and I'll answer your question. Deal?]

"Deal."

He put the line to idle but didn't sever it. Another surprise had been revealed about Zodiac: she was a stickler for the rules and didn't much care for those who disobeyed orders. That revealed her as someone who didn't like rocking the boat. She was shy; that made sense. Rocking the boat meant unwanted attention. Obeying the rules, you tended to blend in with the crowd.

He rounded a corner and, finding an opening in the traffic, joined the flow of vehicles. He drove for a while, keeping around the city center but carefully avoiding the territory of the Elite Guard headquarters.

"You still nervous about the meeting?"

[Duh. The longer they put it off the more nervous I'm gonna get. I'd go to Predaking and tell him off myself but...he's scary. And he could really use some anger management counseling or something.]

Smokescreen forced himself to snort back laughter, "Yeah, well – I doubt your the only Pred who thinks that. Hey! Since I'm out of the clinic I could go talk to him for you! How's that sound?"

[You'd...do that?] Disbelief rang in her voice..

"Sure. I got time to kill. Half a joor, remember? I just gotta hope 'His Highness' is in a good mood today."

[Okay. Just don't hurt yourself. No rushing.]

Happy to have a goal in mind, he pulled onto a side street to loop around. The quickest way to the Well Guardians' territory was to go on the south thoroughfare, which would also take him through the Talon Quarter – a section of the city set aside for Predacon habitation. It wasn't exactly the best part of the city, but it was far from being Polyhex's ghettos. There'd been some trouble there lately according to 'Bee: assaults, robbery, graffiti bearing ugly messages. Thankfully no one had been killed. He might as well check that out, too.


TALON QUARTER, IACON

Vehicle-formers as a rule tried to avoid the Talon Quarter as much as possible. What with all the beasts roaming, slinking, and flying around many deemed the place dangerous. Smokescreen had never understood why. Thanks to some interaction with some Well Guardians, Zodiac, and the Chargers he knew you were only really in danger around a Predacon if you severely offended them. Give them the respect they wanted and you might as well be in the absolute safest part of Iacon. His chat with Zodiac had revealed that the beasts disdained criminals, thieves and murderers in particular. In fact, 'bots who came in here to give them trouble were in serious danger of being harmed.

He slowed his pace as he rolled in. Vehicle-formers weren't a common sight here and he didn't want to set anyone off. A few Preds eyed him but most either gave him a quick over or else ignored him altogether. He kept driving, falling into a patrol pattern of "line-riding." Place seemed pretty peaceful right now; no commotions. One Predacon even gave him a nod. He flared his field with glyphs for greeting in return, but kept it subdued. For Preds, a strongly flared field meant the 'bot was issuing a challenge. As he drew towards the outer reaches of the Quarter where city met the eastern quadrant of Iacon his scanners blared red. He screeched to a sudden stop. An energy hot-spot blinked to life, in an alleyway nearby. Quickly he transformed and darted off the open streets. On further analyzing the hot-spot his spark skipped a pulse.

Spilled Energon. Quite a bit of it. And he had the sinking feeling this wasn't the spilled fuel of a retro-rat or glitch mouse.

The mech wove through some alleys and side-streets, peering into others in a desperate search. It took only a breem to find the place he was looking for, where the Talon Quarter met the edge of the actual city. On the floor of the alley ahead of him was the entrance to an old War tunnel that hadn't been sealed well, within which emanated a distinct but faint baby blue glow. He drew up to it and ducked inside.

And didn't hold in the gasp at what he saw laying prone on the floor inside.

It was a little wingless Draconian colored pale and electric blue, optics shuttered. His body bore dents and gashes, but his worst injury by far was located on his tail – the weaponized tip most Draconians had looked like it had been cut off. A scan showed his spark to be emitting energy patterns and strength only seen in sparklings. Horror suffused his spark at that point. What really struck a nerve was that whoever had done this had carved Dtzlocan onto the little thing's side and had put what looked eerily like a muzzle over his snout.

Danger. Some sick son of a rust bucket had attacked a baby Predacon and carved the word "danger" onto its side after hacking off its tail-tip and muzzling it. Someone had tortured a child.

"Oh, scrap. Oh, scrap, scrap, scrap!"

He rushed forward. The kid was still online, thank Primus. He didn't have any medical tools on him but he knew for a fact who did.

A line was opened to the clinic he'd just recently escaped from.

"Knockout?! Answer me! Now!"


"Knockout?! Answer me! Now!"

The shout that invaded the red medic's processor made him jump – and that jump ruined the fined detail paint work he was doing on himself. He snarled and tossed the can of paint against the wall of the shop. His anger subsided once he was able to register the sheer panic in the voice, as well as whose voice it was.

"Smokescreen? What in the name of the Primes is the matter?"

"I'll explain when you get here. I'm transmitting coordinates now. Get your flashy metal butt over here or a kid's gonna kick the bucket!"

Knockout found himself rendered speechless at that. His medical training kicked in and took over. He contacted his apprentice. Out of all his employees, she had the most training with children.

"Charity? Get your kit."

"Yes, sir."


Smokescreen remained by the sparkling's side, looming over it like one of its mighty kin but unable to do much else. His blue gaze peered deeper into the tunnels in the hope of spotting evidence of who had done this or even the perpetrator themselves, but he could detect nothing. The aft had probably fled long before he'd gotten here, and with the kid tucked away in a place like this fellow Preds weren't likely to stumble across them. He wondered if the kid even had any Guardians to care for him.

A low growl made him tense and look back towards the tunnel entrance. Looming there like a black sentinel was a large, lean Panthron with black leathery wings. Its audials were pinned back aggressively, and its fangs were visibly bared. On one shoulder was the crest of the Tigerhawks.

"This isn't what it looks like," he insisted calmly, "I found him here. I called in for help. They'll be here any klik."

The Panthron's aggression didn't die down. It stalked forward with another growl, claws retracting. Smokescreen's hand went to the Phase Shifter. This was about the worst situation he could possibly be in. Predacons were fiercely protective of their young, far more than any vehicle-former could ever be.

"Easy. Easy...I'm not the enemy here. I didn't do this."

"How do I know you speak the truth?" snarled the Panthron in an odd accent that reminded him of Rafael's mother.

Just when it looked like the nameless beast would pounce a groundbridge roared open between the two opposing warriors. Knockout emerged first, followed by Charity. The Panthron peeped its helm around to investigate only to halt upon spotting the two healers. It drew back, suddenly contrite. But that reaction was mild when compared to the nurse's.

"Oh, great Primus..." Charity gasped in horror. Her hands flew to her mouth. She rushed forward and removed the muzzle as gently as she could. "We need to get him back to the clinic."

"We need to stop the leaking first," insisted the senior medic calmly but firmly, "and get some of his fuel replaced. He won't stabilize otherwise. He'll also need nanites to boost the ones already in his system. At his age, the ones he has in his system are nowhere near strong enough to deal with damage like this."

"Will mine suffice?" wondered the Panthron in his unusual accent. "I will not allow a child to die before he has seen his first tveta line carved in the Well."

Knockout nodded and said that would do. He motioned for the winged Panthron to approach as he pulled out a short length of tubing from his own kit about as long as his arm, either end porting a sub-mesh injector. He was grateful a Predacon was here, as a few studies had proven Predacon nanites reacted negatively to those of vehicle-formers due to their differing coding, and there was a looming risk of the nanites not accepting the new host code and going after their nanites and other bio-mechanisms. But no medical procedure was without its risks.

As Charity began to seal the worst of the breaches, the Panthron curled up around the sparkling like a big mother cat. And so he hooked one end into the Panthron volunteer and the other into the beaten sparkling, beginning the transfusion.

The big Felioid didn't even wince, putting his helm atop the child's chassis and letting out an extremely low frequency purr, so low he could only just hear it. Knockout understood this as an effort to both comfort and heal – something about the frequency and the amplitude of Felioid purrs "convinced" nanites to work a little harder.

"Almost done," he said. "We don't need to give him a lot."

"Mm," the Felioid grunted. "Give him what he needs to live. I can hunt afterwards to replenish."

Silence enveloped the tunnel for a moment. Then, wordlessly, Knockout carefully disconnected the transfusion cable. The winged Panthron's purrs ceased, and he rose. His gait was a bit unsteady from the drop in fuel levels but he soon recovered.

"Thank you," said Charity. "I don't believe you gave us your name?"

"Nox. Felias Nox."

Charity smile weakly. "Thank you again, Felias. We were lucky you decided to follow Smokescreen. But we need to get him to our clinic now. Is that okay?"

"Do what you must, healers. I will see if I can locate who did this for you, though I make no promises to turn them over to your authorities. If I find them within our district, they are under our laws."

Felias Nox thus slunk out of the tunnel and into the light of day. Charity gently scooped up the drakeling and made her way into the groundbridge with Knockout and Smokescreen trailing behind her.


Smokescreen waited outside the room where the sparkling was being treated, worried and upset. He'd stopped counting the kliks after two breems had gone by.

Sighing, he leaned against the wall and let his helm hang down. He refused to look at the shut door, scared that if someone came out they'd be bearing bad news. The kid's condition when they'd brought him in didn't seem very good. You didn't need to be a trained medic to know someone was really in deep in the injury department – to say nothing of the psyche scars that attack would bring.

A kid. Some...some monster had attacked and tortured a kid. And the twisted part was that whoever had done this would probably never dream of doing this to a "regular" sparkling.

He kind of hopped Felias Nox found the sicko and gave him a piece of his mind or did the exact same thing to them. But he recognized that as wishful thinking. Predacons had a legal system they abided by, and if the culprit was caught in the Talon Quarter they'd be tried as a Pred, because legally that place was Predacon territory. Predaking had seen to that soon after the Reconstruction had begun.

The door hissed open to permit Knockout. He nodded.

"Kid's gonna make it."

Smokescreen heaved a relieved sigh.

"Good. We got a name for him?"

"Our Tigerhawk friend Felias actually comm'ed in and said he'd discovered the kid's a Foundling tunnel-rat. No legal Guardians, but he's fairly well known by a few business owners in the Quarter. Say his name's Horizion. If not for you finding him that kid might've died. Not a lot of Preds stick near the Quarter borders because of the trouble they get. Guess it's a good thing you decided to break out today."

The Elite Guardsmech looked at the open door. Charity was finishing up buffing the carved word off his mesh with a gentle touch, humming softly to the drakeling. He thought he recognized the tune, but unlike last time there were no lyrics to go by. Horizion looked to have slipped into power down, and his air cycling was far steadier.

"Yeah..." he said quietly, "Yeah, I guess so. But, uh...sorry for busting out. I know that was against the rules."

Knockout smirked.

"No need for apologies today, mon frère. Saving a life never constitutes an apology."


Author's Note: Buh! I feel so unproductive right now. Blame the insomnia attacks. They're getting worse as the new year approaches. They always do this. It sucks.