Spitfire
Chapter XLIII

"Where is everyone?"

The sound of Grayson Leigh's voice cracking apart the silence forced a nervous jump from William Lennox. It was the first time that Grayson, or anyone else for that matter, had spoken since the ruined Autobot base had faded into obscurity behind their small caravan, and his unexpected question had taken Will by uneasy surprise. The darkness was too complete, the lack of noise too unnerving, for the seasoned soldier to be anything but acutely aware, poised to both attack and to defend. His senses were tweaked in such a way he had not experienced since their previous battle in Mission City.

Glancing at Grayson over his shoulder from the driver's seat, Will observed the younger man, who was peering out Ironhide's rear window, for a moment, then shrugged. "It's nearly three o'clock in the morning," he replied, turning to face forward once again, his gloved fingers tightening reflexively around the Cybertronian plasma cannon he held clasped between his hands. "That's more than late enough for most people to have turned out their lights already. Not many would've noticed a power outage, and those are common enough to be more or less ignored anyway."

Grayson waved a hand dismissively. "That I can understand," he concurred. "What I can't understand is how anyone could've ignored the earthquake. That was way too loud and too destructive to sleep through." Despite the darkness, Will could see Grayson's confused expression, his eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully, reflected in the rear-view mirror. "Whenever something of this caliber happens, people go outside and wander around, check on each other, their neighbors, and yet...all these streets we've gone down are deserted."

"Look around, kid." Robert Epps gestured toward the windows, toward the shadowed apartments, deserted factories and empty lots that passed by in a blur of blue, gray and black. "Do you see any destruction here? Any collapsed buildings, busted street lights, overturned cars?"

Before Grayson could reply, Ironhide elaborated on Epp's behalf. "I believe what he is trying to say is that all that Mission City may have experienced was a power outage," Ironhide stated as he carefully navigated another turn. "If our guesses are correct, the electromagnetic pulse originated from somewhere within the city itself. The waves were powerful enough to wipe out the city's electricity, but only gained strength as they passed through the city's interior. Because we are so far from the city's center, we may have received the strongest, and most likely only, physical damage."

Sighing heftily, Grayson slumped low in his seat. "So what you're saying is that there's a pretty good chance that we dragged ourselves all the way out here for absolutely nothing?"

Ironhide's alternative form rippled awkwardly as he somehow managed to shrug. "It is possible, yes."

Will too sighed, feeling his highly-strung senses loosen as he gradually began to relax. "I figured as much, but I wanted to be sure..." he said quietly, placing his weapon upon his lap instead of holding it clutched against his chest. "I guess we ought to do a quick run-through of the city anyway, and then head back to the base in case we're needed."

The seat belt tucked around his waist tightened momentarily, his guardian's simple attempt to comfort him. Ironhide's physical reassurances were few and far between, usually nothing more than a nudge to the back of the head, but they were carefully timed and full of more meaning than Will supposed constant physical reassurances would be. "You made the right decision," his guardian stated soundly. "To have not come to Mission City would have left us wondering and possibly in a great deal of - "

The Autobot depressed his brakes so quickly, so unexpectedly, it was as though he and his three occupants had struck an invisible, brick wall. Will was thrown forward against the steering wheel, juggling his plasma cannon in an attempt to keep it from slipping from his grasp, hissing as he felt it bounce between his legs before clunking noisily to the floor. Beside him, Robert Epps let loose a venomous stream of curses, rubbing his head after being knocked into Ironhide's dashboard; Grayson, fortunately, had been able to stop himself from slamming headfirst into the Topkick's rear window, which he had still been glancing out of as though expecting to see something sinister lurking in the fading afterglow of Ironhide's headlights.

Before Will could question his guardian about his sudden, rather painful halt, he felt thickly-gloved fingers wrap themselves around his wrist. Glancing up at Robert, he shivered slightly upon seeing how wide his friend's eyes had become, how tensely his jaw was set. "Rob - "

Robert's free hand suddenly clapped itself around Will's mouth, muffling his words before he could manage to speak the rest of his sentence aloud. "Shut. Up," he whispered, his gaze, unbelievably agitated, focused on the shadow-slated windshield. Digging the tips of his fingers into Will's cheeks, gripping his jaw so tightly that it was almost painful, he slowly turned his head until he too was facing the windshield.

Crouched mere feet away, on the very edges of the identical, circular globes of light that shone from Ironhide's headlamps and lay splashed across the pavement, was a Locomoticon. Despite the darkness, Will could see that it was much smaller than Diesel, but just as thick; its body was plump with armor that was rusted the hue of dried blood. A further quick, silent inspection suggested that it did not walk as Diesel did, either. From the way it was stooped, with its rear limbs, abnormally elongated, pressed to the ground and its front limbs, one tucked against its heavily plated chest and the other brushing the asphalt, shorter and leaner, Will guessed that it skittered and scuttled along the ground the way a rabbit might.

The Locomoticon observed the Topkick for what seemed to be a millennium, but Will supposed was only an excruciatingly long minute or so. Then, blinking its empty, yellow optics, it slowly scampered from the edge of the lights and into a nearby alley, moving in the liquid, rabbit-like way Will had predicted it would. As different from Diesel as it appeared to be, however, the small Locomoticon was just as ridiculously clumsy as its half-sparked leader. He could hear it slam and slip into various metal dumpsters, ripping through whatever bags of trash it happened to stumble upon.

The noises of the Locomoticon's escape had barely begun to fade when Grayson clicked the lock of his own Cybertronian-range firearm off, causing Will and Robert, who had since released the former from his frightened grip, to turn around, meet his gaze.

"You made the right decision," Grayson said softly, echoing Ironhide's earlier statement.

Robert nodded and, a dangerous smile playing upon his lips, grasped the stock of his heavy weapon and cocked it confidently across his chest. "Seems as though the season's officially open." Both he and Grayson looked to Will, their eyes twinkling with what an old commander of his had once termed "the killin' fever". "What do you say, boss-man?"

Will leaned forward, twined his gloved fingers around the steering wheel; at his touch, Ironhide's engine revved once, ferociously. Hungrily.

"Let's go hunting, boys."


Panic was an ever-rising ocean within him, enormous waves of daunting ebony slowly, steadily crashing against the crumbling walls his sanity had built, brick by desperate brick.

An electromagnetic pulse had rippled through Mission City, wiping out everything and anything electric, leaving the Autobot base both without power and in complete shambles. Thomas Duke, leading a combined Locomoticon-Deception force, had forced his way into the base and was currently engaging his entire faction in destructive hand-to-hand combat. He had lost communication with Jazz and, moments ago, with Ironhide, who had driven William Lennox, Robert Epps, and Grayson Leigh into Mission City, where he had no idea what was happening to them and, more importantly, could not request for their quick return and much-needed aid. He had absolutely no way to get in touch with Johnathon Keller, Seymour Simmons, or the rest of the small but incredibly effective human task force that had been designed to help the Autobots in whatever ways possible. Although most of Ironhide's human-sized, Cybertronian-range weaponry had been lost in the pulse's aftermath, and what was left of it had been handed out to charges who had little to no experience with the firearms, the task force, being a secret branch of the U.S Army, did have access to heavy weaponry that had wounded, and destroyed, Decepticons before. As Optimus Prime began to bury that impossibly dire list within an unreachable mental fold deep enough to hide it, he prayed, to the All Spark? the human's God? Who is listening? I'll pray to you..., that someone, Keller, Simmons, the President of the United States, someone would realize that the power outage and its destructive aftermath could be a potential attack, especially when the Autobots did not make themselves known.

Pray: all he could about the prospect of receiving help was pray, not only because that matter was out of his hands but also because he had closer, deadlier problems to deal with.

The biggest of these problems was Soundwave.

Even before the infamous Decepticon had mockingly tugged away whatever technological fog had hidden his spark's presence, Optimus Prime had known it was him. Who else would stalk him, silently and patiently, through the darkened hallways of his own, ruined base, carrying the most precious of cargo and without a coherent plan? Who else would prey this playfully upon him, amused by his panicked antics the way a cat would be with a mouse? Who else, except Soundwave, Megatron's loyal pet, unwavering lackey, impassive mercenary?

No matter the number of hours that passed, no matter the countless times he followed Optimus Prime through the maze of the Autobot base, Soundwave would wait, as composed as he always was, had always been. He was well-aware of the fact that the Autobot leader was scrambling, was slipping, was falling...and he was enjoying every miserable second.

Optimus Prime knew that the only way to be rid of Soundwave was to confront him, fight him, destroy him; at this point, poised on the edge of nervous fury, he wanted nothing more than to rip the Decepticon's stunted, ugly spark from his chassis and crush it within his fist. To do that, however, he would have to be assured of the safety of his charges for the amount of time, hopefully incredibly short, it took him to scrap Soundwave.

Impossible, a voice, small and sad, unexpectedly admitted from within his processor. Their assured safety ended the moment they entered the Autobot base, fell under your care and the care of your soldiers.

I promised their parents, I promised their families, I promised them...I promised to protect my charges! I promised! he retorted desperately. Despite this statement, he felt himself losing the mental battle as quickly as he and his soldiers had begun to lose the real one.

After a silent, painful, thoughtful moment, Optimus Prime realized that he was experiencing his first episode of dry drowning. He was treading so deeply, but there was no water in sight.

That voice, still small, still sad, became suddenly and unequivocally merciless. You have already broken your promise.


At first, she thought that she was mistaken.

Her eyes were playing cruel tricks on her over-wrought mind; it was ridiculous, she said to herself, digging the tips of her trembling fingers into his upholstery, to think that Optimus Prime was slowing down. After glancing around at the other's faces and witnessing the same panicked confusion etched onto their expressions, it soon became apparent to her, however, that her eyes were not playing any tricks.

Pilar's heart beat quickened until it became a painful rhythm, the organ nearly ricocheting in unrelenting terror within her chest. "Optimus Prime..." she whispered hysterically, her vision blurring. "What are you doing?"

Her guardian did not answer her.

She could feel a thick curtain of pure horror slowly descend within the cab, strangling them, all of them, raising goosebumps from their skin, leeching their cheeks of color. Silence prevailed, uncomfortably thick, as Optimus Prime abruptly turned a corner into one of the base's many empty rooms, crossed it until he reached its opposite end. It was only after he carefully turned himself around Pilar noticed that the Decepticon who had been their creeping, crawling shadow had also stopped, and was facing Optimus Prime from across the enormous, barren room.

Sam was the first to speak, his voice oddly calm, his expression utterly blank. "What is he waiting for?" he asked softly, as though reluctant to shatter the silence.

"He is waiting for me to release all of you so that I am able to transform," Optimus Prime replied, his quiet, emotionless tone echoing Sam's own. "To battle with him."

"Release us?" Mikaela squeaked breathlessly, gripping Sam's hand in one of her own and Zachary's hand in her other. Her eyes sparkled with ferocious hysteria. "What are we going to do while you and Soundwave beat the motherfucking Hell out of each other, Optimus? Sit there and watch? Cheer you on?"

If her words, hurled at the Autobot like poison-tipped darts, affected him, he did not show it. "You are going to run."

An audible hiss of escaping air echoed throughout the cab as the charges collectively deflated.

"We are going to run," Pilar repeated, beginning to feel as detached as a helium balloon escaping into the sky.

"Where?" Zachary questioned. His eyes were nothing more than twin, dark caves carved into taut skin of his face, his gaze stop-starting around the cab as he searched for Optimus's optics, and failed.

"Anywhere." Optimus Prime unlocked both of his doors; the small, insignificant sounds caused each charge to jump with despairing surprise. "You must pair off, escape in groups of twos. It will be harder for Soundwave, or anyone else, to capture you when your group is split apart in such a way."

"What other options do we have?" Tyler implored, his eyebrows furrowed with desperation.

"There are no other options!" Optimus Prime replied suddenly, roughly, nearly snarling with despair. "Do you think I would ever resort to this, to abandoning you, if I had even a single other option?"

Without waiting for a reply, he threw his doors open as wide as was possible.

"Run!" he cried, hoarsely, deeply. The urgency of his command sparked something within the charges, caused them to leap from his cab quickly and nimbly. "Run as fast as you possibly can! If you are able to do so, hide; do not attack Thomas, the Locomoticons, or the Decepticons directly if you can help it! Use your weaponry only if you absolutely need to! Remember how clumsy the half-sparks are!" As his final words echoed throughout the enormous chamber, Optimus Prime began to transform.

Even from where she stood, in spite of his quickly-shifting parts, Pilar could see her guardian tremble.

For a single, terrifying moment, Antonia, who was clutching Telebot, her mother, Sam, Mikaela, Zachary, and Tyler remained standing in a loose circle, meeting each other's gazes desperately, beseechingly. As Optimus Prime, fully transformed with his mouth guard in place and his sword at the ready, barked another, breathless "RUN!", the seven of them scattered, falling into the tiny groups they had chosen without speaking. Zachary and Tyler, speeding madly along in his wheelchair, escaped through the left doorway; Sam and Mikaela, their hands intertwined, scampered through the right; and Antonia, Telebot, and Pilar ran clumsily through the door that lay between the other two. The charges disappeared within a matter of seconds, the obscurity of the base swallowing up their insignificant silhouettes.

Optimus Prime had barely turned to face Soundwave, the Decepticon still mid-transformation, when he noticed three ugly, pointed shadows detach themselves from the thick darkness that surrounded the entrance closest to Soundwave, crouching beside him, ducking into the corners. As these shadows began to slither quickly and effortlessly along the walls, he realized, with suffocating dread, who they were.

"NO!" he roared, slashing out indiscriminately with his sword, watching as the shadows cawed mocking laughter, ducked his feeble attempts to wound, to stop. He moaned weakly as an unidentifiable Locomoticon galloped after Zachary and Tyler, Barricade charged behind Sam and Mikaela, and Diesel, his yellow, empty optics as emotionless as ever, stalked past him, searching for Antonia, Telebot, and Pilar.

His spark tugging him three separate ways at once, Optimus Prime was ill-prepared for Soundwave's approach, not noticing the drawing of his cannon, the ugly shine of his visor.

You have failed, Autobot.


Author's Notes:

It has been such an incredibly long time since I've updated this fanfiction with another chapter (according to , I haven't touched it since last August...Whoops! ;x). However, after seeing Transformers: Dark of the Moon, my love for Transformers has been revived! I'm hoping to continue to update this fanfiction every few days or so, finish the fanfiction itself within a week or two, and begin to work on the second fanfiction soon after that. Once again, this is a hope, but it's one I'd like to stick around for awhile. c; I didn't realize how much I had missed writing.

As for this chapter, I'm not sure what happened. Last night, I experienced a writing frenzy and worked at this until nearly 5 o'clock this morning - - - at the time, I was completely and utterly happy with it. Reading through it tonight, I wasn't as crazy about it as I was originally, thinking that it was missing something but unable to identify what. :c So, if this chapter isn't up to the usual standards (I'm unsure of how high those standards are...XD") I'm sorry! As I said earlier, it's been awhile since I've last written. I think I've become a bit rusty. Bear with me! c;

On a final note, I'd like to thank all of my readers who have been waiting on me very patiently to write these last chapters. Seriously, thank you so much for sticking with me through every hiatus, re-write and sudden stack of corrections, and for encouraging me on with pleasant reviews and sweet comments. Whether you believe it or not, all of the positive, constructive feedback really makes my day so much better.

Once again, thank you very much, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. (=