Megatron muses dramatically. Arcee and Smokescreen make what quick reactions to trouble they can. The other two teams run into their own small issues.
And agent Fowler is left to wonder at base

What a strange series of events this war had taken lately.

Megatron looked into the dark Earth sky over the human region of Eurasia. It was night here and the major satellite of the planet was not in its bright phase. He liked the darkness. It was familiar. Like the enclosed dim of the Nemesis or Darkmount, or the black void of space where he'd traveled for many cycles.

He had left to journey into that void and retrieve an army shortly after it had become entirely obvious Cybertron meant nothing to fight over anymore. The warship, for that was all the dead titan was anymore, was left in the servos of his second in command and Starscream had kept in contact about every new turn of the war. It had moved to a place called Earth. They were building a space bridge so that he could return with his army.

Starscream always sounded snide when telling him they were waiting for his arrival with a great army behind him. Bringing back nothing but dark energon had been worth the dull look on the seeker's face. Despite his proclamations, the disloyal mech had not expected him to truly return without an army.

He had spent eons with back up plans, hidden treacheries, secret ambitions, and yet the seeker still always believed that Megatron would prevail somehow.

Well, he had always prevailed over Starscream's plots. He supposed that contributed to the unhappy faith.

And so he had rewarded such faith with the first showing of his new army.

An army which the autobots ruined in mere jours.

A ruination that had left him floating in agony among debris. No comms could work because no words could form in his processor through the pain. He could not get his thrusters to move him and instead remained helpless to the gravity-free space near this accursed planet. The only sensation of movement he could determine was how even the slightest of flinches made his body rage against itself.

In that gap of unhappy time, he felt the symbiosis inside him. It whispered in his spark, words indiscernible but meanings obvious, in a manner that left him (him!) aghast and delighted and terrified and-

And all this had lasted until Starscream and Laserbeak found him.

With one cocky pull, his former 2IC had tugged the thing in his spark free. And all those whisperings faded. The voice of a dead god no longer pulled at every sensation he felt. Without it, he was nothing. He was but dreams. He was deluded in subconscious while his body lay on the medbay berth.

It was autobots who had rescued him from that, to quote the traitorous Knock Out's words, 'deathless slumber'. Riding in one of their own's body, interacting with the small team of respectless mechs, even staying among their base had all been so very...odd. There was not truly a better way to put it. Even as a mech who rarely let himself be surprised, hitching a ride in an autobot was not his usual nor expected forte.

Somehow even that did not amount to the unexpected shock of having two previously loyal decepticons disappear without a single warning.

On a somewhat more self-amusing note, the Bumblebee incident also had not been as odd as that cycle when four Starscream's had attacked him.

So many strange things as of late.

Traitors, humans playing god, the drama aboard his own warship-

He believed he had killed Primus with Cybertron, but Megatron still felt as though the being was laughing at him as the world threw inglorious after ingloriously stupid situations at him.

Life had never been quite so odd before he had almost died in that space bridge explosion. The most recent of these unexpected situations had just been having to go to Starscream to recruit him again. It truly left Megatron with a sour taste in his fuel tank. And sometime during that recruitment, two enemies somehow boarded this ship, eluded Soundwave, and dropped to their doom with a good chunk of relics from the vault.

Infuriating...but unreally stupid enough to be amusing.

The planet had rotated until the nostalgically familiar darkness illuminated into day once again. Megatron left the bridge at the first sign of light.

As the cycles passed, he continued to ruminate on these peculiar occurrences. And all of those strange events culminated to the now.

Two autobots in his grasp (quite literally). Starscream pointing his weapons in his direction, but at both of Optimus's lackeys rather than him.

Well, it was not too surprising. There were very few instances where the seeker attempted face to face assassination. Truly, the only memorable moment had been when the mech had crawled atop him and torn the shard of dark energon keeping him alive free.

There were very good reasons to let Starscream return to the decepticons. He hated Megatron, was far too ambitious for his own good, and made round-about attempts at murdering him...but he was loyal to the cause and he was thrillingly dangerous.

As these autobots no doubt were realizing.

Ah, how good it felt to be synchronized with his second. Dreadwing was a loyal mech, but Megatron had enough of that working alongside Soundwave. There was something to be said for unpredictability and following a line of treacherous incidents all the while still standing besides a deadly lieutenant. Or across from him, in this case.

Much of that 'something' was no doubt nostalgia. But the warlord was weak in that matter. No matter how he tried to stomp such weakness out, Megatron could not deny to himself his own tendency to fall back into nostalgia.

And while Starscream was no Orion Pax, the seeker was a familiar mech to have at his side.

The autobots continued to struggle under his servos. Starscream was smirking far too widely at the sight. Their optics were lamplights in the human desert. They bathed the small enemies in crimson.

So many organics bled crimson life-fluids.

How amusing that their separated evolutions would lead them to sharing such blood. And so darkly amusing that organics continued to hamper the way of cybertronian advancement. First those accursed quintessons, then these parasitical spawn of Unicron- they stood in their way and prevented the grand ascension time after time.

Oh, this planet would pay as Quintessa had. Megatron would see to that.

First, though, Cybertron must revive. A reborn Cybertron would not have the natural qualms, the innesscant fighting barrier, to the very society the warlord offered them.

Peace. Through him; through tyranny- why should it matter to his people if they had their envied peace?

Yet even Cybertron was not the most important goal he sought. Even if it remained dead forever and their race would only find that peace and loyalty through death and dark energon, Megatron would still have his ultimate victory.

He would make Optimus pay. They would battle as the gods they were until he stood over the foolish Prime's body and tore the life from it. Perhaps he would even revive the corpse and amuse himself with a new, unarguably loyal version of Optimus Prime. The idea had its appeals and yet even one he hated so much seemed too important, too hated, too equal in match to let the memory of their great battle fade into that inglorious fate. One shall fall, but that fall truly was more dramatically impactful if said One did not rise again.

Whatever he chose to do with the corpse of his greatest enemy, the fact did remain that Megatron must first kill him to make him pay.

And these autobots would allow him to do that.

All this talking had distracted them from relic hunting. Spurred into action, the two partners glanced around the lakeside for anything remotely relic looking.

As quiet as it was, neither really felt like avoiding conversation. Truth be told, neither of them wanted to avoid conversation.

But then, Knock Out had never wanted that. It was just...

He didn't know how he was supposed to act or treat his partner or what to say except all those old lines they used to dance with.

"See anything key-like anywhere?" he asked while he headed for where he remembered the relic being. A small distance away, Breakdown knocked a tree over and looked at the debris left behind.

"Nope," the big mech growled, "Nothing here."

Great. So this was gonna take actual effort. At least it didn't seem like the decepticons had caught onto this location yet. Last time, he'd been the one sent here. Maybe the cons were too understaffed to bother this time. That'd be lovely.

"You know, you really don't have to be so miserable," Knock Out said to the air.

He didn't see what his assistant's reaction was.

"I just mean, sure you didn't want to defect and all, but you have to admit the bots have their perks! And they'll be the ones to revive Cybertron-" -this time around- "so we'll get front row seating to a new life there!"

Some whir from an organic bird cutting through the air echoed in that same air. Breakdown knocked another tree down with an audial glitching tearing sound.

That probably wasn't the greatest of signs. Knock Out turned to look at the blue mech.

"It will be pretty great," Breakdown admitted.

And sure, the medic hadn't spent that much time on a pre-war Cybertron. He'd hailed from a colony world, after all. But he still figured the guy forged there would like to see his old home again.

"What are we gonna do then?" the other asked.

Oh, he was going to-

Wait, wait. This was a perfect opportunity to trade places. Instead of him answering for the two of them, he'd make the blue mech answer.

Knock Out grinned. "There's a thing or two I'd like to do. But what about you?"

A buzz was in the air. Some stupid earth machinery nearby, he figured. It was interrupting the otherwise ambient setting.

"What would you like to do when we're all back?" he jogged over to Breakdown's side.

The silence left between his words and his partner's reply was only filled with that distant buzz.

"I dunno. Been a while since I was ever even on Cybertron." It hadn't been all that long since Knock Out had been there. Just a few human years, really. Before he'd been scared away. Maybe it would be more enjoyable this time around when Breakdown would be there. And maybe it wouldn't live up to Earth. Just making a planet live again didn't return it to a lively state. It had taken solar cycles to return to activity and the hustle and bustle of city...at which point, the old Team Prime was already facing political issues from that same city. "Maybe we do what the two-wheeler said and just take a long oil bath."

Knock Out smirked. Oh, Arcee really did have her priorities right.

"Seems like a good start to me," he said.

It made Breakdown smile just a bit before the bigger mech glanced distracted into the air. The smile morphed into a frown.

"You hear that?"

What, the buzz? The doctor started to say it was just humans but the words caught before they'd left his opened mouth.

It was louder. It was near.

And it was recognizable.

Laserbeak.

And where Laserbeak was, Soundwave followed.

The forest here was weird. It wasn't the normal green. And here Wheeljack had started being pretty sure all Earth forests looked the same. But just like metal rusted, organic plants died. They just got extra colorful when they did.

Really, the reds and golds of this place were kinda endearing. It reminded him of that one organic place he'd gone to with another ex-wrecker. They'd stuck around for a while before Wheeljack had taken off again. Nice as the orange jungle was, it wasn't where he wanted to settle down. Tungsten was done with the war; he'd just wanted to stay somewhere. To have a home, as organic and isolated as it was, in a world without a Cybertron.

He'd heard a half a vorn later that the place had been caught in the crossfires between a fleeing traitor and an angry band of cons chasing said traitor. Dead as he was, ol' Sten couldn't hear Wheeljack's lectures on the stupidity of trying to settle down. You couldn't run to escape the war. War always chased a wrecker.

With a grunt, he shook the memories off. He really needed his head in the game here to best find this new toy and help Bulk out. Could've slapped himself, said a self-deprecating 'get it together'. For some reason, the mental lecturer sounded like Miko and Ratchet mashed together. The former would just not be impressed by him getting distracted from a potential fight. The latter would be mad to fix him up if said potential fight ended in injury-from-distraction.

Maybe the grump would like this place. Sure could use seeing a bit more beauty in the world before deciding he was entitled to be the number 1 cynic.

Course, the beauty of this place may have to be changed to the beauty of flaming explosions. There was always the possibility of a fight.

All the better, Wheeljack thought. He was just about itching for a battle.

So when Dreadwing crashed down into the trees and delivered some short prelude to violence, the smaller of the wreckers had to grin.

Somewhere out there, Primus really was looking out for him.

There was just the slightest flashes of spark sinking panic.

And then Smokescreen was allowing himself to praise his good forethought. He'd snagged his new favorite relic because, well, it really was his at this point. Without giving either the giant con behind him or his current partner any warning, the rookie slipped through Megatron's grasp and tore through the warlord's body with his own suddenly intangible one. Spinning around, Smokescreen caught sight of the weird skinny guy on the Earth pyramid making an unflattering noise of surprise and Megatron giving out a snarl. Arcee buckled under added weight when the warlord crushed through her shoulder without even seeming to notice his own action.

Sorry, Arcee- the rookie grimaced and then turned to run back through the walls of the human building.

What sounded suspiciously like Megatron yelling for him to get back out there echoed down the little hallway. Smokescreen slid through another wall and into a musty enclosed room. Ew, was there some sort of decaying happening in here? Nasty.

The rookie shook the thought away and went for his comms.

«Base! Base! You gotta send help now asap!»

He clutched the omega key closer to his chest. What else could he do? Go outside and harass the cons?

...not a bad plan, he admitted. It was tempting to be sure.

But first-

«Arcee!» Smokescreen commed in quick desperation «Are you okay? Are you alive? Tell me you're alive!»

When the answer didn't come at that exact moment, he dropped the key and ran out of the pyramid again.

Oh thank Primus, she was still moving; score for him!

Standing over where Arcee was struggling up from the sand, Megatron moved his murderous glare from the femme to the rookie.

"Whatdya know-" Smokescreen flashed both his empty servos for the warlord's benefit. "All gone. Sucks for you, I guess."

If looks could kill, he'd be dead right now.

And if the phase shifter didn't keep him untouchable, he probably would be dead right now anyways.

Back at the base, agent Fowler was absently sliding his watch back and forth on his wrist. He was here to witness what was possibly going to be the end the alien war on planet Earth.

Or at least send it back to their own planet.

He didn't really feel great about that.

Which was stupid of him. Sure, he'd come to like these big lugs, some more than others, but...It was his job to keep his planet safe and if that meant moving this secret war off it then it meant that. And they all deserved to have their home back. If Earth turned into a wasteland and he and a few other lone humans had the chance to fix it and go back, of course he would. No questions asked, no ifs or buts.

Bryce was going to be happy when all the aliens were out of his hair. What made his general happy was supposed to make him happy.

All Fowler could think of were those times he'd worked alongside this team. The talk with Bulkhead up on the airpad or their conversation over the comms after the whole multiple-Starscream's debacle or when the big guy and doctor of doom were climbing that volcano. The kids, messing around at the base and occasionally on the battlefield. He'd never have met any of them without the autobots here. Now they were the top of his list for potential interns, and even if they didn't want that, he'd give them the support they needed to get their lives in order. They really were the best kids, hell the best civilians in general, he'd met in a long while.

Just everyone at this base- from the big red and blue leader himself to nurse June Darby- were his family now. Fowler had come a long way from detesting his job as an alien bot-sitter. It was gonna make him feel blue to have to see them go.

The watch slid for what had to have been the hundredth time before anything happened.

A comm. Ratchet looked at it first with some indiscernible grumble.

The air of impatient frustration dropped away with startling speed.

"Optimus-" the medic went wide eyed. Prime turned away from where he was working on that something-con database to face Ratchet.

"You have to get to Egypt now."

The thing about sticking around the base (something he'd only started doing once 1. the kids showed up and he felt the need to make sure they were staying safe and 2. the two defectors showed up and put their secret base in potential risk) was that Fowler had managed to get pretty good at reading the others. Picking up urgency behind an order or seeing the meaning behind a facial expression was all useful in the rangers. He'd been a bit of an ace with it, if he could let himself brag. Sure, the ex-missus didn't ever find his skill very impressive, but she had never thought much of anything he could do by the end. As with any sort of generalizing statistic, the confounding variables had to be tossed away to get the proper result: in which, he had reason to brag no matter what one lady said.

And right now?

Ratchet, big ol' alien that he was or not, was on the edge of panic.

Well, that would just not do. But a part of Fowler wasn't really surprised that things had already gone bananas.

The last time he'd been here to 'witness' the end of the war, that crashed warship came to life and it had been up to him (the kids, mainly. He'd been rather unconscious at the first zap) to save the skins of the autobots, decepticons, and New York City.

It was no big shocker that this current witnessing would get as chaotic as the last incident.

Just an average day with the autobots, Fowler chuckled internally. He really was gonna miss this.

He was going to miss them.

The chuckle turned into a frown. The human agent returned to sliding his watch around his wrist.

No point dallying in the nostalgic before they'd even left him.