The four Decepticons stood in silence as Starscream hovered over to his square-shaped console and draped a thin servo overtop it. He stared at his troops hungrily, as if he were dying to tell them something, but was too busy waiting to savor the moment before indulging himself. He prepared to speak, only for Strika to quickly shut him down with an interruption.

'So what's Bludgeon have that we want? A bigger ship? The Great Sword of Excalibur? A bigger ship that shoots the Great Sword of Excalibur…s?'

The moment ruined, Starscream rolled his optics and slouched over his console. 'I was going to tell you in a minute, but if your pretty little lives are all so important that you need me to pick up the pace, then by all means— go back to whatever pathetic activities you indulge yourselves, and I'll gladly brief my reflection instead. At least then I'd have something attractive to look at while I'm doing so.'

'Quit being a dipstick and spit it out,' Thundercracker said. Strika and Slipstream nodded in agreement.

Starscream raised his hands above his head. 'Fine.' He lowered them as he explained himself. 'I have been in contact with Soundwave.'

'Again?' Strika tilted her head to the side. 'But the two of you hate each other more than Thundercracker hates fun.'

The blue seeker refused to make eye-contact.

'How do you think I feel?' Starscream sneered, spreading his servos dramatically outward. 'It's not like I want to talk to him! He's been flooding my inbox with messages ever since the whole Sunstorm fiasco. I think he's doing it to spite me or something, because if he is, it's working,' he stared at Thundercracker. 'That said, now do you see why I'm always in a bad mood during the morning?'

He nodded. 'Still doesn't explain why you're that way the rest of the day.' Strika raised a servo towards him, and the two Decepticons bumped fists.

He waved the two away with one hand while staring at Obsidian. 'Shut up... What's important is what he's told me. According to Soundwave, Bludgeon is in possession of the Ark's Serial Code—the set of numbers that link the galaxy's Space Bridges to the Ark's quantum engine.'

Slipstream's head cocked to the side. 'Eh?'

He stared at the damaged Seeker. 'What. Out of anyone here, I'd half expect you to know this, Slipstream.'

Thundercracker rapped his knuckles against her helm. 'I'm afraid Prime took out a chunk of her brains along with her face.'

Strika folded her arms. 'She has "poo-brain" now.'

'My toes are getting pruney.' Slipstream said.

'Oh.' Starscream carried on. 'Then to elaborate – for Slipstream's benefit because I'm a nice, charming guy, of course – The Ark's warps by sending a signal to one of the Spacebridge outposts across the Galaxy. The signal feeds the Spacebridge its serial code and desired location, and the Spacebridge guides the ship through its designated warp tunnel to that very location. Naturally, serial numbers are only shared on certain colonies and planetoids should any visitors decide to break some laws that requires their presence in court. Then, if they ever feel like escaping, the law would look up where the number warped to last, and haul ass after them. Prime did just this during our last visit back on Talon IV. Fortunately for him, his serial number was "lost" before Talon's law enforcement could give chase.'

'Bludgeon was there?' Strika asked, mildly shocked. 'On Talon IV—when we were fighting Sunstorm—he was there lurking in the shadows?'

Starscream made a so-so gesture with his hand. 'Ehhh. Doubt it. But there was someone there. Someone who obtained the code—which promptly fell into Bludgeon's bony fingers. Soundwave says that since the Quintessons had no records of the code in their system, then it must have been uploaded into a specific hard drive, or even living processor.' He grinned, broadly. 'And that, is what Bludgeon has hidden under all those shiny skyscrapers.'

'It's also what we're going to want to procure for ourselves,' Obsidian said, raising a digit to his mandibles, cautiously. 'Bludgeon is going to have the planet defended, no doubt. We may be capable of forming a faux alliance with our fellow Decepticon, but he will be wary of us, and he will not lie down should we decide to "kill them all." We'll need to formulate a few extra backup plans while we're at it.'

Thundercracker nodded in agreement. 'We should make this quick. Keep fatalities to a minimum, grab the code, and get the hell out of there as quick as possible.'

'Again,' Starscream leaned his back against the console, resting his hands behind his head. 'Piece of cake.'

'What's a Bludgeon?'

The four Decepticons stared at Slipstream all at once.

Obsidian raise a servo irritably to his optics and explain as calmly as he could. 'Bludgeon is one of the most dangerous rogue Decepticons in the history of… well, Decepticonism, and has been notorious for spawning his own set of cults left and right.'

Thundercracker continued on from where Obsidian started. 'First it was general Primus worship, then it was a fanaticism over the resurrection of the thirteen, then it was this organic shell business—he's insanely superstitious and believes himself to be some kind of magic warrior god.'

Slipstream blinked. 'Is he?'

Obsidian shrugged.

Slipstream mirrored the shrug.

'I worked for Bludgeon once,' Thundercracker said, wrapping his arms around himself in discontent. 'It was awful.'

'The guy kind of reminds me of Sunstorm, now that I think about it,' Strika said, scratching the back of her head in thought. 'Is there a reason why we attract crazy zealots, or what?'

Starscream looked aside. 'That reminds me. Soundwave also mentioned Sunstorm. Apparently Bludgeon held him in quite the high regard.'

'How high?' Obsidian asked, cautiously.

'High enough that I probably shouldn't let it slip that I killed the guy.'

'Right.'

Slipstream nodded in understanding. 'Okay. Don't get high with Bludgeon. I understand.'

Starscream squinted at the Seeker. 'You have no idea what the hell we've been talking about this entire time, have you.' When he didn't get a response, Starscream clapped his hands together, content that he had explained everything to everyone intelligent the best he could. 'Right! Without further ado.' He spun around and began tapping co-ordinates into the console. Soon enough, the Nemesis lurched into a warp.

'We're doing this now, then?' Strika asked, preparing to load her weaponry.

'Of course. Every second we waste is a second Bludgeon comes closer to killing Prime. I'd rather sit on this until tomorrow too, but if we don't rush things along, Bludgeon is going to win.' He stared through the Nemesis' front window as they warped in front of the planet Theopany. 'And that is something not even Soundwave wants for the Decepticons.'

Blackarachnia entered the rec-room, and hovered over to the couch as per usual. Optimus and Ironhide were already waiting for her. The two were silent, however there was a soft, repetitive beeping sound that escaped the Ark's monitor. It bothered her at first, but it soon faded away underneath the pure tension provided in the room. She still had a bit of a limp, and her wounds hadn't fully healed, but she wasn't going to whine about it just yet. She sat on the couch opposite from Optimus and Ironhide, forming a triangle between the three, staring lazily at her leader. Her optics were flickering weakly. 'So, what's the plan?'

Optimus silently pressed his hands together and brought them to his mouth. He didn't say a word. Blackarachnia turned to Ironhide for answers. He sat on a stool adjacent to Optimus, arms crossed and relaxed, but she could already tell he knew about as much as she did. She leaned in towards Optimus. 'You do have a plan, right?'

Optimus inhaled, before leaning back in his chair. 'I think… I think we're going to have to re-think our alliances.'

Blackarachnia's four optics blinked as one. 'Hah?'

'I think that – for your safety – we should part ways for when Cannonball's boss comes here and—well, you know.'

'Now hold on a second…' she placed her claws in front of her face. 'You're letting me go?'

Blackarachnia stood up from the couch, pain shooting through her legs. 'You're kidding me! But I'm a murderer! I killed your friends, remember?' She struggled to come up with more to say, and ended up spitting on the floor. 'I'm your… prisoner, and I still need to work off that "community service" you sentenced me with! You can't just set someone like that free! That kind of business is just horribly irresponsible! Even for you!'

'That won't matter for long.' Optimus said, his voice gravelly. 'Besides, what are you complaining about? I'm setting you free—you are officially relieved of your sentence. Isn't that what you wanted?'

'I wanted to survive,' Blackarachnia ducked her head. 'I just… don't know what else to do now. In fact I was just starting to like this kind of lifestyle…'

Ironhide shrugged. 'You should be thankful that Prime is allowing you to walk away at all.'

'You too, Ironhide.' Optimus rested a hand on his shoulder. 'I want you gone as well.'

Ironhide blinked. 'You're kidding.'

'Ironhide—'

He stood up, fists rattling with rage. 'No!' Had his faceplate not covered his mouth, the weapons specialist would have spat. 'I told myself I would protect you! I am not going to abandon my best friend just so he can be ripped apart by pirates!'

Optimus raised a calming servo in his direction. 'There's no way around this, Ironhide. I know a death sentence when I see one. When they can strike us whenever, and from wherever they please—that's when I know it's time to give up. You get yourself somewhere safe, alright? We all knew this day would come.'

Ironhide stared at his empty hands, struggling to form a coherent sentence that would knock some sense into the Prime. If only that repetitive beeping playing from the Ark's console wasn't so persistent. It was making it difficult for the large Autobot to think. 'Blackarachnia's… right, you must have some kind of plan or something! If we can't call for backup from Prowl then maybe Rodimus! Perhaps he can—'

'Rodimus's ship is swarming with Prowl's agents.' Optimus said, coldly. 'It would make no difference compared to what we're up against. Even then, he runs a civilian ship. Very few fighters on board.'

Blackarachnia massaged the side of her helm in thought before clapping her claws together. 'Then, duh, we sell the Ark for scrap! If the issue is its serial number, then why don't we just buy a new ship? Problem solved—happy faces all around!'

Optimus shook his head. 'Buying a proper ship requires an exchange in information, and giving that away will only put us at an even greater danger. Besides, selling the Ark to another Cybertronian could result in an Autobot relaying that information to Prowl, or worse, result in a Decepticon killing us on the spot. What's worse is that if we buy or sell from an organic, then they'll have to deal with a pirate fleet warping in and—'

'Burning everything to the ground,' Ironhide nodded, solemnly.

'Then the black market,' Blackarachnia insisted. 'If we want to avoid exchanging any information then—'

'Then they'll probably view me as a better form of payment than whatever we have to offer.' Optimus finished.

'Well,' Blackarachnia clasped her claws together, certain that what she was about to propose would not be to Prime's fancy, 'looking at your remaining options, I'd say all that's left for you to do now is to give Prowl a call.'

Optimus didn't budge. Only wincing momentarily due to the monitor's constant beeping.

She continued. 'Regardless of the consequences— wouldn't it be better getting arrested by the Autobots than killed by the Decepticons? It's a bit of a no-brainer if you ask me.'

Optimus squinted at her before shaking his head, and refraining to make eye-contact with her again. 'I would honestly rather die than become another one of Prowl's puppets.'

Ironhide and Blackarachnia fell silent. The only sound left lingering in the room was the constant beeping of the Ark's console.

'So that's it then,' Blackarachnia said, clenching her claws together. 'We all say goodbye, and I just bugger off?'

Ironhide shook his head, furiously. 'No. Never. I refuse to let you die like this.'

'Ironhide…'

Ironhide grabbed him by the shoulders. 'We're "Optimus and Ironhide"— we never leave each other behind, remember? This whole thing will blow over and—and' He broke off, and darted to the loud console, 'and if this damn machine doesn't shut up in one second I—' he paused, staring incredulously at the console.

'What's going on now?' Optimus asked exhaustedly, approaching the console. He looked at the screen, and sighed. 'Oh.'

Without any context in mind, Blackarachnia joined them. 'What is it?'

'The phone's ringing.' Optimus said.

'We have a phone?'

'We do. We just normally don't get any calls.'

Ironhide shivered weakly. 'I recognize that caller ID…'

Optimus nodded and answered the call. A big, blue and white robot appeared on the main screen. They were talking to someone hidden off-camera. '—told you, I don't know if he'll answer, or if it's even him, or—.' They turned around, and grinned in surprise. 'Holy crap! It's him! The old dog's finally answered the kennel!'

'Chromia,' Optimus nodded.

The blue robot shot Ironhide a wide smirk. 'And you're not alone, huh. Hello there Ironhide.'

Ironhide nodded in succession. 'Yes. Hello Chromia. Long-time no see… How's the, uh, team?'

'Team Elita's doing just fine, as you'd expect. It's much quieter without you trashing the place.' The blue femme let out a hearty laugh at Ironhide's expense. 'I'd even say it's boring without you around!'

Ironhide laughed quietly. 'Right.'

Blackarachnia hovered next to Optimus, motioning to Ironhide, and whispering to him softly. 'What's his deal?'

But Optimus didn't respond. When she shook the Prime by the arm, he remained fixated. After following his gaze, Blackarachnia soon realized that he wasn't even staring at the screen. Optimus was, for whatever reason, deep in thought.

'Well, we can chat more as soon as you home in on our co-ordinates…' Chromia stiffened up. 'You see… I already know about the pickle you're in.'

'Everyone knows our pickle,' Ironhide retorted. 'That's why everyone's out to kill us.'

Her grin remained, but her optics narrowed. 'We're talking about the serial code, dumbass. If you don't hurry up and get to planet Tei Tenga before a Decepticon warps into your face, then you're as good as dead, and I'd have wasted this call. See you soon, lads!' The feed was cut, and Chromia's face disappeared.

Blackarachnia leapt onto Ironhide's back, much to his surprise. The weapons specialist grappled with the excited ex-Decepticon before finally giving up. 'What the hell are you doing, Blackarachnia?'

When he turned his head to see her, he realized that she was smiling. Blackarachnia's arms were locked onto the larger Autobot's wide shoulders playfully. 'I'm celebrating! We were just about to screw off and die for no reason, but now—now we finally have our defense and backup.' She raised her claw above her head in celebration. 'Optimus Prime lives on! Team Prime will never die! Etcetera, etcetera!'

Ironhide rolled his optics and shook Blackarachnia off of him. 'Bah.' His act fell through as a grin crossed his lips beneath his faceplate. 'Still, it does mean you don't have to kill yourself. Eh Optim—'

The Prime was set in place, staring at the blank monitor where Chromia's face was moments ago.

'—mus?'

Ironhide closed his eyes, having seen this before. He placed his hands on his hips and took a wide step to his leader's side. 'Prime.'

Optimus turned around, and stared at them both, as if they were the ones acting strange in the moment. 'What?'

'Chromia wants us to warp to her co-ordin—'

He waved a lazy hand in the weapon specialist's direction. 'I know, Ironhide. I heard.'

The black and red Autobot placed a hand on Prime's shoulder. 'Are you okay?'

He inhaled a deep breath before replying. 'Yes. Just working up the emotional courage for a certain reunion I'm going to dread having.' He turned back around to input Chromia's co-ordinates. All the while, Ironhide and Blackarachnia exchanged uncomfortable glances.