While the bots are off getting the newest cybertronian to land on Earth, Fowler steps up to investigate a M.E.C.H. hotspot.

AN- Brief cussing and Airachnid are in this chapter, so that's your head's up folks


It wasn't just the Tox-En. These humans had their own stores of distilled energon. They had red energon supplies; apparently stretched and replicated from one small source.

They even had troopers of their own.

The very obviously dead ones, yes; those were unsurprisingly human creations.

But also one's quite good at infiltrating normal drone troops.

She'd discovered that rather unpleasantly. A perfectly normal insecticon had returned from scouting the jungle they'd tracked a small group of these humans too. She could feel its spark in there. But she could not see through its optics. She could not control it.

Well, that was a horrid surprise. Airachnid had torn into the insecticon to find the problem. If there was a viral strain or something similar making these mindless drones rebellious, she would-

And her rage had calmed as she looked into the innards of the drone.

The spark was pulsing frantically. That much looked like any other bug's. It reacted to hers, straining out for a dominant spark, straining for a queen.

Strange.

She used one of her extra limbs to cut into the insecticon's helm while she was still watching the odd spark behavior.

Ah. So that's where the problem was. Airachnid had done her fair share of vivisections in interrogations and dissections afterwards. The pastime had taught her the basics of cybertronian anatomy. And that thing she was watching spark in front of her was not a processor.

It was a lobotomized mess.

Airachnid had pried it lose to inspect it closer.

Sloppy craftsmanship, but not bad. Not bad at all.

She chuckled even as the drone beneath her strained for rescue from the queen its spark remembered while its processor tried to get the body it controlled to fight.

Oh, she liked this planet.

Too many of the other one's she'd visited had these funny little delusions. They operated on honor and rules and sticky little morals. It was fun, in its way, to watch them crumble in disbelief when she didn't adhere to their stupid honor codes. Just like it was fun to beat them at their own games with their own rules.

The primary intelligence on this planet though?

They didn't have any of that honor scrap. Obviously. This little thing below her was evidence of that.

Airachnid crushed through the processor and watched as the human behind it left without so much as a care over remaining for their puppet's pain. The insecticon, though she couldn't exactly see its facial expression (since she had rather ruined said face, not that the world could really miss such an ugly mug), seemed to be panicking. Oh, so it was back behind the wheel?

How sad.

She finished up her work with the corpse; there was no use leaving a job half done.

Afterwards, she had taken the crushed processor to the throne room her drones had pieced together for her. A few stolen monitors from mines, a few screens hung on the dirt walls, a comfortable place to lounge in above all others- comfy and luxurious enough, considering the circumstances. The processor was tossed onto one of the metal slabs they were using as a desk. She shouldn't have crushed it so badly. It would have been better to cut it open, see how it ticked. But she was impatient; it was a fatal flaw. She should have waited to pitch the coup attempt on the Nemesis. She should have waited for Lockdown after that botched job on Luna 2. She should have waited, savored, her last interrogation among the decepticon ranks.

But she had learned her lesson on patience.

The universe was giving her a message. Since it wasn't entirely unappealing, Airachnid would listen to it.

She would savor every moment now. The next opportunities she ran across would be slow and properly excruciating for all parties involved. No more of this speed and wasted chances.

Well. No more of time's speed. She wouldn't say no to having some extra for herself.

That red energon those humans had found seemed rather tempting after all.

And how could she say no to the misery Tox-En brought about?

All she needed was a way to get it from the humans. But somehow, sending more insecticons to do the job seemed like a good way to get those drones turned against her like the corpse outside.

So some other bots needed to do her dirty work.

Airachnid smirked.

Wasn't that delightful?

Watching her enemies go through the emotional anguish of doing something for her? She just needed leverage.

The insecticon queen on Earth moved to her scrapyard monitors.

Leverage would have to be different depending on which group of enemies happened to get the red and toxic energon first.

The cons would cave to something of great value to them out of greed. The bots would do anything to keep one of their own safe.

One's like Arcee would chew themselves up inside having to cave to Airachnid's demands in the hopes of keeping another person she cared for safe (this time).

Silly little caring bots. Airachnid loved them. They were so much easier to hurt.

One monitor pulled up the image of the location of the first piece of leverage. Another flickered into life to show the second location.

A human house on one screen. The Harbinger on the other.

Oh yes. She'd have a bargaining chip no matter who won this scuffle.


Commander Kurtzman was currently rather pleased with the progress M.E.C.H. had been making.

They had successfully replicated the two atypical fuel sources. Energon, as the mech Starscream had called it during their short lived alliance. The fuel had to be treated with the utmost care; even the blue version, the least volatile of the three, was dangerous to exposed humans. Luckily, M.E.C.H. was quite innovative.

The energon was a good enough find on its own. But the drones were providing just as much success.

In the wake of Bishop's death, M.E.C.H. had doubled down on their efforts. Project Chimera had evolved into three prongs, just as the legendary creature was created of three beings put together.

Of course, fate had no interest in their victory coming easily.

If the alarms ringing for the Sinaloa Shipping Grounds was any evidence of that, at least.

He rushed to the nearest viewing platform.

It was one of the aliens.

And judging by how it flew in rather than drove, he was willing to place a bet on which warring faction this one fought for.


-An hour after the debriefing-

It didn't take him long to notice her.

Wheeljack paused on the dirt and looked behind him at the tiny figure.

"What are you doin'?" he sighed. Miko crossed her arms and tapped one of her feet quickly against the road.

"Going with you. What's it look like?"

The wrecker wasn't much impressed looking at her impatience. Miko didn't care.

"What do you think I'm goin' to go do?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" she replied, "You could be after the con who burned the whole in Bulkhead's face. You could be going after the humans that tried to mess with him. You could just be going to punch the nearest trees away. Like I said; does it matter? I want in."

Maybe if he had actually been planning on disappearing to do something dangerous, he would've said no.

As it was, Wheeljack folded down into his vehicle mode and the passenger door opened for her.

"Have it your way, kid."

They spun around the dirt paved circuit repetitively. The familiar motion was mindless.

Both of them wanted to be as mindless as they could. Thinking just meant, well...thinking. A million trains of thought involving worry and anger and guilt and helplessness and revenge revenge-

Clear the head, they said. Clear it.

Miko didn't have an imagination that could be put on hold. Wheeljack said little and thought far more.

The circuit didn't help.

She itched in her seat.

Nothing would help.

"Hey." Wheeljack spoke through the dashboard speakers and she glanced over her pulled up knees at where his voice had emanated from. "Your body heat just keeps risin'. That mean you're stressed?"

Miko huffed into her knees.

"Keep your scans to yourself," she shot back.

A moment later and: "Yes. Aren't you?"

This time it was Wheeljack who snorted.

"'course I am. And I know what you want too."

She had counted on it.

"Are you in, then?" she asked.

The wrecker turned to drive the circuit again. Dust blew up over the windshield and the windows on both sides. He didn't want to answer, judging by how he sped up rather than speaking up.

Then he sighed, like he had when she had caught him storming out of the base.

"I get it. Trust me, I do; I'm his partner too. I want payback, just like you. But we can' go on a revenge trip right now. We don' even know the name of the con who put the hole in Bulk's head."

The wind eased out of Miko's sails.

"So?" she tried instead. "Why should that stop us?"

"'cause Bulk would never forgive me if I drove off with you to do something slagin' stupid," he answered.

She felt dismissed. Belittled.

It made her feel worse. Wheeljack was supposed to be helping.

Instead, he was brushing her off.

The wrecker seemed to read such thoughts. He skidded to a slower speed; the outdoor noise cut down to unnoticeable.

"Kid. You know 'bout Bulk and Breakdown's...rivalry? It goes way back. A couple hundred of your lifespans back. You just see them sitting around base together and don't realize anything."

Oh, that really made her feel brushed off-

"You used to seein' him 'round yet?"

...maybe.

"Seems like you are. All of you seem adjusted. It's not brought up just how bad that guy hurt Bulk. He's hurt him so many times. We've wanted revenge for a good long while."

The defensive anger loosened up. Miko unconsciously let her head come up from where her legs were.

"But when he showed up to live here?" Wheeljack gave a short laugh. "Bulk knew he couldn' get his payback. He had to play it smart. There was a war at stake. You get my drift yet?"

They had puttered to a stop near the entrance to the base. Miko hardly noticed their location.

"Sometimes you don' get to fight back," the wrecker muttered.

Both went quiet. Then, the door on her side opened again.

"Cooled off yet?" he asked sardonically. "I gotta go do my own coping now."

With a grumble, the teen slid out of the sports car and trudged back towards the base.

In the entrance hall, she found a waiting group.

Raf was frowning, like he was worried she'd be snapping at him. Or maybe he was worried for her.

A little behind him, Jack looked as neutral as could be.

Oh, fantastic. Time to be patronized and appeased.

"What are you doing?" she parroted the wrecker who'd kicked her out moments before. Jack and Raf shared a glance.

"We," the younger boy looked back at her. "We were worried about you."

Cute.

Actually, it kinda was. Miko let his evident care soften a bit of her frustration.

Just a bit. She couldn't be too generous.

"What for?" Her eyes rolled. "I'm fine. All of us are fine. Didn't you hear Ratchet? No one's dying anytime soon."

The old rustbucket had better be right.

She'd already felt the spike of alarm and terror seeing Bulkhead escorted in with a servo over his face. From the ground, feeling startlingly short, she caught a glimpse at the darkness behind it when one of his supporters jostled his servos away. It wasn't supposed to be so dark. So void of green, and soft blue stare, and - and-

"You seem irrational," Jack stepped forward. "We just wanted to make sure you didn't do anything stupid."

"Like what?" she laughed. "Like chase the con nobody who did this? Like burning the creepers at M.E.C.H. down? Oh, the thought never occurred to me."

They shared that glance again. While they were looking at each other, she rolled her eyes again.

"So...are you coming back in with us?" Raf asked cautiously.

"Don't feel like it right now," the girl turned her head away.

"Are you going back to your house then?" Jack asked next.

"Don't feel like that either. Doesn't matter, does it?" she glared with one eye behind the dark bangs her pout had knocked over.

"Um." The youngest teen looked between Jack and Miko nervously. "So are you planning on doing any of those...unwise things?"

Not like she had a choice. Wheeljack was busy doing his own thing and who else was she supposed to go to? Maybe Knock Out, he seemed willing enough to do dumb things. But she didn't feel like running out with Doc Knock and not Bulkhead or his bestie.

"You guys know me," Miko frowned and said instead of anything else, "What do you think?"

She tossed her ponytail behind her and stormed off.

Raf was the first to break the pause, with a worried little: "I think she's going to do something rash."

That made Jack snort.

"She's Miko," he contested, "She's always doing something rash."


The new bot was flashy, small and a complete unknown.

Well, for everybody else.

Knock Out recognized him right off.

The shiny silver paint? The little winglets? Those optics a darker shade of blue than any of the others had?

He'd been wondering when Smokescreen would show up.

The rookie apparently had been hiding. 'Apparently' was the correct word because when the autobots arrived, it was to be swarmed by vehicon troopers. Optimus took point steadily; his weapons shot through the armor of approaching decepticons. Arcee hopped around the field, slicing opponents and speeding away before getting leapt on. The other scout ran around less but shot more; Bumblebee continued to focus his efforts on the left flank, undistracted by anyone else's fight. Near the back, Bulkhead shot (rather erratically; it seemed his depth perception hadn't quite adjusted to the new optic) and Wheeljack cut through enemies that strayed too close to his wrecker friend.

The red medic himself was near the front. Since he really didn't have a long range option, he fought with his staff and Breakdown roared as he tossed opponents away. Without as much fervor as he should've had, but Knock Out wasn't going to complain about his partner continuing to pull his punches when fighting vehicons.

The only autobot absent, besides the rookie they were after, was Ratchet. The cranky medic was manning the groundbridge, even though Optimus had briefly considered bringing him in case the inhabitant of the pod was injured. That idea was a bit groundless when another younger, more combat capable medic and his assistant nurse were already going to be on scene.

Speaking of Ratchet...

«Optimus? We've got a-»

Really? In the middle of a battle?

Knock Out leaned behind a nearby boulder and felt it rock against the shots of the cons.

"Bit busy!" Arcee yelled through the comms and Ratchet didn't continue his message.

The boulder shook and Knock Out yelped when a red laser bolt tore through the rock near his arm.

Anytime now!

As if summoned by the sounds of internal frustration and the promise of glory, the new bot charged through the woods.

"Down in front!" the kid yelled as he shot, before leaping over both bot scouts and onto an unsuspecting vehicon.

The rest of them stalled while Smokescreen took point. They just...weren't expecting this, that's all.

Well, Knock Out wasn't expecting the situation to go quite like this. Although he did remember Smokescreen bragging a bit about how he had...

Wait.

The medic cast a glance at the snaking blue pouring through one of the ridges in the dirt. It was a stream of energon, like one more commonly seen on Cybertron itself, leaking thickly from the busted pod.

Scrap.

He ducked back down into cover before any of the others did. They waited until they'd seen the rookie actually shoot the spilled energon before yelling the order to retreat.

One moment and explosion later, and the beautiful cybertronian creek was gone.

Although there was a beautiful appeal to the white-blue flames flickering over the remains of tree trunks and ground.

The bots, Knock Out included, moved out of cover to see the newbee standing over the fires.

For a moment, the silver mech just looked down at the destruction his wild shot had wreaked.

A moment later and he was calling out to the world "Woo! Too hot for you cons?"

Oh dear. He was going to have competition in the Prima Dona category now, wasn't he?


There wasn't time for another emergency.

But Ratchet was used to this. Often times, peace came in lulls. Once the peace was broken, emergencies tacked on top of each other.

Even still, he did not think he nor the absent team had time for this.

"Agent Fowler, I really cannot bring them back!" he said to the human even as he kept close watch on the vitals of his team. All seven of them were in the field right now.

...at what point did this war grow bad enough that seven teammates felt like an incredibly large army?

"Did you tell them why I'm here?" the human pulled at his own suit jacket impatiently.

Ratchet failed to resist rolling his optics.

"I would have," he drew out, "but they were in the middle of a combat zone!"

"So is the hotspot in Sinaloa!" Fowler retorted. Nearby, the humans moved their heads together to talk 'inconspicuously'.

"But-" Jack was the first to interrupt. The oldest teen took a few steps forward confidently.

When Jack moved confidently, it tended to mean he was completely sold on whatever thought he had.

Ratchet braced himself.

"If it's a combat between M.E.C.H. and the cons, can't we let them tear each other apart?" the teen finished. Miko threw a set of 'thumbs ups' into the air.

"Yeah!" she added, "Let those bastards toast each other!"

Rafael looked scandalized at her side. Ratchet made a note to himself to give the girl a talking to; she'd gotten a bit more problematic than usual since Bulkhead's injury (and, since her base sanity was Miko, that was saying something worrisome).

The medic turned away from the children to look at the human agent. Fowler was frowning.

"While it does seem that the humans caught on camera are wearing the apparel of M.E.C.H. and it is undoubtedly Dreadwing seen strafing above them," Ratchet allowed, "-why does your human government not just move in?"

Perhaps he should have paid more attention to human government. But caving on anatomy after Rafael's injury had been enough. No need to research their politics or anything.

"Because Silanoa is in Mexico," Fowler shot back immediately. "It's not in Uncle Sam's territory or jurisdiction."

But M.E.C.H. didn't care about borders. While Nemesis Prime had been stationed (and presumably built) in Washington state, the group itself had been found in the midwest of the US, Russia, recently Nicaragua, and now this Silanoa place.

Ratchet couldn't allow the widespread presence of those butchers affect him.

Even if his instinct was to recoil in disgust and even fear the miniscule aliens apparent untraceability worldwide.

"So what are you presuming I do?" he finally asked in defeat.

The frown turned up into a brief smile.

"The team may be busy. The boys in green may not have permission to go. But I'm an international agent, so long as I am the autobot liason on Earth." Fowler pointed at himself with his thumb. "Besides that loose canon flying around out there, this is mainly a human element again. So?"

The medic groaned and buried his head in his servo.

"No." His protest, of course, did not prevent the next words from coming.

"Send me in."

Send him to deal with the current decepticon 2IC on his own? Him, with no protective shell, trying to deal with a dangerous seeker and a group of radical human butchers?

What would be next? Send the kids to go face off against Soundwave?

...wait.

He'd done that already in Texas.

Ratchet sighed and reached for the groundbridge controls.


"Except that it wasn't your plan!" Arcee jabbed a pointed finger at the rookie's chestplate. "It was a random shot that almost got us friend to a crisp."

Smokescreen waited a beat before shrugging. "Worked out, didn't it?"

Couldn't argue with that logic.

Optimus stepped closer to Smokescreen and, as was natural for him, made the others go silent in attention.

"Thank you, fellow autobot. Your..." there was just the slightest of pauses before the Prime chose a word "-valor is to be commended."

"I-"

The small mech took a step back and his optics went wide as they ran up and down the imposing bot's form. "I don't believe it! You're Optimus Prime!" He looked at the rest of them and pointed at Optimus excitedly. "He's Optimus Prime!"

Was this what hero worship looked like on other bots?

Psh, it was a bit ridiculous to see. Of course, Knock Out wasn't anything like that when he was talking with (or about) Prime.

He certainly hoped he wasn't at least.

"We know," Arcee deadpanned.

"Yup," Bumblebee added simply. Breakdown groaned from behind Knock Out and the medic just smirked.

Optimus interrupted them again. "What is your name, soldier?" he asked gently. The rookie shot back up to ramrod straight attention.

"Smokescreen, sir!"

Without so much as a stall, Optimus had put a servo out.

"Welcome to Earth, Smokescreen."

The servo was stared at like it came from one of the Thirteen themselves. Smokescreen had an expression of severe disbelief.

In my view, you have each acted as a Prime

Well, Knock Out supposed the rookie could have this one. It really was mind-blowing when a Prime offered such casual things like-like a servo to shake or words of what had to be hyperbole.

Then Smokescreen broke from his stupor and grabbed the offered servo with both of his own.

"It's an honor to be here," he swore, "E-especially with you."

The brand on his chest itched. Knock Out noticed absently that he was poking at it with a finger and stopped the action without looking away from the scene in front of him.

An honor to be here.

He looked at the Prime, who wore the tiniest of smiles.

In my view-

I am glad you and your partner have decided to join our cause

The approval and recognition of a Prime, or at least this particular Prime, was enough to inspire all kinds of loyalty in all kinds of bots.

Smokescreen wasn't all that wrong, even if he did act ridiculous about it all.

It was an honor to be here.

Especially because this team and its leader.


This facility did not contain the captives.

Dreadwing had become certain of that.

There were warehouses of supplies, yes. He'd torn their roofs away and found storages of energon; and its variants.

He'd fought the desecrated abominations XL-2M99 had warned of.

But there was nothing here to suggest that these abominations were being made here, at this facility. It was too small. Too much of it was storage. Weapons, energons, truckloads. All could be of good use to Lord Megatron, although Dreadwing would rather burn it all where it lay. Such plunder was dishonored; it would stain his servos to bring it back.

He was here to retrieve the living, not the lifeless.

And he would do it.

Even if it meant only bringing their bodies back for proper burial. Dreadwing hoped it would not be so.

It was too late for many. For him: Skyquake was dead. For many living vehicons: those that were hoping for the return of those friends the humans paraded around as puppets now.

But it had not been proven to be too late for the list he had downloaded. The missing that had not yet been confirmed deceased.

So if this facility was useless?

Dreadwing tore the wall off the largest building. This was no warehouse. It was a tower.

The machine gun strewed fire and ripped asphalt up as he shot at the base of the building. The heat stained the lower walls even as he moved the gun to one servo to look closer through the opening.

One of these faceless humans was backing up.

His optics narrowed onto the metallic vest of this enemy, the almost decorated chest of his armor- Dreadwing recognized authority whatever race was wearing it.

The seeker growled and slammed a fist through the right side wall. The human backpedalled, but tore a gun of his own off his leg holster. The weapon pointed up at Dreadwing and he thought he saw the purple of vehicon plating on its twisted design. The same fist that had leveled the wall flicked the puny gun away and saw with satisfaction that the human grabbed at his own wrists with a shriek. Good. Let the foolish endoskeleton break. Soon, Dreadwing would burn this one to ash like the rest.

But only after finding out where the missing decepticons were.

"You. Human." His gold faceplate moved up so that he loomed over the roofless room. Surprisingly, the fleshy didn't stumble back from his sudden size.

"Where are you keeping them?" he hissed.

The human said nothing.

"Who are you?" the seeker pressed. "And where are you keeping my brethren?"

No reply.

"I will crush you, bug!" Dreadwing roared. "But I may not if you are important enough. If you lead me to the others. Do you know? Are you important enough? Vital enough that your associatives will crumble without you?"

The faceless agent remained silent. It infuriated him. Dreadwing growled and made to shove the the desecrator aside the same way he had dealt with that wall.

"Who are you?" he shouted a final time while the fleshy moved its head between staring up at the hostile seeker to the deathly drop beyond.

Dreadwing would not stand for the alien to kill itself before either telling him the truth or being crushed underpede.

But he was interrupted before either option could occur.

"That-"

The voice came from what remained of the doorway and preceded the entrance of another human. This one stood with one of the twisted replica's of cybertronian weaponry in his ash covered servos and had its barrel pointed squarely at his chest.

"Is M.E.C.H. And you-" the human pointed his chin up to gesture at him; Dreadwing sensed no fear in the movement. "-are gonna take a big step back."

The seeker sneered.

"So that you can rescue your comrade here and make into the night?"

The human grunted at that. The gun didn't dip away from pointing at him.

"No. So that I can take these madmen down without you getting in my way."