Megatron was in a good mood, the thick taste of victory resounding a clarion call with every step. They could feel it through the ocean waves, in the echoed ring of metal walls and when the door swished open.

They sat on the floor in a circle, helms bowed in the bare and empty room.. A bowl of dark liquid lay between the trio. No sound or movement stirred the air until the manticore strode in. As the one facing the entrance, Viewfinder slowly looked up.

/Clash of metal-claws rip through armor-smoke clogs vents-"Autobots! Retreat!"-a victory howl/

"Reflector" Megatron's smug rumble drew their attention away from the flicker of images and sounds that distracted them. His crocodile smile drew the air around them taunt as violin strings, cutting and too thin to see before they sliced through bodies. "I come bearing gifts."

Acidstorm and Sunstorm came through next, the latter pausing to partially kneel before straightening. It was the best bow he could manage with his servos full. As one, Reflector nodded back gravely. Always respectful, that one. And why the fiery god was often chosen to bring them their gifts. As the pair started to lay their objects out, Spectro moved the bowl out of the way to a dusty shelf nearly invisible on the far side of the tower room. The other two remained seated but raised their helms to watch.

They were small, compared to other mechs, but not cassette sized. With pale wide optics and thin bodies, the sibyls looked like younglings. Ones who weren't above the occasional bout of blackmailing to get what they wanted.

Barely containing his anticipation, the Decepticon warlord clapped his clawed hands together gleefully. "We gained a victory today, and I expect to gain another! Find me something useful, a weakness in the Autobot forces so I can crush them. There are so few Autobots left!"

Unsaid by the others, was how few of them there were left as well.

Unspoken was the fact that they were a dying race with little hope for the future.

In response to the manticore's proclaim, Spyglass spoke in a dry rasp. "Ticks and tallies counter the balance. In the end, useless. The last mark settles the score."

"Hmm." Ruby optics narrowed. A neutral response from the larger mech. Whether he understood what the seers were saying or not was impossible to tell. "Find me their weaknesses."

And with that he swept out of the room, the high of winning still swirling around his form like eddies in a stream. Sunstorm and Acidstorm each nodded as they left. Reflector remained still and quiet until the door closed and silence once again enveloped them.

The other two stood and surveyed their gifts. A claw ripped from it's owner lay on the floor to their right while blood carefully collected in a bowl quivered as they approached. Scales, feathers, and bits of armor torn off in the heat and madness of battle to be grabbed afterwords had been set apart with enough space to walk between. How thoughtful of Sunstorm.

Without words they started slowly through the objects, each covering a different section. The broken handle of a blade brought nothing, nor did some shards of armor save for faint images of faces. Nothing concrete. Spyglass paused at a feather.

/Prowl-a wing flashes forward to shield small faces and bodies/

Ah, the sphinx had young to take care of now. It was nothing new though. The seekers had said as much. But as the vision continued, the other components took notice and watched too.

/wind-sky-aerialbots-adults but with no wing-flying as jets/

"How strange." murmured Viewfinder, but it was useless and not for the here or now, so they left it and continued through the rising waves of

/sound-light-color/

Blood from Trailbreaker in the bowl showed them a dizzying array of noise and the taste of something heavy like a stone on the tongue. The longer they slogged through, the more it felt like drowning until they pulled away to move on. Visions from the scattered and broken offerings cascaded through Reflector's minds before they even came close to all the objects.

/An empty doorway of stone on an asteroid floating in the depths of blue/black space-a burning ring in a middle of a desolate city-two moons behind a mountain with echoes of the Autobot's essence at the base-the mountain rising and turning into a cybertronian city-

-"It was never meant to last."-A spark casing cracks and shatters into opal shards that become stars in an empty universe-

- "Where are you?"-

-time flies forward in leaps and bounds before reversing to-underground structures of vastness they'd never seen-empty and silent as the core no longer creates life-

-optimus and megatron stood facing each other in the ruins of Iacon-wreaths of despair and hope twined with stars upon their helms-tendrils of darkness reaching out from the wrinkles in the fabric of space-the sickly black yellow violet of Unicron's sickness lunging forward to pierce through Megatron's spark-/

That was important!

But the vision started to slip away. It wasn't strong enough. In desperation, the seers dropped their guard and threw themselves forward into the void. A cyclone of visions engulfed them,opening it's maw to swallowed them down to the places outside of physicality and time.

/screaming-screaming-screaming-thrashing against the inside of their minds

- "Did you hear-" "It's the beginning, you know." "...and the nature of life and death are irrevocably altered." "-isn't working!"-

-collapsing dimensions-shattering glass that fractured into opposites and infinities-

-dark eyes ?blue? peering at them from near and yet very far away before disappearing-

-"We're going to play a game." a voice states with finality. "And you will lose."

-bones of a beast far larger than they could imagine-half buried in the ground-change little as time washes past them and the landscape erodes and builds in eons-ebony shifting to bronze and rising-towers sprouting as alien flowers that grew into Iacon's familiar silhouette-

-zeros and ones and zeros and ones-numerals melting into jeweled dragonflies that ate through the lock and escaped the cage-

-repeating visions of Megatron in different places-different times-winning-losing-dying/

As a red haze started to disintegrated their edges and threatened to unmake their minds, Reflector yanked themselves back. They stood in their quiet room again, venting heavily. Spectro started to collapse until Viewfinder reached out to steady him. Spyglass retched in dry heaves.

Moments passed as they collected themselves back to the right place and time. Slowly, venting evened and sparks calmed their frantic pulsing until they were under control again. Dull white optics gazed at the sad assortment lying before them. With an exhausted sigh, they circled what was left.

A cracked scale, more armor bits here and there brought only faint visions and sounds. Pale ghosts compared to the ocean they'd been submerged and sinking in before.

The claw drew them warily. Suncore. Hot Rod /Rodimus/ A presence hovered around it.

/fire-warmth-heat-light-the making of something new-

-exploding supernovas-a city burning that turned to sparks until-just one light-one lost light so far away/

Not for the here and the now either, but something to ponder for later. They did not have the strength to deal with whatever vision permeated the dull gold claw.

Thankfully, there was little left. As optics swept across the last few pieces, they almost overlooked the smallest and most unassuming trophy gathered from battle. A tiny piece of mesh-patch lay by the wall. Perhaps, it hadn't been meant to be grabbed at all. Perhaps it had only stuck to something else and fallen off. Viewfinder frowned severely at it. There was no blood or stains. An unused bit of mesh should not hold anything useful.

But when he drew near, it too held a presence. And unlike the claw, it was dark instead of light.

His frown deepened. They were tired now. There were only so many visions they could handle at one time. And their minds were already frayed at the edges from their carelessness before. Spectro and Spyglass stepped over to peer down at the innocent scrap as well. The former crouched before sitting. With a deep sigh, the other two did as well.

Whatever this was, they would need to be seated.

Viewfinder reached out to touch it slowly. Unlike the other visions, this one did not try to rush through them as floodwaters did a leaking damn, desperate to escape. It huddled quietly within the mesh and seemed to cloak it, cloyed, thick and slow. They did not like this presence. Not at all.

The barest brush of digits against the object opened the vision, sweeping darkness across their minds.

/-a battlefield of broken bodies and red light became reality. Acrid smoke and charred metal stung their sensors, heat wafting up from below. The rusted ground had not even had time to cool yet. Corpses decorated the landscape like the bodies of insects killed en-mass. Empty optics stared upward at the sky as if their last hope had been for someone somewhere to save them.

"Come on!" A strangled shout from beyond a pile of poles and rubble, what was once a building. "Keep fighting!"

The vision moved forward. Around the ruins and down, to a low point below field level and out of sight from snipers. A summoning circle glowed ominously in the center, cut straight into the rough terrain as if someone had stamped it. With hollow faces, the dead here remained as silent audience to one mech trying to save the life of another.

"Just keep venting Drift!" Off to the side and beyond the circle, Ratchet was struggling to keep energon from leaking out of the hole in the smaller mech's chest. Frantic movements weren't fast enough to clamp the lines, he didn't have the tools to slow the lifeblood from spilling out to join their dead brethren, and could not stop what was fated to happen.

The future was malleable, but all options and choices had been made.

'He's going to die.' Reflector acknowledged solemnly.

-static/static/static-

The vision shifted, through time yet not place. Now the shaman was in the middle of the circle his dying patient lying on the ground in the

center-center-center

a hole, not in Drift's chest but Ratchet's

ripped open all the way through with sparking wires and dripping metal but

no spark

muffled shouting far away as if through static and broken audios "What have you done?!"

calm silence as the medic tilted his helm back and closed his optics

and-

Darkness obscured their vision. Hunger swept over them, looking for weakness and hunting for prey. A hunger that gnawed at inner lines and spark casings. But Reflector was more careful this time and had their guard up. They simply drew themselves out of the vision-/

Simultaneously, the opened their optics to look down at the unassuming scrap. That had been unexpected.

But they were finished now and had enough to please the manticore. Stiffly standing, Spectro and Spyglass stretched out their limbs as Viewfinder moved to open the door. Out in the hall, Sunstorm stood waiting. The golden mech nodded his helm is a short bow before the seer spoke.

"The medic is the weak link."

Ratchet sighed as he sat down on one of the stools set up against the counter with jars of wires, soldering irons, and other electronic parts. There had been some soft music in the background when he walked in but Perceptor had turned it off. The mech never liked dividing his attention when conversing with others.

"You look worn out."

Normally, Ratchet grumbled the first part of their conversations, often complaining about unruly patients, gruffly admiring whatever Perceptor was working on, or chastising him for forgetting to drink his ration. Not so this time. He frowned at the tall lanky mech who had put down his texts to look at him.

"Was the medbay full today?" Perceptor asked mildly, "I did not hear of any incidents."

Most of the mechs on the ark were thick-built, with very solid layers of armor and plating to protect them. It made them angular and sometimes blocky. But the scientist didn't look like them. His armor was thinner, more flexible and rounded in some areas. Intelligent but kind optics studied Ratchet as a second set of arms, smaller and hidden under the first, came out to rearrange the datapads and stylus out of the way. Tilting his helm, the teal and burgundy mech turned in his seat to face the medic fully.

Ratchet shrugged. "No, it was quiet. Not like yesterday at all." And that statement with it's cardboard gray monotone told Perceptor all he needed to know.

As long as he had people to fix, people to save, or work to keep him occupied, Ratchet would push and fight and dig his feet in to keep going. And as soon as there was nothing left to keep working towards, he tripped up and stumbled as he looked for what to do next and found only vague answers. He could pull off miracles and push himself to his limits to save others.

But that strength disappeared when it came to himself.

'We all have our flaws.' Perceptor thought, 'Some are just more damning than others.'

On the outside, the archivus stood and pulled beakers out of the cabinet. He started to mix a drink and fixed Ratchet with a hard stare. "And are you feeling-"

"Fine." the medic snapped. "Fine. Just tired."

"You know you can't be tired." It hurt to say it, hurt to push at bleeding and open sores that would only scar more and more as time went by. But it was one of the only ways to keep Ratchet fighting. Perceptor found a spoon and started to stir the mixture he'd put together. It smelled sweet and tangy but somehow stinging. His faint and clipped accent grew stronger as his voice rose just a little. "You can't be tired. Don't you dare say that. Don't even think like that. You know you can't-"

"I know Percy." Exhaustion crinkled the corners of his face but there was a flicker of annoyance in the white and red mech's optics. Annoyance was good. It was a tiny bit of fight which was always better than apathy.

"Ratchet, you are far too stubborn to just give in." He pushed just to be sure. "You and I both know that. Now, drink this, take a nap, and kick tomorrow's tailpipe." Handing the obnoxiously green and yellow drink over, Perceptor smiled as the other mech chuckled lowly. There, success.

"You're not going to let me be tired." A side glance and the smile on Ratchet's face softened.

Perceptor huffed, "Never."

"That's good."

Smile fading out, the scientist glanced at his datapads once more and spoke solemnly. "I've found more time... here on Earth with so few real battles, I've found more time to work on it."

Sipping his drink slowly, Ratchet replied in a grumble. "You don't have access to the older libraries..."

"I copied as much as I could in the time I had. And I never found anything similar. At this point, I believe we will just have to start experimenting until we find a way. As I said, I've found more time to work on it now."

"Hopefully, you'll figure something out." Although his lips quirked upward, it was easy to see that he didn't truly believe answers could be found.

Perceptor's voice hardened. "We will. I promise you we will figure it out."

"I know." Ratchet stood with creaking limbs and ambled the two steps closer to lean on the taller mech, just for a moment. Unfolding his smaller limbs, Percy wrapped all four arms around Ratchet in a gentle hug for a moment before the medic pulled away.

"Now," Perceptor started, one finger pointed at Ratchet like he was scolding a child.

"Rest and kick tomorrow's aft. Got it." With a small smirk, the medic winked at Perceptor and ambled out of the lab. A smile remained on the archivus' face until the door closed and Ratchet was out of sight.

Expression darkening into determination, Perceptor stood and loomed over his desk, using all his servos to start pulling out datapads full of symbols, glyphs, and complicated spells. There was work to be done and a promise to be kept.

He could not fail Ratchet. He wouldn't.

.

.

.

The "...and the nature of life and death are irrevocably altered." is quoted from Shockwave in MTMTE 27.

Seers/Sybil: Mystic. Optics are pale. Sometimes they go into a dream-state for visions, seeing alternate realities and scenes that might not make sense but give clues to what could occur soon or has already happened. They are not commonly sparked and pre-war, millenia could go by with no Seers at all.

Archivus: Mystic. Also called "living libraries". Sometimes orbs that look like tiny galaxies float around the archivus and reach high places they can't. Archivus never forget anything and love to collect information. They have a smaller second set of arms that are usually kept folded up under the first.

The physical library of the Ark is Perceptor's. Even if Ultra Magnus wants to claim some parts of it too.

Ratchet: He is a shaman which is in the Mystic category of Cybertronians. Shamans have a natural ability of giving some of their own lifeforce to others, which is why many often become healers. They also have Sight, so glamours don't really work on them. While anyone can pick up rituals and bargaining with celestial and otherly beings, shamans have an affinity for it. They can help keep people's sparks in their bodies when they're too close to death but not ready to die by making deals with those beings (Jazz doesn't count). Shamans pick their own alternative modes and can change them whenever they like. They usually do not have a "true form" as many of the other types of Cybertronians do.

Someone asked about the Nephren (the cassettes) from a previous chapter. I don't think I went into details so:

Nephren: are sometimes called "Veiled Ones" and not much is known about them. They're usually have either an elfin appearance or a beast shape, their armor overlaps a little like petals, and they disappear in and out of shadows. As far as anyone knows, they're impossible to catch and you can never tell when they're lurking about. And the rules of physics and logic...don't really apply to them. Or they bend them on a regular basis. That's about as much as anyone except maybe Soundwave knows about Nephren.