The patrol is going well, calm and peaceful, so Reeds uses the chance to stretch his wings, metaphorically.

He loves flying, and these instances of quiet are the perfect ones to enjoy himself before getting into battle again.

Fighting is nice too, exhilarating in a way he can't describe, but it's not the time to let himself forget about everything else.

Especially now that he's in Soldier.

Battles have a whole different meaning now, with him being able to literally drop on the Black Beasts to neutralize them with a shot of his arm-cannons.

They say he's a natural, but Steve knows the extra training he bought out of Cyclonus in exchange for some flight tips has helped with that.

Regardless of the reason, it means he doesn't have someone watching over his shoulder all the time, especially now that the Air Commander is no longer his supervisor.

::Death Cry, you're entering Deliberata's range, request new operator.:: A voice crackles through his comm and, as soon as the soft beep of the Quintessa signaling the loss of contact follows, he opens a line to the open channel of the new mothership.

"Death Cry requesting a slot."

A moment of silence, and then crackling.

::Looker acknowledging, establishing connection.:: The new operator answers, and Reeds looks down at the communications pad.

As soon as the blinking green light stabilizes he opens the private line.

"Connection established."

And, that's it, he can go back to enjoying the soothing flight again.

::Death Cry?::

Or not. Looks like he was caught by a chatty operator.

"I hear you, Looker. What is it?" He asks calmly, because had it been trouble, the person at the other end of the line would have already said so.

::I have a message for you.::

"A what?" He asks, curious, focusing his attention on the comm line instead of letting his thoughts roam free.

::A message. Prowl sends Starscream his regards, and he and Soundwave are waiting for him to come back.::

His heart stops beating, eyes widening as his breath catches in his throat and his hands clench tightly over the controls—

"Welcome back."

"Good to be back. Though if there's a next time, a tap on the shoulder would be preferable to a punch to the face. And next time you get into my processor, I'll make sure you enjoy a nice view of the clouds as you fall through them."

"Alright, new rule. From now on, we'll be together. No more slipping away or closing off because of a theory. Whether we rise or fall, we go together. Got it?"

"'Till all are—"

Red fills the cockpit and he has his weapons charged and aimed at the dots swarming his sensors before he can take another breath.

Pushing the—the hallucination away, he focuses completely on the fight.

"Slag it all, Viewfinder, be more attentive!" He shouts into the comm, finding himself unable to do more than evade for some seconds due to the amount and closeness of the Black Beasts.

::Hey, they came out of nowhere! What was I supposed to do? At your seven—::

He whirls around and onto himself, evading the attack and returning fire to make the Aerial vanish from his scans.

"Ugh, never mind that." He grumbles half-heartedly, shooting a couple more of the Black Beasts before finding his surroundings clear enough that he has to search for his prey.

::Wait a moment, you called me Viewfinder!::

"So I messed your codename, big deal." He hisses, diving towards a cluster of red dots—

And, with some deft clicks, the whole cockpit dismantles and rearranges around him so that he's standing, suspended by the harness around his torso and waist and the secondary controls connecting to his specialized boots as the Tetrajet transforms to its humanoid form around him.

Crouching to absorb the force of the impact, the new sensors and controls making sure the modified Cybertronian mimics his movements, Steve Reeds touches the ground.

Actually, he squashes a Black Beast into the ground, but technicalities.

He whirls around with a leg extended, sending the two enemies closest to him onto their backs before straightening and start shooting with the cannons now positioned as the humanoid Tetrajet's arms.

The red dots vanish all around.

::No, you didn't!:: And that would be the operator, though what is he babbling about— ::I mean, you did, because that isn't my codename, but Viewfinder is my nickname! Prowl gave it to me!::

Sand and blue sky and wind and move to the side because he's about to catch me and no way am I going to make it that easy—

He shakes his head to throw the fake memory away, focusing once more on the large red shapes all around.

"Viewfinder! I'm in the middle of a battle here! Do you really think this is the time to be gossiping about your nickname?!" He shrieks, evading a couple of shots by rolling behind some rocky structure, carefully peeking out to fire back at the two Black Beasts.

::Ah, right, sorry! To your nine!:: A quick shot, and the barely there red dot vanishes. ::It's just that Fowler was the one to give us the message after the whole deal with the nicknames, and how he wants to be called—::

"Wait, wait! Fowler?" He cuts, even his shooting stilling in surprise, forcing him to duck back with a curse when an attack comes way too close to his Tetrajet's 'head'. "As in Ron Fowler, from Ark?"

::Yes! Wait, how do you—::

"I'm Steve Reeds, Military Second of Ark."

::Holy sh—Above!:: He rolls away, firing with the movement, and the Black Beast falls a bit further, flickering, before another shot finishes the job. ::I thought he was the only survivor.::

"I was told I was the only survivor. How—How is he?" His voice softens almost to the point of being inaudible at the last part, dark eyes scanning his sensors without actually seeing what's in them, only that there's no red.

::Well, he's… He was exposed to the Black Plague, and he—::

"I know that! I mean now, how is he now."

::Er, working like the rest of—Oh, right, you mean—That is, he's fine, better. Though he's been weird these last days, I don't really know how to explain it… It's like he woke up a different person one day but he's still trying to be the Fowler we know, if you get what I'm saying?::

"I don't see the difference."

"Hello?! Is that excuse of a brain connected to your mouth or is the problem between your eyes and that lot of empty space?"

"Yes, there is a difference, but what I meant is that he's acting like he's on duty. And seeing how he's literally living in his workstation, that's kind of expected."

"No, it's not expected. You know him from Governance meetings and Civilian Government, but I know him from the Enforcers, too. And those first two things were work, but the Enforcers? They weren't!"

"Yes, I… I understand." He whispers, though his voice is tremulous, a hand having left the controls to rub at his forehead in an effort to stop the hallucinations.

What's wrong with me?

::At your six!::

He whirls around at that, quickly focusing on the matter at hand, but he's been too slow.

The Black Beast, a Runner judging by the size and its leaner bulk, tackles him to the ground, and, cursing loudly, Reeds finds himself trying to kick his attacker away when it manages to immobilize his arm-cannons.

He feels resistance against a foot and, faster than the creature can move, pushes.

However, the Beast is holding too tightly onto his arms, and he only manages to flip it over his head and onto its back.

But that's more than enough.

Whirling to his feet, he throws his arms out against the rocky formation he'd been using as shield—

And the Runner lets go just before impact, bracing against the wall he'd been trying to slam it into and using it to bounce back onto him.

A burst of his engines, and Reeds finds himself flying higher and higher—with a Black Beast hanging from his hip-latches.

More than close enough to press a charged cannon against it and—

The creature lets go, the loss of weight destabilizing him for a second, before he has to scramble into a controlled nosedive while in humanoid mode to evade the shooting from the falling Beast and an incoming Aerial.

He manages to get rid of the newcomer, thanks to Viewfinder's instructions, and almost crashes into the ground before he manages to pull himself up—

And gets tackled again, arm-cannons immobilized against the fuselage of the body as him and his new attacker are sent rolling from the force of the assault.

They stop, and Reeds snarls dangerously when he sees the slagging thing is a Runner.

"Stubborn little glitch! I'm going to deactivate you for this!" He shouts, the reports from damaged wings and engines giving him enough strength to break the hold and roll back to his feet, shooting at the meddlesome creature to force it away.

But instead of retreating, it bounces back, too close for him to use his cannons, and—

The impact is strong enough to lift his frame into the air with a loud metallic ripping sound, and Steve finds himself flailing for a bit before he crashes to the ground again and rolls to a crouching position, ready to blast that—

Robot?

Eyes wide, hands shaking, breath caught in his throat, and sweat sliding down his temple, along a couple of bruises here and there from the impacts, but the machinery, the screens and panels all around him are intact.

So, why the Pit are half of the scans in his cockpit showing not the grid and vaguely humanoid red shapes they are supposed to, but a wasteland of rust-colored metallic rocks and ruins and a mostly black human-like robot with tiny horns and a blue visor over a determined smirk?

The robot shifts, getting ready to jump again, and Reeds scrambles away so hastily that his Tetrajet's feet slip on the debris and send him flat onto his back.

"Viewfinder! Viewfinder, what the Pit is going on?!" He screeches, more than a little horrified as he kicks himself further away from the surprised-looking robot, who has stopped in its place, until his back finds resistance. "Viewfinder!"

::What, what?! What's going on, what's wrong? You have a Black Beast just in front of you, a Runner, why aren't you—::

"That thing is not a Black Beast!" He shouts back, eyes moving from the normal scans to the image of the robot, head tilted with the visor a deeper blue and what looks like confusion on its face. "That—My scans are all wrong! I'm getting a visual!"

::You—But—That's impossible! The Black Plague—::

"This has to be a hallucination, this can't—Get me out of here, I'm not fit for duty anymore!" He shouts, shaking harshly as his breathing hitches, his chest clenching almost painfully and the cockpit feeling overtly hot. "I—There's something wrong with my Tetrajet, I—"

::Hold on, Starscream, I've contacted the Air Commander, he'll get you out in an instant. Just stay put and for Primus' sake, get rid of that Black Beast! No matter what you're seeing, trust me on this one, that thing is a Black Beast!::

"But—"

He can't. No matter that he has no idea what the robot is supposed to be, he just… can't.

::Starscream, slag it all, shoot!::

And then the robot takes a step closer, and whatever kept him frozen vanishes.

The robot yelps as it jumps away from the shots, even though he can't hear anything from the outside, as it should be.

But, instead of firing back—and it has a weapon, some kind of gun attached to its hip—or running away, the mostly black creature crouches down with its hands up, as in surrender, and despite his cannons being charged and ready to shoot again, Steve finds himself stopping once more.

He… he can't.

::Reeds!:: A new voice shouts through a new line, and the robot scrambles away from some new shooting before a really well-known Tetrajet in humanoid mode lands in front of him.

And then it turns around, and the shots he'd been keeping back fly to the newcomer with a horrified shout.

::Reeds, what are you doing?! It's me, Cyclonus!:: The voice shouts as the robot, its face pale and with hollowed cheeks and two long and sharp-looking horns protruding from its forehead, whirls away from the attack, its red optics paling as they look right into Steve's eyes.

He stills his shots just enough to push himself to his feet and move away from the pile of debris that had been keeping him immobile, but immediately after he points his cannons back at the unknown creatures, the Flier on one side and the Black Beast on the other.

But he doesn't fire again, instead looking from one to the other in horror, his scans identifying them as ally and enemy, but his sight telling him a completely different thing.

One is big and with eyes, horns and folded wings and claws.

The other is small and lean, with a visor and tiny horns and white on its chest and forearms and forelegs.

But, beyond the obvious and many differences, Steve can see more, something so horrible, so devastating, that he can only whimper and fight to keep his cannons pointed at least in the general vicinity of both robots.

He can see the similarities.

::Reeds, calm down. Go to the Deliberata, it's obvious your sensors have been damaged and are giving you conflicted signals, you need to step out of the fight and get them checked up.::

He turns to the winged robot for a moment, and then, he looks at the other creature, who is carefully hiding behind some large metallic planks, so that the newcomer doesn't have a clear shot of it anymore, but making no effort to get out of Steve's sight, something nagging at the back of his brain, telling him he's seen it somewhere before.

The Black Beast is still keeping its hands up to let him know it means no harm, and when their gazes meet, it goes as far as to give him a bright smile and wave one of the hands in a salute.

His trembling increases so badly that when the thing that is supposed to be Cyclonus' Tetrajet steps forward, the shot he aims at it goes wide enough that the winged robot doesn't even flinch.

::Reeds, listen to me. You have to—::

"You're the same!" He shouts, taking a step back, and, through the real scans, he can see the red blob shift. "You and the Black Beasts, you are the same!"

The larger robot freezes, surprise clearly seen on its face.

::What? Reeds what are you—::

"I can see you! The wings, the red eyes, the horns—I can see you!"

Had it been possible, the robot would have paled, its face distorting with horror.

::Reeds—No, Starscream, you have to—::

"Don't call me that!" He roars, pointing both of his now far more stable cannons towards the winged Beast, making it tense and take a step back. "You have no right to call me that!"

::Reeds, it's me, Cyclonus! Whatever you're seeing is a hallucination, you need to snap out of it! It's not safe for you to be here anymore, you have to—::

"Have to what? Go back and let them play me again? Go back to have my memory messed with?" He has no idea where the words come from, but the way the robot grimaces tells him he's not wrong.

And that means…

"Who are you? Who am I?"

::You're Steve Reeds, former Second in Command and Air Commander of the Military Base Nemesis in the Ark Protecto—:: The rest of the word gets cut with a chocked sound as, with an irate snarl, the Arkian feels something on his back shift.

His wings. His Tetrajet's wings, laying against his back so as to not get in the way while in humanoid mode.

There should be absolutely no way for him to move those in this mode.

Just as there's no possible way to get a visual through his scans, because they haven't been made for that.

And what does that tell him?

"Remember what I told you I found? I fear there may be more to it than just a prankster. Think, sir. Papers can be lost and data deleted, but how do you erase the minds of a whole Protectodome?"

"Thinking about the lack of officers before us? Because believe me, the joke that runs around about me having held my position for so long that no one remembers the previous Air Commander is no joke."

"We checked."

"No… No, no, no…"

"Cool. What do you transform into?"

"Transform?"

"Oh."

"You know what he's talking about?"

"Remember when Skywarp said I am a Tetrajet? Acid Storm, the one I was talking to before, said he was going to teach me how to be one after I was done with the humans."

"No, that… that wasn't real, I'm not…"

"That is for the warp drive. And be thankful I don't decide to let you know what the crash was like. I swear, it was almost worse than my own."

"You… felt that?"

"I heard you too, didn't I?"

"Ted, Grant… I'm sorry, I'm… This is wrong… I—"

"And your voice was all I heard, that I get what I deserve…"

"So give me reason to prove me wrong, to wash this memory clean. Let the floods cross the distance in your eyes…"

"Give me reason to fill this hole, connect the space between… Let it be enough to reach the truth that lies…"

"—across this new divide." He whispers, hands clenching his head tightly as if that—

No, wait, that doesn't feel like hands, and that doesn't feel like his head, so what—

He opens his eyes, pulling his hands off his face—

And sees he's no longer in the Tetrajet's cockpit, but one eye can only see the scans as if they were being projected right into it while the other sees the dust and grime-covered metallic ground under spindly black legs and two clawed hands at the end of what look like a Tetrajet's arm-cannons.

With a hitching of his breath, he suddenly realizes that he's no longer in his Tetrajet because he is his Tetrajet.

"No… No, no, no…" He can't hear himself speak, can't even open his mouth, because there's something holding it closed, so one clawed hand flies to it—

And finds resistance.

A mask.

He's wearing a mask?

The other hand joins the first, and, to his growing horror, he feels the part of mask covering the eye that can see something other than scans isn't there.

The eye that isn't covered can see a world and the robotic creatures. The other…

Dread growing with the realization, he clasps the broken edges of the mask and pulls.

With a ripping metallic sound and a sharp pain on his face he throws the remains of the metallic screen away with one hand while covering his face with the other, huddling into himself with a tremulous step back.

::Reeds!::

The voice comes from right into his ear, as if he had a phone pressed against it, and he jerks his head up.

This time, both eyes can see the ruined world and the worried and horrified winged robot rushing to his side.

With a snarl on his face, he pulls a fist back and, before the other can react, smashes it right into its face, sending it to the ground with a soundless crash.

There must be more to the mask that he hasn't managed to remove, because he can neither hear nor talk, no matter how hard he tries or how loud he screams.

Movement from the side catches his attention, and he immediately lifts an arm while the hand breaks apart to hide inside the glowing barrel of the charging cannon, and the smaller black and white robot, looking dumbstruck and hopeful yet in denial, stops with a jerk, its hands flying up in a non-threatening gesture once more as its pale blue visual band analyzes him and—

A sharp pang against the back of his head, and he falls to one knee with a gasp as he presses his remaining hand against his temple to try to stop it.

::Reeds?:: Cyclonus asks once more through what he now recognizes as the comm line, but the winged robot doesn't move from the ground, even though it's staring at him in worry.

And that's when it hits.

It isn't a robot.

It's Cyclonus.

"How… How could… What are we?" He asks softly, making sure to, somehow, do it through the comm, and, slowly, the winged creature sits up. "Why didn't anyone tell me what we are? How did you manage to make it look like—"

::Reeds, please, calm down.:: Clawed hands are lifting into a non-threatening gesture, and he forces himself to take a deep breath to still his shaking, looking between the smaller stunned robot and the winged one. ::It's a long story.::

"But you knew all along. How about… How about Galvatron, and Rhodes, and Captain Swan…"

::Galvatron and Scourge know, the others don't. Look, this… We are part of the Cybertronian race, mechanical beings able to transform. The Masters created us to help them, but something went wrong and the first of us broke apart from them and managed to get into a war among themselves. The Masters fell back, and, when the situation was adequate, they captured some of the estranged Cybertronian to try to determine what had gone wrong, to see if they could get rid of the faulty coding that made them rebel. But they haven't found such a solution yet, so those with the faulty coding are kept under the illusion of being human to help protect the Masters and capture the remaining glitched ones for them to repair. You are one of those glitched, and thus you were kept under the illusion.::

Even before the explanation is over, Steve is shaking his head, the arm-cannon having lost its charge and regained the hand that is now laying on his lap as limply as the other as he tries to process everything.

"So, the Black Beasts… And the Ark…"

::They are the glitched ones. And the Dome was breached by them and they captured and reverted you all to their faulty beliefs.::

"Faulty?"

::That the Masters are not worth serving.::

Before he can realize it, he finds himself standing, Cyclonus having jerked away in surprise.

"Worth… We're… servants? Slaves?"

::No! The Masters created us to help them, not to… We are not slaves.:: The winged robot—Cybertronian—hurries to reassure, standing up too, while the smaller one looks between them in confusion and wariness.

"Can you fly anytime you want?"

::Wha—::

"Can you stop fighting?"

::I don't want to stop! I'm helping our brothers.:: Cyclonus hurries to reassure, but there's something in his voice…

"But if you wanted, could you? And how about flying anytime you wish?"

::I… O-of course.::

But there's no certainty.

In fact, he looks downright worried and even a bit scared as he ponders the questions, and Reeds' dread grows.

"What do you want to do? To really do?"

Cyclonus looks at him, at his serious gaze and stance, before turning to the so-called Black Beast, who is simply observing them calmly, doing nothing to threaten them, before once more facing Reeds.

::I want to talk to a real Seeker.::

That last word sounds so familiar that trying to identify it is giving him a headache, so Steve pushes it away.

Now is not the time.

"And can you?" A small shake of Cyclonus' head. "Can't you ask the Masters to let you do so?"

::Of course not, all the Seekers are glitched and need to—::

"I don't want to fight anymore. I want to talk to that Black Beast over there and with those Masters and see if it can be arranged that all the Cybertronians can decide with whom to stay. Do you think they would agree to let me do that?"

And the winged mech—what does that mean?—hunches into himself with another shake of his head.

Steve steps forward and, softly, lifts Cyclonus' face so that he can stare into his optics—shouldn't it be eyes?

"Then we are slaves."

The horned mech jerks away so hastily that he stumbles, but Reeds catches him before he falls down.

And tenses, when, instead of pulling away, Cyclonus presses closer, burying his face against Steve's black chest and clinging to him like—

A child.

A young child.

A newspark.

::I want to talk to a real Seeker.::

Starscream is a Seeker.

And… a Vosian.

And part of the Cybertronian Defense Force, and the Energon Seekers and…

The Decepticons.

::Prowl sends Starscream his regards, and he and Soundwave are waiting for him to come back.::

He remembers.

He remembers everything.

He pulls the Air Commander—the newspark—closer as he tries to calm down, fiddling with the restrictive code he can access and recognize now and—

The sounds of the whistling wind, of the dying battle further away, of the soft whimpers of the Seeker in his arms, suddenly fill his audials.

But that's not what he focuses on.

Because the black and white mech staring at them in utter confusion and disbelief clear in his blue visor is someone he can recognize.

"Jazz."

The Head of Special Operations tenses, but the flash of recognition in his visor is somehow wrong.

"That… That's my name in English, isn't it?"

No… no, no, no! He can't be still trapped in that—

Alright, calm down. Calm down. He needs to—

English.

Ever since their capture, and all through their stay in the Resistance base, they spoke Cybertronian, at first because that was the only language they could understand, and later so that those that hadn't broken through the illusion, meaning himself and Jazz, could do so too.

But there was an instance, a special circumstance back in the Protectodome, when they did speak English.

After all, the song isn't Cybertronian.

"And your voice was all I heard, that I get what I deserve…" He can't sing, his voice box doesn't allow for such a thing, but he can modulate it well enough, and, judging by Jazz's tensing, he recognizes it. "So give me reason to prove me wrong, to wash this memory clean. Let the floods cross the distance in your eyes… Give me reason to fill this hole, connect the space between… Let it be enough to reach the truth that lies…"

"Across this new divide." They finish in unison, Cyclonus having long ago gone still in his embrace, listening intently.

And Jazz's visor, so pale that it's almost white, flashes with a mixture of realization and recognition, and Starscream falls silent and lets him continue on his own.

"In every loss, in every lie, in every truth that you'd deny… And each regret, and each goodbye, was a mistake too great to hide…"

Their gazes meet again, smiles on their faceplates, and the Seeker joins the song again.

"And your voice was all I heard, that I get what I deserve… So give me reason to prove me wrong, to wash this memory clean. Let the floods cross the distance in your eyes… Give me reason to fill this hole, connect the space between… Let it be enough to reach the truth that lies… Across this new divide."

"Primus…" Jazz whispers with a breathless tiny laugh, rubbing his faceplate with a servo. "I had almost forgotten that part of—" And he stops, tense and startled.

And the next thing he knows, there's another mech clinging to Starscream, a smile so bright on his faceplate that almost blinds him when he sees it.

"I remember! I remember everything now! Holy Primus, Screamer, I remember!" Jazz shouts joyously, letting him go with a bright laugh that makes even the startled Flier smile, regardless of Cyclonus now clinging to him tighter than before. "I… I remember… I can't believe they really managed to make me forget all that much, those slaggers. If they hadn't linked it to those remnants of the Guardians' secrecy code… I thought I'd gotten rid of all that when I left them, how could that slip past my scans?"

"Jazz?" The saboteur turns around, his baffled and annoyed expression immediately turning again into a blinding smile. "Prowl, Soundwave and a bunch of other mechs are still up there."

And the Autobot slaps a servo against his faceplate before straightening, professional once more.

"Right. You should probably come back to Darkmount so we can prepare a rescue. And, by the way, who's that? Don't tell me he's yours?"

"Wha—No! He's not my newspark!" He reproaches, but the Grounder just snickers, though he calms down when the younger Seeker slowly gets out of the embrace. "He's Cyclonus, and he's a Quintesson-created mech. As far as I know, only him and two others were actually created to monitor the drones and the reprogrammed."

"I… Yes, that's right." The horned Flier answers after a moment, looking between the two older mechs. "I… can't believe the Masters…"

"Cyclonus." Jazz calls, softly, a small understanding smile on his faceplate. "I used to work for something called the Guardians of Cybertron. Pit, I was created as one, since my creators were part of them. I was taught to deactivate, torture, steal and kidnap, all for the good of Cybertron and those inhabiting it. Turned out the Senate was using us to benefit themselves instead of having us deal with planet-wide security risks, or investigating reports of Spark Eaters and Body Snatchers, like we should've."

"How did you… How can you be sure that's what was happening?" The younger mech asks in a whisper, and, when the Grounder approaches, he doesn't shy away.

"Because I took a step back and looked. And what I saw was the harsh, cruel truth that I had been wrong all along. Now, you try it. Take a step back, don't think of the Quintessons as the Masters, think of yourself as a Cybertronian. What do you see?"

And the Seeker looks around, at the ruins, towards where the battle is no longer raging, up at the starry sky where the motherships are orbiting… but he's not searching for shadows, he's staring at the pinpricks of light instead.

"The stars are right."

Jazz gives Starscream a confused frown, and the Decepticon smiles widely with a nod, pulsing comfort and security through the newly opened bond.

The stars are all a Seeker needs to tell how to get home.

"It may be broken and the people may not be perfect and tend to get into fights and disagreements and arguments, but this is home." The older Flier whispers, also staring at the starry sky, before turning to the younger one, who is looking at him with bright pleading eyes. "For all of us."

Cyclonus smiles, relief and pure joy in his expression, and Starscream just wraps a wing around him when the slightly taller yet far younger Seeker curls against his side.

When he turns his gaze to the sky again, though, he looks for shadows.

"Jazz, contact Megatron and Prime. I'm going up there to get our own back."

"Right now?"

"Yes. The sooner we get rid of the Quintessons, the sooner we can get back to repairing Cybertron."

"I should go to the Derodomontatus." Cyclonus cuts, straightening with the seriousness and professionalism of the Air Commander he is. "It's the transport ship, with the Space Bridge machinery, and there are only drones there. Should I disable it, none of the three up there would be able to go anywhere."

"Prowl and Soundwave are in the Deliberata. I'll go there, break them out of their illusion, and then we should storm the Quintessa." He agrees, and Jazz scowls as he crosses his arms against his chest plates.

"What about me? I'm not staying here."

Both Seekers exchange a look.

There are three of them. There are three motherships. But Jazz would be recognized as an enemy as soon as he gets there, so it isn't like they can 'drop him off' in one of the ships.

::Prowl sends Starscream his regards, and he and Soundwave are waiting for him to come back.::

"Prowl and Soundwave are already aware." He whispers, optics pale in realization, before a smile grows on his faceplate. "Jazz, I'm going to drop you at the Deliberata. With their help from the inside, you should be able to take care of it."

"And you?"

"I'm going to the Quintessa. I have unfinished businesses to take care of."


AN: Long chapter, yay! And lots happening in it too, double yay! And... wait, what happend here? Cyclonus, what are you doing? O.o

And, finally, we hear what was left of Linkin Park's New Divide. Took slagging long enough...

The only thing I'll say is: Can you hear the Doomsday Clock ticking?

sakaiya: Whoa, thanks! I'm glad the short chapter wasn't too disappointing, but I hope this one makes up for the shortness nevertheless XP

Angel Heart: Glad to hear that ^^ And I'm happy the thing with Prowl showed, 'cause yes, you're absolutely right about him, and no, the Quints won't like what's coming next *insert evil laughter* About Starscream and Jazz: Need I say more? XP The Reflectors will have their moment next chapter, and so will Soundwave *insert evil smirk* Oh, yes, Soundwave's really going to enjoy next chapter.