Author's Notes: What's this? A new story? It's been a while, but I finally decided to write something new. This story is a sequel to "On The Warpath" I've had in my head for months now. I know writing a sequel to a story that is so old is kind of weird, but the inspiration hit and I just couldn't turn this plot bunny away. "On The Warpath" was one of my favorite fics when I wrote it, and even now I think it is one of my more emotional pieces. I feel like there's more to say with a continuation of the story however, so I hope you will join me on this little journey :)
Warning: This is a sequel. If you are new here, I would highly advise reading the first story before continuing with this one. It's not absolutely necessary, but some plot points might be lost if you don't. Thank you :)
Chapter 1
Back To Nature
Spike felt like the luckiest teenager alive sometimes. He got to go on adventures with real live alien robots, he was dating the girl of his dreams, and he even helped save the world a few times. It was a charmed life for someone as ordinary as Spike Witwicky. Today, however, was a rather typical day.
Spike had been invited to scout a mountain range with a few Autobots to look for any valuable rock deposits they could study. Hound was leading the team because he spent the most time studying the terrain of planet earth. Spike enjoyed hanging out with Hound because he was someone who was fascinated with human culture and planet earth in general. Spike had the same enthusiasm for outer space, so he understood how Hound must feel getting to live on a new world.
The other Autobots going on this expedition were Beachcomber, Trailbreaker, and Bluestreak. Overall, a pretty chill and friendly group. Spike only wished Bumblebee had wanted to come along, but Bumblebee had monitor duty with Prowl and Gears. Oh well, Spike would try to find a cool rock for Bee.
As it stood, Hound, Trailbreaker, and Bluestreak were already outside with Spike, but Beachcomber was taking his sweet time as usual. For some reason Beachcomber was always late, even if it was an activity he really wanted to do.
"You think he'll be much longer?" Spike asked; starting to get bored.
"I doubt it," Hound replied, "He probably just forgot what time it is. Sometimes I think that mech was built without a chronometer."
"Hah! That's a good one!" Trailbreaker laughed heartily, "He used to do this to us back on Cybertron too. I remember one time we were supposed to scout for energon deposits, and he was 10 breems late because he wanted to, and I quote, 'check out this groovy sinkhole's mineral deposits'. Never did figure out what he was looking for."
"Yeah, when I first met you guys I thought Beachcomber was the drunk of the group," Bluestreak recalled with an amused smile, "Turns out it's you, Trailbreaker."
"Haha, very funny!" Trailbreaker replied humorlessly.
Everyone else laughed, and Trailbreaker crossed his arms and pouted in an exaggerated way that let them know he wasn't being serious.
"Seriously guys, thank you so much for inviting me," Bluestreak continued, "I never get to go on peaceful normal missions. It's always 'Bluestreak, shoot that' or 'Bluestreak, deliver this for us'. It's so nice to just feel the rays of earth's sun and hang out with my friends. Oh, Spike, do you know where we're going? Hound said he found a place with an actual cave with crystals! Do you know where that is? You're a human so I figured you would know where that is and..."
Spike smiled, but he knew it was going to be a while before Bluestreak stopped talking long enough to allow the young human to answer him. Bluestreak was one of the friendliest mechs on the Ark, but he also didn't know when to shut up and often talked about rather banal subjects. Just as Spike thought they'd have to settle in for another Bluestreak tangent, the doors to the entrance opened and Beachcomber languidly strolled out.
Bluestreak saw Beachcomber walk out, and actually stopped talking. Spike didn't know why Bluestreak was silent, but whatever the reason was he was grateful for it. Beachcomber wasn't alone, however. Walking about two paces back from the blue minibot was another minibot; the Autobots' resident battle tank, Warpath. Spike liked Warpath well enough, even though they didn't spend a lot of time together. Warpath was friendly, fun loving, and let Spike be a part of the team without nagging him like a mother hen.
"Hey there, brothers," Beachcomber greeted them amiably, "Guess who got the day off to join us?"
"I can't wait to ZOWEE stretch my treads!" Warpath declared excitedly; his speech quirk only serving as an exclamation to his overjoyed energy.
"So everybody's ready now? We can go?" Spike asked eagerly.
"Um, actually guys, I-I just remembered," Bluestreak stammered as he made his way toward the entrance, "I'm supposed to file some paperwork for Prowl. I'm gonna have to skip out on this trip. Let me know how it turns out, okay? Okay, bye!"
"But you've been standing here for twenty minutes waiting to go with us," Spike pointed out in befuddlement, "Can't the paperwork wait?"
"No!" Bluestreak replied a little too quickly, "I gotta do it now, right now!"
Before Spike could further protest Bluestreak raced inside the ship; leaving the rest of the exploration team staring after him awkwardly.
"What the heck was that?" Spike asked Hound.
"Oh, you know how nervous Bluestreak gets sometimes," Hound rationalized, "I'm sure he's fine. We should get going now."
"Great! I packed the energon," Trailbreaker replied with a smile.
"Just great, that means we BLAM can't have any," Warpath grumbled, "It'll probably all be ZOOM high grade."
Beachcomber laughed and slapped Warpath on the back, who just shrugged it off and transformed; with Beachcomber transforming right behind him. Hound and Trailbreaker transformed as well, and Spike hopped inside of Hound's jeep alt mode for the bumpy ride to the mountain they were going to explore.
As they drove down the road Spike noticed that Beachcomber and Trailbreaker, who were both faster than Warpath, slowed down to keep up with his slower speed. He also noted that Warpath and Beachcomber seemed like pretty good friends, which kind of surprised Spike. He still didn't know every last Autobot very well, but he had been around both of these mechs long enough to know their personalities were very different. Warpath liked to fight Decepticons and blast his cannons, while Beachcomber was a pacifist who hated violence and loved nature. Didn't exactly scream 'best buds' to Spike. Then there was the other thing on Spike's mind...
"Hey Hound? What was wrong with Bluestreak?" Spike inquired.
"What do you mean?" Hound asked.
"You know what I mean. He was acting weird," Spike reminded him, "Bluestreak wanted to go on this trip almost as badly as I did, yet when it came time to leave he backed out. Why?"
"Hm, I guess I've just lived around the others for so long that their behaviors don't seem strange anymore," Hound reasoned, "Spike, I've known Trailbreaker longer than any other Autobot in our group. We served together on Moon Base Two, and when we got to Cybertron for the final stand in Iacon we met a lot of the mechs we serve with now. When we first got there Trailbreaker and I were assigned to be roommates with three other mechs."
"Five of you in one bedroom? Sounds more crowded than Carly's dorm room," Spike commented.
"Yep, and our three roommates were Perceptor, Seaspray, and Warpath," Hound told him.
"Cool! So you've known Warpath for a long time," Spike replied.
"Yeah, and Bluestreak was there too," Hound continued, "You know how many times Bluestreak visited us in our quarters?"
"How many?" Spike asked curiously.
"Zero," Hound replied, "Bluestreak never wanted anything to do with us. Neither did Prowl. I never asked why. I was sure they had a reason. Bluestreak of course would talk to us whenever he saw us in the mess hall. He would talk to just about anyone for that matter. He never visited us though."
"But what does that have to do with today?" Spike asked in exasperation.
"Like I said, I never asked, but I have a theory," Hound sounded thoughtful as he spoke, "I think he's scared."
"Scared? Of what?" Spike asked.
"You'll have to ask Bluestreak," Hound replied as he turned into the cave, just behind the other Autobots, "For now though, help us collect soil samples and catalogue the different rocks we find, okay?"
"Sure thing, Hound," Spike replied dutifully.
Spike had more questions than answers after their conversation. Bluestreak was afraid? What did that even mean? Was he afraid of Beachcomber and Warpath? That seemed ridiculous. Those two minibots were some of the friendliest mechs the Autobots had. Who could possibly be afraid of them?
Aboard the Nemesis, in the Combaticons' common room, there was a heated card game going on. The Stunticons and Constructicons had suggested a friendly game of Cybertronian Sling among the gestalts, and while Onslaught thought it was a terrible idea, Swindle had talked him into it with the promise of credits and bragging rights over the other combiner teams. Now that he was losing his metaphorical shirt, Onslaught realized why he should never listen to Swindle.
"I've got two swirls and a set of spikes," Bonecrusher said to the others, "And I challenge...the Combaticon Vortex!"
"Ooh, tough guy, eh?" Vortex chortled, "Well the joke's on you, Constructicon! Three swirls and a cylinder! Your cards now belong to me!"
"Aw, fraggit!" Bonecrusher groused as he practically threw the cards at the grinning grey helicopter, "Fine. Credits or credentials?"
Everyone always chose to receive credits from their opponents when they won, but Vortex didn't enjoy being everyone. He smiled wickedly, and then with relish said "Credentials."
Bonecrusher groaned, knowing he was in the scrap now. In the game Cybertronian Sling, taking credentials from the loser meant you were allowed to ask them anything about themselves and they were forced to answer. In human terms the game was a crude cross between poker, go fish, and truth or dare.
"Fine. What do you wanna know?" Bonecrusher asked sorely.
"I want to know the most sensitive part of your body," Vortex replied with sadistic glee, "You know, for future reference...in case Megatron ever needs to know."
Bonecrusher blanched at the question. The Combaticons had only been on board the ship for about two months, but Vortex already had the reputation of being an expert torturer. That had been Hook's job before, but Hook never enjoyed inflicting pain the way Vortex seemed to. And now...
"My sides," Bonecrusher reluctantly admitted, "A lot of my transformation gears are in my sides, and that makes the area cramped and sensitive."
"Thank you. I shall remember that," Vortex replied triumphantly.
Bonecrusher could feel the sympathy of his fellow Constructicons through their gestalt spark bond. That link was the one ounce of affection Bonecrusher had in his life, and frankly it was the only bit he wanted. He was just grateful no one else could tell what complex dances of emotions flitted through their sacred bond.
"Alright then, it is my turn to pick an opponent," Hook interjected, "I choose Onslaught. How many cards shall we draw?"
"I'm fine with what I have," Onslaught replied, "You?"
"Peachy," Hook replied wryly, "Alright then. I have two cylinders, a swirl, and an optic. You?"
"I only have a spike, a gear, and a piece of scrap," Onslaught replied passively, "It appears my bluff has been called. Credits or credentials?"
"Well, since Vortex decided to make the game more interesting, I will likewise ask for credentials," Hook replied, "Onslaught, as a mech of refinement, I can tell when someone has class. You and your gestalt brother Blast Off certainly seem to be mechs of good taste."
"Is there an inquiry in this idle chatter?" Onslaught asked; not buying the flattery bit.
"Yes. I know that you and your gestalt brothers were all condensed into sparks on Cybertron. I want to know what crime sent you all there."
"You can't ask about all of us!" Swindle piped up, "Onslaught was the only one who lost, so you can only ask for his credentials!"
"You are a gestalt," Hook pointed out, "The rules clearly state that a gestalt counts as a single unit, so therefore I can ask a group question. So, Onslaught, how did the five of you end up as sparks in a drawer in an Autobot prison?"
"Don't answer him!" Brawl shouted.
"Yeah, it ain't none of his business!" Swindle added.
"I see no reason to hide this from our comrades," Onslaught told the others, "After all, they have suffered a similar indignity to us. They of all mechs should understand."
"Indignity? What indignity?" Scavenger asked his fellow Constructicons, "Did we suffer something?"
"Shush!" Hook admonished his combiner brother, "Go on."
"Well, as for myself and Blast Off," Onslaught began, "You are correct that we knew each other during the war. I was the commander of a Decepticon squadron that numbered nearly 100 mechs. Blast Off was my second in command. We grew tired of the war and felt that Megatron was taking too long to resolve things. Our situation only grew worse when Soundwave was sent to relieve me of duty."
"Indeed," Blast Off interrupted, "Onslaught is a great leader, and Soundwave had no right to strip him of his rightfully earned command. After all, we Decepticons believe in conquest by the strong, and Onslaught is very strong in both body and processor."
"Thank you," Onslaught replied gratefully to Blast Off, "As I was saying, together Blast Off and I planned a coup to take down Soundwave and eventually Megatron. Of course Megatron found out about our plans, ripped out sparks out of our chassis, and then sent us to the Autobots anonymously. We were high ranking Decepticons, so the Autobots decided to keep us in stasis indefinitely. Were it not for Starscream's harebrained scheme to make us his army we would still be in stasis to this orn. Sad that we owe our lives to that worthless worm."
"You have my sympathies, but you only answered part of my question," Hook sardonically noted, "How did the others end up in the same predicament as you?"
"I never asked," Onslaught replied with an air of haughtiness, "Their business is not my business."
"But you're a gestalt!" Scrapper objected, "You can communicate over your spark bond, and feel each other's emotions!"
"Don't remind me," Onslaught dryly replied, "I know things about these mechs I wish I never knew, and whatever their lives were before I don't want to know."
"I know the answer," Vortex replied eagerly, "I researched their service records. Swindle was imprisoned for selling weapons to both sides of the war."
"Hey, what can I say? I'm an equal opportunity dealer," Swindle replied shamelessly, "Frankly I'm just glad the 'Bots caught me first. No telling what Megatron woulda done. Of course we can't leave Vortex out of this friendly little discussion..."
Vortex gave Swindle a venomous glare, but Swindle just smirked in return. After getting them into this mess there was no way Swindle was going to spare his so-called comrade.
"Vortex was arrested durin' the Golden Age, long before the war began," Swindle recounted, "They didn't believe in the death penalty in Kalis, otherwise I'm sure he would be gone by now."
"What did he do?" Scavenger asked nervously.
"Oh, alright fine! At least let me tell it!" Vortex demanded, "I was a serial killer. I had 18 victims that the government knew about, and several dozen others they never found. I was the Oil River Killer."
"AAAHH!" Several participants screamed, while the Stunticons looked on in confusion; not familiar with Cybertron's history.
"Rivers can be made of oil?" Wildrider asked obliviously.
"On Cybertron they can," Vortex answered calmly.
"Do I even want to know what grisly crime Brawl committed to be stuck with you louts?" Hook asked apprehensively.
"No, you don't!" Brawl snapped irritably, all but daring the Constructicon to push his luck.
"Yes, you do," Vortex replied impishly, "Trust me, it's hilarious."
"You better shut your trap, chopper brain!" Brawl growled at the helicopter-former.
"Brawl was arrested for-" Vortex began.
"I said cram it!" Brawl screamed before jumping up and tackling Vortex to the ground.
The other Combiners got out of their chairs as Vortex and Brawl rolled around on the floor, Brawl trying to strangle Vortex and Vortex trying to rip away at Brawl's thick metal hide.
"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" Wildrider and Drag Strip chanted.
Vortex rolled over and pinned Brawl, and then sat on the tank-former before turning his glowing red visor back to the group.
"As I was saying," Vortex practically purred as Brawl struggled, "Brawl was arrested for passing out pamphlets."
"Get off me, you slag heap!" Brawl roared.
"Pamphlets?" Hook repeated as he raised a brow ridge, "I wasn't aware that Brawl could read."
"They weren't for me, you moron!" Brawl shouted, missing the insult, "It was during Megatron's uprising, back when the Decepticons was barely a whisper in the council chambers. The elites were crushing our spirits and forcing functionalism down our throats. I was one of several tanks that passed out Megatron's manifesto among the ranks of the Cybertronian military. Then one day I was dragged from my house. No trial, no witnesses, no defense. Just the council quietly ripping out my spark and shoving it away from the world. I never even threw a punch."
"So...you couldn't read it?" Breakdown guessed.
"Shut up, Stunticon," Brawl grumbled, still under Vortex's heavy aft.
"Who's turn is it?" Motormaster abruptly asked, "I'm bored!"
"It's Scavenger's turn," Scrapper told him.
"Okay, I challenge Breakdown," Scavenger announced.
With that the game resumed as if nothing had happened. The only evidence that the fight ever took place at all was that Vortex was playing the game while using Brawl as his new chair. Brawl growled softly but didn't push him off. Instead he just sent death threats over the bond, which Vortex responded with grisly images from Vortex's time as the Oil River Killer. So overall, a fairly typical evening for the combiners.
That evening as the sun set in the orange and yellow sky Spike returned back to Autobot Headquarters with his fellow excavators, their trunks full of minerals to study. Spike was going to stay the night at HQ, which he was grateful for. He was very tired and didn't want to drive all the way back to the city to go home. As the Autobots transformed, Spike once again reflected on how cool they looked as they shifted from vehicles to mighty titanic life forms.
"These samples sure are groovy," Beachcomber commented as he scanned a piece of flint, "I love how this feels in my digits, man. And the colors! Who knew grey had so many shades?"
"I liked the part with the bats!" Trailbreaker exclaimed, "When those things flew overhead Spike screamed so loud! Haha!"
"I did not!" Spike shouted defensively.
"Who cares if you did?" Warpath asked nonchalantly, "I BLOWEE screamed too!"
Spike laughed at that and let the subject drop. It wouldn't serve any purpose to get mad at Trailbreaker anyway, since he was already kinda tipsy. Not overcharged, but close. Everyone had to remind him drinking high grade and driving was against the law on the part of earth they landed on.
"I can't wait to stay up all night and put these rocks through the microscope," Beachcomber declared happily.
"Regular scope or Perceptor?" Warpath asked.
"Perceptor. He's been waitin' for these beauties," Beachcomber replied.
"I'm glad we got to hang out today," Spike told the others, "I just wish Bluestreak had come along. He would've flipped when we saw that mother and baby deer! It's a shame Prowl gives him so much paperwork."
"Yeah, it's a real shame," Beachcomber commented.
Spike noted that Beachcomber's voice sounded different when he made that remark. It wasn't as jovial as before, but sounded rather...sad? Sarcastic maybe? Spike couldn't tell, but when he looked over at Beachcomber and Warpath he noticed that they shared a look. Beachcomber looked defensive, and Warpath looked rather melancholy. Spike didn't know what this meant, but it reminded him of the car ride over to the cave.
Hound had said Bluestreak was scared, but he never elaborated. Spike wanted to know what was going on, and the only one who could tell him was Bluestreak.
Coming to a decision, he waved a polite goodbye to his friends and started walking to Bluestreak's quarters; hoping the grey Datsun was there. This had to be about more than paperwork.
Spike knocked on the door and waited. For a few moments no one came, so Spike wondered if Bluestreak was even there. For all he knew Bluestreak could be stuck doing errands for Prowl all night, but then...
"Is someone knocking?" Bluestreak asked.
"Yeah, it's me, Spike!" Spike shouted through the orange metal of the door.
"Oh, just one klik!" Bluestreak shouted, followed by the sounds of stuff being knocked over.
Spike waited for a couple minutes before Bluestreak finally opened the door, and Spike could clearly see behind Bluestreak's legs that his furniture had been moved and several items had been broken.
"Sorry Spike, I was just rearranging my room," Bluestreak apologized, "The Protectobots are having their HQ fumigated, so First Aid and Groove are going to be staying with me for a few cycles. Figured I wanted the place to look nice for them, but of course this doesn't look very nice at all. I guess I should have just left well enough alone. Oh wait! I'm supposed to be moving these things to make more room for their guest berths! Haha, silly me, I forgot why I was moving this stuff in the first place. So, how was your expedition?"
"That's what I wanted to talk with you about," Spike replied, "Why didn't you go with us? You had been looking forward to it as much as I have, if not more. Why did you cancel?"
"Um, because I had things to do," Bluestreak replied nervously, "Like, um...this room! Yes! I needed to fix up this room for my guests. Though it didn't turn out very well, so I guess that was a waste of time. Maybe I should ask Wheeljack to help me find some berths in the supply closet. We have to have something left that's big enough for them. What size do you think one fifth of a combiner takes?"
"Uh, I dunno. Medium?" Spike guessed helplessly, "I don't know how Cybertronians size things."
"Maybe a body type 4 would work. Or maybe a 5," Bluestreak pondered, "I don't want to order a 6. Groove isn't that large, and he might be insulted. Then again First Aid might need one that big. He has a lot of arm width. Don't tell him I said that though. Then again they were built recently. Do younger 'Bots care about things like arm width? I know I sure did as a sparkling, though what I was really sensitive about was my chassis size. It was normal for Praxus, but in other cities I felt self-conscious, especially after, well...after the Praxus frame type became so rare. I felt like an oddity. Like everyone was staring at me. I hope the Protectobots don't feel that way just because they're combiners. Combiners are still relatively new among the Autobots, and even the Decepticons don't have that many."
Spike was having trouble keeping up with Bluestreak's train of thought. His mood would shift with each subject, from normal to sad to contemplative to jovial. Spike wondered how Bluestreak managed to get anything done with his processor going a mile a minute. He also wondered if Cybertronians had a version of ADD, because he was sure Bluestreak had it.
"Bluestreak," Spike finally got a word in edgewise, "Hound said you might have been too scared to go with us to the mountain today. I was wondering, what would you be scared of?"
"Scared? Me? Hahaha! That's a good one!" Bluestreak said unconvincingly, "We're on earth, and earth is safe. Nothing scary here! No buildings falling down around us, no Decepticons plotting our doom, and nobody after my life fluids. Nope! Everything's just fine!"
"Um, but the Decepticons are on earth," Spike reminded him, "Bluestreak, what's going on? You're acting weird."
"Weird? Me? No! I'm as normal as chrome on a faceplate!"
"Bluestreak, you can tell me," Spike assured him, "What's going on with you? Does this have anything to do with Beachcomber and Warpath?"
Bluestreak's nervous energy gave way to a sullen look that surprised Spike. Without warning, Bluestreak picked up Spike and brought him into his quarters, shutting the door behind him. He then set Spike on his berth and sat down next to him, facing him. Whatever he wanted to talk about, he clearly didn't want anyone else to hear what he had to say.
"Spike, does Prowl talk to you?" Bluestreak asked.
"Not much," Spike shrugged, "Sometimes he and Chip talk about computer stuff, but I don't really understand much of it. It's all IT stuff that's way over my head. Why?"
"Do you know about Praxus?" Bluestreak asked intently.
"Not really," Spike replied, "Was it a place on Cybertron?"
"It wasn't just any place, it was home," Bluestreak replied, a melancholy tone in his voice, "Praxus was one of the wealthiest cities on Cybertron, and almost everybody who lived there had a frame like mine. I was just a sparkling when Praxus fell. The Decepticons conquered many cities before the Autobots left the planet, but Praxus was different. They destroyed everything, and killed almost everyone without mercy. I survived, but I was the only sparkling that did. Prowl and Smokescreen were the only surviving adults, though I don't think Smokescreen was actually there at the time. I think he was off-world. To this day I still have nightmares about it. Seeing Decepticons patrol through the streets, flying through the air, and shooting everyone on sight. I was never discovered because I hid in a waste recycler, but that didn't stop an apartment complex from falling over me. I was lucky though. The waste recycler protected me from getting crushed, and I survived long enough for Prowl to find me. I owe him my life for that."
"Wow, I didn't know it was so bad, Bluestreak. I still don't understand though. I know Praxus falling would make you upset in general, but why were you scared today? What does any of this have to do with Beachcomber and Warpath?"
"Well Spike, I don't want to scare you, but..." Bluestreak pensively began, "...You're still pretty young, right?"
"I'm old enough to drive," Spike replied defensively.
"Yes, but, do you...understand the concept of political asylum?" Bluestreak asked.
"Sure, I guess," Spike shrugged again, "That's when someone wants to live in a different country because their home country is oppressing them, right?"
"Close enough," Bluestreak nodded, "Well...I'm afraid if I say anything it might put you in danger, but I don't want you to get hurt. I just want to warn you to stay away from Warpath."
"Warpath?" Spike asked incredulously, "You're afraid of Warpath?"
"Yes, and you should be too," Bluestreak warned him, "He's a killer. I've managed to stay away from him, so he hasn't come after me, but I don't want you getting too close. He kills those who are close to him. Not even sparklings are safe."
"What?" Spike laughed, though it was a nervous laugh, "That's crazy. Why would Optimus have a baby killer in his unit?"
"Political asylum," Was all Bluestreak said.
Spike gave him a look, and even as Bluestreak picked him up and led him to the door, the boy didn't seem convinced. Bluestreak opened the door and gently set Spike down outside the threshold.
"Just remember what I said, Spike," Bluestreak cautioned, "Don't get close to Warpath. He's a monster. It's as clear as the cannon on his chassis."
With that Bluestreak closed the door, giving Spike as many questions as answers. Warpath a bloodthirsty killer? That was absurd! Warpath was a fun mech to hang around, and he and Spike had gone on a few adventures together. Warpath didn't mother Spike, but at the same time was willing to offer helpful advice. He was loud, he was jolly, and he was enthusiastic about fighting Decepticons to protect the earth and its people.
Then again, maybe that was part of it. Maybe Warpath enjoyed battling Decepticons because he enjoyed killing. Nah, that wasn't right! Warpath was a minibot, and a loyal member of the Autobots. Why would Bluestreak ever be afraid of someone like that? Spike decided that at the next opportunity he would talk with Warpath himself, and maybe straighten out what was going on around this place.