*Hauls chapter kicking and screaming onto this site* THIS STORY LIVES.

Finally. FINALLY done with this arc! *screams victory to the sky*.

One more Cybertron arc to go. *falls over*. Forgive the super delay on this, it got major stuck and then my muses all jumped ship from both TF and FT to go play in FFXV. Also I discovered Tumblr and we all know what happens when social media comes into a writer's life. ANYWHO. Finally got this up. If I have missed answer anyone's reviews, pls forgive, I will attempt to keep better track next time. Also on a sidenote we are two reviews away from hitting a thousand on this story, which means the poll will finally come to a close and I'll have a one-shot to write! Hope you all enjoy this chapter, feel free to come visit my insanity on Tumblr (link in my profile). Feed the TF muses with a polite ask if you want to try your luck against the hordes of FFXV bunnies.

Review Response:

Dear SunnySides, hello! Ohhhh so that's what Pretenders are. I remember now. Must have repressed it from how freaking creepy Alice was in Revenge of the Fallen. Well ... it's not soon ... but it's an update?

Dear Guest, greetings! Thank you for your lovely review! I'm so glad you enjoyed my OCs and the story. :D

Dear Tahoe, hi there! Because Hardwire was totally the fire beast :D.

Dear Guest, hello there! hdgfd that is ... extremely flattering thank you. I hope you enjoy the update!

Dear Guest, greetings! Oh, that makes a lot of sense actually! Pity we never got to see the submarine transform and get confirmation on her name and stuff.

Dear JC3709, hello! Yes, I do intend to continue updating this story. I'm just *points up to explanation in author's note* all that. They will make it to Earth someday I swear. XD

Dear R.I.P. Blaster, heya! No, no it will not.

Dear Guest, greetings! I appreciate that you enjoy the story enough to want an update, but you do realize saying that this does the exact opposite of motivate a writer, right? Like- I am sincerely trying over here. Hearing about WHY you want the story to update (even just telling me the story is good!) is way more motivating than just "please update soon". Just saying.

Dear Guest, hello! I'm glad you enjoy this story, and thank you for the encouragement. I really want to get back inspo for this story too, but for now slowly forcing out a few paragraphs at a time until it hits chapter length will have to do *shrugs*. I hope you enjoy their Earth saga that will come up (someday), because I have Plans™. For now though, we still get one more arc on Cybertron!

Copyright Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or any references made in this story. The only things I own are my OCs and the plot.


Chapter Eighty-Eight

(31 Vorns after 12 Vorns Arc)

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Trypticon fell from the sky like a meteor, a blaze of fire and metal and a howling roar that shook the city with fury and brought every other battle to a sharp stop. Decepticons and autobots alike turned terrified optics to the sky, screamed and fled from the massive, plummeting form on the primal fear that they would be caught in the crash zone. Formations crumbled and fortifications were abandoned without a thought, buildings evacuated in a flood of mechs and femmes so equally terrified it became impossible to tell whether the mech running next to any other given mech was on the same side. Sides did not matter. Orders did not matter. All that mattered was getting away.

The entire city felt the impact, saw the explosion of fire and rubble and the frames of the unlucky as Trypticon hit the spires of the city without slowing, plummeted through them and into the first level of Iacon, then the next, and the next, and the next. Those on the top level, even on the far side of the city, felt the crash vibrate through their frames and the ground beneath their pedes shake like it was going to crumble away. The ground slowly stabilized as Trypticon blazed a path of destruction and screaming through almost twenty levels of city, coming to a stop in a place where no other fighting had occurred —the decepticons had breached the walls, but not anything deeper than the third level, definitely not all the way down to the nineteenth—.

The autobots slowly came to a halt as stillness rested on Iacon, but the decepticons kept going. Seekers fled Iacon's airspace, grounders clambered over rubble and offline frames in their mad rush to escape. Even the mechs with purple optics turned and retreated without so much as a taunt, something terrified in their crazed gazes, insatiable aggression turned to fear in the presence of a far greater predator. Four breems of silence reined with nothing but the fire licking along trail of Trypticon's crash and the scramble of retreating decepticons to break it.

Then came the roar.

Rising from the nineteenth level of Iacon, a howl of fury and pain that shattered glass and drove mechs to their knees with the volume and unnatural, grating wrong it contained. So furious and crazed it could barely be understood as words.

"OPTIMUS PRIME!"

Optimus held perfectly still where he was, ramrod straight and expressionless even as most of his mechs crumbled around him with their servos over already muted audios in an effort to stave off the sound burned into their processors. He could feel the malice of the bellow, a physical presence that drove his mechs to their knees, clawing at their audios in a meltdown attempt to get the sound out of their processors while his femmes only curled into defensive, shuddering piles of metal. The tiny, soft-spoken part of his spark that was still Orion Pax wanted to do the same, curl up or hide or scream to get away from the evil imbedded in the sound.

But the Matrix sheltered his sanity, curled around his spark like a shield and guardian, and he had been Optimus Prime for far too long to give into the little urges of Orion Pax. Beside him, Ironhide swayed on his pedes before forcing himself to steady, "Frag. That's … What is that?"

"Trypticon." Ironhide shot Optimus a sour —frightened— look and he elaborated, "Trypticon was the source of the Dark Energon Megatron has been using. He has contained every known ounce of the material for untold vorns. I suspect that his infection runs far deeper and more powerfully than anything we have yet faced." Even more than the Tunneler, and that was not a thought Optimus wanted to ever contemplate.

Jazz skidded up to them with a screech of tires, transforming back to his root mode before he had even come to a full stop, "What's tha plan O.P.? We can't jus' leave him down there, he'll drive every autobot in tha city meltdown. If he doesn't offline us all first!"

Another bellow shook Iacon, this one so warped with rage that if it was Optimus's name, he could not distinguish it. Ironhide rocked on his pedes again, but did not crumble like the majority of the mechs around them —a side effect of meeting Primus, Optimus suspected—. Optimus tilted his helm to the sky, "Where are Hardwire and Arcee?"

"On their way back from backing up Tyger Pax," Jazz reported, "scrap really wen' down over there."

Ironhide's armor flared in barely suppressed desperation at the mention of the city, "Any word on Bumblebee?"

Jazz braced himself as the ground shook under their pedes from some stirring of Trypticon they could not yet see, "Not thah Ah know of, but there are so many reports flooding tha channels tha Ah don't even think Prowl is up to date on sortin' 'em. Sorry, 'Hide."

Ironhide's faceplates twisted in worried fury and Optimus laid a servo on his friend's shoulder plate. He had been there when Ironhide doubled over from the sheer agony and terror radiating over his bond with Bumblebee and defended him until Bumblebee had blocked off the bond so Ironhide could not feel it anymore. He did not want to think about what was happening, but in the back of his processor, he remembered Hardwire's and Starwish's solemn report on the things they recalled. Such as Bumblebee losing his vocalizer.

He kept that to himself for now, he had larger things to focus on than the guilt pulling at his spark —he had tried to keep Bumblebee safe, but he could not personally oversee every single assignment of the army and Bumblebee's superior had redirected him to Tyger Pax before Optimus had been aware of it, then the battle had started and it had been too late to recall the order—. Right now he could not worry about that, he had a literal mad titan in his city and no one strong enough to fight him save for a select few.

Jazz shifted his focus back to Optimus, "O.P.? Tha plan?"

Optimus gathered himself and moved to help the nearest mech back to his pedes, "Evacuate as much of the surrounding area as possible, pull back all defenses to the medical bays and tactical centers. No one is to attempt to battle Trypticon save Hardwire and Arcee when they arrive."

"Relying a little heavily on them, isn't it?" Ironhide protested as he pulled two more mechs to their pedes and sent them on their way, "Why not send in the aerialbots? Or the artillery?"

"We do not have any functional artillery on that level, and-" Another roar that sent several of the less recovered mechs to their knees again. The autobots around them appeared to be acclimating to the malice that blanketed the area, but even those that could still move looked dazed. Some were too unsteady to even risk transforming. Optimus gestured for the mechs to retreat even as he continued, "Most of the autobots will not be able to withstand Trypticon's presence for some time, and our aerialbots cannot be risked under such circumstances."

Ironhide scowled, but he could see as well as Optimus that the autobots now retreating were barely able to keep their legs upright, most of them weren't even able to transform. None of them were combat ready and they were on one of the higher levels. Sending aerialbots into weapon's range of Trypticon's presence all the way on the nineteenth level would be an offlining sentence.

Over the coms, Prowl had begun organizing the retreat, leaving Optimus, Jazz, and Ironhide free to cautiously approach the deep tear in Iacon's surface that Trypticon had left behind while the others in the area fled. Jazz dropped a piece of debris down the chasm and tilted his helm while Ironhide grunted, "Then why are we alright?"

"We have already come into contact with large amounts of Dark Energon when we battled for the Core. We have also come into contact with Primus. It will take more than Trypticon's presence at this distance to unbalance our sparks." There were a great many nuances to that explanation that Optimus had neither the time nor patience for at the moment, but Ironhide did not ask for any of them, so there was no need.

They peered down the deep, smoldering chasm. The damage to the city was catastrophic. The damage to Trypticon's frame had to be even more so. If he had not been corrupted with Dark Energon, Optimus suspected the mech would have offlined on impact. Jazz gave a low whistle —a habit he had picked up from Hardwire—, "Thah's gonna take a long time ta clean up. Surprised he survived thah fall ta be honest."

Ironhide began to retort something, but then the ground was shaking and groaning. What few mechs were still stumbling away from the area screamed and Optimus had a single moment to register the metal beneath his pedes shaking before Ironhide and Jazz had grabbed his arms and bodily hauled him away. They lurched apart as the ground began to rupture upwards, transformed and drove as fast as they could from the widening crevice as a bellow echoed above the sound of building-sized rockets rising from below, "Optimus Prime!"

Trypticon emerged in a shriek of abused metal and a thunder of his engine, Dark Energon leaking from a host of wounds, optics too bright with a crazed glow as the titan pushed his way back onto the surface level of Iacon using his faltering rockets, clawing the rest of the way with fingers the width of multiple road lanes. Optimus felt the ground beneath his tires threaten to destabilize and swerved, skidding up and over an outcropping that launched him over the ruined speedway and to a slightly less damaged one-.

A massive limb crashed down on the speedway he had just left, shattering it like glass and sending the autobots who had not been quite fast enough screaming into the depths. Ironhide cursed fervently as he, Optimus, and Jazz skidded down the nearest offramp and into a building. It would not provide protection from attack, but it would provide cover from Trypticon's sight, and going unnoticed was all they could hope for at this current juncture. They transformed and hid behind the nearest objects as Trypticon howled his hatred to the sky, a cannon blast ripping free of his jaws as he did so.

Jazz pressed closer to Optimus's frame and he felt the faint buzz of his Special Ops head's equipment spreading to cover him as well, ::Well, thah's not what Ah was hopin' would happen. Ah was sure he was gonna be stuck down there.::

::How the frag are his legs even functional? And where are Hardwire and Arcee?::

Prowl tapped into their com frequency with impeccable timing, ::Prime, I recommend that you, Ironhide, and Jazz vacate the area immediately. Evacuations are still in progress throughout the city, they should cover your retreat.::

::Where are Hardwire and Arcee?:: Fumed Ironhide, ::We can't just let that fragger run wild in Iacon! He'll destroy everything!::

::You misunderstand my recommendation.:: Despite their grave circumstances, Optimus was certain he heard a hint of dark humor in Prowl's voice, ::It is not a recommendation to retreat from Trypticon's weaponry, but rather the potential damage radius of his fall.::

A high shriek, far louder and more feral than any that could be produced by a normal vocalizer echoed from over their helms, followed kliks later by a familiar, spark-shaking roar.

::Oh frag.::

All three of them fled for the nearest exit in time to hear the explosion of fire lighting up leaking wounds of Dark Energon and feel the world convulse under the force of impact as Trypticon overbalanced and fell.

Hardwire and Arcee had arrived.

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Arcee spun in the air as she pulled up from her first attack dive. Below them, Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon thrashed on his back, destroying buildings and rending the ground as he struggled to right himself from the explosions that had knocked him over. Arcee hissed, high and furious to Steadfast-Fury-Mate-Hardwire as he began looping back around toward their enemy, "Enemy-prey-is-alive-dead-still-moving-angry-dangerous-I-am-angry-angry!"

Steadfast-Fury-Mate-Hardwire hovered briefly, helm turning from side to side to better assess the enemy-prey on the ground, "We-must-be-wary-watchful-prey-is-dangerous. Kill-him-burn-him-don't-let-him-strike-feed-corrupt." They paused to gather a plan even though their united instincts shrieked to just attack-attack-destroy the towering, living taint that had crashed into their territory.

Somewhere in the far back of Arcee's processor, the part of her that was cybertronian first and foremost panicked over the situation. A tiny little two-wheeler was no match for the being struggling to recover his pedes, a normal cybertronian was no match for the physical aura of malice in the air leaking from Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon's smoldering wounds. The newer part of her, the wild part that she had gained when she sparkmated Steadfast-Fury-Mate-Hardwire, the part that had known to set the Dark Energon leaking from Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon's wounds on fire to create the biggest explosion possible even without memories of her journey to the Core, had no such doubts. This thing, this Turned, was in her territory, attacking her Autobot-Pride and for that it would burn-burn-scream-burn.

"Keep-it-down-helpless-flailing-fire," concluded Steadfast-Fury-Mate-Hardwire with a rattle of back spines, "Watch-wary-jaws-cannon-weapons-tail. Take-turns-burn-and-flee-taunt-and-distract-and-burn." Arcee could feel viruses humming in her jaws, ready to bite and tear and infect even though she knew she couldn't dare as she snapped her teeth at the air in assent.

They separated, Arcee spinning high into the air for another attack while Steadfast-Fury-Mate-Hardwire swooped fearlessly around the top of Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon's helm as a distraction, breathing spurts of fire at the Turned mech's optics as he whipped by. Still unbalanced and on his back, Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon snapped at the air with a roar, servos waving at the air as Steadfast-Fury-Mate-Hardwire passed, trying to strike him down. Steadfast-Fury-Mate-Hardwire screamed insults as he dodged and curved around the massive servos, setting fire to any piece of metal that came too close.

Arcee reached the apex of her climb, folded her wings and fell over into a screaming dive. Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon, too busy flailing at her mate, failed to notice her presence until it was too late and her fireball had crashed into the weeping wound on his side. Dark Energon exploded, bright and hot beneath her as she pulled up and away. Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon's tail lashed into the air and Arcee spiraled, paws bunching beneath her to springboard off the appendage and leap away. The impact jarred her anyway and she snarled in pain as she struggled to recover and dodge the next blow.

The tail swiped at her again, aiming right for her wings and Steadfast-Fury-Mate-Hardwire dropped from the sky to collide with the tail-tip with enough force to redirect it just enough to let her dodge. White-hot fire blasted the tail as Steadfast-Fury-Mate-Hardwire rebounded off it and spun away with a barely controlled dive and recover.

Briefly but fiercely, Arcee wished there were more predacons in the Autobot-Pride. That would have made their task a lot easier.

Both of them flitted away behind leaning, smoking buildings when Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon unleashed another cannon blast of Dark Energon, searing the skyline and sending shivers up Arcee's plating. They barely waited for the blast to peter out before they had looped around again to resume their attacks and harassment.

Arcee wasn't sure how many breems went by like that. Taking turns with her mate in distracting or lighting leaking wounds on fire, gradually widening the gaping holes in the giant Turned's armor, knocking him over whenever he attempted to stand once more. But it felt like far too long. Every blow that missed them did more damage to their city, every blast of Dark Energon spread more of its taint across their territory and no doubt offlined more of their Autobot-Pride. The evacuation ships —if any were left at this point— had not been too far away from the site of their battle and the thought of what might happen to them if Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon was not defeated soon made her instincts writhe.

Then a lucky, glancing blow from Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon's servo sent her mate crashing into a far building and Arcee screamed in fury-worry-grief before diving after him.

She skidded to a stop next to her mate's crash sight, "Mate-mine-answer-speak-hurt-scared-answer-me!"

"Alive-ow-angry-alive-ow." Rasped Steadfast-Fury-Mate-Hardwire as he sluggishly uncurled from the wreckage of his crash and limped out of the crater. He shook his helm a few times, ruffled his armor and snapped irritably at the dents running up his right hip plating, "Again-annoyed-transformation-is-gone-annoyed."

Arcee swatted him with the flat of her tail blade, "Lucky-grateful-alive-idiot-reckless!" Her mate growled at her screech, but there was no real anger behind it.

He shook out his armor and flared his spikes, "Frustration-not-working-not-fast-enough."

"New-idea-reckless-moron-better-plan?"

He gave her a dry look, worked his bottom jaw as he thought, flexing the splitting seam that let him make larger fire blasts. They both looked through the hole in the buildings Steadfast-Fury-Mate-Hardwire had made on his way down, listening to their enemy rage. She could feel him thinking, see half-formed strategies and memories and ideas over their bond that were all examined and then abandoned. There was a flicker of an idea involving a well-timed fireblast right as Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon fired his own blast, but Arcee smacked him with the flat of her tail blade again and snarled a sharp, "Don't-you-dare-too-reckless-not-a-movie-Hardwire," that made him abandon it.

Finally, his armor settled and his helm shifted in the direction of his new idea. He shared it in a quick pulse over their bond, questioning and unhappy with it, but unable to think of anything else. Arcee bared her teeth and sidestepped in agitation as she considered it, tail lashing the air at the recklessness and damage it would cause. They heard Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon shout in insane triumph, felt the ground tremble under their pedes and realized they were out of time.

"Fine-do-it-careful-promise-me," snapped Arcee as they turned and smashed their way out the other side of the building, keeping out of Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon's sight for the moment.

Her mate nuzzled her in the air before pulling away and taking a different turn, "Promise-careful-if-you-are." Well, that was cheating. Only promising to be careful if she was careful too. Arcee yipped agreement anyway and dived low.

Time to see if their new plan would work.

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"You don't think he got them, do you?" Jazz didn't look away from Trypticon's form as Ironhide grumbled worriedly. Despite being repeatedly set on fire and subjected to explosions in his open wounds by Hardwire and Arcee, Trypticon was still going. Worse, he had recovered his pedes and was slowly limp-dragging himself through the city, smashing anything that got in his way and screaming out Optimus's name in between general howls of wordless hate and rage. It would have been impressive if it hadn't been on behalf of the enemy. Not to mention terrifying. Jazz was sparkmate to a medic and had done more than a few assassinations. He knew how much damage it took to bring a mech down and even taking his huge size into account, Trypticon was well past that point.

Jazz shook his helm, "It'll take more than a swat ta take either o' them down." He hoped. Because Jazz had no backup plan for if the two predacons failed. It would take an army to have a chance at bringing Trypticon down in their place, and the autobots had just evacuated most of theirs.

"They are online." Prowl didn't look away from the host of screens and reports flashing across the air in front of his command station, but his doorwings were tilted fractionally in their direction, indicating that he was paying attention to their conversation as they watched Trypticon rampage from afar.

If Ironhide's armor bristled any more, Jazz thought his plating just might get stuck that way, "And how would you know that?"

Prowl sent them a copy of a transmission burst that he had just received. It was comprised of nothing but a com channel pinging online and then offline in a set of sequences. A few pings would sound, then there would be silence for two kliks, then another round of pings. Jazz listened to the entire transmission twice before it clicked into place and he relaxed a fraction, "Clever. Reckless as Pit, but clever."

"Explanation please?"

Jazz tapped the ping rhythm out on his own armor in demonstration as he answered on the distracted Prowl's behalf, "It's a code thah tha twinlings created, based off a concept from Earth. They taught Prowler and me, guess they passed it on ta Arcee an' Hardwire too. No words required, just a sequence o' some kind of sound thah translates ta words. They can't talk in their predacon forms, so rather than transform and be vulnerable, Hardwire sent Prowler a message by turning his com off and on in a coded sequence."

Optimus finally looked away from the window through which he had been observing Trypticon's rampage, "What was the message, Jazz?"

Jazz crossed his arms over his chest plates, "Jus' fire blasts is takin' too long. They're gonna lure him somewhere thah they can do more damage." Jazz pointed off into the distance as Hardwire and Arcee reappeared, mere specks compared to Trypticon's size, swooping in and out and luring him in the desired direction, "All the ships on tha lower docks better be gone, OP. 'Cause those docks ain't gonna exist much longer."

Ironhide gaped as he understood the plan and Optimus looked sharply at Prowl, who dipped a doorwing in acknowledgment, "Those ships were among the first launched and I have already issued evacuation orders. The area will be as clear as possible."

Optimus nodded and turned back to the window, "Very well, Prowl. Let us hope this idea succeeds."

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"Medic! We need a medic over here!" It was the same cry she had already heard a hundred times this cycle, the same cry emitting from a dozen different vocalizers as what few medics there were rushed around in a frantic effort to answer them all —and maybe, if they were lucky, succeed in answering half—. But this was different. She knew that voice, knew the priority codes that voice was now shouting in order to gain medical assistance faster.

She pulled away from the patient she had been helping First Aid with —one of many she was juggling all at the same time even as the building shook faintly under Trypticon's rampage half a city away—, craned her helm to locate the source as she pushed her way through the crowded central medbay, "Fast Track!"

It was hard to hear anything over the barely organized chaos of the medbay, but the com lines were so choked with different channels she did not dare try to open another. Shouting was, for once, more effective. She ended up lightly spring-boarding off a startled Jolt's shoulders in order to reach her two brothers, who were pushing their way inside with a reckless sort of desperation she hadn't seen since the mission Doubletake had nearly bled out from a lost leg.

Her prosthetics were already out, one of them frantically wiping off the others with a disinfectant wipe as she approached, "Twinlings, status!"

Zipline shook his helm, his gaze wild with desperation, "Not us, him!" Starwish looked down, scanning and cataloging damages, prioritizing which ones needed to be repaired first before her mind actually registered who she was seeing.

A split klik later and she had grabbed that realization and hurled it to the back of her processor. Locked it tightly away like a meditation exercise gone wrong because if she stopped to process that, if she registered who the twinlings were carrying she would freeze or start crying and if she did either of those things then her new patient was going to offline. He might offline anyway —please no, Primus no, not him, don't let this be a consequence of their existence in this dimension— even if she operated. But at least this way he would have a better chance.

She was rattling off priority codes and securing a private surgical room —most were empty, there was no time to move individual patients to locked rooms when more kept flooding in and being able to multitask between multiple ones was a gruesome necessity— before she had even turned around. She led the twinlings through the chaos to a private room without waiting for Ratchet or Cogwheel to arrive —they were both busy with three or more cases, there was no time to wait for them even if canon from a lifetime and a dimension ago said Ratchet would have made time—. She dismissed them without taking time to comfort them or look at their spark-broken expressions —she knew what they were thinking but she couldn't register it or she would lose her composure and the patient both—.

Starwish locked the room with a surgeons-only code, sent a text alert to Ratchet's emergency frequency —just in case he could make time, just in case she wasn't enough to do this— but received no response —she doubted he had the time to even read it beyond its priority code and location, doubted he had the time to read the single word, the name, attached to the transmission—. She didn't wait for him, just set to work prying up crumpled plating —yellow and black and blue from spilled energon don't-think-don't-think— and clamping down the many lines that had been punctured —stabbed, kicked, ripped open with bare servos, torn by the very plating meant to protect it as it was hammered inward beyond the breaking point—.

The patient was already in stasis, but Starwish powered down all nerve centers as a precaution anyway as she worked on five different critical priority injuries at once using her servos and her prosthetics. There was a nicked critical fuel line in the neck that had to be patched rather than clamped to preserve processor function —even in stasis there were still processor functions at work, if only the ones that kept the spark alive—. The main energon pump was undergoing catastrophic failure from damage stress and had to be detached entirely to prevent further damage to the surrounding systems if it exploded from the strain. The secondary energon pump was beginning to malfunction from stress and lack of proper energon flow, which required her to clamp multiple lines and reroute the energon through the temporary ones she was pulling out of subspace every few kliks —she was going to run out at this rate, she submitted a priority ping for a medical intern to grab more from the storeroom and deliver it to her location don't-think-don't-wait—. Finally, both doorwings —what was left of them— had to be removed from the primary nervous system because even in stasis they were sending out frantic damage alerts that only added to the overall stress of the frame —not to mention sparking with enough electrical current to offline the patient if anything else decided to fail—.

The vocalizer, half-crushed and still occasionally sparking, sat untouched on a nearby surgical tray. The only attention she paid it was the small timer she had started up in the corner of her HUD, steadily counting down how much time she had left before it hit the point of critical degradation and became irreparable. Bio-mechanisms could not survive outside of a frame or special storage units for long. They suffered from natural degradation when removed from either of those two environments even when in perfect condition. Damaged bio-mechanisms had an even shorter time before becoming irreparable. Bio-mechanisms bonded to the spark that inhabited their frame, which was why they were transferred with the spark during upgrades and emergency spark transferals —if possible—. Blank bio-mechanisms, ones that had never bonded to a spark or had only been used for a short time, existed, but were rare and hard to store.

There were no "blank" bio-mechanisms currently available in storage and bio-mechanisms taken out of an offlined frame and introduced to a frame that had a new spark had only a thirty percent successful integration rate. If the vocalizer on the tray hit the critical degradation point, the chances of the patient ever having a vocalizer again were thirty percent or lower, and even if a transplant was successful, the voice would sound nothing like the patient's original one.

But if she worried about that, she would lose the patient entirely. So she ignored it in favor of the main pump she had just detached, the secondary pump through which she was rerouting medical energon, the doorwings she had started to physically remove because the sparks were getting too dangerous to leave alone, the shredded neck cables all tangled around the essential fuel line she had just patched.

The back of her processor hurt —yellow and black and bloody-bloody blue when had blood come to mean blue to her senses when had it ever been any color but blue she didn't remember— but she ignored it and kept working. The building trembled faintly from outside forces —war, evacuation, exile, Earth, humans-and-their-cars-and-their-friendship-and-Mission-City-I-wish to stay with the boy—, she ignored that too. Nothing mattered but the energon lines under her servos and the systems sparking beneath her prosthetics. Nothing mattered but the spark faltering-faltering-failing-failing before her optics as she detected the minor but ongoing spark leak and frantically patched that too —don't-go-don't-go-don't-go—.

The world outside didn't matter. The surgical room didn't matter. The patient mattered. The repairs mattered. The spark she could hear singing-singing-fading-fading mattered —minor spark leak but even those were fatal if they were ongoing and this had been done early on in the damage-attack-torture—.

She was losing the patient —patch another ruptured line, add stimulant to the medical energon because even a minor electrical shock would break the system rather than reboot it at this point—. She couldn't afford to lose the patient —reroute essential nervous system functions to the secondary network, secondary is failing so unsubspace and connect artificial tertiary network instead—. The frame was stabilizing.

The spark was still fading —shock was still impossible and the stimulants weren't working, add emergency mixture of a different kind that wouldn't conflict with the first—. The vocalizer was still degrading —forty breems to critical degradation and counting—.

She was losing the patient —cycle emergency systems to reboot, reboot failed, try again, spark isn't responding why-why-why—.

She was losing the patient —yellow and black and blue-optics-blue-eyes-blue-world-important-world—.

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Helicopters and cables and flashing lights and, "No! Stop! He's not fighting back! Stop! Stop hurting him!"

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Quiet and stillness, a reprieve amidst looming dread, a small voice admitting, "This is my family. Very large. Sometimes I can shout and no one hears me … but Bumblebee always listens. And I can understand him. Not sure why … but I do."

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Smoke and rubble and ruined leg struts and reverent silence for a voice long thought lost, "I wish to stay … with the boy."

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Black optics and ripped open chest places, water-not-water-life-not-life swallowing yellow-black-blue whole until it didn't and silence ended with a stubborn, "Megatron! You took my voice. You will never rob anyone, of anything, ever again."

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Bumblebee.

The realization snapped out of its locked corner and slotted into place, dug into her spark and joints like knives —she was treating Bumblebee, she had Bumblebee's energon all over her servos she was losing Bumblebee—. Her audio amplifiers rang with the shock of it, with the fading-fading-lingering-fading spark song only she could hear-.

No. She had lost patients before. She had fretted over what changes the presence of herself and her family would wreak on the timeline of this dimension for vorns. But Bumblebee was not going to be one of those lost patients. He was not going to be one of the changes. She wouldn't let him.

Something calm and familiar intruded on her processor. The same calm that had once existed only in her forced medical mode, the calm that Master Yoketron had given her the keys to unlocking herself. It wasn't her program, it was just her. Her and her training and her stubborn determination and her human mind that rejected the boundaries of possible and went straight for the first impossible idea that came into her helm. The last time she had been losing a cherished friend from spark drain it had been Jazz. She had saved him by spark bonding. She couldn't spark bond with Bumblebee, couldn't link their energies and share life with him. But his spark levels weren't below the regeneration threshold yet and she could hear his spark, like a song on her senses, a rhythm she couldn't bond with …

But perhaps one she could still touch. Like Primus had touched her in the Core, spoken to her through life-force alone, spoken and interacted with and blessed in exchange for her vow, —"I would ask you to take care of my children-"—. Like she had already once touched Master Yoketron's spark vorns ago when she won that game of hide and seek and he gave her an upgrading gift.

Her optics shut and her amplifiers tilted forward to catch the fading notes of a foreign melody, heedless of the faint tremors of the building or the timer counting down in her HUD. Her servos folded to rest over the patched spark chamber —no physical damage to cause the fading, not anymore, this was something medical tools couldn't fix—. The world narrowed, froze for just a moment as she mentally reached out and tangled her fingers in the flow of the song-.

And spoke.

"Bumblebee. Stop."

Her sensors still pinged with status alerts to her patient's fading spark, the song still tried to slip from her mental fingers, heedless of her words or grasp or plea. She shut down her HUD and the alerts. The world narrowed further as she tangled her fingers in the song again and tugged, "Bumblebee. Bumblebee stop."

The tiniest hesitation, the most minute flicker in the flow, like a beat before the next stanza, a moment where she had a chance to insert herself into the rhythm and bring it back.

"Bumblebee."

Her closed optics burned with the briefest sight of endless blue and her servos tingled with the cool sensation of water-not-water-but-life as Bumblebee's melody stopped fading —stopped retreating, stopped running away from pain that had long stopped physically but tormented still on a much deeper level— and she was-.

Elsewhere. Everywhere. Nowhere. Hurtling through space with her pedes planted firmly on the ground. Walking through time-space-life-memory while standing absolutely still in a private medical room. Her optics were tight shut as she stared in gentle, sad awe at the fragile star-spark-song-given-form cringing away from her in fear that warbled and hitched and dimmed golden light.

"It's okay," she sang without ever saying a word, "you're safe now. Come back with me," she cradled the living song in servos that still rested on a spark chamber.

"Starwish?" The song in her servos sang-asked-recognized-disbelieved.

"It's me."

A flicker, like vibrato on strings, "It hurts. I'm scared."

She smiled sadly, pulled the song closer and let her own notes drift along its surface in reassurance —not a bond, it wasn't her place to bond with this spark, just to welcome and reassure that he was not alone—, "I know. It's alright, Bumblebee. Come back now…"

A ripple, a sudden end to the moment-eternity-nanoklik-aeon and Starwish opened her optics in the medical room with her servos resting lightly over a closed spark chamber and her lips mouthing the promise that reverberated through songs, "You're safe with me."

Starwish blinked once, blinked twice, tried not to spasm under the rush of feeling-sensation-sound-data-too-much-data- that threatened to make her crash as she became hyper aware of everything —the feel of every cable in her frame and movement of air over her armor, the clamor of every sound leaking past the supposedly sound-proof walls and the hiss of her own vents—. She looked blankly at the world around her and didn't recognize it as seeing, unattached and unused to her own frame like everything around her was a first time experience.

Then all the sharp edges of her vision settled and her perception of sound and sensations shrank back to normal levels and she flung up her HUD in time to read … stable spark levels. Bumblebee's spark levels were still dangerously low, but they were stable and rising very slowly. He was okay. He wasn't giving up anymore, he was going … to … recover. Starwish listed dangerously far to one side and gripped the operating table to keep from falling over just as Ratchet unlocked the door and stormed in, his optics wild with terror over the thought of what he might be too late to save.

Ratchet caught her elbow to keep her from falling over and his touch was like fire —too-much, too much-life-was-too-bright-and-loud-and-hot—, "Starwish!"

"Star? Melody!" Demanded Jazz over their sparkbond in the same moment as Ratchet's shout, "What just happened?"

"Saved Bumblebee," she thought back at Jazz dizzily before pulling away from Ratchet to lean against the wall instead —out of the way, not a distraction—, "His spark is … stabilizing. Stable. I…" she vented harshly to focus her thoughts and quickly rattled off everything she had done —barring … whatever it was she had just done with Bee's spark— and what still needed doing as Ratchet turned away from her and began running scans and patches of his own. She had stabilized all the major things, and even though Bumblebee was on the equivalent of life support —would need to be on life support for at least ten cycles if her estimations were right— he would … he would survive.

She focused on her HUD past the numbness spreading through her limbs —she had probably just done something stupidly risky, using her spark and cyber-ninja abilities like that but she didn't regret it—, gave a strangled noise as she slid down to the floor, "Ratchet."

He half turned to her, then turned all the way around when he spotted her on the floor, "Starwish, you-!"

She waved him off and pointed desperately as the medical tray next to Bumblebee, "Ratchet, his vocalizer-." Ratchet turned, spotted the sparking, half crushed organ for the first time and started cursing as he practically dived for it. Starwish closed her optics and focused on her own sparkbeat. She was … exhausted. Exhausted like staying up without any recharge for ten consecutive cycles, exhausted like from sparring with Master Yoketron for joors and joors without pause. She … she had to get up and see to the other patients. Pings were coming in every other klik and there weren't enough medics for her to stop now but … Bumblebee was alive. Bumblebee was going to survive and Ratchet was there to work on the vocalizer —he had only twenty-five breems left before it became unviable, she should have been faster—. She could … take three breems to rest. Just three. No more, no less. Then she would get up and go back to the rest of the medical bay. Just three breems to put herself back together from whatever it was she had done.

Three breems passed and Starwish forced herself to her pedes, feeling just as drained and terrible as before. But she was needed. She still had patients to see to. She could collapse later —would collapse later, she could feel it in the deep, dragging feeling in her frame and the way she could have sworn she saw a familiar-unfamiliar-fictional-real-offline-online mech out of the corner of her optics in the tail-end of every blink, watching them from the far corner of the surgical room. She paused for just a klik to stare at the corner, blinked and saw —gold and black plating, blue visor and shaking servos as he held his helm in relief for Bumblebee's survival— nothing, then turned and left the room. She had more patients to save —more friends to lose no matter how she tried because she couldn't do … whatever that was with all of them—.

Around her, the building shook again from far off battle.

She prayed that Hardwire and Arcee would survive whatever was happening, without having to become her next patients.

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Well, Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon was up for a chase, that was certain. Though Hardwire wasn't certain how considering the mech's legs looked like literal flaming junkyard scrap. He snarled low as he folded over into a spinning dive to avoid a cannon blast. The blasts were getting fewer too —running out of fuel? He hoped so—, making it easier to flit around the massive helm of the Turned with impunity.

They were almost there. Almost to the location of his and Fierce-Kind-Mate-Arcee's plan —sort of plan, more like desperate scheme—.

"Ready-brace-ready-fly!" Hardwire roared to her as she knifed over his back, armor color rippling into a furious pitch black before it resettled to blue and silver again.

"No-really? Not-a-moron-not-blind-mate-mine!" He chuffed at her sarcasm, glanced over his shoulder one more time, then took a deep vent-.

Dived into the gaping, jagged hole in the cityscape that had been cleared for the evacuating ships. Launch platforms stuck out at random intervals like stubby denta, old tools and parts and abandoned supplies still left there on some of them when the ships had been forced to launch before they were scheduled —before they could grab everything—. Hardwire winged over and cut sideways, skimming over one of the platforms until the world turned dark from the metal plating above his helm. The air shuddered with every massive step Trypticon took, still distracted by Fierce-Kind-Mate-Arcee, heedless of the gaping hole he was getting closer to or the fact that Hardwire was beneath where Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon would be in just a few massive steps-.

Hardwire didn't give himself time to second-guess his plan, just veered toward the first support strut and roared flame. Metal bubbled like overheated clay, turning bright orange under his fire as he shot by. He didn't melt clear through the support strut, but his blast turned part of it to liquid and severely weakened the rest. He kept flying, swerved closer to the next strut and blasted fire again, and again, and again. Over and over, strut after strut, ever closer to the shuddering of Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon's pedesteps. At the last moment he twisted around and began to retrace his flight path just ahead of the steps, still blasting fire whenever he came close to a support strut.

Behind him, the massive Turned took a step and metal screamed as the flame-weakened parts of it broke beneath the weight. Sparks flew as plating ruptured and destabilized, a chain reaction rapidly outpacing Hardwire's flight speed as all the struts began to crack and break apart under Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon's weight. Fly-faster-faster-don't-end-here-fly-fly- An entire chunk of the level above him crashed down and Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon gave a startled roar as his footing began to fail beneath him, tipping him over and down toward the gaping hole in Iacon's levels. Hardwire caught a glimpse of the sky overhelm, rapidly overshadowed by the burning, writhing plating of his much larger enemy and made a split klik choice to dive instead of pull up.

He folded his wings and plummeted down just in front of the falling Turned as Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon howled and toppled down-down-down, already shredded plating being further ripped open by the platforms he was crashing through, Fierce-Kind-Mate-Arcee following along behind, blasting fire at every opportunity. Hardwire caught a glimpse of another platform below him, barely registered the glint of blue and the fleeting impression of his own stupidity before he forced his wings open, jerking him up and away as he roared fire one more time.

He missed colliding with Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon by mere finger length, was sent nearly spinning off course by the turbulence as the massive mech fell straight into the blue explosion of the energon pallets Hardwire had spotted, left abandoned in the rush to get all the ships launched in time. Blue collided with already burning purple and Hardwire's world turned into a multi-colored inferno as he flew frantically up-up-up, ignoring the pain crawling up his tail from searing, screaming heat, ignoring the way his audios buzzed with static from the volume of Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon's hateful, agonized howls. Fierce-Kind-Mate-Arcee was at his wing, struggling to keep up, struggling to stay ahead of the inferno clawing its way up after them, driven onward by the writhing collision of Energon with its dark counterpart.

They cleared the lip of the hole as the inferno caught up with them, Hardwire reached out with his talons and snatched his mate to his chest plates, wrapping himself around her smaller frame as the blast sent them spinning out of the air and skidding uncontrollably across the ruined surface of Iacon's uppermost level. Pain and silver and metal and sky and pain and-. An abrupt halt, momentum finally bled out by the many buildings and pieces of debris he had been sent hurtling through.

Everything hurt. Primus it hurt. He shuddered around his sparkmate before forcing himself to uncurl. She squirmed free of his grasp, hissing and fluttering in concern, heedless of her own heat-pealed paint as she sniffed at his transformation seams and dent-riddled back. Hardwire snorted softly at her, reassurance flooding their bond beneath his pain as he lifted his head to look at their handiwork.

Well.

He didn't think even a mech as huge and corrupted as Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon was going to come back from that.

The horizon writhed with blue and purple fire, the colors of the sky above all smudged over with tinted smoke that stank of burnt Energon and Dark Energon and death. After all the roaring and stomping and destruction of battle, the silence was oddly loud. Still, despite all reason and logic and hope, the two stayed frozen in place for several long breems. Waiting in dread for Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon to emerge somehow from the sparking, seething inferno.

But nothing moved. Nothing screamed. The world maintained it's oddly loud quiet.

Wild-Shattered-Destroyer-Trypticon was well and truly offline.

Hardwire let his chin flop down onto the ground with a relieved gust of his vents, exhaustion overriding the urge to howl his victory to the skies. Fierce-Kind-Mate-Arcee transformed with a grind of abused gears and several tired curses. In her much smaller femme form, she patted his cheek plating, "Stuck that way again?"

Hardwire groaned in response, not even bothering to try. She laughed a little hysterically and leaned against his helm, "I'm sure the medics will see to it once they have some time." Raising one servo to her audio, she pinged her external com so Hardwire could hear her say, "Command? This is Arcee. We did it. Trypticon is neutralized." He was too tired to fully catch Prowl's response, but Arcee gave another tiny hysterical laugh as she leaned a little more heavily against his helm, "We're going to need a spare landing platform and a medic, Hardwire fragged up his transformation seams again." Hey. That isn't my fault.

She lowered her servo and he grumbled in amusement as she clambered onto his back rather than transforming, "Come on, Prowl says the platform you landed on the first time is open, we can wait for the medics there."

"We don't need to be redeployed?" He asked through their bond with a groan as he stood up.

"No. The Decepticons are in full retreat from Iacon and are pulling back from Tyger Pax. All evacuations are complete. We did it, Hardwire," her vents hitched and he felt grief echo between them, "the Exile has begun."

He nuzzled her gently before taking off, "We'll be okay, Arcee. Just one cycle at a time."

He felt her hunch against his plating as he laboriously took off and she echoed, "One cycle at a time."

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An alt chapter title for this could be "In which if setting things on fire isn't enough to solve your problems, add a long fall and MORE FIRE"