A/N: This story is over one year old, I missed the anniversary, and I am so sorry! XC

I hope this update makes up for it.

Thanks to GShepherd17 on DeviantART for helping me with this chapter, which took so long to write. ^^;


Wheeljack looked at his adopted son's visor. It looked to the ground in grim confusion. Given the circumstances the scientist wouldn't blame him.

Eventually, the skinny blue mech looked up at his care giver. "I having brother?" he asked. He was in a whirl of confusion at what Wheeljack told him earlier.

Wheeljack looked upon the bewildered face of his son, and slowly nodded.

"Yeah . . . you are one half of a split-spark protoform."

Jetstorm stared at the mech as he tried to process this new found information. At the same time, he tried his darnedest not overreact.

The youngling wasn't so sure what to think.

"Papa, I don't understand . . . if I being result of the 'split protoform', how long you be of knowing?"

Wheeljack sighed. He pressed a stiff palm to his forehead. "Honestly, I never knew 100% for sure you had a twin. I mean . . . after me and Perceptor studied your processor and spark-well, we did see some strange connection links in your spark that was left unconnected. They were like frayed ropes-"

When he saw the confused look on Jetstorm's face in response to his answer, the engineer decided to put it in layman's terms. "Connection links that are usually the result of two processors linking to another, like a twin bond."

Jetstorm then mouthed 'oh' at the explanation. However, that still didn't answer his first question.

Wheeljack decided to stop beating around the bush, "In short term, yes I was aware of your similar synapses to another-which only meant you had a twin. But I never knew of your twin 'exactly' or personally. I just studied the data and learned of this."

Jetstorm rubbed his neck and he sighed. Earlier, he saw that Decepticon getting dragged away to the holding cells. While in that hospital berth, Jetstorm had time to think. Maybe that was the reason why he got so sick. Was it because his spark was in proximity with his duplicate?

Jetstorm sat upright, his expression serious.

"I vant to see my twin."

Wheeljack wasn't at all surprised. The engineer looked at him, uncertain of this. "Jetstorm . . . I don't know."

Even with Jetstorm giving him a look, Wheeljack continued, "You got sick when he just walked by you." He drew imaginary circles in the ground with his thick pede as his helmet fins flashed periwinkle, wary. "Besides, I'm not sure if Sentinel or any of the big bosses in charge will let you in the holding cells."

Jetstorm sat up immediately, optics blazing. "That not being fair! I not knowing this for vorns!" he protested. "I nee-deserve to know! He being my twin!"

Wheeljack waved his servos to calm the wind mech down. "Jetstorm, buddy, you know it's not up to me. Even if it was, how could I? He is being shipped to the stockades soon."

Jetstorm reached over and tugged on Wheeljack's helmet fins. He used a bit of momentum as leverage to yank the bigger mech down to Storm's face. The blue mech looked desperate.

"Vhat!? No, he can't go to stockades! I has questions!"

"The kid probably doesn't realize the connection either!"

He winced as Jetstorm yanked on his helm, hard.

"JETSTORM!" Wheeljack shouted, angry. His helm fins flashed dark red and traffic cone orange.

Immediately, Jetstorm's servos flew off the scientist's helm. He had only seen that color combination before, and he wasn't so sure the mech that caused it lived to tell the tale.

Or at least came out of it in one piece.

Wheeljack turned away from Jetstorm, taking in deep breaths to calm himself down.

"Ok Storm . . . but don't count on me on backing you up." The mech stepped out to look around. His optics settled in the direction of the holding cells.

"If you hurry, maybe you can get inside in time before they ship him off." He turned back to Jetstorm. The younger mech quickly put his armor on.

Before going out, Jetstorm scoped out the area. Once he was sure the coast was clear, the young Autobot ran to the holding cell.

Jetstorm hoped that it wasn't too late.


At the holding cells . . .

The two guards that had captured Jetfire earlier stood by the interrogation room, in which the lithe Decepticon was being held. They wouldn't have to stand long. It wouldn't be much longer until they'd ship him off with the rest of the Decepticon captives to the stockades.

The big mech on the right hand side took a quick glimpse at his comrade.

"I doubt that mech will last long in the stockades," he said flatly as he peered through the clear glass door. He made sure Jetfire was still there. He wasn't going to escape easily.

The mech opposite from him nodded in response. "Yes. Oddly enough, he certainly is a dainty fellow." He snickered as he scratched his slightly rusted jaw.

"And with that body type of his . . ." he leaned to his friend and whispered something of a lewd nature to him. The guards laughed.

From the inside, Jetfire heard every single word. His red eyes narrowed in rage at the Guardmechs for laughing at his smaller body type. He balled up his fist as he looked down at the floor. At the same time however, a hint of fear could be seen in his eyes.

He knew what happened to bots in the stockades. Breakdown and several others had told him numerous horror stories. If they weren't beaten or killed, they would either go insane or be stripped of all dignity in more ways than one.

Jetfire bit his lip, dreading it all.

Suddenly, the sounds of heavy locks being shifted reached his audio receptors. Jetfire's jerked upward in response.

Both guards circled around him. Without any verbal warning they wrapped their big servos around his thin arms, forcing Jetfire to his feet.

Jetfire's spark raced in his casing. Oh no . . .

The mech on his left side looked down at him. "The orders finally came in. Time to go to the stockades little guy," he said bluntly. He and his comrade began to drag Jetfire across the room and out the door.

Jetfire felt sick to his stomach.

Just as they were about to head out, Jetfire shouted, "Vait! Vait, vait!"

"What is it?" the one on the Con's right asked, impatient.

"My cuffs too tight," Jetfire winced.

The guardmechs looked at each other, trying to figure out what he said in that crazy accent of his. Soon, the mech on the left pulled out a ring with a bunch of small keys.

"All right. Hold still."

Just as the mech looked through all the keys he had, Jetfire carefully turned up the heat that was in his servos. The heated air made contact with his stasis cuffs.

The moment the guard's digits touched the hot cuffs, he roared in anger as he backed up. Smoke rose from his servos.

Before the other guard had time to react, Jetfire wiggled out of his weakened grasp. He whipped around and shot a focused line of flames from his servos. The flames swirled around in circular patterns as they traveled through the air and made direct contact to the mech's face.

"My optics!" he howled.

Without wasting another moment, Jetfire snagged the keys and ran for it. His pedes hit the ground in hard. He didn't bother to look back.

The Deception didn't have time to unhook his stasis cuffs, for he needed to get away first, or find a hiding spot so that he could go through the extensive amount of all the keys. Whichever came first.

It didn't take long for his ears to pick up the sounds of heavy foot steps behind him. The guards had recovered quickly and were on his tail, one guard calling for backup as they chased him.

Jetfire began to grow even more desperate as he began to zigzag down hallways and slipped through doors. The mech tried his damnedest to find a exit. Unfortunately, the more he ran, the more guards darted out of rooms, all attempting to corner him.

He managed to evade every mech or femme so far, but it was only proving to be more difficult as time wore on.

After running about madly and crawling through a maze of vents in the ceiling for thirty cycles, his worst nightmare had been realized.

A panel in one of the vents collapsed under him, and the alarms in that sector rang. A bunch of thundering pedes were coming en-mass from one direction. The other way, much to his dismay, was a dead end. Turning around in fright, Jetfire pressed his back against the wall, optics wide.

About ten guards closed in on him, all ex-venting in exhaustion. They snarled as they kept their guns trained on him.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ . . .

Jetfire dared not to move as those blasters charged to fire. Red and green target lights were aimed right over his the armor that covered his spark; others were at his forehead.

None of the guards were aware that Jetstorm had managed to slip in during the heat of the panic. The Autobot youngling watched from the very back of the mob.

Jetstorm just locked eyes with the fugitive, spark pounding along with him.

"You move, you're dead," one of the commanding officers in the front snapped at Jetfire.

The youngling didn't twitch.

Slowly, several guards approached the mech and then forcefully pinned him down. Jetfire struggled in the muscular mechs' arms, growling. Once they had him upright, they began to march him out.

Jetstorm stepped aside to let them through.

The extreme heat coming off the Decepticon was the only warning. Screams of agony were cut off by the sickening schulp-schulp of melted metal, bubbling from the hear. Electricity crackled from shorting voice-boxes. Fire alarms rang loud and true as the sprinkler system was activated, pouring water on everyone and everything.

Jetstorm managed to protect himself and those around him with a whirlwind, which acted as a shield. The mech held on until Jetfire's blaze was put out, and the blue youngling felt dizzy.

He tried to get away as a black blur sprang at him, but Jetstorm stumbled.

The next thing Jetstorm knew, he had a small blast canon placed against his helm. The visored soldier had only a chance to look at the forearm that wrapped tightly around his neck before Jetfire yanked the blue jet's helm back, making the mech gag.

"One move, he's dead," Jetfire growled.