Fate Calls

by Sci-Fifan95

In life, the only certain thing that applies to us is death. We cannot escape it. We cannot outrun it. It is a fate that finds us all. However, He plays chess. And you don't find out until too late that He's been playing with two queens all along.

37. Home

Holy. Crap. Did I SERIOUSLY take TWO MONTHS to write this? Really? Ugh. I am SO sorry, my readers. I don't know what to say. I mean, I really don't have an excuse beyond the absolute worst case of writer's block I've ever encountered. And considering how long this took, you can see it hit me pretty hard.

This one... I really didn't fit a lot into it, and I am disappointed in myself for that. For such a long wait, I should have fit more into an update. So I apologize, but this one is pretty much a filler, a break, if you will.

Thank you, everyone who reviewed, favorited, or followed since last chapter. Motivation is hard to come by at times, in writer's block, and it meant a lot to go back and reread a lot of your reviews. So sincerely, thank you.

Guest (Known as SunnySides) - I tried to keep them in character, since I know they are popular and I haven't given them a lot of face time. So I am glad you liked that. :)

And yes they have! It's a miracle!

Yeah, never liked Galloway, or plan to. So I had to go with the major idiot.

And funny you should mention that song. :P

No comment about the voices, but Megatron is nuts. This is fact.

dragonbookaddict - Really, you're just flattering me. I think of my work as decent. Always have always will. It is simply how I am. But nevertheless, knowing I have some readers who enjoy this as much as you do is really surprising, and affects me every time I see it. So thank you, thank you very much. :)

*Glances at date* Well, so much for that last one, but hopefully next chapter will be nicer to me. Lol.

Thanks go to Crystal Prime for beta reading.

Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to Hasbro. I only take credit for this story and my OCs.

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July 15, 2013 3:01 P.M

Autobot base, outside Jasper, Nevada

I sat at the end of the war room table, waiting for someone to say something, or just make a sound.

The war room had been added to the base since I was away. When I had last been at base, it was a small, empty room we had little use for. But, now it was twice the size of my quarters, fitted with thick, Primax-rich armor coating the walls, computer and video monitors displaying different types of data and video feeds, and a long metal and duraglass table that could seat at least ten more bots than it currently did. The table also had a holographic projector in the middle that could create interactive images large enough to fill the entire room.

After I had reunited with the rest of my fellow Autobots, Optimus had, at my request, called a space bridge from Raf, and showed Flightstorm the Gold he created with Solus' Forge, so a few members of the Collected's crew could begin loading it. He then ordered everyone to the war room so I could recount my story of what happened to me after I was taken, which I had just finished doing.

No one said anything after I finished speaking, or even moved, and I couldn't tell what any of them were thinking, apart from Flightstorm and Cyberfrost, who I knew were only paying attention to events I had not gone into detail before now.

The silence and lack of reaction from my fellow Autobots went on for almost a klick, then Smokescreen got an angry look on his faceplate, picked himself up from his chair, and hobbled out of the war room without even giving me a passing glance, as if he was disgusted with my presence.

The twins reacted in a nearly identical manner as Smokescreen, and they left the room as well, followed similarly by Bulkhead, Air Raid, and Ratchet, who Moonracer followed out shortly after, though it seemed she was leaving to go after her mate, and not for the same reasons as the others. But the human teens, who had been standing next to the table, left like most of the others who stepped out did. At least, Miko and Jack did, Raf looked more sad than anything else.

I wasn't surprised by their reactions, I expected them, in fact. My actions on the Hammer were very short-sighted and emotion, or lack thereof, driven. They had been the opposite of what an Autobot should have done… And they led to a lot of bots being offlined.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt, seeing 'Bots I called friends just storming out of the room instead of talking to me. It did. Yet it was also surprising to me that so many were still seated, with Arcee unmoved from her chair next to me. And her presence meant more to me than anything at the moment.

"You went through an eventful journey, while we believed you were offline," Optimus observed, finally breaking the silence, and thankfully not commenting on my escape. Yet. "A journey that has raised many questions concerning an equal number of topics. Would you be willing to elaborate on certain aspects of your time among these… Paraions?"

"Of course," I replied. "But, please understand there are some details I don't want to relive."

The Prime nodded sympathetically, then placed his servos on the table and intertwined his digits, his optics carrying his signature neutrality and patience. "Tell us more of their technology."

"It's extremely advanced, even by our standards," I replied. "Only the Primes' technology rivals theirs."

"Did they build the station we went to?" Questioned Springer, looking at me with interest from where he sat between Ironhide and Jazz, one of his servos shining from the repairs Ratchet gave him before the meeting began.

I looked at the green Triple-Changer. He had surprised me when he remained seated, instead of leaving like some of the others had. I thought, with how we had treated each other most of the time right before we buried the hatchet, that any progress we made to being friends had been erased with my debriefing about what I did on the Hammer, but it seemed like that wasn't the case for the moment. Springer really had come a long way from being an aft to Arcee.

"Everything we saw on the station appeared to be in the Paraions' use in some fashion, but in even more advanced forms," I answered. "And not only that, but they had security footage of the three of us while we were there. If they aren't the station's creators, then they know who is, and hacked their systems."

"So, the horde of bots on the station were Paraions," Jetfire concluded from where he sat next to Silverbolt and Air Raid's empty chair.

"Seems like they were," I said. "And that sheds a bit more light on why they were studying the Infinite Reverence. They were making fleets loosely based on its technology."

"Their fleets are a concern of mine," Prowl said, stoic gaze locked on me. "What else do you know about them? Weapon systems, shields, armor, I would like to know everything."

I wasn't surprised Prowl wanted to know about the ships of the Paraions. He had the CPU of a tactician and strategist, it was in his nature to review everything about an enemy's capabilities, and find a potential weakness to exploit. Unfortunately, I didn't have the technical specifications of the ships of Extremis' followers. "I never witnessed them in combat, so besides their general sizes, and a rough guess on their total numbers, there's not much I can tell you."

"Share what you know," said the SIC, apparently not caring about the quality of information I could provide.

I spent a nano-klick reviewing the memory of seeing the fleet above Ventqura Munitum, then answered, "If I had to compare their fleet formations to ours, I would say they believe in the power of numbers and sheer size. They had seven fleets made up of hundreds of ships, from what I saw, each centered around a super-dreadnought about twice the size as a Prime-class. And not a single spacecraft was smaller than the Nemesis."

My fellow Autobots went silent at this news, looks ranging from shock to thoughtful on all of their faceplates.

After a micro-klick, Bumblebee said, "They have a navy that's a large percentage of the size of the Autobots'."

"Nine point eight seven four percent, to be precise," Prowl added, still looking at me. "And all are cruiser-size or above. This alone gives them an advantage over us in space warfare."

"Ah agree," said Jazz, pedes on the table as he leaned back in his chair. "An' we don' even know what kinda firepower they' carryin'." He looked at me. "Can ya help us out on dat, Shadowster'?"

I shrugged. "A little, but not much. I have no idea what their weapons fire, only their sizes and numbers. And based on what I saw, the smallest Paraion ship could take on a half dozen of our ships of equivalent class and come out on top. And that's just going by the thickness of their armor and the number of cannons they have, it's not factoring in on how low-tech we are compared to them."

"Or considering their sub-space capabilities," Elita added. "The ability to jump anywhere on a battlefield at any time is another major advantage they hold over average naval assets. Their knowledge of sub-space seems to be incredibly vast."

Ironhide grunted. "That may be, but the effectiveness of using sub-space in the middle of battle will be limited by how creative or intelligent the captain of each ship is."

"With their weapons and technology, creativity doesn't matter very much in fighting. All they have to do is stay in formation and fire away," I said. "But, either way, I wouldn't want to go against a fleet commanded by the Paraions' leader."

"You mentioned him earlier," said Optimus, returning his gaze on me after he had looked at each bot as they spoke. "What else can you tell us about this 'Extremis'?"

I had to repress a shudder at the thought of the one conversation I had with the Paraion leader. "Let me put it this way, Optimus. I, while it was admittedly stupid, faced Megatron on my own. He walked toward me as I shot at him, and he dodged everything with barely even an effort. And without a care, he shot through my tank and sent me into stasis lock. I spent probably fifteen klicks with Extremis, spoke to him in only one, continued conversation, and he scares me more than Megatron ever will."

My fellow Autobots seemed slightly surprised by my words, and I didn't blame them. No one in their right CPU, or mind, would be more afraid of someone they had a single conversation with, than someone else who nearly ended their life.

But then again, all those other people and bots hadn't met Extremis.

"What about him intimidates you, Shadowstreaker?" Optimus asked, his optics laced with genuine confusion, not something typically found in his wise gaze.

I chuckled flatly. "The more accurate question would be, 'What doesn't'? He's larger than Megatron, more heavily armored than a starship, acts more like machine than a Cybertronian, and has abilities I thought only the Thirteen could have."

"What abilities?" Prompted Silverbolt, sitting between the empty seats of Air Raid and Smokescreen.

"He's able to space bridge himself, along with anyone he touches, to wherever he wants, and has some form of telekinesis," I replied. "Those are the only two abilities I witnessed him use, but I have the feeling he has many more."

Silverbolt's wings twitched in discomfort. "He sounds dangerous."

"Very," I said. "And even without those abilities, he has an intellect that is just as disconcerting, which is backed up by an intelligence network that has unprecedented access to a wide number of databases."

That got Optimus, Prowl, and Jazz's attention immediately. "Do you know if this network has runtimes within our own systems?" The Prime asked, voicing the same question his lieutenants had, judging from the look in Prowl's optics, and the way Jazz took his pedes off the table.

"There are," I confirmed. "And many other places. He has links into Decepticon, Autobot, and the old civilian databases. The sales records of ancient Cybertronian corporations are in his possession, along with records from every Cybertronian city. Hell, he even has access to the Hall of Records."

Optimus blinked once, and his optic ridges lowered several inches. "That should not be possible. The only active Cybertronian databases are those maintained by we Autobots, and the Decepticons. All others have been either destroyed or lost. Not even the systems of the Hall of Records remain online."

"Tell that to Extremis," I said. "He somehow has all that data at the tip of his digits."

"If Extremis has the Hall of Records' data in the systems of his organization, then he must, at some point, have visited the main computer of the Hall and copied the entirety of the mainframe," concluded Elita, faceplate both thoughtful and slightly uncomfortable. "Optimus used that building as the Autobot HQ from the beginning of the war, until most of Cybertron's population dispersed. And since copying the information of the Hall of Records must have taken mega-cycles, he could not have done so before we left the planet."

"Or, he was there da whole time, an' we never knew who da mech was," Jazz said bluntly.

"What are ya saying, Jazz, that we didn't notice a massive, pure white, tank of an unknown mech just walking around our own base?" Ironhide asked, his tone carrying just a hint of incredulousness.

The saboteur shrugged. "Maybe not. But think 'bout this, 'Hide. Shadowster' said Extremis has abilities only found in da Thirteen, or so we believe. An' since bots like Makeshift are able ta look like someone else, what can da Primes do, if they don' wanna be seen?"

No one wanted to comment on Jazz's words, or the implication they brought. And I was with them in that regard. For all we knew, Extremis could shapeshift like Makeshift had done, which meant he could have been among the Autobots or the Decepticons throughout the entire war and no one noticed. Or, perhaps more disturbingly, he had the ability to hide himself from the sight of others, such as with an invisibility field, and he had walked right up to the main terminal of the Hall of Records and copied the entire database. Either way, it made me feel less secure inside our hidden base, if it really was hidden.

"Until there is evidence supporting this, your statement will remain a theory, Jazz," Optimus said, breaking the layer of silence that had fallen on us. "But, it would be wise to tighten our security." He gave Prowl a look at that.

The SIC nodded marginally at the unspoken command. "I will consult with Ratchet and Moonracer on methods we can use to improve security on Autobot databases across the galaxies, once this meeting has come to a conclusion."

"The three of us will," the Prime corrected, glancing at Jazz meaningfully, who raised a servo to show he understood before he leaned back in his chair again. Optimus looked at me. "Do you know anything else about Extremis?"

"Nothing," I answered without pause. "That mech reveals only what he wishes to be known, and he allowed me to know only how I would have been involved in his plans, nothing else."

"And how were you involved with his plans, beyond unlocking the door to a giant sphere with your Xel'Tor magic?" Chromia asked in a deadpan, making a mild joke by suggesting that being the Xel'Tor gave me magical abilities… But then again, not one of us even knew what my title meant, so maybe being whatever the Xel'Tor was would allow me to do things I couldn't normally do…

Getting off topic. "He wanted me to give him access to every locked system inside the complex I mentioned during my debriefing," I said. "Doing that would have given the Paraions a wealth of technology from the Age of the Primes to research without any restrictions, so I refused. Although, it wasn't like I could have given them access in the first place. I know less about that place then they do."

"But Extremis didn't know that," Springer said.

"No. He thought I knew how to open the sphere, as well as everything else in the 'Master Registry and Seed Nexus,' as Extremis called the complex he space bridged us to," I said.

"'Us'?" Bumblebee asked with a confused expression on his faceplate. "Do you mean there was someone else with you as you spoke to Extremis? Or are you just forming a split personality?"

"The former," I responded, ignoring the yellow and black scout's joke. "The other bot was a mech called Praxis, Extremis' SIC. He's similar to his leader in some ways, though he can't match Extremis in any of them. He was the one who… Brought me to the Hammer."

My fellow Autobots, besides Prowl, Arcee, and Optimus, shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the Hammer. That was expected, given how I described what happened on that ship, but it also signaled the conversation was going to get more serious.

"After they discovered you did not know how to unlock the complex's systems, I assume," Optimus said before a layer of ice could form over the discussion.

"Yeah," I answered simply, not seeing the point of adding anything else to my response since the Prime correctly guessed what happened.

"And there the Paraions searched your processor for, what, exactly?" Asked Override, speaking for the first time, sitting at least two chairs away from the nearest Autobot. She probably didn't think it appropriate to sit near members of a unit she was not yet a part of, or involve herself in a matter that concerned that unit, yet couldn't keep silent when the conversation approached a topic she found intriguing.

I inadvertently flinched at the reminder of the purpose of my interrogations, of Scalpel. He took such pleasure in making me feel pain, in shocking me, ripping my memories from my CPU, torturing me even more when he didn't find what he was looking for, at times injecting me with a solution that prevented my auto-repair systems from working, leaving me to freeze in my cell, how h-

My painful memories were pushed to the side when I felt Arcee grab her servo under the table, gripping it gently. I looked at her, and saw a reassuring look in her optics, making me focus on the present and not the past, and acknowledge the fact she had gone through similar treatment at the servos of Airachnid, and came out okay. Even without that, though, her minor action was enough to keep the memories away.

"They were looking for the way to unlock the systems of the Registry, primarily the sphere," I answered as I straightened in a chair without letting go of Arcee's servo.

"Did they find what they wanted?" Flareup asked quietly, her chair a little closer to Bumblebee than it had been at the beginning of my debriefing.

Guess the others who left aren't the only ones uncomfortable with my presence. But at least she hadn't left. "No, they apparently didn't. That didn't stop Scalpel, the chief interrogator, from trying again and again to find it, though."

Flareup blinked. "Why did he keep searching for what they wanted when you didn't have it?"

"Because Extremis probably ordered him to make sure I didn't have what they were looking for. That and Scalpel was just a sadistic bastard who liked Cortical psychic patches too much," I replied.

"If he used a Cortical psychic patch, then you must have seen everything he was copying from your CPU," Jetfire said in a tone I couldn't place, but seemed like a mix between an emotionless question and a pitying statement.

"If you call having your life copied and stored on a lifeless computer in order for someone to have access to information you've never seen before, then you're correct," I said, the faintest trace of a clipped tone slipping into my voice. I didn't want to snap at all, especially now, but this particular part about the Hammer was… A sensitive matter for me. Talking about what was essentially torture was never easy. And the only reason I wasn't being pulled back into my painful memories of my time in Scalpel's care was because Arcee was holding onto my servo, and I onto hers.

"What information did you see along with your memories?" Asked Elita.

I shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea. Everything I saw was so distorted I couldn't distinguish any shapes or symbols in anything. I can't even do so now, when I can relive and pause those memories. And the encounter I spoke of with The Being, as I am going to call him from now on, was even less understandable than my time on the Hammer."

Optimus hummed softly, his optics filled with a thoughtful look. "Questions have surrounded you since your mission to the station, Shadowstreaker. For every answer we find, a dozen more are required. And with your seeing the mark on your helm on buildings created by the Thirteen, and again during your encounter with The Being, the hidden meaning in your symbol is yet another mystery. Your mere presence has become a puzzle, a question."

"Same with your actions and morals," Ironhide added, tone carefully neutral.

It was very obvious what he was referring to, since we had been talking about the Hammer only a few moments ago. Time to face the music. "You're talking about my Protocol, and how I escaped." The look on Ironhide's faceplate told me I was correct, and I continued, "You obviously have something to say, so go ahead. That goes for anyone else, too."

"What the frag is wrong with you?" The general weapons specialist asked almost before I had finished speaking, his rough voice hard with anger. "Did you think about the 'Bots onboard that ship when you willingly went berzerk? Or even try to stop yourself as you systematically slaughtered everything in your path?"

His words hit me like his punches, but Flightstorm was quick to come to my defense, despite the fact I didn't try to do so myself, "That's not how the Quriomus Protocol works. Once it's activated, the bot who has the Protocol can't stop it. The only way it turns off is either the mech runs out of energon, or what the Protocol views as a threat to the femme they Imprinted on is completely and utterly destroyed."

Arcee's frame stiffened at the mention of Imprinting, likely because she found it as strange as I did, but she relaxed as the Wrecker officer looked at Flightstorm. "And how do ya know that?"

"Because I have the same Protocol," the grey and red seeker answered. "And I didn't know I had it until 'Frost and I landed on a planet along with the other neutrals in our transport, and she was almost taken by a Cybertronian marauder."

"'Almost taken'?" Ironhide asked, likely noting the former Decepticon's choice of wording.

"I offlined all of them before they were able to move her ten feet," Flightstorm said, as if his statement had been clear in suggesting that. "And I had no control over my actions, no thought considering what I was doing. No mech does when it activates. The Protocol takes over everything, pushes your rationality to the side. Then it neutralizes the threat to the one the mech Imprinted on." He looked down at his mate, and she looked up at him in understanding. "That is what the Protocol does, and it will not stop until the threat is gone, or the mech is sedated or runs critically low on energon."

"Arcee wasn't threatened when Shadowstreaker willingly activated his Protocol," Ironhide pointed out, the disapproval of that particular part as clear as crystal.

The former Decepticon shrugged. "Maybe, but view it from Shadowstreaker's point of view. He was alone, had been for what seemed like much longer than a jour, with no knowledge of Arcee or Optimus' fate. The mech responsible for putting him through his terrible treatment dropped a bomb on him. The femme he loves is gone, offlined slowly by loss of energon." He placed his servos on the table and leaned forward toward Ironhide. "What would you do if you were in that situation, cut off from all communications from those you care about, and you're told Chromia was offline? And on top of that, everyone around you is part of the group that offlined her. So, what, Ironhide? What would you do?"

Ironhide was silent for several long moments, and he glanced at his mate, who had a knowing look on her faceplate. "If I had somehow broken the laws of a sparkbond and lived through her offlining, I'd… Offline anyone pointing a gun at me."

"And that, right there, would be my point," Flightstorm said, leaning away from Ironhide and returning fully to his chair. "If you would have done the same in his position, then how is it right to be angry at him?"

Externally, I was unaffected by Flightstorm's defense of me, but internally I was moved. He had no reason to try and help convince the others, yet he did so without hesitating, without being neutral, rather ironically. It was nice to see I had at least two bots supporting me. Him, and more importantly, Arcee, since she had yet to let go of my servo, and had, in fact, tightened her grip on it.

But, their support wasn't going to justify my actions, or bring back all the souls that were lost because of me… Because I believed the words of an insane sadist so easily...

"Personal opinions on the matter are irrelevant," Prowl stated, faceplate emotionless and unreadable. "The fact is, Shadowstreaker purposely activated a dangerous protocol with no thought regarding the consequences of its use. This behavior is not acceptable, and cannot be dismissed or allowed to go unpunished. He took an oath to protect his brothers and sisters in arms with his life, when his training was complete. It is his duty to remain true to that oath, not ignore it."

I saw Arcee give the stoic SIC a glare out of my peripheral vision, but she dropped it when I caught her optic and shook my helm. Prowl's words might have hurt, but they were also correct. I had thrown my duty aside when I searched for my Protocol and activated it, heedless of what would come after. And there was no use in arguing against that point, not when it led to other 'Bots being caught in the middle of the endless rage of the Quriomus Protocol. If there was ever a time I needed to be disciplined, it was now.

"He reacted like any mech would, to finding out the one they love to was offline, or at least being deceived into believing they are. Ironhide just confirmed this," said Jetfire. "He did not commit his actions with the intent of harming Autobots. Activating his Protocol may have ended tragically, but we can't shun him and say he went against his oath, when even you would have wanted to do the same had you been in his place."

Something flashed in Prowl's optics at Jetfire's words, but it was gone so quickly it was impossible to determine what it had been. "As I said, personal opinions are irrelevant," he said. "We cannot ignore Shadowstreaker's actions."

"I'm not saying we ignore them," Jetfire said. "I am saying we can't condemn him for them."

"I agree with that," Jazz said without his usual accent. He always spoke with a Southern drawl, but it was just his preferred method of using English. In reality he had no accent. But, as I had learned since I had known him, it was only when the saboteur spoke without an accent that he was truly serious. "But we have to do something about his actions."

Optimus, who had been giving his full attention to each bot that spoke, looked at me when Jazz finished speaking. "You have been silent throughout most of this discussion, Shadowstreaker, and it involves you directly. What do you have to say, regarding your actions?"

My fellow Autobots turned to me at Optimus' words, and I looked at each of them, focusing on Arcee a moment longer than the rest, before I answered, "What is there to say? I purposefully went on a rampage, offlined anyone that got in my way, and ended up being responsible for probably a thousand bots losing their lives needlessly, with an unknown number of them being Autobots." I glanced down at my servos, weapons I had used with brutal effectiveness when my Protocol was active. "I made a conscious decision in activating my Protocol, searched for it, embraced it. And that decision led to many bots losing their lives when they had done nothing." I looked back up at the Prime. "Not only that, there's nothing I can say or do to bring them back. They're gone. And I'm not going to be able to redeem myself for ending so many lives."

Arcee's grip on my servo increased to the point of it almost being painful, and she gave me a sharp look that told me she was going to have words with me later. Great, we're courted for all of a breem and she already wants to talk to me in private. Things are going real well.

Optimus gave me a similar look, though it didn't have an affect behind it like Arcee's did. "There are few things in this life that would cause someone to be considered unredeemable, Shadowstreaker."

"I'm sure there'd be about a thousand bots who disagree with that, Optimus, but they're not here. And because of me, they never will be," I said bluntly. "I see no possible way to redeem myself from that."

"No one does, when they have done something requiring them to seek atonement for their actions," Optimus said. "But, that does not mean a way will not be presented to you."

I went silent when Optimus said that. He was both right and wrong, in my opinion. He was right in how the one who did something horribly wrong couldn't see beyond what they did, and couldn't see a way to find redemption from their actions. But with this, and how serious it was, I think he was wrong in me being able to atone for what I did. From where I stood, there was too much energon on my servos, too many relatively innocent lives that had been ended because of me. What could I possibly do to make up for that?

The Prime sat up straight in his chair, optics scanning the Autobots, two neutrals, and one Velocitronian in the room. "I believe every relevant topic involving Shadowstreaker has been discussed, but only one requires everyone to voice their thoughts. What are your final opinions, relating to Shadowstreaker's actions?"

A silence fell on the room, but Bumblebee broke it quickly by being the first to answer Optimus' question, "I can look beyond it. He wasn't trying to harm the other prisoners, or was attacking the Paraions for no reason. Of course, his unchecked fury is… Unnerving to hear, but I also know the circumstances behind his anger were somewhat unique and… Understandable." His door-wings twitched, and his optics shot toward the femme next to him.

Flareup, rather obviously, made it a point to not make optic contact with Bumblebee. "I agree with 'Bee, for the most part," she said. "But this Quriomus Protocol disturbs me. What exactly does it take to activate it? Just having the… Um, bot on the other end of the Imprint being in danger? What happens if we're in the middle of a battle and it activates just because Arcee is grazed by a bullet?"

I weighed the words of both Bumblebee and Flareup, while I saw Arcee shift very slightly when Imprinting was mentioned again. That was the second time she had reacted to the phenomenon. She likely was going to want to discuss it whenever we spoke in private.

On Bumblebee's end of the conversation, it was relieving to see he was so willing to look past what I'd done. He had always been a forgiving bot, but this was at a level I hadn't expected, at least not so quickly after finding out about my actions. It was surprising, but definitely not unwelcome.

However, Flareup brought up a point that made Bumblebee's willingness to forgive less noticeable. I had no idea what would cause my Protocol to activate, beyond me believing or knowing Arcee was in danger, or if she was… Offlined, which would cause my Protocol to never deactivate, like Flightstorm told me. Would it activate so easily, like Flareup asked? And if it could be activated so easily, how would Arcee and I be able to go into the field? But then again, if my Protocol turned on because of a simple injury to the femme I loved, then why hadn't it activated before MECH captured she and Jack?

"The Quriomus Protocol is a protective protocol. It only activates when the femme close to the mech is in mortal danger, offline, or the mech is led to believe either one," said Cyberfrost, speaking for the first time. "Arcee being in danger on the battlefield will not cause Shadowstreaker's Protocol to activate, not unless she is about to be offlined, or in danger of something else."

"How do you know?" Flareup asked.

"Because there were times she was in danger before my Protocol activated for the first time, but not mortally so," Flightstorm said, answering for his mate. "And with time and effort, Shadowstreaker can make his Protocol less likely to activate. Not much less, of course, but an improvement."

I was a little surprised to hear that, although that might have been because I didn't have enough experience with my Protocol to know everything about it. Having more control over whether my Protocol activates would be good to have, especially now that Arcee and I were together. I had already had a little influence on it, since I… Manually turned it on, but conservative control, even in the smallest amount, was always much harder than anything else. Something I was definitely going to have to work on.

"Does that answer your question, Flareup?" Optimus asked the orange and red femme.

"Somewhat. There are still things I am not sure about," replied Flareup. "But I'm willing to not let that uncertainty make me view Shadowstreaker differently."

Optimus nodded, while I gave Flareup and Bumblebee grateful looks, then he looked at the others again. "Who else is willing to look past Shadowstreaker's method of escaping the Hammer?"

"I am," both Jazz and Jetfire said, echoing each other's statements perfectly.

"With how I've acted in the past, I'm in no position to judge anyone else. So, same here," said Springer.

"Although I do not approve of his actions, my view of Shadowstreaker's normal character remains largely the same," Elita said. "I offer my support to him."

Ironhide grunted lightly, nodding at the rose red femme's words. "What she said, word for word."

"Too lazy to come up with something to say?" Chromia asked her mate, tone deadpanning, optics smiling.

"No, Elita just said exactly what I was going to," the general weapons specialist answered in a manner similar to his sparkmate's.

Ignoring Ironhide and Chromia's statements, Silverbolt's wings moved up and down, then he looked at me, and then at Optimus. "I admittedly don't know Shadowstreaker well enough to answer that, so I will remain passive in this matter until I know his character well enough to decide."

I nodded toward Silverbolt in understanding, and he returned the nod. It wasn't a surprising answer, coming from him. He was the type of mech who wanted to know everything he could before making a decision, especially when they involved others. And for that, I was thankful. Hopefully, I could earn his support in the future.

Prowl, the last one besides Optimus to voice his opinion, examined me for a moment, then said, "On a personal level, I neither condone nor condemn Shadowstreaker. But on a professional level, I find his actions to be unacceptable conduct from an Autobot, and suggest he be appropriately disciplined for them."

Arcee's optics narrowed at Prowl, and Optimus looked at his SIC. "And what punishment would you suggest, Prowl?"

"An indefinite suspension from duty, and two jours in the brig, at minimum," the stoic mech replied.

Well, that was a little harsh. I did everything I could to obey the rules of the Autobots, at least when I wasn't under the influence of the Protocol. Being effectively benched and forbidden from going on missions with them would be taking away what I had essentially been doing for the last orbital-cycle, preventing me from being able to help bots that had become my friends. But then again, what I had done wasn't exactly minor, or excusable. And that required a serious punishment. Although, I think being put in the brig wasn't necessary. Being suspended was far more severe.

Apparently, Jazz agreed. "Ya really like usin' dat brig, Prowler," he said, his usual accent returning. "Ya don' have ta use it every single time ya enforce somethin'."

Prowl looked at the saboteur, faceplate blank. "The brig has been the preferred method of enforcement since the Autobots were first formed. And Shadowstreaker's actions must be punished."

"An' suspendin' him isn' enough?" Jazz asked. "Dat's more of a punishment than spendin' a few mega-cycles in da brig. No need ta add onta dat."

"I second that," Ironhide said.

"As do I," agreed Elita.

Jetfire raised raised his servo a few inches off the table. "Same."

Optimus' optics shifted between the other three Autobot officers, then landed on Prowl. "Your suggestion is noted, and partially dismissed, Prowl. I find a temporary suspension from duty to be an adequate punishment for Shadowstreaker." The Prime looked at me. "Are you willing to accept this?"

"Of course," I answered immediately, accepting of their choice of punishment. It wasn't like I had any say in the matter, and even if I did, Optimus, as Prime, officially had the final word on all decisions, he just refused to make important choices without consulting his Autobots first, if possible. Not only that, he didn't even have to ask me if I wanted to willingly accept my suspension. Yet he did, simply to show me that he was not condemning me, even though I already knew he wasn't. He was a very rare type of leader.

"Then it is settled," Optimus said, still looking at me despite the fact his tone suggested he was addressing everyone else as well. "Due to his rash and irresponsible actions, Shadowstreaker is temporarily suspended from duty, and forbidden to leave this base until further notice. Do any of you disagree with this?"

No one spoke up, not even Arcee, who, judging from her subtle frame language, didn't want me to be suspended.

"Very well." The Prime stood from his chair, Star Saber rattling against his backplates, and said, "I find that this meeting to have served its purpose. And there are other matters to attend to. All except Shadowstreaker and Arcee are dismissed."

Everyone except for Arcee, Optimus, and I stood up and moved toward the door, but stopped when Flightstorm asked, "What about our son, Optimus Prime?" He and his mate were giving the Prime identical looks of curiosity.

"I am also wondering why my request to join your team was not discussed," added Override, standing behind the chair she had just occupied.

Optimus looked at Wildwing's creators. "We will find answers about your son's unusual habit after I have constructed a stealth drive for your vessel, along with anything else the Collected is in need of replacing." He then turned his attention to the femme Velocitronian. "Your status among the Autobots was not a topic for this meeting, but I give my word my officers and I will have an answer for you in the next few breems." He glanced at the Autobots who had come to a halt at Flightstorm's words. "Carry on."

Understanding that they had been dismissed again, my fellow Autobots walked toward the door, giving me looks ranging from sympathetic to encouraging as they went.

Jazz paused as he came to where Arcee and I were. "Just so ya know, Shadowster', da welcomin' party has been delayed on account of some 'Bots bein' mad at ya." His voice carried no distinguishable trace of humor, and his faceplate was set like steel. "An' it won' be rescheduled 'till they ain' mad. So, get on gettin' 'em ta calm down, 'cause a welcomin' party ain' complete without da twins' high-grade cocktails." With that, he walked out of the room, closing the war room door behind him since he was the last one out.

I blinked at the saboteur's statement, trying to figure out whether he was joking or not. At times it was difficult to tell with him, especially when he was talking about doing something or not. I had played poker with him only twice, and both times I was thrown off by his strategy, or lack thereof. Some hands he would tell you outright how great his hand was, others he'd go quiet as if he had good cards when he had junk, and he'd reverse the tactic as much as he liked. It was nearly impossible to get a handle on him.

After Jazz left, Optimus moved over to Arcee and I, took note of how we held each other's servo, then said to Arcee, "You disapprove of Shadowstreaker's punishment."

The femme I loved scoffed, an unfitting sound, coming from her. "Of course I disapprove. He's my… Courted," she said, sounding like she wasn't sure how the word sounded to her audio receptors. "And as his courted, I stand by him."

I gave Arcee's servo a little squeeze. Her support meant more than she could have known. The thought of her had been what had kept me going while I was being kept on the Hammer, and even now her mere presence helped me. But the fact she knew what I did and still stood by me was more important. I didn't want to think about what it would be like without her friendship, her presence. "I appreciate that. A lot."

Arcee turned her helm to me. "I know." The tone she used for the short statement led me to believe she knew more about my thoughts then she was showing, but didn't want to say right at that moment.

"And so do I," Optimus said with a similar tone, though lacking in Arcee's subtle hint of wanting to talk more later. "I approve of your support of Shadowstreaker. It is what courting bots should do for the other. However, personal feelings cannot cloud judgement." He looked at me. "And all actions have consequences. And now, you both, in different ways, must deal with the ramifications of his mistake."

"I have been dealing with them for a while," I said, trying not to think about everyone that used to be on the Hammer, like I had been since I was picked up by the Apex Sentinel. But considering what I had done, and how my memory was photographic even before I was a Cybertronian, it hadn't been going well. All I could do was do my best to focus on the present. "But I knew when I arrived that what I did couldn't be ignored. I honestly am surprised so many of you stayed."

The Prime's optics softened slightly. "I am saddened to hear that many lives were lost on the prisoner ship. But there is nothing I can do for them. They are in the care of Primus, now. And you, and more than three-hundred others on the Apex Sentinel, are no longer captives of the Paraions. That is a happy thing."

"Would be better if the other thousand or so were with us," I pointed out bluntly.

Arcee gave me a disapproving look, but let Optimus speak since he stepped closer so he stood right next to Arcee and I's corner of the table, his fifty-one foot frame towering over both of us more than it normally would since we were sitting. "Having those lost on the Hammer among us would make for a happier event, but do not look at the fallen and ignore the online, Shadowstreaker. Doing so will affect you, mentally, emotionally, and even physically. I have seen it happen to soldiers under my command before. Instead, remember the fallen and look to those around you for support. Particularly, those you love. They are the ones who will help you through anything, provided you allow them to." He placed a servo on my shoulder-joint, let it fall, and then left the war room, leaving Arcee and I alone.

The femme who accepted my Imprint watched Optimus leave, released my servo and crossed both of hers over her chestplates, then leaned on her foreservos and said, "He's right about that, you know."

"Yeah, he is," I said, placing my elbow-joints on the table and joining my digits together, still feeling the need to grab something, and no longer having Arcee's servo available. "But that doesn't change what I did, or make it easier to deal with."

"It wasn't supposed to," Arcee said. "I think Optimus was just letting you know where help could be found."

"And that you were going to be the best source of help, of comfort. Even more than before," I added factually. The words felt strange to say, since I had never said out loud how much her presence had meant to me, but they also felt natural.

The blue and pink femme's optics shined with understanding, one born from mutual feelings, and she uncrossed her servos and grabbed one of mine again, lowering it down to the table and joining her digits with my own. "He was right about that, too. So talk to me, Shadow'."

"About what?" I asked, almost chuckling without humor. There were so many things that we needed to talk about, and none of them could be addressed with only a few words. "I have a lot of options to choose from."

"Start with your Protocol," Arcee said, tone and look equally patient and calm.

"Alright," I said. "What do you want to know about it?"

She took a moment to reply, but finally asked, "What does it feel like?"

I wasn't immediately sure how to answer that. The Protocol was hard to describe to someone else. When it first activated, it felt like I was watching a dream, but I was much more aware when I embraced the Protocol on the Hammer, more in touch with what my frame was doing, and less confused. "That isn't as easy to answer as it'd seem. Maybe it varies from mech to mech, but the first time it activated, I wasn't in control, aware that anything I saw was actually happening. It was like being put into a windowless room with only a small video link to the outside, and no way of knowing whether the video was real or not."

"So you didn't know you had destroyed MECH and Airachnid until after it deactivated," Arcee observed. "Your Protocol controlled everything you did, and how you did it."

"Pretty much," I said. "I saw what was happening, but couldn't grasp it, couldn't stop it."

"But the second time was different," my spark said quietly. "It was personal because… You thought I was gone."

I set my faceplate in a neutral look, tightening my grip on Arcee's servo unconsciously. "Yeah," I said. "The second time around, I knew exactly what was going on the entire time. I still had no actual control, but I watched everything with a lot more clarity, probably because I searched for it at that point, and it didn't activate like before."

"Do you think the reason you searched for it is because some tiny part of you wanted it all to be a dream, a nightmare?" Arcee asked.

That… Was admittedly possible. When Scalpel said Arcee was gone, and taunted me with that information, it was one of the worst moments of my life. Only seeing my human mother being killed rivaled it, and that had a different feeling to it. This… This was something else. Thinking Arcee was offline was like living without feeling. No nightmare compared to it. And that made it possible for some part of my CPU, some runtime or calculation, to seek comfort in detachment from reality, and make my Protocol activate.

Although, considering how I had also wanted to offline every fragger I saw, that possibility was very, very small.

"I don't know, perhaps," I answered at last. "But it's not likely. The fact is, I activated my Protocol on my own terms, I didn't let it activate on its own."

"I know, you said that before," my spark said softly, as if she was thinking deeply as she was talking to me. "And that doesn't sound like something the mech I love would do."

"That's because I wasn't him. I was someone else at that point," I said, loosening my grip on Arcee servo as thoughts of each and every bot on the Hammer whose life I was responsible for ending flooded my CPU, along with the methods I had used to offline the Paraions in my path. There were so many…

Arcee tightened her servo, more than making up for my own grip lessening. "But you're him now."

Was I? "I'm not sure about that."

The femme let go of my servo and stood up at that. Then she stepped closer to me and kissed me. It wasn't like our previous two kisses. It was just a quick, soft peck, but it was still enough to send a wave of electricity through my frame. "I am." Her voice was as firm as the armored walls around us, and was filled with just as much as conviction.

She sat back down in her chair, and once I had gathered my thoughts together after our brief kiss, I asked, "How can you be so sure?"

"Would you be carrying around this regret and guilt, if you were a changed mech?" Arcee asked in turn.

And just like that, she destroyed any argument I may have had. If I was changed drastically, I wouldn't care about what I did, or feel anything, have any emotion. I had been very close to being like that just after what was left of the Hammer appeared near the Apex Sentinel, and I wasn't like that now. I was the same mech as before… Mostly. "No, no I wouldn't. I wouldn't feel anything."

"Then you're not uncaring like you were on the Hammer," the blue and pink femme said. "You're the same mech I fell for."

Well, that opened up an entirely different topic of conversation, which I wasn't really sure how to approach, so I decided to to not think about every word I uttered. "I guess I am, even though, as a human-turned Cybertronian, I'm not exactly a… Typical choice, in a potential courted."

"A spark is a spark, doesn't matter if it was once organic. And it wasn't really a choice. Not one we made, anyway," Arcee noted.

"No, not really," I said. "Our sparks chose for us."

Both of us went quiet for several long moments, probably because neither of us knew how to approach the topic of actually discussing our feelings in detail, but Arcee spoke before it became long enough to be tense or awkward, "When did you first realize you had feelings for me?" She was using her normal tone, but I could tell she wanted to know the answer to her question a lot more than she was showing.

"June, last orbital-cycle," I answered immediately. "It was after I had been injured at the artifact mine where we found a piece of the Apex Armor. You came and visited me in the med-bay for a short time before you left. But, in that short visit, you… Smiled… And that was when you made my spark take flight for the first time, metaphorically speaking, of course. And you've been doing that every cycle since."

My spark gave me a flat look. "That's incredibly sappy. Did you come up with that line just now, or did you practice it in your helm for a while?"

"Both," I said, going along with the joke. "Had to make sure the beginning was right. It would have sounded bad if I hadn't."

"It sounded bad anyway," Arcee stated, optics the only indicator that she was teasing.

I smiled and squeezed her servo. "So, when did your feelings for me first develop?"

A thoughtful look entered her optics. "I'm not sure. They formed so subtly that I don't know when they first appeared. But, I know when I first misidentified them as a simple attraction."

"You find me attractive?" I asked teasingly.

Arcee gave me a flat look. "Of course. What kind of question is that? Physical attraction is usually the first step in what leads to real feelings forming, along with a relationship. Provided the bot you are attracted to is attracted back, and isn't an aft."

I took that as her way of asking if I found her attractive. "I think you're incredibly beautiful, have since I became a Cybertronian. I just didn't say, especially after the, um… Washracks."

The blue and pink femme's optics hardened, and I heard her cooling fans activate, while mine did the same. "Let's not mention that."

"Agreed," I said quickly, then got back to the earlier line of questions after my cooling fans switched to a lower gear, "So, when was it that you first misidentified your feelings?"

"After you came to check in on me when Airachnid arrived on Earth, and brought up memories of Tailgate's offlining," Arcee responded, cooling fans already deactivated. "It was after you bid a hasty retreat that I realized I viewed you as something more than a friend."

"And when you first realized it was love?" I asked easily, feeling more and more at ease as I talked with Arcee. It was nice to hear how she first realized she had feelings for me, and the fact talking to her was, very effectively, distracting me from my thoughts was good, too.

Arcee raised an optic ridge. "I was going to ask you that next."

"Well, I asked first," I said in a joking manner. "So, I win."

My spark narrowed her optics at me, though clearly not in anger. "It was after you gave me my creation day present. Something about how you acted, along with the gift itself, touched me, made me realize my feelings weren't simple like they had been with Tailgate or Cliffjumper. They were deeper, something I hadn't dealt with before."

"Why didn't you act on your feelings at that point, then?" I inquired curiously, wanting to know what event, action, or thought it had taken her to realize she wasn't just attracted to me. I knew when I realized it, but not when she did.

"Uh-ah," Arcee said, shaking her helm. "I answered my side of the question, now you answer yours. When did you figure out you loved me?"

"After I beat Springer's aft," I replied. "I had just onlined from one of my visits with the Primes, then Optimus walked in. We talked with a bit, before Optimus made some observations about how I acted around you. It was then I realized what I felt was love. And Optimus came to the same conclusion without knowing about my feelings before we spoke. Don't you hate when he figures out what you're thinking almost before you know?"

The femme who accepted my Imprint smiled and laughed shortly. "It can be annoying when he does that, but that's just how he's always been, at least in the time I've known him," she said, and then followed up with a question, "Going by our pattern so far, I should ask why didn't you act on your feelings. So why didn't you?"

I shrugged. "Fear of rejection, uncertainty, embarrassment. It was a number of things," I said. "Now it's my turn to ask again, what was it for you?"

"For me, it was nearly the exact same, though mostly fear, and not the kind you had. My fear was that if I told you how I felt, you'd end up like Tailgate and Cliffjumper," Arcee said, then chuckled hollowly. "Turns out that fear wasn't that far off."

"Except for the fact you didn't tell me how you felt, and I was captured, not offlined," I said firmly, leaning forward to look her in the optics seriously. This was the first time since I first contacted base that she had sounded like an empty femme, and I wasn't going to let her do that. "Your feelings had nothing to do with what happened to me."

The blue and pink femme closed her optics for a moment, then opened them again and let out a breath slowly. "I know, but thoughts and emotions are not always logical. You know this just as well as I do," she said, azure optics staring into my royal cobalt ones. "Your fears were unfounded, and if you had taken a step back, you'd have realized it. We both would have. But our fears controlled our actions, caged our feelings." Her faceplate became thoughtful, and she asked, "Do you think our fears were transferred to each other through our… Imprints?"

I looked down at our joined servos and intertwined digits, unable to meet her optics at the mention of Imprinting. It was funny, talking about Imprinting hadn't been difficult before now, but I also hadn't gone into full detail about it during my debriefing. And now that I had to, discussing it with the femme I Imprinted on, who, in turn, accepted and then Imprinted back, was made awkward due to how serious the phenomenon was, and what it meant. "Perhaps. Both of our sparks have been effected by the Imprint, and the fact we are separated from each other. We might have been given a few of each other's fears when we Imprinted."

"I assume what you mean when you say our sparks have been effected by our separation, it's that Imprinting is a spark choosing its second half, and the pulling I've been feeling in my own spark means it's calling for yours," Arcee said, voice blank.

Well, she figured that out pretty quickly. "Pretty much. I've been having the same pulling since December, and after my Protocol activated for the first time, Optimus explained it was my spark reaching for yours, wanting to be, ah... Joined together."

"Huh," the blue and pink femme said, still using a blank tone and now putting a neutral look on her faceplate, though I could tell she wasn't sure how to react to her suspicions being confirmed. "It seems like Chromia was right."

"About what?" I asked, silently grateful we weren't discussing the implications of Imprinting at this exact moment. Every micro-klick I had to prepare myself for a conversation about that was a good thing.

"About her view of sparks, and their habit of making decisions on their own," Arcee replied, glancing down at the table, staring at nothing. "She's always said she believes our sparks know what our decisions are going to be well in advance of when we make them, as well as know what our wants and needs are going to be far before we do. That belief is what drives her in many aspects, and she makes her choices based on the feelings she gets from her spark, not her thoughts." She laughed suddenly, angelic smile breaking an uncertain mood that had fallen on both of us. "And the best example of this process would be her courting with Ironhide."

I raised an optic ridge. What did that have to do with her decision-making process? "How is that the best example you know of?"

She laughed again, though not as long as before. "Let me put it this way. After Ironhide finally told her how he felt, they courted for a total of four breems before she sent him, stumbling over his words and nervous as pit, to Elita and I for our approval of them becoming mates."

I blinked slowly. Four breems. She waited four breems before sending Ironhide for her sisters' approval? I had heard of fast courtships, but that is just ridiculous. "And he agreed to go to you two so quickly?"

My spark gave me a flat look. "Chromia can be very persuasive when she wants to be. And Ironhide had been helm over heels for her for a while. Mech stood no chance against her."

"You're making it sound like Chromia manipulated him into doing something he had no desire to," I observed.

"Then I'm not explaining it correctly," Arcee said. "Ironhide had every intention of wanting to be her sparkmate in the future, but he also wanted to make sure she didn't feel pressured to even give him a kiss. He wasn't even going to think about being mated until she knew everything about him. But, Chromia, obviously, didn't have the same approach to courting. She went by what her spark told her, and her spark said he was the one. Then she acted accordingly by convincing Ironhide to go to us for approval. And when we approved, Elita and I gained a brother, and Chromia gained her second half."

"Her spark definitely led her to make the correct choice," I said. Anyone who met them knew immediately they couldn't be more perfect for each other. But that was besides the point of this conversation, and I knew we were both avoiding the proverbial Elephant in the room, so I asked, "What parts of Chromia's decision are you comparing to our situation? To our Pulling, our sparks' desire to… Be one?"

Arcee's faceplate became impassive at my question. "If you're expecting us to go at the rate of Chromia and Ironhide, you are severely mistaken."

My cooling fans reactivated. This is already going badly. "No, no, no, of course not. I ju- Well, you kn- We- The two of us…" I trailed off when I saw the smallest trace of a smile appearing on her faceplate, accompanied by the sound of cooling fans besides my own, activated at such a low speed I didn't hear them at first. "You were joking, weren't you?"

"Mostly," my spark confirmed, dropping the blank look and readopting her normal one. "But, your reaction says a lot about your opinion on our Imprints. You don't want to rush things. You want to take this slowly, take very gradual steps toward what our sparks have already decided."

"Exactly right," I said, silently applauding her observational skills. She did miss the fact that it was difficult to not want to go at the pace our sparks apparently want to go, because of how long I had been away and how much she meant to me, but no one could figure out what someone else was thinking with perfect accuracy every single time. "And judging by your own reactions, you don't want to move at a fast pace, either."

"No, I don't," Arcee said. "I have very rarely taken the time to truly enjoy many of the things I've done in my life, but this is something I've never dealt with, and it's something I want to do right." She squeezed my servo tightly, and smiled at me. "And my spark couldn't have chosen a better mech for me."

I gave her a dry look. "Now who's being incredibly sappy?"

"Oh, shut up, Shadow'," she answered.

I did, and we both sat there for a long time, simply enjoying each other's company.

---

It was more than a breem later before I left the war room, and Arcee and I parted ways for the time being. I would have been fine just sitting with her for longer, but she pointed out the fact there were a lot of bots, and three humans, who I needed to talk to, since they left the debriefing early. So now I was searching for those who walked out of the war room.

There probably weren't a lot of pleasant conversations ahead of me, but I was riding the pleasant thoughts of my conversation with Arcee, the feeling of just sitting next to her.

… Wow, Lennox was right, I am gone. And I'm okay with that.

After I left the war room, I made straight for the med-bay. Ratchet and Moonracer were likely there, and there was also a possibility Smokescreen was there, as well. It would be best to try speaking to as many of those we left as I could at one time. Singling each of them out would take me too long, and I couldn't ignore any of them.

I reached the med-bay after a short walk from the war room, and the door automatically opened for me.

The med-bay was unchanged from when I had last seen it. It was all the same medical berths, tools, computers, detailed scanning equipment, nanite-enhancing gel containers, stacked data pads, and repaired and broken parts as before. The one and only difference I could see was that the Delphic was no longer in the room. Ratchet probably decided it was finally time to move the crystal to a storage hanger, or maybe even the quarters he and Moonracer shared. It was about time he did that. He had learned nothing else from it since I onlined from stasis.

I looked at the workstation, and quickly spotted Ratchet and Moonracer examining data on one of the screens. But Smokscreen was nowhere in sight. Guess he was going to have to wait.

With a light sigh, I stepped fully into the med-bay and moved to stand next to Ratchet, then stopped when I knew I was in his peripheral vision.

He made no indication he saw me.

I gave him another micro-klick to acknowledge my presence, but he didn't, he just kept examining the screen in front of him. Then I decided to myself known. "Hello, Ratchet."

I didn't see the wrench that hit me on the side of the helm with, but I felt it. The white and red medic had put enough force behind the blow to make me stumble back a step while my audio receptors rang in my helm.

Ow.

Ratchet turned to look at me then, faceplate set in anger. "How could you have possibly thought seeking out the protocol you knew would make you offline anything that stood against you was a good idea?!" He yelled. "Any number of things could have gone wrong when you activated it! And that's not including everything that did! You were going up against hundreds of highly-trained and well-equipped hostile Cybertronians by yourself, with no weapons! They could have easily offlined you! And even though they didn't, you nearly did the job for them! You used up so much energon it's a miracle you weren't already offline when the neutrals found you! You had one, maybe two cycles of life left when you were found! That's it! And you had more of a chance than most of the Hammer! Those bots didn't even get a chance! Were you thinking about those mechs and femmes when you searched for your Protocol?! Did you think about what would happen to them when you went on a rampage?! Did you even consider the possibility your interrogator was trying to get inside your helm?!"

I kept my faceplate neutral, but inside I felt the punch behind Ratchet's words, of how right each of them were. "No. I wasn't thinking about anything at that point. Not the other prisoners, not my energon levels, not the tactic of interrogation, nothing."

The white and red medic huffed loudly, and then hit me again with his wrench, barely lessening how much strength he put in his servo.

Again, ow.

"You were short-sighted, Shadowstreaker!" Ratchet went on after hitting me. "Short-sighted, foolish, and stupid! And now hundreds paid the price! How do you think your creators feel, seeing you, their own son, act like you did?!"

Well, now he's hitting me in a different way. Truth was, Solus and Megatronus are probably shocked by my behavior, by how I didn't even think of anyone else trapped in the same hell that was the Hammer. I was only focused on directing my rage on Scalpel and every other Paraion I saw. They… They probably are ashamed of what I did, of my actions, of me, right now…

"That's enough, Ratchet," Moonracer said, mildly chiding her sparkmate. "You made your point to Shadowstreaker. Don't involve bots that have no place in this conversation."

Ratchet looked at his mate, and both of their optics dimmed slightly as if they were having a conversation, and then he took several breaths and looked at me again with less anger prevalent on his faceplate. "I apologize for my words, Shadowstreaker," he said, though his gruff manner made it difficult to tell if his statement was genuine or not.

I treated it like it was. "Don't be sorry. I deserved them," I said, blocking the new thoughts Ratchet's statement created.

The white and red medic glanced at his sparkmate again, and she looked back meaningfully, as if something unsaid had been proven. He then scoffed and returned to working at the computer. "Maybe you do, but there were other ways I could have said them."

"It worked, got your point across," I said. "No point in fine-tuning it."

"But there is a difference between making a point, and attacking a fellow Autobot," said Moonracer, giving her mate a look, which caused Ratchet to grumble something unintelligible.

I shrugged. "It's to be expected, after what I did."

"But it's also not what should happen," the green and white femme said, still looking at Ratchet "We are Autobots, we stand by one another. Especially when one of us makes a mistake we can't fix."

"It's in the nature of all beings to judge each other, some more than others," Ratchet said, finally giving into something in Moonracer's gaze. "And we, as Autobots, are taught to not judge one another for our actions, and to instead show other Autobots where they went wrong. Which is why I, again, apologize for some of my words."

"I already said don't be sorry. I deserved to be shouted at. Don't worry about it." I shrugged again and examined a medical tool I hadn't seen before. It had eight surgical blades, six lights, three syringes, and an energon reader, all of which were combined into a single, freakishly strange-looking object on the end of a handle.

It was probably best not to ask not ask what exactly this was for.

For the third time since I stepped into the med-bay, a wrench hit me in the side of the helm, having been thrown at the floor at in just the right way where it would bounce upward at a high angle.

Now Ratchet was just unnecessarily showing off his wrench-throwing skills.

"Just accept my apology, damn it!" The wrench-throwing medic demanded. "I will not offer an apology if it isn't accepted! I was wrong to say some of the things I said! Accept it!"

"Um, apology… Accepted?" I asked, blinking at Ratchet's desire for me to accept his apology. He really wanted me to accept.

I caught a movement from Moonracer, and I looked at her. She was giving Ratchet a little approving smile, and a satisfied look was in her optics. Ah. So she was behind her sparkmate's continued attempts at apologizing.

Ratchet huffed at my acceptance, likely frustrated it had taken so long for me to accept while his mate was pressuring him to continue apologizing for something that hadn't bothered me… Much. "Good," he said as he went back to his work. "Then we can go back to what's important."

"Like?" I prompted. I hadn't been searching for he and Moonracer for any other reason than to know where they stood with me. And I still wasn't totally sure what Ratchet's opinion on my actions was beyond anger at how little I had been thinking at the time.

"Like this second Delphic you mentioned seeing during your debriefing. I want to know more about it," the white and red medic said, not looking away from the data on the screen, which, I realized, were a graph displaying the results of every scan he had taken of the Delphic.

Uh-oh. Not this again.

I glanced at Moonracer for confirmation on whether Ratchet was returning to his obsession with the ancient crystal. Her only answer was to roll her optics, which caused her mate to give her a look, likely feeling how she felt about his obsession, and how incredulous she was toward it.

So, he was becoming obsessed again. Of course, his obsession led to some interesting information about the Delphic, but that information was only revealed after jours of study. And I don't think there's anything else he can discover from the crystal until a way to access the core, and the subatomic supercomputer it contained.

Although, we would have never known about that supercomputer if Ratchet hadn't been obsessed with studying the Delphic, so maybe he would find something else we never would have found otherwise.

"You're restarting your testing of the Delphic?" I asked.

"Somewhat," Ratchet answered. "But as I said, I am more interested in the other Delphic you described, and how it may relate to the one we have."

"I'm not sure what help I can be," I said. "I only saw the second Delphic from outside the lab it was contained in."

"A little information is better than none," said Ratchet.

I brought up the memories of the short moment I had to observe the second Delphic. "Larger and brighter than the one we have, had a faint red hue to its light, jagged edges, and there was energy crackling around it. The scientists examining it were keeping their distance, because of that."

"That's all you know?" Asked the white and red medic, voice showing his mild disappointment at the lack of information besides a physical description.

"Like I said, I only saw it from outside the lab it was in," I replied.

Ratchet grumbled something I couldn't hear, then said, "I was hoping for something to work with, but at least you're able to give a basic description."

"Sorry I can't give anything else useful," I said. "I was led away after only a few micro-klicks."

"Believe me, he has enough to go on," said Moonracer, giving her sparkmate a displeased look, one I had seen her give him many times during his initial study of the Delphic.

Ratchet, for his part, seemed a little wary of the look his mate was giving him.

Well, seems like they have to talk about studying the Delphic. Or at least they want to. "I know when I'm getting in the way. I'll come back later." I turned and walked toward the door.

Moonracer's statement stopped me before I got there, "Don't leave yet, Shadowstreaker. We need to set a time for your examination, as well as your psychiatric workup."

I looked back at the green and white femme in confusion. What she said about examining me made sense, considering we had no idea if the Paraions implanted anything inside me while I was their captive, but a psychiatric workup was a new one. "What do you mean?"

"You went through a number of potentially traumatic events while you were captured," replied Moonracer. "Your actions show how close to the brink you were."

Hope being crushed. Pain, longing for lost second half. Despair, anguish.

Mocking tone from an insane mech. Fire. Rage. Soldiers firing. Lives ended. Necks snapped. Helms caved in or ripped off. Soldiers horrified.

Fire fades. Rage turns to nothing. Alone.

I shook my helm to rid myself of the mixture of memories and basic emotions. "I'm fine."

"No you aren't," Ratchet said. "If you were, you wouldn't be affected by a simple statement."

So he knew I was just lost in my memories for a moment. "Maybe. But do you honestly want to help me?"

The white and red medic huffed, as if insulted. "Just because I don't approve of anything you did on the Hammer, doesn't mean I want you to suffer for your actions," he said. "In war, everyone does something questionable at some point. It's inevitable. But occasionally, circumstances affect a bot and their actions, and it is the job of the medic to make sure those bots recover. But a bot can't be helped until they allow themselves to examined."

Well, seems like I now know where he stands in regards to my actions. He and Moonracer want to help me. But what could be done to help me? Guilt doesn't go away. "I'll get back to you on that." I turned and left the med-bay before the two medics could protest.

I let the door close behind me after I left the room, then walked toward the ops center without considering where to go next.

It was nice, knowing Ratchet and Moonracer wanted to know how I was holding up mentally, but it was also… Difficult. It was something I had never done, and I had no idea how to approach the topic, not really, anyway. Arcee was able to help me just by being present in the room with me, but that wasn't a permanent fix, just a temporary one, something good to focus on.

Was there anything that could help me more than that?

I didn't know, and I wasn't sure if Ratchet and Moonracer could find one.

I reached the ops center after a short walk that seemed even shorter with all my thoughts ringing in my helm.

Prowl was operating the space bridge, with Agent Fowler standing on the catwalk next to him, where he had been operating the space bridge while my debriefing was taking place.

Optimus, Flightstorm, and Cyberfrost were near the middle of the ops center, standing around Wildwing as he sat on the hovering energon pallet that had been holding the Gold Optimus had made, which apparently had been completely transported by the Collected's crew members. I could hear Optimus speaking to Wildwing, and the sparkling replying, but the exact words were spoken too softly to be heard from a distance.

Jack, Miko, and Raf were at the Xbox area. Jack was playing State of Decay by himself with a look of cold anger written on his face, while Miko leaned on his shoulder and watched a similar look on her own face, though not as intense. Raf was just sitting on the couch, neither watching the game nor looking angry.

I decided they would be the next group I spoke with about what happened on the Hammer, and stepped toward them.

As soon as I had taken my first step, I saw a piece of paper on the floor near Wildwing, and came to a total stop as I examined it.

It was a picture, one I hadn't seen before. It was showing the black faceplate of a bot with two red, visor-like optics that were so close together they almost appeared to be one, with the background of a dark room behind him.

Now, why do I suddenly feel like that is really important?

---

(Human calendar) July 16, 2013 3:44 A.M

(Cybertronian date) 1103432 (Centi-vorns since the end of the Golden Age)

Decepticon base, three-hundred and fifty miles northwest of Madagascar

Shockwave scrolled through the data being displayed on the computer in his personal laboratory, his single optic processing all information at a rapid rate.

It had been three jours, two mega-cycles, and four solar-cycles since he last stepped into this room, that was, however, not his fault.

First, Megatron had him to use the Dark Matter to tow an asteroid containing a ship of the Ancients out of the solar system and into the closest neighboring one, then he was ordered to create a vast defense network to guard the asteroid's location. Those tasks had taken him twelve solar-cycles to complete.

Second, he was ordered to gain access to the vessel inside the asteroid, while contending with hundreds, if not thousands, of Cybertronians who mentally had been reduced to little more than animals, but physically were a match for any Insecticon, and even more difficult to offline. After dealing with not only these Cybertronians, but also an incredibly advanced AI who sabotaged his every effort, for two jours, he failed to accomplish his instructed task. Even now the ship remained impregnable, its AI taunting him with the prospect of unimaginable discoveries and advances, only to lock them away.

Third, Megatron had taken Starscream and Soundwave with him to conduct a surprise inspection of Project:Overlord, leaving Shockwave in charge of all Decepticon operations in both the Sol and Alpha Centauri systems. The added duties assigned to him prevented an opportunity to visit his laboratory for the next twenty-three solar-cycles.

Lastly, an underground base containing information backups was attacked, and a large portion of one of their databases was hacked. He had been spending the last thirteen solar-cycles reviewing the data that had been copied, determining what projects or locations were compromised. One of them had been his formula for creating Cyberium, meaning it was only a matter of time before the Autobots found a weakness in the armor's construction.

But that metal was also never going to give the Decepticons a permanent advantage over the Autobots. Like many technologies that had come from their centi-vorns-long conflict, it was bound to become meaningless eventually. So its loss was of little consequence.

It was only two breems ago that he finally managed to complete the added duties he was burdened with, review the last of the compromised data, and execute the Decepticons who survived the attack on the base for their incompetence. It was Megatron's policy that failure of such magnitude could not be tolerated. And it was not.

Shockwave flipped to the next page of information, which contained the results data of the minor experiments he had entrusted the automated systems of his laboratory to conduct, while taking care of the ones that required energon every cycle. The psychological impact on a seeker when their wings were removed, the effect of Earth's Sea Salt when introduced into the veins of a Cybertronian, the exact amount of pressure required to break a human skeleton, whether a Cybertronian's thought processes could be controlled through an electromagnetic signal, and how a drone's intelligence was affected when given a more powerful CPU with free will.

The calculating scientist shut down the terminal and walked toward the far wall of his laboratory. The minor experiments had not required his presence, and the potentially beneficial experiments had failed and ended up with the subjects offlining, or having to be offlined when it expressed displeasure.

But they did not matter. There were other experiments he had planned, and their success was far more likely.

A sensor deployed from the wall Shockwave was walking toward. The device scanned him, then sent a command to an unseen computer, and a hidden door opened in front of the scientist just before he would have made contact with the wall, and then it closed behind him.

He was now in the secret area of his laboratory.

While much of his work was conducted in the open, all of his personal projects were kept hidden inside this second of his lab, away from the prying optics of Megatron and Soundwave. And he had many personal projects.

He moved past the holding tanks of the secret section of his lab, where more than sixty of the Ferals, the Cybertronians he had fought on the asteroid, were being held in captivity. His testing had found they couldn't be controlled effectively, at least not yet. But, if required, they would be very effective, when dropped on top of enemies.

Shockwave encountered another door, this one not hidden due to the fact it was already in a hidden area. He typed a password into a keypad next to it, and it opened, revealing a large, circular device not unlike a ground bridge or small space bridge.

It was a Universal Bridge, a machine he had created that unlocked the legendary power of Vector Prime, to a degree, and allowed for travel to other realities. But unfortunately, it was not yet ready for use.

In his extensive study of alternate realities and universes, he discovered the Multiverse was somewhat like a vast, unexplored ocean, in which each drop of water led to a quadrillion different worlds. These 'Drops' could be viewed with relative ease, but actually entering them was infinitely more difficult, and left behind an… Impression, when on the rare occasions that they were seen. These Impressions left waves in their wake that were visible throughout the Multiverse, and remained for an uncountable number of centi-vorns.

And from what his calculations and observations told him, there had been three Impressions in the Multiverse in the last nine-thousand centi-vorns, two of which had occurred within the last five orbital-cycles. While this was not unusual for the Multiverse, what was abnormal was that each Impression either went directly to the reality he was currently in, or led to a place that could not be tracked, and then into this reality. This suggested someone, somewhere, had the ability to travel between realities at will.

Shockwave found this to be troubling. It implied that his plan of using the Universal Bridge to travel to other realities, gather resources and technology from them, and return was in use by someone else. In the future, he may have a rival on his servos.

The calculating scientist continued through several other doors and sections of his laboratory, until he reached yet another door, the most heavily armored section of his secret lab. He placed his one good servo on a panel next to the door, and allowed another device to scan his one optic.

"715-TS0-4221-VAZ," he said, saying the verbal password for the door into a mic.

A loud, metallic grating noise sounded throughout the room as a four meter-thick lock slid to the side, while on the other end of the fifteen meter-thick door, a cold-plasma barrier deactivated in preparation for Shockwave's entry.

The calculating scientist stepped down the short hallway left behind by the thick door, into a large, dark room, which he had made solely for its seven occupants.

On the left wall, there was a holding cage for a large, dull green and earth-colored mech, while on the opposite side, a blue, red, and grey mech two-third the size of the first was held in an identical cage.

Directly in front of Shockwave, there were five floating platforms suspended over a pit of acid strong enough to eat away Cyberium less than a micro-klick. The platforms were occupied by five mechs, all appearing to have no vehicle alt modes. Each of them were held in place by extra cold-plasma barriers and metal restraints, and were far larger than what was normal for Cybertronians, but none more so than the one in the center, who was helm, shoulder-joints, and chestplates above the other four.

The mech on the center platform glared up at Shockwave as he entered, his two red, visor-like optics smoldering with hatred.

The calculating scientist ignored the look. "It has been a long time, since last I walked inside this room. Have you missed my presence?"

None of the captive bots replied.

"As friendly as always," said Shockwave, raising his cannon-servo and hovering the digits of his good servo over a device just above his cannon. "You know better than to do that." He pressed the button.

Instantly, countless volts of electricity were directed into the edges of the holding cages and the restraints, causing the captive mechs to wreath around in agony.

But not the mech on the center platform.

He took the electric punishment, glared down at Shockwave with even more anger and hatred, even fought against his restraints in a show of defiance, his black helm and red optics burning in the dim light.

After nearly a klick, Shockwave ended the onslaught of suffering, and all except the one in the center collapsed in relief, breathing heavily to cool their systems.

"I have come to tell you I finally have time for my planned operations," said the scientist. "There's no preparations to make, no more experiments that need to be conducted, or events that will delay the procedures. By this time next cycle, you will all be as I want you to be. Enjoy what moments of freedom you have left." He turned, and walked out of the room, silently enjoying how he tormented his favorite captives.

He would miss them, when they were experiments.

Shockwave reached the other side of the door, went through the same process he did to open it, and the operation reversed. And the door slammed shut with a resounding boom.

After the scientist left, the blue, red, and grey mech slowly looked up at the other mechs, the other Autobots, both to see how they were recovering from Shockwave's punishment, and to see if they fully understood the situation.

The dull green and earth-colored mech did, and so did four of the ones on the platforms. Their time to wait for rescue had run out. They had to escape on their own.

And they had to do it now.

Meanwhile, the largest of the seven mechs glared at the door, as if his optics would burn a hole through it and vaporize the scientist who was walking away on the other side.

He had technically been Shockwave's captive for as long as the other four mechs on the platforms with him, and far, far longer than the two in the cages, but he was the only one out of the entire group who was strong enough to withstand whatever the scientist threw at him, the only one who had never been forced into stasis by his punishments, and the only one powerful enough to be a legitimate threat if he was to escape.

That was why Shockwave gave him the largest doses of electricity, contained him with the toughest restraints, and never personally stood against him, neither before nor after he had taken off the scientist's left servo.

Shockwave feared him.

And this fact was never more obvious than the last time he had broken free of the scientist's captivity, and he had sent his Insecticon soldiers to face him, instead of trying to fight the mech himself.

The titan of a mech could still hear the Insecticons speaking during that time, hear them taunting him, using his name as a joke.

"Grimlock… Grimlock… Grimlock-lock-lock-lock-lock..."

---

Aaaaaannnddd... Break over. Hope you all enjoyed it.

Now, I am going to ACTUALLY put effort into my novel this time, not just try working on it for a week or two and then going back to this. And, after seeing The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug *Freaking incredible movie, in my opinion* I have decided to revive my Lord of the Rings story. I will be working on that as well, alongside my novel. Nothing to the extent as Fate Calls, but I will be rewriting the prologue to fit with how my writing is now, and as well as making a buffer so I don't have to flip over to it a lot. The chapters will be shorter, and overall I do not think it will end up being on the same scale as Fate Calls. But then again, I also originally thought this story would be 100k words at the max... How'd that work out?

So yeah. Novel, and rewriting the prologue of Last of the Wryms is what I will doing next. Fate Calls is not in any way, shape, or form abandoned, but it will take me some time for the next update.

Oh, and since the next update will take a little while, I will say that regarding the behavior of everyone who left the war room, I have a plan, and I will not ruin anyone. That is all.

This chapter's credit song is "TobyMac - Ignition" I have been wanting to use this song as a credit song for... How long? A long time. Early last year, I believe. Anyway, up until now, I had not written an ending to a chapter that fit with the pace of this song, or the lyrics. I THINK I might have done it at last, since it fits to my ears. But I will allow you, my readers, to decide.

Please, feel free to leave a review with your thoughts, or send me a PM if you have a question. I love all feedback, and it makes my day when I see I have more. So, even though I've said it before. Thank you. :)

See you soon.