Scan vector 3, mark 1, mark 2. Compensating for movement .05 petrahertz. Recalculating...

Prowl waited for RedAlert's input. When nothing came, he was about to ask to reestablish contact—a line of code skipped. He reset his optics, startled, and continued.

Scan vector 3, mark 1, mark 2. Compensating for movement .05 petrahertz. Recalculating...

Prowl waited for RedAlert's input. When nothing came, he was about to ask to reestablish contact—a line of code skipped. He reset his optics, startled, and continued.

Scan vector 3, mark 1, mark 2. Compensating for movement .05 petrahertz. Recalculating...

Prowl waited for RedAlert's input. When nothing came, he was about to ask to reestablish contact—his internal diagnostic pinged, alerting him to a glitch. He frowned, ran a light diagnostic, and discovered that his time did not match Teletraan's.

No. Teletraan's clock blinked a useless 99:99:99.

"What...what time is it?" Prowl asked, sitting straight.

The work consoles were dead, lit only by electrical fires creeping closer along the wall and rumbling from below.

"RedAlert," he said, starting to shift in his seat.

Pain stabbed his pelvic joint, twisting in his core, shooting straight through his shoulder. Prowl tensed, recalibrated, grabbed the edge of the console to steady himself. Venting through grit denta, he leaned heavily against the console and felt it start to give.

67% that its lower structure was compromised and beginning to cave in—

Despite the pain through his system, he pushed away from the console and stood, stumbling backward, knocking against the workstation behind him. Hissing at the hit to his sore pedes, he saw that yes, his console was slowly sagging down inch by inch toward the dark waves of billowing heat. It was as if he were staring into a smelting pool, all black fire and red smoke.

"RedAlert," he said again, moving slowly so he wouldn't hurt. "Are you functional?"

"...not quite?" Inferno said with a low, humorless laugh.

Prowl followed the sound of his voice. Inferno sat against the console as before, pedes stretched out, but his optics were black with charred streaks down his faceplate. Sprawled in his lap, RedAlert lay still, motionless save for the faint rise of his vents.

"What happened?" Prowl said, looking around as if he was finally noticing the condition of the command center. "I don't...there was...there was a blast…"

"Yeah," Inferno said, "big energon blast. But the levels're melting and caving in. We were doing good 'till the fire finally pushed through Teletraan's system shields. Everything shorted hard."

"I…" Prowl shook his helm. "This does not matter. We must leave. Can you walk?"

"Sure," Inferno nodded. "I can carry him, too. But I'd be running blind."

"Understood. I will…"

Prowl looked to the door, and his spark sank.

The way was blocked—fallen struts, sinking flooring already warping beneath their pedes, wires and torn ceiling panels bent in above them… It was a death trap , and it was the only way out. He put their chances of survival at 39%.

"I...I don't…"

His cortex had crashed. Was he still in the middle of reboot? Everything moved sluggishly around him. Ash choked his filters and covered him in a layers of hot soot.

His console collapsed into the darkness. The edges of the level curled after, failing by inches closer and closer.

32% chance of survival

He couldn't shift that debris. His pelvis joint felt like it would collapse. His internal gyros wobbled off-balance. His arm was still cracked—his pede trembled and threatened to buckle.

27%

19%

"Over this way!"

Prowl's helm snapped up. The voice was on the other side of the wreckage, but he didn't feel the heavy steps that would have shaken the level dangerously. The flames behind him grew louder—he couldn't make out the voices through the steel groaning around him and his own coughing—

In the darkness, through the gaps in the torn supports and wiring, small lights appeared in the darkness. A slab of steel shifted, and a half dozen shapes started climbing through. Prowl took a step back—what on earth could make it through the Ark as it came apart?

The loud cry that greeted him was familiar and reassuring at once.

"Prowl! You're still alive!"

Rewind ran close, skirting away from the curling edges of the floor.

"I think we have a way out, sir! But you have to hurry—"

32%

"Yes," Prowl said, already turning to help Inferno up. His own pedes and wings ached as he hefted the other mech's weight plus that of RedAlert, guiding Inferno to put his back against the wall.

"We ain't got time to chat!" Rumble popped up on the other side of the doorway. "Hurry them up!"

Prowl reset his optics. The cassettes—? So Soundwave had made a detour. Prowl cursed himself. How could he have forgotten about Soundwave's cassettes? What else had he forgotten? How many sectors in his cortex were fried from that hit?

"Looks like someone's taken a foul ball to the face," Eject said, climbing up Inferno's frame and sitting on his shoulder. He popped a cord from his wrist and connected to one of Inferno's ports. "Don't worry, champ—I'll walk you from here to home base."

Visual input streamed into Inferno's helm. His relieved smile contrasted with the charred remnants of his optics as he came to the door.

"A little wobbly," Inferno said, carefully maneuvering through the gap the cassettes widened for him. "But I'll take it."

"We have a clear route," Rewind said, and he hopped up on Prowl's shoulder for his own ride. "There's one dicey spot, but I think we can make it."

49%

Prowl headed to the gap, putting his hands on either side. Rumble reached through, taking his hand, pulling him down to avoid a low sparking wire.

"Boss says hi," Rumble said.

"Where is he?" Prowl demanded. "Is Blaster alive?"

Rumble didn't answer—he was already pushing Prowl harshly to one side, climbing over him into the command center. And Frenzy came up behind him, giving Prowl a rough shove that sent him sprawling into the darkness, landing on the pede he'd been favoring. Rewind yelped as he fell rolling along the floor.

Shutting down a keen of pain, Prowl turned over, throwing an angry glare after Soundwave's little terrors.

His optics widened.

10%

Rumble and Frenzy stood on the wrong side of the door as the flames leaped high with new life, spinning into a wild fire tornado whipping through the smoke. Silhouetted against the red glow, another mech swooped in from the battle, transforming and landing hard on the already weakened floor.

The level bent in with the jet's weight. The wreckage and every shred of loose metal in the command center spilled toward him, and all of that tonnage the mech simply slapped aside like so much debris, taking a step in and grabbing a strut in the ceiling to support himself. Even in the dim light, with his arm raised, there was no missing the purple mark on his frame.

Prowl studied him for a moment. Purple and black frame with the Decepticon mark, jet altmode, already launching an EMP attack that shut down any remaining unshielded electronics. Prowl felt the electromagnetic pulse race over his frame like static electricity, looking for any wireless access—

"Whaddaya looking at?" Rumble yelled at Prowl. "Get moving!"

Frenzy was already leaping up at the Decepticon, grabbing his free hand, leveraging a kick in his face. Rumble transformed his arms and began destroying the floor and wall under the jet.

Prowl started to slide. With a stab of panic, he turned over and grabbed the seams of the floor. They opened readily at his touch, wrenched wide as the whole level gave way, and Prowl gathered his pedes under himself and jumped for the corridor now open to the void.

He missed—his hand clutched empty air—and he toppled down toward the melted slag below.

4%

A single load bearing beam, as wide as three mechs, lay wrenched sideways into the air. As he fell, Prowl grabbed at it, caught it, nearly wrenched his arm out of its socket. He dangled for a moment, hanging by one hand—

9%

—got the other hand up, swung his weight and brought his good pede around the edge—

15%

—and climbed down to where the beam met the wall. There was a doorway beside it, a melted arch of ruined hinges, and he stepped in.

Stairs.

25%

Each step bent in under his pede, slowing him as if he were in a nightmare with the pit racing up to meet him. Up one flight, then another. The outer wall screamed as it suddenly caved in, ripping out of its rivets and toppling into the slag. A dozen meters away, the Decepticon—Prowl's sluggis processor finally recognized him as Storm Cloud, Whisper's comrade—hurled Frenzy off into the smoke. Rumble was nowhere to be seen.

And then Storm Cloud turned around, searching, and spotted Prowl's white paint amidst the exposed stairwell.

"Second in Command Prowl," Storm Cloud crowed, taking aim. "I'll take your helm to my lord Megatron!"

2%

Prowl was moving before he even finished, dragging his pede up the stairs. He heard Storm Cloud's missle launch and had the presence of mind to turn, put one arm in front of his spark case, his free hand in front of his faceplate. The detonation shrieked in his audios—he lifted up and slammed into the melting back wall that cushioned him even as it burned.

He landed on his pedes. His hand hung limp, his hood lined with hairline fractures. and his diagnostics blared warnings over the state of his exposed joints. But he was alive. One optic had cracked but received grainy input, and he was still alive.

Disengage all safeties, he commanded himself, still climbing. Permit overheating past normal parameters. Permit full extention. Permit unregulated energon consumption. Permit shut down of pain receptors.

As he came around the rise, he saw Storm Cloud take aim to launch another missile...and then frown and check his munitions.

"Damn...slaggin' Thundercracker, holding out on the ammo…"

12%

Prowl listened for anyone else, any cassettes, any mechs, anything, but all he heard was Storm Cloud's thrusters coming online as the jet hovered.

"Then I'll just do this with my bare hands," Storm Cloud said and flew in close.

Prowl had only one advantage—he knew the terrain even as it collapsed. He had two routes, the stairs or any of the levels the stairs opened to. Impossible to calculate all the variables and decide. As Jazz had taught him, he made the choice on the fly and ducked into one of the levels, limping into the corridor.

Teletraan, he called out, praying to Primus for a response, transfer all power to activate hall 1332.

N̶e̵gat̸i̵ve̶.̶ ̴A̴ll ̶p̸owe̵r̸ ̴m̷aint̷a̵i̸n̴ing̴ ̸s̷t̸r̵uctura̶l̴ ̷i̷n̵t̵e̸g̴—̵i̷n̵t̵e̸g̴—̵i̷n̵t̵e̸g̴—̵

There is no structural integrity left! All power to hall 1332, now!

Co̸mpl̸y̷i̵n̵g̵.̵ ̶Pow̶e̵r̷ ̷f̸a̶i̶ l̴i̴ n̸g̷

Steel crashed behind him as Storm Cloud landed heavily on the stairs and followed. System defenses triggered. There was a brief whir as the electronics came to life, flickered, died...but the laser systems came online long enough to bring up their battery power and blast Storm Cloud with every last bit of their remaining energy.

Prowl had sometimes argued with RedAlert over the redundant layers of security in the Ark. Everyone had always considered it overkill, but…

32%

Thank you, RedAlert. Your paranoia just bought me a few more seconds.

The Decepticon screamed as his armor shredded. Prowl didn't look back, opening a system access panel and beginning to climb up the maintenance ladder awkwardly with one hand. A moment later, as the lasers died, he heard the jet tearing apart the walls, ripping at the overhead panels, dragging locked doors off their hinges—

"You can't hide!" Storm Cloud shrieked somewhere below. "I'll find you—pull off your wings! Rip your limbs off! Pull your casing and eat your spark!"

And Prowl didn't doubt he could do it. How did Jazz fight these things? How did Bumblebee fight these things? Prowl had faced these things in a fight, surrounded by other Autobots, supporting fighters from a distance. One on one, there was no question who would win.

The ladder rattled and twisted under his hand. Storm Cloud had found the shaft. The walls began to shake violently. Prowl looked down and his spark skipped.

It should have been impossible for the mech to follow him up. Jets were so much larger than civilian vehicles. Storm Cloud was so much bigger...and so much stronger, clawing the steel walls as he dragged himself up.

"No escape you little scrap of tinfoil!" Storm Cloud yelled.

20%

Stay alive, Jazz had said. Ain't nothing dirty in a fight 'cept the floor, and we gonna use that, too.

Prowl aimed and fired acid straight down. Every last drop splashed into Storm Cloud's optics, his mouth, down his throat, burning through the soft rubber cords. Storm Cloud thrashed, raking the melting steel of his faceplate with his hands, howling louder as his hands corroded.

When he stared up at Prowl again, it was with blazing exposed optics in the slurry left of his face, a snarl of exposed fangs as he clawed his way up.

15%

The Ark shifted again. Prowl nearly lost his grip—but he had reached the top. He unlocked the access panel and took far too long to climb out. With a shaky hand, he slamed the hatch back down and locked it, dragging himself back, but the hatch barely slowed Storm Cloud. One punch, two punches—the jet was aready breaking through.

Prowl stood up, stumbling back several steps. Strong winds buffetted him. The smoke wasn't blowing this way—the wind this high up swallowed the sound of the Ark dying beneath him. He couldn't hear the battle below, although he saw the explosions, the flickering lights, the dazzling display of Jazz's array in the distance.

His spark lifted. Jazz was still alive.

19%

Prowl was standing on top of the Ark's upside down landing thrusters. The way the Ark had tilted, the thrusters had bent sideways like a stereo system.

Teletraan, he commanded. Final task. Initiate—

N̷e̵g̷a̸t̵i̶v̴e̵.̵ ̷N̸o̸ ̸p̷o̷w̸e̵r̵ ̴r̸e̸m̴a̶i̸n̵s̷.̶

Storm Cloud crawled out and stood at his full height. He grinned and reached out for Prowl's helm.

0%

A round punched through Storm Cloud's chestplate, spinning him back on his right pede with an electronic squeal. As he clutched at the wound, energon spilling over his fingers, Storm Cloud came to a halt, staring in surprise at the wound.

Prowl turned, one hand over his flickering optic, limping and dragging his pede toward the mech he knew now was still alive. At the far side of the Ark's upended aft, propped against the rock that held the ship in place, Prowl toppled down beside Bluestreak.

The other Praxian was missing his right arm and part of his right pede. Almost all of his paint was gone, and all of his wires on his right side were exposed under melted rubber. The right side of his faceplate had melted at the edges, and his right optic had burned out and still flickered with flame in the corner. His rifle slid out of his sparking, twitching left hand.

Sorrysorrysorry, Bluestreak said. Only had oneoneone round left and damndamn offhand can'taim seeing double oh Primus what did I do what did I do why why why did I missmissmissmissmiss

Prowl put his arm around Bluestreak and held him closer, shielding him with his own frame.

Teletraan, Prowl said. Use final remaining power.

T̷h̷i̸s̴ ̵u̵n̵i̷t̴ ̶w̸i̵l̶l̴ ̷g̶o̵ ̵o̵f̶f̶l̸i̶n̶e̴.̷ ̷

I know. Command code Prowl 999-99. Initiate thrusters.

I̵ n̶ i̸ t̷ i̶ a̶ t̸ ̸ i̴ ̵n̵ ̷g̴ ̶t̷ ̷h̶ ̶r̴ ̶ ̴u̸ ̵ ̸s̸ ̸ ̶t̵ ̷ ̴e̶ ̶ ̸r̵ ̷ ̷s̷ ̵

Almost impossible to understand Teletraan's garbled last words through Storm Cloud scream—

"—SCRAPS OF TIN SLAGGING PILES OF SCRAP DROP YOU OUT OF THE SKY LIKE THE REST OF YOUR WORTHLESS—"

—the thrusters came online in one brief, bright blast. Heat meant to power the Ark through the depths of space flashed across the landing pad and washed over Storm Cloud.

Prowl didn't hear him scream over the sound of his own wail. The paint on his back peeled, curled, evaporated. His wings tucked in tight, flashed with pain, and then shut down in self-defense. His wounded pede, stretched out behind himself, ignited and put out its own flames as the rubber coatings melted.

And then the heat stopped. It had only lasted for an instant. There was no sound behind them, and Prowl didn't look.

He's dead, Bluestreak whispered. Slagslagslagged. Scrapscraps oh wow. You killed him.

Prowl shut his optics. He had killed them. There would be no further responses from Teletraan. The Ark had been dying, but he had killed it.

The Ark shifted again. The tilt was worse this time, not falling over so much as simply collapsing in on itself. Prowl forced himself to sit up, hissing as every movement brought pain. He felt like a protoform spilled into a frame of broken steel grinding against itself.

How do we getgetget down? Bluestreak asked.

Prowl started to scan, but optic glitched completely and crashed. He ceased scanning. It didn't matter. He could barely move. They couldn't fly. He shook his helm once.

1%

Oh. Bluestreak gave a long, shaky vent. I didn't thinkthinkthink this was how I was gonna go, but at least I-I-I got to watch that slag get smelted. Wish I had dropped Bruticus, but I'm moremore amazed I surviv-viv-vived at all. Do you think we'll win?

Prowl didn't look. The battle was a confusing explosion of chaotic detail. If he tried to analyze it, it would probably crash. That would be a mercy, retreating into his spark instead of plunging wide awake into the heat below, but he couldn't leave Bluestreak to face that alone.

The Ark shuddered to its core. It wouldn't be long now.

Bluestreak clutched his broken hand too tight.

Sirsirsir! Jets! Jets! I can'tcan'tcan't no no tell me it's ours please please tell me they're ours tell me they're ours tell me please

Prowl lifted his helm. Reset his one good optic to make sure.

And half-smiled through the pain.

100%

Yes. Yes, they are. Mostly.

Above them, Silverbolt made a tight turn and landed gingerly in front of them, with Whisper landing behind at Silverbolt's shoulder. Their wings were marked by grazed shots.

"Sir," Silverbolt said, wincing as he looked over Prowl's damage. "We need to get you down from here."

Prowl nodded once.

Silverbolt, you will take Bluestreak. Is Ratchet still alive?

Yessir, Silverbolt said, already reaching down. Blue'? It's me. Ratchet has a place to fix you up. Are you ready for me to fly you there?

Bluestreak squeezed his optics shut, grabbing his rifle. He didn't put his finger on the trigger, but he started to vent heavily.

It's youyouyou, right?

Yes, it's me. Will you let me pick you up?

Bluestreak crushed the keen in his throat and put his good arm up. Primus Primus Primus oh just be fastfastfast please and hold tightighttight. Who's with you? I-I-I can barely seeee anything.

Silverbolt hesitated—should he be honest and tell Bluestreak of all mechs that it was a Decepticon jet—but Prowl shook his helm, cutting him off.

No time, Prowl said. Go. We will be right behind.

Silverbolt nodded once to him, glanced at Whisper and shared something between them. Then he was gone, cradling Bluestreak as they dropped out of sight.

That left Prowl alone with a Decepticon. Former Decepticon, if he were to be believed. The Ark's shaking became a constant warning, rattling Prowl's denta. His painful keen came despite his struggle to silence it.

"You should've let him take you," Whisper said, stepping closer. "You're hurting."

"So is Bluestreak," Prowl responded.

"He's just missing pieces," Whisper said. "You're raw, half-slagged. Hurts worse. And I can't adjust my grip like a civilian can."

"I will survive," Prowl said. "Just...do not hold too tight."

"I can tell you haven't been hurt like this before." Whisper bent, gathered Prowl up, and deliberately tucked his wounded pede in a strong hold. "Holding tight makes it hurt less. Doesn't let the gears swing loose."

Prowl had to take his word for it.

The Ark's landing pad finally began to cave in, the gear and thrusters and frame all crumbling inwards, leaving Whisper holding him above a smoldering ruin. And then they began the slow descent.

There was so much to process—the fight, Jazz, Soundwave, the cassettes, Inferno and RedAlert—but Prowl focused instead on the feeling of flight, of being supported in the air, the only thing holding him up the arms of a Decepticon who had probably been at Praxis. What would it be like, to suddenly plummet? The terrible inevitable crash below, the anticipation, the despair… Had Whisper been at Praxis?

Against his better judgment, Prowl looked up. Whisper studied the terrain, the jets in the distance, the mechs far below...everything except Prowl.

Yes. He had been at Praxis.

Whisper followed close by Silverbolt, taking them around the side of the mountain to a shallow cave, more of a hollow beneath a ledge. Multiple mechs lay in rows with FirstAid moving between them, and Prowl spotted Cliffjumper and Brawn standing at the front with weapons drawn. The pair of them waved Silverbolt through, raised their rifles at seeing the Decepticon. Then they saw who Whisper was carrying and waved him along as well.

In a medbay, or even triaging at the Ark entrance, Ratchet would have lain mechs down on clean berths or freshly cleaned steel floors. Now Ratchet had almost nothing, but he insisted on at least using the swept rock at the back of the hollow. Sheltered beneath the cool shadows, Prowl was set beside Bluestreak, who immediately took his hand again. There were small keens coming from him that had nothing to do with his injuries, and Prowl offered what small comfort he could.

"Primus, you're a mess," Ratchet said, coming to kneel beside him. "But you're alive. Hang on, I'll knock out the pain."

"No," Prowl siad, trying to wave him away. Instead he found that his arms were too heavy to lift. "I can still calculate—"

"I said I'd knock out the pain, not you," Ratchet said, already uploading the unlimited pain code. "But I don't know you can do get any information out. Unless Blaster gets more energon, he won't be doing any broadcasting."

Prowl titled his helm to look down the row of the wounded. Beachcomber, Inferno, RedAlert, Counterpunch...he couldn't see any of the others clearly. He tried to remember where their stores of energon lay. They hadn't kept all of it at the Ark. There were small bases scattered around the United States and acorss the globe. Nothing within quick reach.

About to take off, Whisper suddenly paused, then touched Silverbolt's wing. The two shared a thought, and then Whisper nodded, speaking to someone on the other side of his communications.

"Sounds good. Bring him in dead."

Whisper motioned at Ratchet. "Spasma's bringing in Apeface—if you're not too squeamish about spare parts."

Ratchet grimaced. "I know your side calls me Ratchet the Hatchet, but—"

"Not my side anymore," Whisper said. "You want the energon in his tanks?"

Ratchet gave a long, frustrated vent. Nodded. And cursed and stood, gathering an intake tube from FirstAid. Without his medbay, the ambulance's emergency kits were their only supplies.

The high whine of an incoming crash was their only warning. A second later, something heavy impacted in the rock only a few dozen meters beyond the ledge. Chunks of slate and plumes of sand exploded upward, raining down like hail as the concussive wave washed over the wounded.

The dust cleared, and Spasma stood with one pede in the other mech's face, punched all the way through to the ground. As Apeface's frame began to turn grey, Spasma turned him over and ripped a panel off his back, tearing out two large tanks of energon, putting one under his arm as he grabbed the half-full tank of coolant and a small tank of oil.

Spasma bore the wounds of the escape with Jazz on his armor, the deep holes of anti-aircraft fire on his front, but the silver welding scars served to cover swaths of the purple mark on his frontpiece. The lack of a Decepticon insignia seemed to make it better for everyone's targeting computers. He gave a nod to Cliffjumper and Brawn as he carried the tanks to Ratchet, laying them out like offerings.

"I got a couple more," Spasma said, retrieving the same from his subspace. "The oil was too cracked to save—sorry."

"...s'more than we had," Ratchet vented. "Anyone we knew?"

"Snapdragon," Spasma said, with enough heat in his voice to reveal his targeting had been very deliberate.

"Two jets?" Whisper said, impressed. "Without armaments?"

"Fighting's really hot at the center." Spasma shook his helm. "They were already messed up. I just finished the job."

Prowl perked up at the news. Ratchet began siphoning the energon into his tanks, replenishing the severe lack Prowl hadn't even recognized. The sluggishness left his cortex.

Spasma, he called out, broadcasting on the common channel. Whisper. I must commandeer your services. I require input from the battle.

Silverbolt, who both heard Prowl's demand and saw the two former Decepticons startle at being ordered by the Autobot commander, stared at him in shock.

Seriously? Sir, no offense but you are a wreck—

My frame is wrecked, Prowl said. But I can still process. I simply require input. Can you consistently scan the battlefield?

The three jets shared a look. After a moment, Spasma shrugged and motioned to where his guns had been removed. Whisper hesitated, then gave a frustrated shrug and accepted Silverbolt's hand on his shoulder.

They can, Silverbolt said. Beats putting unarmed mechs into direct combat. I'll alert Snare, too.

Prowl gave them his direct frequency and lay down, not watching them go. Their scans began almost immediately, and as they were used to flying reconnaisance for Soundwave, their search pattern began to reveal huge swaths of the fight.

Prowl set several processes to standby. He would wait for Blaster to wake so they could start broadcasting. He would search for Soundwave and Jazz and the best way to aid their efforts, perhaps guide them to each other. He would start organizing the forces he could see. He would search for Optimus. If he compartmentalized his cortex to each task, he could operate the Ark until RedAlert—

He stopped.

Shut his optics.

Began running all processes at once.

Curious, he ran the odds of their success.

43%

Better odds than he had been working with earlier. He would take what he could get.