Chapter Seventeen: Memories of the Past

Edmund Burton whistled a merry tune as he strode along the bright corridor of 10 Downing Street, his cane clacking gently on the polished floor. He was in a good mood today, and he gave a friendly smile to the two guards posted at the entrance to the next corridor.

They nodded curtly at him, allowing him to pass. Burton continued until he stood in front of an office door. Raising his cane, Burton knocked with the lion-shaped handle.

"Enter," said the commanding tone from within.

Grinning, Burton entered the office. It was as just as he remembered, dominated by plush chairs and portraits. There was an empty fireplace, and in front of it was an expensive desk, cluttered with stacks of documents and an elegant chessboard, its pieces arranged in neat rows. Sunlight streamed from the windows, where an imposing figure, large and well-built, stood in silence, silhouetted by the glaring light.

Burton strode across the room until he stood beside the man. For a moment they gazed at the garden below. It was a relaxing view, and Burton couldn't help but comment, "I can see why you like standing here. It helps you clear your mind when you have a lot to think about."

"Only when someone makes things complicated for me," the man said in his cold baritone.

"Is that how you treat people nowadays? Even an old friend?"

For a moment there was silence. Then Charles turned his head, and his piercing violet eyes met Burton's amused gaze. Though the years and the demands of his position as Britain's Prime Minister had created deep lines in his forehead, his handsome and angular features had not diminished.

"An annoying old friend, you mean," he said as he broke into a wide smirk.

They laughed together, embracing like the friends they were. It had been a long time since they had seen each other. Burton gently clapped Charles on the shoulder. "Look at you, Charlie," he said. "Who would think you'll be a Prime Minister? I still remember you courting five different girls at once!"

Charles rolled his eyes. "Oh please, Ed! It was your idea. I wouldn't have agreed if I had known how it would end."

Burton grinned. "At least you got laid. You were so stiff and serious back then."

"I was, but at least I didn't get as much detention as you did."

They laughed again. Charles strode behind the desk, gesturing at the chair in front of it. "Please, have a seat. I believe this will be a long talk."

"Don't worry. I won't be taking too much of your time." Burton sat down on the leather chair, hands firmly clasped on top of his cane. As Charles did the same, Burton noticed the crimson ring in his right index finger, engraved with the symbol of their order.

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, he said, "So you're not hiding it anymore." It was not a question.

Charles followed his gaze and shrugged. "Now that Britain has withdrawn from the Accords, I thought there was no need to. Let any fool think what they want. I'm not a coward who needs to be ashamed of my family's legacy."

"And your children?"

Charles snorted, waving a hand. "I did not raise them to be weaklings. You know that. They're all smart enough to answer any questions directed at them."

Burton nodded. He had met some of them before, and he could tell that they had all inherited his friend's intelligence. Some of them were even chessmasters, if he remembered right.

"Very well," he said. "As much as I'd like to do some catching up, we have an important matter to discuss." His expression turned serious. "Have you heard from Dragonicus and the others?"

The Prime Minister leaned back in his padded chair, his lips pursed. Hesitation clouded his eyes for a moment, and Burton wondered at that. "They're sending messages every year," he said after a minute of silence. "All of them are brief and always the same: be careful, and never trust the enemy."

"They still won't reveal the location of the Omega Lock?" Burton asked. Since the founding of the Custodians, it had been one of the tenets that they had agreed upon after striking a partnership with the Knights of Cybertron: while the humans would safeguard most of the relics, any information about the Omega Lock would be kept by its Cybertronian guardians. In turn, the Knights would protect Britain's leaders should the need arise.

Charles shook his head. "Even with the recent events, no." He frowned, clearly troubled. "Why? Should we be expecting another attack?"

"You should know the answer to that by now."

His frown deepening, Charles looked away, glancing at the scenery outside with a perturbed expression. Burton knew that look. Charles often had that in their younger days, when his mind was formulating plans for a school project. It was that look that landed him the position as chairman of the student council—both in high school and university.

"Do you know why Britain signed the Accords?" Charles sighed, returning his attention to him.

Burton cracked a smile. "An eagle in the west keeps on bothering you, am I right?"

His friend scowled. "Daily calls, subtle threats, even blackmail. The Queen and I were forced, though most of those dullards in the Parliament had already made their decision back then." He shook his head. "But things are changing now, Edmund. Yesterday's attack hammered a clear point into everyone: humans can't do this alone."

"We never could," Burton said softly. "It's one of the reasons why the Custodians were founded, too."

"Indeed." He paused briefly. "Britain decided to withdraw at once after the incident. I talked with the Queen, and she agreed. We had hoped it would set an example to the others; Cuba already did when the Accords were drafted years ago, but they do not possess the same influence that our country does."

"And now the United States has announced their withdrawal as well." Burton stared at him, his eyes gleaming with interest. "You've been planning for this, haven't you?"

Charles smirked, though it quickly faded into an expression of deep sadness. "Yes. But I wish it did not cost us hundreds of lives and almost a quarter of London."

"Without the Knights and the Autobots, we could have lost a lot more."

"That is true." There was another silence again. Then Charles said, "So you're saying that the Omega Lock might be their next target?"

Burton nodded, his expression grave. "Two of them followed Viviane a few weeks ago. And just yesterday, we learned why Daniel and Windstorm vanished."

"They were killed, weren't they?" Charles asked softly.

"Yes. It seems our enemy is trying to locate the Omega Lock. Though for what purpose, I do not know."

"What else but death and destruction?" Charles said with a grunt. "I'll try sending a message to Dragonicus, though I'm afraid it won't matter. They seem to know everything that's happening around lately." He smiled fondly. "Did you know that they congratulated me when I was appointed as Prime Minister?"

Burton chuckled. "If I remember correctly, they also personally came to congratulate you after you got married for the fourth time."

Charles laughed, his voice echoing in the room. "Yes. Good thing the others were asleep. I was worried that Marianne would have a heart attack if she found out." His eyes brightened. "Say, why don't you come over to the mansion and join us for dinner tonight? The girls miss you, and we can do some catching up."

Burton sighed. Charles's invitation was tempting; it had been a long time since they last saw each other, and he wanted to know what his best friend had been up to for the last seven years. Moreover, he also did miss the children, too.

"I'm afraid I can't accept your invitation, even though my heart wants to," he said. "There are still some things I have to attend to."

"Of course." Charles nodded with a smile. "I guess being the head of our order is not a position where you can easily have dinner with a friend."

Burton grinned. "I could say the same for you, Prime Minister."

They laughed again. When their voices finally quieted, Burton stood up from his seat. "Well, it's been nice talking with you again, Charles. But I have to go."

"I know. Maybe when everything has calmed down, and our time permits, we can talk again." Charles rose and extended a hand, which Burton grasped firmly. "I will alert the army. In the event that the Decepticons attack again, we'll be ready."

"Thank you, Charles. I hope that the next time we meet, it will be under better circumstances."


Santos shouldered his bag with a scowl as he exited the Osprey's ramp, joining the rest of his unit outside. It had not been a comfortable flight, not with that awful turbulence, so he barely slept throughout the trip. Hopefully, he could get some once they had settled in.

Their temporary base was huge, he would admit that much. It was the size of four football fields, and as tall as one. He couldn't believe that they were inside a mountain itself, and he really didn't at first until he saw the entrance gaping open to take the Ospreys in. Some might call the size overkill, but it was a necessity to accommodate their new allies.

He snorted at that. Allies was not the right word. More like temporary partners. After all, N.E.S.T. was still dissolved, and the TRF was still active. Even if the US had withdrawn from the Accords, the Autobots were still illegal refugees in the country.

The announcement came with mixed reactions from the unit. Most were disappointed, and even a few wanted to throw away the badges that they had proudly worn over the last five years. Santos understood their frustrations. The TRF was supposed to hunt all Transformers regardless of their factions. It didn't seem right to work with the very people that had caused so much death and destruction on Earth.

Nevertheless, orders were orders. And like the good soldier that he was, Santos had to follow orders. But that didn't mean he would just accept the situation. It would be insulting to the memory of his family if he did—-a sentiment that everyone in the TRF shared.

After everyone had disembarked from the Ospreys that had ferried them to Wyoming, Santos found himself standing at the front of his team. He saw Lennox talking with the apparent base commander, who kept glancing at them with interest. Santos knew that he should be joining them—he was still a field commander, after all, and he should have a say in this matter—but after the reprimanding he had received yesterday, he had to lie low. Let things run its course for now. Eventually, everything would go back to normal once they were done with the mission.

His mood improving at that thought, Santos watched as Lennox and the base commander approached. "Captain Ericson said we could bunk in the east wing," Lennox said.

"This is a huge facility meant to house five thousand troops," Ericson supplied, his gray eyes boring into Santos. "There's enough room for all of us. Unfortunately, we are currently undermanned and underequipped."

"Yes, I can see that," Santos said dryly. The hangar's size was punctuated by the fact that it was nearly empty of aircrafts. He could see a couple of attack helicopters and transports, but nothing else. How could these guys defend themselves if there was an attack? "What do you call your unit?"

Ericson shrugged. "At the moment, none. We are not an official unit, even though we are sanctioned by the POTUS himself."

The way he said that made Santos's fingers twitch. The President's decision to help the Autobots in secret was an idea that his mind could not still accept. It was as if the man he had supported and voted for had spat on the ideals of the TRF and the grave of its valiant soldiers—men who had died defending the world.

Politicians, Santos thought sourly. Everyone's all the same. They just care about their image. But when all was said and done, they wouldn't bother keeping their promises. He was brought out of his thoughts when Ericson continued.

"Anyway, I know you're all tired, so I won't keep you long."

"There's a briefing at 1800 hours," Lennox added, his arms crossed, looking so at ease, Santos resisted the urge to punch him again. "Get some rest, then we'll discuss what's our purpose here."

There were a lot of quiet affirmations from the three hundred TRF soldiers that went with them, and several grumbles as well. A soldier led them toward the spacious east where the barracks and quarters were located. Naturally, it was located as far away from the Autobots' quarters as possible.

They passed several of the base's soldiers, which gave them wary looks. They were too few, Santos noted, though from what he had gathered when they landed on the hangar, they still outnumbered the men he had brought by at least two to one.

The barracks was cozy and spacious, close to the armory and mess hall. After leaving instructions to the unit captains not to cause any trouble, for now, Santos entered his room. It was well-lit, with a single bed, a side table, and a closet. A door to the left led to the toilet. There was no window, but it had a ventilation fan built into the wall. Next to it was a digital clock that read: 12:33PM.

After dropping his duffel bag to the floor, Santos collapsed on the bed with a sigh, folding his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. The events of the past two days whirled in his mind, a turbulent of memories and emotions.

He felt drowsy all of a sudden, his eyelids drooping. Before he knew it, Santos was already fast asleep.

His dream was the usual nightmare.

He was in the living room, watching TV while Maria and Julia prepared the dinner. Santos had just returned after his tour in Afghanistan. He had missed his wife's beef stew, and he was looking forward to a full belly as soon as she was done. He could already smell it from where he sat.

"Papa! Do you like some potato wedges?" their daughter, Julia, called from the kitchen.

"Yes, sweetie!" Santos responded. She was barely thirteen, but she had definitely inherited Maria's talent for cooking. Santos had been saving up for her college; she wanted to take culinary, maybe HRM, too.

While mother and daughter worked in the kitchen, Santos contented himself with the news. What was happening these past few days troubled him. He could feel when a war was about to come, and sending the Autobots away was obviously a recipe for one. While he was no fan of the extraterrestrial heroes due to the horrendous amount of collateral damage they attract, Santos welcomed their protection nonetheless.

"Dinner's ready!"

With a grin, he stood up and went to the kitchen, his mouth already watering from the aroma alone. "God, I miss this," he said as he took his seat at the head of the table. Laid out before him was a meal fit for a king. There was his wife's stew, his daughter's potato wedges, a bowl of soup, and some salad. To top it off, Maria had opened one of the vintage wines they had received on their wedding.

"That's because you keep going off to some warzone, Papa," Julia said, sitting down next to her mother. Her warm brown eyes, so like Maria, stared at him with fake disappointment.

Santos sighed. "You know I have to, for your college. It shouldn't be long. A few more years and we'll have enough."

"Then we'll have that diner you promised me fifteen years ago," his wife chimed in with that dazzling smile he had fallen in love with.

"No." Santos sniffed. "I wouldn't want other people to taste your cooking."

Julia sighed. "That's so selfish of you, Papa."

They burst out laughing at that. After saying grace, they began to eat. Santos chewed slowly, relishing the taste of the stew. The first time Maria had cooked it for him, he knew that he would be spending the rest of his life with her.

He had left the TV open so he could listen while eating. So when the reporter gave a shout, followed by the announcement of the rocket's explosion, Santos stiffened, an act mirrored by his family.

He glanced at his wife, who looked just as worried as Julia. He swallowed and stood up, returning to the living room. Maria and Julia soon joined him.

The more Santos heard the next reports, the more his apprehension grew. The Autobots were gone, obliterated by a barrage of missiles. In hindsight, they should have expected this scenario. One of the basic rules of negotiation with a hostile force was to never trust their word.

He glanced at Maria. Her eyes were clouded with worry as her gaze remained fixed on the TV screen. Julia was no better, wringing her hands the way she usually did when she was upset. Santos wrapped his arms around their shoulders, bringing them close.

"Are we going to be okay, Papa?" Julia whispered. Maria brushed her hair soothingly.

Santos opened his mouth, but no words escaped him. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell them that everything would be fine, that they would all be safe. But that would be lying to them; the status quo had just changed for the worst.

The news channel replayed the footage of the Autobots' spaceship exploding.

He shook his head at last, murmuring, "I don't know, sweetie. I don't know."

Someone knocked on the door. Santos snapped his eyes open, reaching for the handgun next to him out of reflex.

"Sir? Colonel Lennox is requesting your presence at the briefing room," a man said outside.

Retracting his hand from the weapon, Santos groaned and rubbed his eyes. He glanced at the clock, then started in disbelief as it read: 5:49PM. He had slept for most of the afternoon.

"Sir?" the soldier spoke again.

"Tell him I'll be there shortly." Santos stood as the soldier's footsteps faded away. He splashed his face with water from the toilet's sink. Refreshed, he buckled his sidearm and smoothed his uniform, then went out into the hallway.

After asking for directions, a base personnel guided him to the conference room. The corridors here were just large enough for humans, which was a relief to him. He had seen the west wing on their way to the east wing, and he felt disconcerted at the vast space it contained. He liked it just fine when the ceiling was close to his head and not three hundred feet above him.

So when they reached the conference room, Santos did a double-take and nearly swore.

It was obviously meant for both humans and Transformers. It was the size of a small hangar with rows of steel chairs near the front where several people sat, mostly TRF officers. A large plasma screen, thirty feet wide and more than half as long, dominated one wall. Lennox stood in front of it along with Ericson and Fowler, deep in conversation.

To the left were the Autobots, and as he strode forward, Santos did not miss the way some of them glared at him. A yellow mech with wheels for feet particularly tracked his movements with barely concealed hatred. With a scowl, Santos remembered him as that one who took down an entire TRF battalion in a rampage across Michigan. Something about avenging his twin.

He sat at the front next to Victor, one of his lieutenants, and crossed his arms. Lennox faced the crowd, holding a remote controller.

"Is everyone here? Good. We can begin." The screen flared to life, showing a crisp recording of the President delivering his announcement. As of today, the United States of America is withdrawing from the Chicago Accords. Lennox paused the video and continued, "Officially, all TRF units are ordered to stand down and not actively hunt Transformers unless they are deemed a threat. Also," here he glanced at Cade Yeager and his Autobot friends, "several priority targets are removed from our wanted list. The memo has already been spread across all bases, and General Morshower is coordinating with the army to make sure that the transition goes smoothly.

"Unofficially, we are tasked with providing support for Director Fowler and his unit. They are sanctioned by the CIA, who is under a directive from the POTUS, but act independently from any department. Their mission is to help the Autobots hunt down Decepticons—a mission that we now share."

A TRF trooper raised his hand. "What's the name of this unit, sir?"

"As of now, none," Ericson answered. "N.E.S.T. is still disbanded, so we can't use that unless the Autobots are reinstated as refugees. But once the situation changes, I'm sure we'll have the option to do so."

"Why not the Avengers?" someone at the back suggested. There were a few snickers from the soldiers.

The base commander's mouth twitched at that. "The name's taken, unfortunately. And," he added with a wry smile, "it won't fit our unit, I'm afraid. No, for now we will have to content ourselves with our assigned designation, which is the Special Operations for Extraterrestrials Division."

Lennox said, "Moving on, our mission is two-fold. While we hunt Decepticons, we must also protect Cybertronian relics." He pressed a button. This time the screen showed one of the Omega Keys that Santos had seen back in Bryze Norton.

"This is an Omega Key. Its purpose is highly classified, but what I can tell you is that it has the power to potentially cause a mass-extinction level event. We've got two of them within this base under heavy guard, and we are searching for more of these things. At the moment, we detected one in Japan, and I have already contacted our division there to assist Cade Yeager once he begins the retrieval."

There were a lot of confused murmurs among the TRF officers. Santos knew the reason, of course, having been told during the flight. But he was still not convinced. Why were they giving such an important mission to the former fugitive? Even if he was the only one who could activate the Key, Cade Yeager was still pretty much a civilian without any ties to the US military.

"Sir, shouldn't SOED and TRF handle the retrieval?" one soldier asked.

"We still are," Lennox answered. "But our primary role is to escort Cade around the country."

"What about them?" Santos jerked a thumb in the Autobots' direction. "They're coming too?"

"Naturally," said the Autobot who looked like a police cruiser. "Three of us will accompany Cade during the search for the third Omega Key. The rest will stay here, including the Knights, to protect the relics."

Santos shrugged. Frankly, he didn't care who would go and who wouldn't, though he wished that more of them would join Yeager. The less he saw them, the better. He knew that the same went for his men, though like him, they still had the decency, and discipline, to keep their opinion to themselves.

"Any more questions?" Ericson asked.

"I do." Santos crossed his arms. If the TRF was to help the SOED, he had to know what the base was capable of. "I've seen the lack of defenses in this facility. If we are attacked, how are we supposed to defend ourselves properly?"

Murmurs sprang once more from his men. It was a simple enough question, but all the more important because of the dangerous nature of their mission and their enemies.

Lennox glanced at Ericson and Fowler. The hesitation was clear on their faces. Santos waited patiently for their answer. They wouldn't avoid this; to do so would mean distrusting the TRF, which would cause division among their forces.

Finally, Fowler shrugged. "We are expecting a shipment of several Abrams and Raptors to complement our forces. Other than those, we hope that TRF will provide us with a few Sentinels to help protect the base."

"That still depends on the board," Lennox sighed. "I already relayed this to General Morshower. He'll see what can be done. In the meantime, we'll have to make do with what we've got for now."

Santos snorted. "Which are a couple of helis and transports."

"And more than a dozen badass bots," the red Autobot with the horns chimed in, much to the amusement of his fellow mechs.

Ignoring the comment, Santos listened intently as Lennox outlined the retrieval mission next. He wouldn't be joining due to his previous outburst back in London, so the escort mission would be handled by Lucas, another of his lieutenants. The man looked as excited as someone who would be going to a funeral, but there was nothing they could do about it. At least he wouldn't be stuck in the base.

After the briefing, it was time for dinner. Santos joined his platoon in the mess hall, where they ate together with the other base personnels. Naturally, the TRF sat amongst themselves; though they were working with the SOED, the sides each had their own views regarding the Autobots. It would only cause trouble if they mingled with each other.

As he ate, Santos idly kept one ear focused on the conversations around him. Most of his men were still aggravated about their situation, but no one could really complain about it. Orders were still orders, and like the good soldiers that they were, they had to follow it to the letter.

"My uncle died because of them," one growled through clenched teeth. "It was during the battle in Mission City. A rocket exploded near him, killed him instantly. But what did the government do? They gave them asylum."

Another one spoke, less hostile, but with as much resentment as the first one. "I was with my family in Chicago when it was attacked. We got trapped in a collapsed building for days. I promised my little sister that we'll get out alive, and that she can play Minecraft again. She really loved that game, you know?" He choked back a sob. "When it was all over, I was the only one they could pull out alive."

Santos shook his head, his expression darkening like a storm. He knew his men's stories all too well, for it was the stories that unified them in a single goal: the eradication of all Transformers on Earth. A zeal drove them forward, vengeance fueling them when everything else seemed meaningless.

"Don't worry, Mack," Santos said, drawing the attention of those around him. "We'll get these aliens soon. And we'll avenge them. Your family, Lucas's, Victor's sons. We'll avenge them all."

I will avenge both of you, my sweeties.

There was nothing else to do once dinner was over. The TRF was going to train with the Autobots, but that was scheduled for tomorrow morning. Santos had the free time to himself.

He decided to go back to his room. Along the way, he passed a teenage girl with a diminutive blue Transformer by her side, trailed by a sleek robotic panther. A civilian? Santos wondered. "Hey, what are you doing here? This is a restricted facility."

The girl stopped, turning to face him with one eyebrow raised, her ponytail swaying. "I'm with the Autobots, duh. Isn't that obvious?"

Santos frowned. He could vaguely remember something about Cade Yeager bringing some of his colleagues, but he didn't expect one of them to be a young girl. And a rude one, apparently. He pressed on, "You're with Yeager? Where are your parents?"

"First, yes, I'm with Cade. Second, it's none of your business, thank you very much."

Santos rolled his eyes and resumed his walk back to his room. He didn't want to deal with this right now, especially someone who didn't like to answer his questions politely. "Just make sure you don't cause trouble around here."

He was about to turn the corner when the girl said, "You're one of those guys who hate Transformers."

He wanted to retort back at that comment, but Santos controlled his temper. He didn't really care what other people thought about him. As long as he was doing his job, he didn't have to care.

The sound of approaching footsteps caught him off-guard. He was even more surprised when the girl was walking alongside him while her robot friends followed close behind. "What's your story?" she asked, genuinely curious. "What made you decide to join the TRF?"

Santos ignored her.

"Are you even happy with what you're doing?"

He kept ignoring her. Once he reached his room, he could finally have some peace of mind. But for now, he had to endure the persistent brat.

There was a pause, and Santos almost released a sigh of relief, when the girl spoke again.

"You know, my parents died in Chicago."

Santos finally stopped. His room was just five doors down the hall, but the girl's words rooted his legs to the floor. She gazed into the distance with an expression that Santos knew all too well.

"It was my 7th birthday and we had a celebration." She smiled fondly at the memory. "I was the only kid, so you could say they pampered me a lot. They ordered a strawberry cake, my favorite. After I blew out the candles, we ate in the dining room. We were planning on going to the mall. Then the explosions started. My parents grabbed whatever supplies they could get, and we drove out the city as fast as we could. I was crying the whole time, but Mom was there and tried to comfort me. She told me that we'd get out alive.

"We got stuck in traffic, so we went on foot. We thought we could… I thought we'd make it, but a Decepticon patrol saw us and started shooting. My parents pushed me under a car, but it was too late for them. They got caught in the stampede. It was not until morning came that US troops found me and took me away."

Santos winced in sympathy. So many children had been orphaned during the Battle of Chicago; he had even rescued some of them while searching for Maria and Julia. Most had developed trauma at their ordeal. It was a horrible experience, which only strengthened his hatred for the Transformers.

The girl continued. "An old couple adopted me after that, and they were fine, I guess. They treated me like their own daughter, who died during a Decepticon attack in Michigan. In a way, we both lost someone. I stayed with them for five years. But they hated Transformers because of what happened and I couldn't stand that. So I ran away. With nowhere to go, I returned to my home. That's when I met Sqweeks."

"Chihuahua," the Transformer said. Izabella chuckled, patting it on the head.

"He kept me going, and Canopy, too, once we met him. It's weird, I know. Their war took away people I loved. I should be hating them, but I just couldn't. They lost someone too, just like me. And it's not their fault that the war happened and continued here."

The ensuing silence was like a balm to Santos's confused thoughts. It cleared his mind, and he stared at the girl curiously. For a moment he just stood there, watching her.

She broke the silence with the same question from before: "So, what's your story?"

His answer came easier than Santos had expected, which actually relieved him for some reason. "Me and my family were passing through the city when the attack happened. I was separated from them, and I… I searched through all the rubble and dead Transformers until I found my wife's body under a truck and our daughter beneath her."

"And so you began to hate Transformers," the girl sighed.

"Yes," Santos said softly. He could still remember that day, finding his family's corpses at last after a day of searching, holding Maria and Julia's gray hands as he howled into the sky. No one had helped him look for them. Not N.E.S.T., and certainly not the Autobots.

"Even someone like Sqweeks?" The girl smiled at him.

Santos opened his mouth to say, "Yes." But the word died in nis throat when he saw the little Transformer's eyes. It was big and bright blue, but there was not a single trace of hostility in it. There was only the warmth of innocence and curiosity, like one would see in a child.

He lowered his gaze and sighed. "What's your name, kid?"

"Izabella. But you can call me Izzy. You?"

"Gabriel."

"Like the angel?"

Santos snorted. "I'm no angel, kid."

Izzy shrugged. "Well, you can start being one now."

He had no answer to that. Izzy and her friends soon left, but her words still rang in Santos's ears as he entered his room. After changing to a gray shirt and shorts, he sank onto the bed and closed his eyes, pondering what the girl had said until sleep overcame him.

That night, not a single nightmare visited Santos.


Prowl stared at the sword that he had borrowed from Sunstreaker. It was sleek and long, quite unlike his ruined electric baton, and it would take him some time getting used to. But it was better than not having any melee weapon at all. He would have chosen one of Skyquake's spare swords when the Knight offered it to him, except it was bulky and heavy. Nor did he like Bumblebee's hammer.

He twirled it experimentally in his hand as he strode toward the training room. Wielding a sword once more felt nostalgic, and he remembered the days when he would train with Drift—or Deadlock as he was still known back then—under the tutelage of Master Yoketron. But when war broke out and Drift did… That unspeakable thing, Prowl had felt that a sword no longer suited him.

Circumstances change, of course. Drift was an ally now, and they were lacking in equipment. Prowl had to make do with what they have.

He passed a few humans along the way, who gave him brief nods of acknowledgement. Being with Earth's natives was a new experience for him, though not unpleasantly so. They were small, fragile, and prone to following their emotions. But they were also brave and determined, and he could see why Optimus was fond of them—at least those who didn't hate their kind.

Prowl shook his head. The alliance with the TRF was tenuous at best. While he did not want to doubt the unit's discipline and capability to follow orders, the TRF was still composed of soldiers who bore ill will against the Cybertronians. They could turn any moment at the slightest provocation; a situation that Prowl had emphasized to his fellow Autobots when they held their own meeting last night.

The sound of clashing metal soon reached his audio receptors. Prowl frowned. It was just past six in the morning, and joint training should not start until eight. It was probably some of the mechs in an early morning spar.

His assumptions proved true. As Prowl entered the massive chamber, his attention was immediately drawn to the two towering Knights in the center exchanging barehanded blows.

"Come on, Slag," Grandmaster Scorn said. "Put more force into your fists!"

The other Grandmaster laughed. "You're the one who should be putting more effort into your blows!"

There was much excitement, and wariness on the TRF's side, when the Grandmasters emerged from a Groundbridge outside the mountain base's entrance last night. Word of their prowess was known in the base, from the footage of the attack in London to various accounts from the Knights Apprentices. Their alternate forms only added to the humans' awe and wonder.

The Grandmasters' sheer size was initially thought to be a problem, but they learned quickly that the mountain facility was actually big enough to accommodate them; it seemed that the builders had the foresight to include gigantic Cybertronians when they were planning the construction.

As the floor shook tremendously from the Grandmasters' spar, Prowl looked around the room. There was a large crowd of soldiers from the side watching the two Knights trade blows. Most were SOED personnel, but there were a few early risers from the TRF as well. Whether or not they were studying the Grandmasters' capabilities remained unknown, though Prowl knew it was most likely the case.

Next to them were several of Prowl's fellow Autobots and the rest of the Knights. Most, especially Grandmaster Grimlock, wore reserved expressions. Skyquake was cheering on Grandmaster Slag while his twin shouted for the other side. Cliffjumper was doing the same, though for a different team entirely.

Prowl glanced at the second set of sparring duo. Sunstreaker was aggressive as always, even with only a single blade, using his wheeled feet as much to his advantage as he could. He would strike fast, evade Drift's counterattack, then slide away before the former assassin could follow up with another attack.

In contrast, Drift was patient, remaining on the defense, waiting for an opportunity where he could deliver a devastating blow that would end the fight. Prowl watched them intently, noting the calmness in Drift's optics, the way he moved smoothly. He parried a slash from Sunstreaker then pirouetted to the left and blocked a second strike.

The two traded a flurry of blows. Drift backflipped, then rushed at a surprised Sunstreaker. The swordsmech raised his sword to guard, but Drift swerved at the last second with incredible speed. There was a collection of gasps from the audience as Drift swiftly brought his katana toward Sunstreaker's throat.

The crowd broke into a wave of applause.

Prowl smiled wryly. He doubted if anyone really knew what had happened. It was too fast for the untrained optic, but their Master Yoketron had taught them well for Prowl to track the flow of the battle easily. He knew that Sunstreaker had already lost as soon as Drift had backflipped.

He glanced at his borrowed sword, an idea already forming in his mind, idly listening as congratulations were thrown in Drift's direction. It had been long since they last sparred, and while Prowl had seen what his friend was capable of during the Decepticons' attack in London, it was different than crossing blades with each other.

Drift was already turning away, his katana sheathed, while the others were beginning to disperse after the Grandmaster's spar ended with Slag's victory. Prowl hurried forward, earning him a few curious glances. "Up for a spar with me, Drift?" he asked.

The reaction was just as Prowl expected. Drift stared at him in surprise, mirroring the expressions of everyone else. He glanced at the sword that Prowl held, then back to his face. "You're certain of this?"

Prowl grunted. "Have I ever been indecisive?"

"No," Drift chuckled. He drew his katana once more and gestured to the training floor. "Very well. I'll take you up on your offer."

Those who were leaving the room suddenly returned, their eyes gleaming with interest as Prowl and Drift took their spots and faced each other with a fair distance between them. Drift bowed, fist to spark, an act that Prowl knew too well; it was the same gesture of respect they used for Master Yoketron.

Millennia ago, he would have been insulted by that gesture after Drift's betrayal. But now he simply mirrored him, his expression stoic.

They each took a battle stance. Prowl thought he had already forgotten the forms, but he was relieved when he managed to perform one of them smoothly. Having grown accustomed to his years as a law enforcer, whose combat styles were different, and later as a soldier in the Autobot resistance, the movements felt almost new to him.

There was a palpable silence as both combatants eyed each other warily. Drift held his katana in front of him, one foot at the front of the other—an aggressive stance, and one that would allow Drift to easily counterattack as well.

In response, Prowl gripped his sword and tilted it parallel to the ground, then placed his right foot back and twisted so that his left side was facing Drift and the sword's hilt was next to Prowl's head. He bent his legs slightly, sharpening his focus for any movement from his opponent.

A minute passed. And another. Hound shifted a foot impatiently. It seemed that Drift wouldn't make the first strike, but Prowl had already expected that.

He lunged forward. Drift swung to block his slash, moving his katana as effortlessly as if it was an extension of his arm. Prowl's sword was batted aside, and he used the momentum to spin to his right, intent on striking at Drift's blindspot. It was a simple move, easily recognisable.

As Prowl had hoped, Drift raised his katana to block him. Prowl changed direction at the last second and went for Drift's right leg. The former assassin's optics widened by a fraction. He hopped back, and the sword cut through empty air. But Prowl kept going, unleashing a series of blows that pushed Drift back.

The room was filled with the sound of ringing metal as their blades clashed. Drift had not lost his ferocity and finesse in all these millennia, but Prowl was not deterred. Despite his lack of practice in the swordsmanship that their master had taught them, Prowl remembered enough of the basic and intermediate forms to keep Drift from executing his deadly techniques.

Sparks flew as their blades repeatedly clashed. Prowl's expression remained unchanged, a mask of concentration and utter focus, but Drift was starting to smile. When their weapons locked for a moment, he said, "This brings me back."

Mildly surprised, Prowl disengaged and retreated to a safe distance, watching Drift carefully. He knew what he was talking about. Back before the war, they would spar every day to see who was the better fighter. It had become a friendly competition between them, a rivalry to gain Master Yoketron's favor. And sometimes Prowl won their bouts, but Drift's skills were always above him no matter how hard he trained; for every spar where Prowl emerged victorious, Drift would beat him five times in a row afterwards.

He was quickly brought out of his reminiscing when Drift struck, taking advantage of his momentary distraction. Silently berating himself for succumbing to his memories, Prowl barely deflected the attack. He had forgotten that Drift was an opportunist; a mistake he would not make again.

They briefly exchanged a series of attacks. With every stroke Prowl grew confident of his skills and began to remember his training. Drift lunged at him, only for the stab to be parried. They danced around each other, their blades flashing under the training room's lights. At the back of his mind, Prowl realized that this was similar to many of their sparring so long ago.

Drift's smile vanished soon as Prowl matched his speed, though a glint of amusement remained in his optics. Prowl weaved a web of complicated attacks around him, driving him back. The battle was starting to shift in his favor, Prowl could feel it.

Then he swung, and he noticed the tension in Drift's body, and that determined look on his face. Drift backflipped, much like he did with his duel against Sunstreaker. The crowd was cheering loudly, but Prowl ignored them. There was nothing else in the room except for him and Drift. And so when he landed, Prowl was ready.

Drift charged. Prowl swung his sword low. Drift vaulted over it at the last second, spinning over the air. Prowl didn't stop and twisted to the left, bringing his sword in a diagonal slash just as Drift's feet touched the floor once more.

Prowl's sword pressed onto his throat.

Silence. Prowl stared at his friend, waiting for his next move. His katana was midway through a block, but Drift had not been fast enough this time. He stared back at Prowl, then at the sword at his. He smirked.

"To be fair, I was already tired after my bout with Sunstreaker."

Smirking back at him, Prowl chuckled. "That's what you always say every time you lose."

Drift lowered his katana, and the crowd roared and cheered deafeningly. For the first time, Prowl noticed that there were more people than when he had entered. It seemed that his duel with Drift had attracted a lot of attention, even those who were not part of the training program.

Prowl and Drift bowed to each other. The soldiers were starting to prepare the training for the joint exercise between the TRF and Autobots. He wanted to witness how the humans work with his kind, but his spar with Drift and the flashes of memories that had accompanied it left him exhausted. He would just review the recorded footage later.

After placing the sword onto his back, Prowl left the training room. He had not gotten more than five meters when footsteps echoed behind him. Turning around, he was surprised to see Drift standing outside the steel doors.

"Aren't you going to watch the training?" he asked.

"I'm tired," Prowl said simply. He resumed walking, but Drift's next words made him pause in his tracks.

"You're still angry at me."

With a sigh, Prowl pondered that statement. A lifetime ago, he would have been enraged by that comment. But things had changed. Prowl was not the mech that he used to be. He was still wary around Drift, but to say he was still angry at him would be incorrect, and quite offensive if he were to be honest with Drift.

"Why did you tell Megatron where the Master was hiding the refugees?" Prowl didn't stop himself from asking the question despite the flood of memories that it would unlock. He had to settle things with Drift now.

There was a brief pause. In halting words spoken softly, Drift said, "We received information that those refugees would be forced into the Autobot army as conscripts. I thought I was saving them."

"And you never thought to doubt that? Those refugees were rescued from the bombing run in Decagon! Megatron released an order to hunt them down."

"I'm sorry," Drift murmured. "I didn't know. At that time, Airachnid's intel was reliable."

Prowl spun around with an incredulous expression. "You trusted Airachnid?"

"She was providing valuable information. There was no reason for me to doubt her back then. Not after the Master broke his promise of taking sides."

With a sigh, Prowl shook his head. He regarded Drift silently, gauging the sincerity in his voice. His friend bore a pained expression, and after some thought, Prowl realized that he was telling the truth; Drift really didn't know.

When news had reached Prowl that Yoketron had been slain and the refugees were massacred, he tried to reach out to Drift. Only the two of them knew of the Master's hiding place, and it was only natural that Prowl would go to Drift first. He tried to contact him, but he failed. Long did he want to confront his friend about the truth, and yet fortune had always kept them apart.

"Why didn't you try to find me?" Prowl asked quietly, clenching his hands. "I've been searching for you, Deadlock. I didn't think you meant to betray the Master, but I needed to know the real story from you. And yet you just vanished."

"Because I was ashamed," he admitted with a pained look. "I knew you'd come for me, so I left the Decepticons and hid. I didn't know how I would explain myself to you, and I was afraid you wouldn't believe me."

"But you made me believe that you sold out our master of your own will."

"It's better than facing your wrath because I made a mistake." Drift shook his head. "I couldn't bear that, Prowl."

"You couldn't bear the shame of being wrong? You let your pride and ego get to you?" Prowl asked in disbelief. It was illogical, though perhaps he should have expected that. They were some of Drift's flaws that he truly loathed.

It was Drift's turn to sigh. "An even greater mistake, and one I regretted. You're right; I should've come to you first. I hope you can forgive me."

Prowl's expression softened. He had already forgiven his friend after piecing the few clues he had gathered after the incident. He knew it was not Drift's fault, not completely, though his rage at that time prevented him from trusting him, either. And then there was no chance to reconcile after Optimus ordered the exodus.

"I already forgave you, Drift," Prowl said at last, using his friend's new name. Drift stared at him in wonder and relief. "But," he added with a dry smile, "I don't think I still trust you."

Drift seemed a little disappointed at that, but there was understanding in his optics. He nodded. "I know. You don't have to trust me. I wouldn't trust myself either if I was in your position. Still," he smiled warmly, "'thank you. And again, I'm really sorry."

Prowl grunted. Some things really had not changed, and that included his friend's tendency to repeat his apologies. "Keep saying sorry and I might take my word back," he grumbled. He strode past him, saying, "Come. I'm suddenly in the mood to watch the joint exercise."

Drift chuckled, and Prowl hid a smile as they re-entered the training room.


Memories of the Past is obviously the longest chapter of this fic, and for a good reason. It is divided into three separate scenes involving two pairs of characters sharing memories, whether they are shared experiences or their own.

The first is between Burton and Charles. Once again, I will reiterate that Charles is NOT an original character but an existing one from another famous franchise. If anyone has already guessed who he is by now, congratulations! And if not, I've included several hints in the first scene. Obviously, I've tweaked his personality because he didn't have the same experiences as he had in the original franchise.

His relationship with Burton is explained more in this chapter, and I hope I did well with what I've written. As you may have noticed, Burton acts as a contrast to Charles's initially straight-laced attitude. Burton is, as the chapter mentioned, quite a bit of a troublemaker, which I think fits his rather eccentric and fun character.

Next, and probably my favorite part given how it takes up the majority of this chapter, is Santos's encounter with Izzy. In the movie, we never really got a proper explanation for Santos's hostility against the Transformers except for a very typical and generic reason. At least Savoy in AoE had a good enough reason. But in a way, Santos may also have had the same experience, so I added a backstory for him.

Santos and Izabella parallels each other but also symbolizes the two sides of the same coin: those who still have faith in the Autobots, and those who blame them for everything that has happened. I would have chosen Lennox, but he and Santos hate each other, so having them talk would likely end in another brawl. Hence, I went for Izabella. And frankly, I enjoyed writing about their encounter.

Lastly, the relationship between Prowl and Drift. It was an original take based on my own idea, which I already did before in an earlier version of this fic(Transformer 5: Faces of Darkness), and I believe this has never been done in any Transformers media, though feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. However, I will admit that this subplot is derived from the rivalry between Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow in the G.I. Joe franchise.

And now for the revelation in this chapter. While the line itself could be interpreted in any way that readers see fit, I will confirm now that, YES, the MCU is part of this fic's universe. And expect more references as the story progresses. However, I will say it now: there will be no real crossover. At least not yet. I want to take my time plotting out the series, or saga if you will, just as Marvel did. After all, we wouldn't have gotten Endgame if they had rushed it, right? Unlike a certain rival company.

Moving on, it's now time for the Q&A!

In response to Julien Caeg's review: First, you actually gave me an idea regarding that twin vs twin suggestion. :D Second, Unicron will definitely appear. He is pretty much Transformers' Thanos, so there's no way that I won't include him. However, I can confirm that he didn't revive Predaking in this story. Third, Scourge and Cyclonus are both members of the Knights. Fourth, I'm actually planning a trilogy, with this fic being the first "book". The one with Optimus as the main protagonist is the second, and the series will culminate in the third and final part which, a minor spoiler, will be similar to Avengers: Endgame in terms of scale. Finally, the Insecticons won't be making any appearances in this fic. But they will definitely have a major role in the sequel.

In response to Autobot-Wolfsketch's review: Unfortunately, I have no plans in bringing the Maximals into the series. Yet. One thing I can say is that they will be part of the story eventually, though not in the near future.

In response to GreenArrow69's review: A good question. I want to say yes, but it happened "off-screen", and it is why Scorn and Slag had a spar in the first place because Scorn is saddened by the news. Unfortunately, with so much going on, I decided not to include it here.

Anyway, that's it for the update. At the rate that this fic is going, we probably only have about 7-8 chapters before the finale. While I would want to release the final chapter on the story's 5th anniversary, I think it will come much earlier than that. Around April if things go well. Whatever the case, I can guarantee an interesting and epic third act and climax.

On a side note, this fanfic is also posted in Archive of Our Own, though that one is about six chapters behind. However, I'm gradually updating it until it has caught up with this version.

Please Read and Review! Until next time!