This took much longer than I expected, partially due to a two-week stretch where I wasn't writing at all. I hope this update is worth the wait for the vast majority of you who have been patient.
Like last update, I recommend that you go back and reread or glance through my last chapter to get up to speed on what's happening in this one. Hopefully, there will be a time where I have updates frequently. Life is making sure that time is not now.
Thank you to those who reviewed, favorited, or followed since my previous update. We're very close to some milestones in those departments, and it humbles me to see that.
Guest 1 - Hello.
I actually CAN'T say when I am able to post next chapter. I never know for sure when I will have an update finished; there are too many variables that go into their writing. That, plus life, plus friends, plus other projects, makes saying when I can update even more impossible, despite impossible being self-explanatory. It just can't happen.
TheSilentOne - Right? They can sneak up on you, too - make a totally normal situation sad, overly happy, or enraging. Emotions are equally fascinating and annoying.
Guest 2 - I'll add that to the vote count. Sorry to report that chance of a faster update didn't happen this time around.
Thanks go to Crystal Prime for beta reading.
Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to Hasbro. I only take credit for this story and my OCs.
"And you just took him for his word, Ironhide? I thought Wreckers were supposed to be smart."
"They are smart, youngling—smarter than you can ever hope to be."
"What's that supposed to mean, junker?"
"It means shut up, youngling."
Ironhide could almost see the glare Jetfire would have sent Air Raid to go along with those words. What happened to them? They used to be so close. Now, they were constantly at each other's throats, and there was only so much Silverbolt could do to keep them in order when Jetfire technically outranked him.
"I didn't have time to question the human's intel," Ironhide said through the universal channel, hoping to get the conversation back on track. "He disappeared before I could ask him anything else."
"'Disappeared'?" His sister-in-bond asked. "What do you mean by that?"
"What I mean is he's a slippery little human. Got away while I was distracted. Couldn't track him in the crowd."
"Did the human provide a probable target before leaving?" Asked Ultra Magnus.
"No, sir." Ironhide thought it a little ridiculous Ultra Magnus still insisted on formalities such as 'Sir' or 'General' since there were so few of them on Earth, but he didn't complain. "All he said was that we've been looking in the wrong place."
"Ah bet a cube he kept some facts back," Jazz said. "It' what criminal-types do."
"And yet we do not possess enough information to readily determine whether if this human hid facts that relate to our search or his business practices," said Optimus. "Prowl, you have more experience in dealing with criminals than any of us—what do you suggest?"
"Jazz is correct in that it is the nature of criminals to lie or state half-truths," said Prowl. "However, you are also correct in stating we do not have the needed facts to dispute the information given to us. I suggest we maintain patrols in this part of the world while widening our search in the skies."
"That would be easier for us to do with some extra pairs of optics up here," Silverbolt said.
"You will get one pair. Override—find a secluded location to call for a space bridge; you will be relieving Springer at base."
"Understood, Optimus Prime," said the Veloctronian, and then left the universal channel.
"Is there anything else to discuss at this moment?"
The Prime's question was met with silence.
"Very well. Autobots—continue your search."
Ironhide pulled away from the curb once Prime ended the report. A few cars honked at him, but he didn't pay attention or care. He just went back to his patrol route. Back to being angry.
"You okay?"
Ironhide huffed at his sister-in-bond's question. Of course he wasn't okay. His mate wasn't there, and all he felt in their bond was a cold wall where there should have been warmth. "I'm fine."
"Like slag."
"Been over it before."
"Yes, yes we have. Not long ago, either. But that doesn't mean we have to be done talking about it."
"It hurts to talk about."
"So will silence."
Ironhide huffed again, engine roaring. Talking never helped him. Actions did. And the only action that would help him is figuring out how to break into Shadowstreaker's Animus and take Chromia back.
Shadowstreaker.
He felt mixed emotions about that mech. He felt anger because the mech's frame was used to technically offline his mate, but for the same reason he felt pity. Pity that it seemed like every force in the universe was out to get the kid.
"You're… A confusing mixture right now," Arcee said.
"Because I am."
"About someone or something?"
"Might count as both. Shadowstreaker."
He got almost nothing from her end of their bond for that comment. "If he counts as both, we might, too."
Was that… Anxiety he felt from her? It was gone before he could know for sure. "How so?"
"Are you just ignoring what the Mech of Light said?"
Mech of Light? Is that what she was calling that former Xel-something-or-other they met in the Animus? Ironhide called him Royalty. The other one he liked to call Red-Optic-Fragger. And the other, other one he… Wasn't sure what to call. "Yeah, sure. Let's go with that."
"You really are, aren't you? You're ignoring a very important part of what we saw in there." Her words were disapproving, but he felt no emotions that backed them up. Or emotions that countered them. She was as close to unreadable as she could be through their bond.
"And why shouldn't I?" He asked, turning off the main road and entering another of those pesky human roads that were barely wide enough for him. How did humans get around when they could only move a foot or two on either side? "You heard what he was talking about. The Council of Ardents, some group of beings who were incredibly powerful and important for… Some reason. Some purpose. Heros, basically. And he's talking about me being one of them? Give me a break."
"He wasn't just talking to you."
"I know that. I just see it in all of you, especially Optimus—anyone could. But me? One of these Ardents? That's ridiculous."
"And it's normal for me? I haven't done anything more out of the ordinary than you have."
Ironhide huffed again, but not from anger. How could she not see who she was? As much he was mixed about Shadowstreaker right now, he appreciated the fact that from the beginning, the Triple-Changer saw Arcee for what she was: someone completely beyond extraordinary. The number of people he'd ever encountered that could even come close to what Arcee'd done in her life could be counted on one servo. Two of which she was related to.
But he didn't count.
What had he really done in his life as a soldier that was different? What had he done that no one else could have? All he'd done was shoot things. Blow things up. Fight when told to, and sometimes when he was told not to. Any Wrecker could do that. And do it better than he could, too.
Him being one of these Ardents had to be some sort of mistake. How could it not be? Heroes saved people, no matter what. Even if they hadn't met someone before, a hero seemed to have the ability to save peopl from anything; Optimus did. Jazz did. Arcee, Elita, and 'Mia did.
But him? He couldn't even save his own sparkmate. He hadn't told anyone, but Ironhide kept having nightmares since he came back from the Animus. Every night he saw her in them. Defeated, beaten, looking to him for salvation from the impossibly dark mech standing over her, watching Ironhide with a sick glee in his multi-lensed optics. And every night he tried to fight for her, tried to get that fragger away from her.
Only he failed every single time. Every time he went to punch Cold, something else would take his place. A memory. A sparklinghood bully. A prisoner from his jailer cycles that everyone in the prison feared.
Things that Ironhide feared, too.
And that fear would come roaring back. He'd freeze up just before his fist crushed the fragger's helm. Then Cold would laugh until Ironhide onlined in a panic, systems nearly overheated from that fear. And from that came disgust with himself.
If he couldn't even summon the bravery to fight for his own mate, then what good was he? How could he be good enough to be an Ardent, when he wasn't even good enough to push away Cold's laughter?
It would take breems for that echo to fade each morning.
"Ironhide?"
Ironhide's thought process was broken by his sister-in-bond's question. He had to swerve off the road to avoid running over an unfortunate human driver, who'd apparently been honking at him for several micro-klicks. That had been close. "Yeah?"
"You were spacing out."
"No I wasn't."
"I could feel you were."
"It's nothin'."
"I didn't say it was anything."
"Good, 'cause it's not."
Arcee was silent for a moment. "You're lying."
"Am not."
"Ironhide… This is really not a good time for you to lie to me, too."
"Sorry." He was genuine in that, but he didn't want to give her something else to think about. Not when she and Shadowstreaker were making progress in a healthier relationship. Not when he was just dealing with some stupid nightmares.
… But when did Cybertronians have recurring nightmares?
"Don't apologize. Talk."
"Can't. Not about this."
"It's about Chromia, isn't it?"
He sped up down the road, avoiding human drivers. Saying nothing.
"Of course it is." She paused for a long moment. He could almost hear her thinking. "You do have to talk about it, you know."
"Don't need to."
"Yes you do. I know you, 'Hide; you don't do well without venting. The more you keep it to yourself, the more it will hurt you."
Ironhide wanted to talk about it. He did. His spark ached to talk to someone who would understand how much pain he was in. But it was like his mouth was welded shut. Each time he decided he would talk, a voice in the back of his helm would whisper to him that wasn't a good idea. It had power over him. Great power.
Unnatural power.
"You're spacing again, Ironhide."
"You always keep things to yourself." There was a bite in his voice he didn't mean to use. An attack on how she handled her own emotions that he didn't want to make.
But that whisper demanded he should. So he had.
"I've never lied to you about my moods." She sounded defensive now. Felt surprised and confused.
"But you haven't discussed them. You kept the details to yourself. Away from me. From Elita. From 'Mia."
"This isn't a—"
"Why the pit should I talk to you when you don't talk to me?"
The bitterness in his voice surprised even himself. Why was he suddenly so angry? He'd never had a problem with how Arcee processed her emotions. Why did he have one now?
A bit of her fiery anger leaked from her side of their bond, but her voice was emotionless as she said, "Fine. Be angry with me. I'll go back to patrolling until you aren't being so damned stubborn."
Her end of the comm-link went silent. And he was left alone. Because he'd been a terrible brother to Arcee.
Because he feared talking.
Just as that whisper in the back of his helm said he feared everything.
No. No. No. Not that one. No. Not even close. No.
Oh, look, another Treads; that only makes ninety-one in this single district. Creators were getting more original with names. No. No. Huh. That's a new one, but no. No.
… Who names their sparkling 'Warinor Tallus Generalix Monar Lodd Excer'? I appreciate wanting to be unique, but damn. He probably didn't appreciate that name.
My helm started throbbing. A violent, agonizing pain that made it difficult to hear or focus on the data pad I held.
Time to drink the worst energon ever made. I reached over to the other side of the berth and grabbed the cube that awaited me. I braced myself, and and emptied it all at once. Immediately, I started coughing. Once. Twice. Three times. And more. It felt like part of my throat had been burned raw.
What did Ratchet put in this new batch? Little bit of lava and acid? Frag that burns more than the old stuff.
And I get to drink it again in four hours. Great.
At last, I stopped coughing. I returned to looking through Kaon's civilian registry, flipping through a page about every second—or micro-klick, if I felt like being a proper Cybertronian. I'd put off studying Wildwing's many drawings to focus completely on the registry. That had resulted in me going through thousands of pages since Arcee left hours ago.
A few klicks went by without anything noteworthy, both within the data pad and within my cell.
Then I felt Override's optics watching me from the brig desk. Again.
This happened whenever Override acted as one of my guards. Periodically, she'd stare at me. She wouldn't say anything, or give an indication she wanted to. She just stared. Whenever I looked up at her while she was staring, she would quickly look away. It wasn't from embarrassment on her part. Or part of some joke she was trying to play on me. Or her attention being grabbed by something else.
From the brief glimpses I got of her optics, she looked away because she was nervous. Not comfortable.
It made sense for her to be. She had been on patrol when I… When Cold tore everyone apart. When she got back, the base was heavily damaged, I was literally dead, Chromia and Elita were missing, and Jazz, Optimus, Ironhide, and Arcee were acting like they were someone else.
She practically walked into a horror movie. Same as anyone else who hadn't been home at the time.
But her silent looks were getting on my nerves.
Without looking, I reached back and pressed the button for the open channel for the intercom. "Will you ever get around to actually talking, or are you going to keep trying to figure out what you're going to say?"
She said nothing.
Hmm. Figures she doesn't want to even try to talk. I suppose that's what I get for calling her out on her behavior. Back to the data pad for me.
"Does it ever make you afraid?"
I turned my helm. Override was looking at me intently, servo not on the button to open the intercom. She'd pressed the one that opened it indefinitely, just as I had.
"What do you mean by that?"
"What you can do, what your Quriomous Protocol turns you into, how your frame will not be your own if you do not drink that energon—does it make you afraid?"
It terrified me. It horrified me. It petrified me. And any other words you could use for fear.
I'd watched the brief security footage of Cold using me to get to the reactor. Played it over again and again. What he'd done through me… It made no sense. Had no explanation. How could he do that with my body, my body that definitely didn't do the things he did both there, and against my fellow Autobots? It was so disturbing to know that if I missed drinking my modified energon, he'd be back in an instant. Ready to destroy everything I loved.
And even without Cold, my Protocol made me a monster. A killer. A nigh-unstoppable beast for a brief time. So many people from the Hammer were gone because of that Protocol. And so many were saved. It was a paradox.
Everything added up to make me something instead of someone. I was something different, something dark, and something unknown all in one.
I was an anomaly.
I blinked, pushing those thoughts away. "Yes. It does."
She was silent a moment. "Do you wish you did not have so many… Strange things happen to you?"
"Think about what you just asked for a moment. Think about the fact that I slaughtered the crew of a prison ship in a fit of rage. About how that I'm apparently special, and have not one, but two ancient entities rooming in the physical representation of my mind. That one of those entities used me to fight my own friends, and—technically—offline two of them. And how that if this energon doesn't work, that same entity will come right back. You just asked me whether I wished none of those things happened. What do you think my answer will be?"
She went silent again. This time for a much longer time. When she finally spoke, she was quiet, and much of the strength in her voice had vanished, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I'm sorry."
I sighed. That hadn't quite come out right. "No, I'm sorry. That was originally meant to have some humor to it. I got a little carried away with the sarcasm. My deadpan made it sound like a dressing-down. I apologize for that; it wasn't my intention."
"How can a pan be offline? And how can a dress be down? When the humans Miko or June wear them, the dresses do not point in a direction."
I… Um… What?
I turned. Override was looking at me, helm tilted slightly, face scrunched in confusion. She was seriously confused about what I'd said. Wow. I knew she was oblivious about some terms, but deadpan? Really? "Neither of the terms I used are to be taken literally. Dressing-down usually means a form of verbal punishment, typically in the human military. And deadpan is… well, a deadpan."
She just blinked.
"A purposefully expressionless statement, used for subtle humor? That remind you of anything?"
"Since it relates to humor, no." Her posture changed. Back straightened. Shoulder-joints even with each other. Face stoic.
Like her Velocitronian soldiers were looking to her for guidance in a crisis.
I shook my helm and left the conversation at that, hitting the button to turn off the intercom. Wow. She really didn't like letting herself relax. My presence probably wasn't helping, of course—with the whole could-be-used-to-kill-everyone thing I was dealing with. And the way I had been a little touchy since I died.
Or the fact I died.
How many terrible things were going to happen to—or happen because of—me?
Why couldn't I have just stayed dead?
A sharp pain throbbed against the back of my head. It felt like a dagger in my CPU. A hammer pounding against my helm. A fist punching me over and over. All at once.
It was severe enough that I dropped the data pad to the floor and grabbed my helm with both hands. The frag? I drank all the energon I needed to. What was this?
"Shadowstreaker?" Override's voice carried through the intercom again. She sounded worried, and only partially for me.
I reached over to the other cube that awaited me for later, and forced myself to take a small sip. It tasted terrible. Worse than it normally did, probably because I'd drank another cube such a short time ago. But despite its taste, it made the sharp pain go away.
That had been… Weird.
"Are you alright?" Override asked.
Checking to make sure she'd hit the right button to open my end of the intercom as well, I answered, "Fine. Just need to drink more of this awful stuff Ratchet makes for me. Looks like the mixture's a little off."
"I see. I will relay that to Ratchet, when he returns."
I gave her a grateful nod when I heard her turn the intercom off. Then I reached down and picked up the data pad I'd dropped. A menu was now being displayed across the screen. I must have hit a button when my helm started hurting.
I went to exit out of the menu, but paused when I saw one option.
Search.
There's been a search option on this thing the whole time? How did I not see that? More importantly, how did Arcee not see it? She's more tech-oriented than I am, at least when it comes to computers; I know more about weapons and armor than she does. Maybe this menu is normally not available.
I don't think I should care much about the specifics of how we missed it—if I did this right, it would end the search immediately.
I clicked the search option, but found it was actually instructions to bring up the search option. This was definitely an admin menu. The hell did I hit to bring this up? From how complex the command was to bring up the search option, bringing up this menu must have been more difficult than hacking into the Pentagon with a laptop.
It took me a few klicks to figure out the exact command to bring up the search option. Even after I figured it out, I made a mistake a couple times in the coding. But eventually, I got it right, and the little pop-out appeared on the side of the screen. I smiled and entered Arcee's name, and then hit enter.
The innumerable pages faded. What was left were ten femmes with the name Arcee. I clicked the first one, but it was of a femme who looked nothing like Arcee, and had no family. I exited out and went to the next one. There were similar problems with the next three as the first had. Five, six, and seven had two siblings, but not the right ones, and again they looked nothing like my courted. Eight and nine were thrice Ratchet's age. That left ten.
I clicked on it.
And was shown the file of a white femme with nine brothers and four sisters.
Huh?
I went back to the admin menu and reviewed what I'd done to open the search option. I'd done everything correctly. With a puzzled look, I re-entered the command and typed out Elita-One just to be sure.
None of the files that came up matched Elita. Nor was their a match for Chromia when I looked her up.
I sat there, staring dumbly at the screen, frozen. Unsure what to think of what I'd just discovered.
Everyone who lived in Kaon at the start of the war had a file in Kaon's civilian registry. Everyone, except Arcee and her sisters.
Why?
Soundwave stood on the bridge of the Nemesis, watching data stream by on the screen in front of him.
Ever since the Autobots stole information from their networks, Megatron had given him the task of upgrading their digital security. In this, he had succeeded. All files in the system were protected with triple-encryption and the very best passkeys Soundwave could code.
Now to access any information from their system, someone needed to give three separate passwords of five-hundred and twelve characters. If there was a mistake with just one character, the local access point would be locked down, the local data scrubbed. An alert would go through the system when that happened. Troops would be sent to investigate. The would-be hacker would be neutralized. Their information would be safe.
However, if there was an Autobot skilled in the usage of one of a S.P.I.K.E at the local access point, then no system would be safe. That was one of the only pieces of technology the Decepticons had never captured. Never developed a counter to. It was far ahead of its time, and as such was nearly impossible to combat.
Soundwave found the invention respectable; Megatron raged whenever there was a confirmed usage of a S.P.I.K.E.
"How goes security, Soundwave?"
Soundwave turned to the approaching Starscream. As Megatron was currently out of the Sol system visiting Project:Overlord, Starscream was in charge. Had Shockwave bothered to leave his laboratories more often, Megatron likely would have placed the scientist in command.
But not Soundwave. Soundwave was best-suited for other duties beside command.
The twitch of Starscream's wings told Soundwave the seeker wasn't sure how to interpret the image's on Soundwave's visor. "Um… Have there been any intrusions?"
There were attempts in other systems, but those were being handled by the local commanders. There had been none in the Sol system. Soundwave shook his helm.
"Any malfunctions in the hardware or software?"
Soundwave shook his helm again.
"Good. Yes, good," Starstream said, looking at a loss as to what to ask next.
Ever since Megatron returned, Starscream's behavior had changed dramatically. Soundwave calculated a sixty percent rise in productivity from the seeker, along with a near-total end to plotting for the title of Lord of the Decepticons. He was really trying to become a loyal servant to Megatron.
That did not translate into a favored servant. Or one who was up-to-date on all events. Soundwave suspected Starscream did not even know when the next transport would arrive with fresh troops.
To help the seeker, Soundwave sent a mental command to a computer to bring up the crew roster of the transport that was scheduled to arrive next cycle.
"Oh." The surprised sound from Starscream was quiet, but Soundwave heard it. He heard everything. "Who will be arriving in the Sol system on the next ship?"
Soundwave sent another mental command, and the crew roster appeared on the workstation just to Starscream's right.
The seeker looked at the screen and read silently for a moment. Then his optics widened, and he looked back at Soundwave. "Dreadwing is coming here?"
Soundwave gave a single nod.
Starscream's wings twitched, and while Starscream did not know it, Soundwave knew why. Out of all the seekers in the Decepticon ranks, there were only three that Starscream saw as threats to his position as Air Commander: Skyquake; Slipstream; and Dreadwing, twin of Skyquake.
Skyquake had been sent to Earth long ago to protect energon stores, and now laid offline. He was no threat. Slipstream was now a well-known general in the Andromeda Galaxy, and had multiple star systems under her command; and while her position of authority was a threat to Starscream's, Megatron found her ambitions too great to place her much further up the chain of command.
But Dreadwing was another matter.
He was Captain of the Reaver Air Division, a unit of elite seekers that served as the Decepticons' answer to the Autobot Wreckers. His tactical prowess, skill in battle, and commitment to the Decepticon cause had turned helms since the Reaver Air Division was first formed. Dreadwing had personally led each of their missions, and their success rate was nearly eighty percent during the height of the war—far higher than any other Decepticon unit. The Reaver Air Division had been reduced to just ten members from its original thousand, but Dreadwing was still greatly respected in the Decepticon ranks.
And respect was the one thing Soundwave knew Starscream desired more than power.
"And the survivors of his Air Division are with him," Starscream said, continuing to read the crew roster when Soundwave did not react to his question. "When do they arrive?"
Soundwave highlighted the scheduled arrival time below the crew roster.
Starscream frowned deeply. "Within the mega-cycle. Too soon. Too little time to prepare." The words were spoken quietly. Too quietly to have been indented for others to hear.
Soundwave heard it anyway.
Starscream straightened and put on his command look. His mask made to hide his uncertainty. "Continue on, Soundwave. Notify me of any annoyances."
The seeker walked away, and Soundwave returned to monitoring data streams.
Exactly nine micro-klicks after their conversation ended, Soundwave was notified of a system breach.
An alert sounded around the Nemesis' bridge, every drone at every station refocusing their work on addressing the warning.
Starscream returned to Soundwave's side. "Give me a status report!"
Trepidation syndrome. A condition some mechs suffered that caused their voices to become noticeably higher when they were affected by outside stimuli. Starscream had suffered from it since his Trine were offlined during a surprise attack. Its effects were present in the seeker's demand.
Soundwave made that observation while simultaneously working through seven separate data streams. He was searching for the breached data site. Their space station around the system's star reported all systems nominal. So did their bases on Earth's moon and the planets Mars and Venus.
It came from a site on Earth.
Soundwave's search narrowed. Every fraction of a micro-klick, he crossed off a site as the breach point. Africa. Asia. Europe. Australia. No bases compromised.
At last, he found it.
Site Delta-Bravo. A site of ninety stationed drones and full Decepticons. Hidden away deep within the jungle. Far out of the way from patrol routes and anything of note.
One of several sites built to store Megatron's personal trophies.
Soundwave hailed Delta-Bravo's commander—Blackback. He was a full Decepticon. Special forces. Destroyer-class. Record of more than five-hundred combat missions. One of the best guards Megatron could ask for a portion of his trophies.
No one responded to the hail.
Soundwave brought up an image of the breached site and displayed it to every screen on the bridge. Due to the local time in the area, the image was dark, but a line of blue smoke floating away from the site's location was visible.
"That is where the alarm came from?" Starscream asked, his faceplate horrified. He knew of Delta-Bravo's nature.
Soundwave nodded.
"Can you raise anyone there?"
Soundwave shook his helm.
"You," Starscream immediately snarled to a drone sergeant. "Send a squad to investigate that site. Find out why they won't respond."
"Yes, sir!" The drone jogged out of the room, two more drones joining it before the doors closed.
"Soundwave." Starscream looked at him again. "Was Delta-Bravo's location part of the files the Autobots stole jours ago?"
Soundwave shook his helm. Delta-Bravo was one of their Black Sites—locations kept out of the system, on Megatron's orders. It, along with their other Black Sites, didn't exist.
"Then how was it found?"
That was the problem.
Soundwave did not know.
"I have nothing. Report, Aerialbots."
"And Wrecker."
"Fine. Report, Aerialbots and Wrecker."
"Thank you for being so considerate to include me, Silverbolt." If he could have at the moment, Jetfire would have rolled his optics at Springer. "As for my report, I've detected nothing unusual. Well, besides the moon rising. How long have we been flying, again?"
"Since you arrived six breems ago," Silverbolt said through their squad-linked communications channel. "Jetfire?"
"Sensors keep picking up vehicles of the same model Booth's group used, but none of them have been traveling as a group, or even in a vaguely similar direction," Jetfire said.
As a seeker, he had sensors that allowed him to scan objects that caught his attention at significant distances. Not extreme distances, but noticeably greater than what he could see normally. Some seekers had sensors that could give them a thorough scan of an area greater than a thousand square kilometers, and with detail that exceeded what a sniper's scope could give on a single target. Those seekers had been priority targets for both sides in the war, and Jetfire would bet his high-grade that nearly all of them were offline by now.
But even the best of them would probably share his annoyance with human vehicles.
So many of them were built in the same factory, or had been mass-produced without any variation between them. And all the vehicles in Ned Booth's convey were ones the population of this continent drove on a regular basis. To use one of those charming human idioms, they were searching for a fork in a needle stack.
Or was it a needle in a fork stack? Bulkhead's human had been laughing as she told him the idiom—it had been hard to understand her.
"And you, Air Raid?" Silverbolt asked.
"For once, I'm as useless as the junker." Jetfire kept his immediate retort from leaving his mouth. Silverbolt had made him promise to keep himself under control for this patrol. He'd already slipped up a few times, and the youngling had enough to worry about without Jetfire and Air Raid butting helms. "I got nothing. Would help if humans were smart enough to make vehicles look different from each other. Seems they never picked up that talent."
Silverbolt, forgive him. "Have you even looked at the alt modes of those of us Autobots based on the ground, youngling?" Jetfire asked, homing his sensors in on a vehicle that was of the make of one from Booth's convey. It—just like the others he'd seen—wasn't a match.
"Yeah."
"Have you noticed the alt modes of the twins and our resident Velocitronian?"
"Who hasn't noticed Override?"
"Down, mechling," Springer joked, adjusting his flight path to briefly get between Jetfire and Air Raid. Whether he did that to get a better angle of the terrain to the South, or keep Jetfire from hitting his wing against Air Raid's for his comment, Jetfire didn't know.
"Point is," Jetfire said. "Humans don't make all their land vehicles this generic; they just can't make all of them unique."
"Cybertronians did. Autobots especially. I'd say even a human could do it, but I've seen that they can't."
"Careful, youngling. That almost sounded like you think we're their betters."
"I'm just proud of who we are, as a race and a faction. Seems you've somehow broken Cybertronian physiology and forgotten why we should be proud."
No, Jetfire thought, not forgotten—just changed. He was proud of what Cybertronians had done in the distant past. Not the near past or the present. His pride for the Autobots was never stronger, but it didn't cover all Autobots. Not anymore.
But Jetfire didn't say that. He couldn't. Air Raid wouldn't understand; he was too stubborn. He hadn't been there. He hadn't been with Jetfire that cycle at Kalix-7, less than a vorn after most of Cybertron evacuated.
He hadn't been there to see what opened Jetfire's optics.
"I got something."
Jetfire snapped back to the present when Silverbolt spoke. "You see Booth's convey?"
"No. It's… Something else. Southwest. Edge of my sensors."
Jetfire turned his sensors that direction, but detected nothing. He wasn't surprised by that; the range of Silverbolt's sensors were greater than his. "Got nothing. Air Raid?"
"Just a whole bunch of jungle," said Air Raid.
"I'm a Triple-Changer, so..."
Silverbolt banked in the direction he said to have found something. He switched to the universal communications channel when Jetfire and the others followed him. "Silverbolt, here—anyone in our area?" He sent their coordinates through the channel.
Two sets of coordinates appeared in the channel in response. They belonged to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. "Sides' and I are a few hundred kilometers from your location. What is it?"
"I have an anomaly at these coordinates." Silverbolt sent another series of coordinates through the channel. "Think you two can scout it for us while we're in transit?"
A noise of disgust came from Sunstreaker. "Bleh. Those coordinates put us in the middle of that Primusforsaken jungle."
"Sounds interesting," Sideswipe said. "Bulkhead's always talking about how fun it is to off-road on this planet."
"Bulkhead doesn't care about his paint!"
"Cheer up, Sunny!"
"Don't call me that!"
"Yes or no on scouting, younglings?" Jetfire interrupted.
"We'll meet you there," Sunstreaker said grudgingly. He exited the communications channel.
Silverbolt notified Prime of their discovery and investigation. After that, no one spoke as Silverbolt led them toward the anomaly; there was little reason to when all but one of them had no data to compare.
Jetfire kept his sensors trained on the coordinates Silverbolt had sent through the channel, waiting for the time they finally entered his range. They were far from the location—far further than the twins had been. He wished he had Silverbolt's sensors.
At last, they came within range.
It was a plume of blue smoke. Low to the ground. Carrying over the jungle. Nearly invisible on a night like this. His sensors couldn't detect where it came from, but from how long it was, he guessed it hadn't been there for more than a breem.
They flew over the smoke, and there Jetfire spotted where the smoke came from. A downed Decepticon. A Destroyer-class, from its size and cannons.
The smoke came from the hole in the frame's chestplates.
Next to the offlined Decepticon were Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but they weren't looking at the Destroyer. In front of them was a small, fortified structure. Its design was basic, with no air or infantry defenses. It blended in nearly perfectly with the jungle canopy.
And the door just large enough for the Destroyer to have gotten in and out of the building was wide open.
Jetfire scanned the structure, but he got no data back. He tried again, and got the same result. Even with Silverbolt's sensors, he suspected nothing would change. "Black Site," he reported to the others. "My sensors say there's no structure in front of us. Must be a Decepticon cloaking device down there."
"Thinking the same thing," Air Raid said. "But what's a Black Site doing on Earth?"
"We're about to find out. Let's land next to the twins."
"Who put you in charge, junker?"
"We're landing," Silverbolt cut in.
That silenced Air Raid. Jetfire knew why; Air Raid still saw Silverbolt as the highest ranking officer among them, despite how Jetfire had since surpassed Silverbolt's rank. He had no issues with letting Silverbolt take command, but Air Raid had problems when he even heard a hint of an order from Jetfire.
Mech's stubbornness would get him hurt some cycle.
They turned around and went back to the plume of smoke. Then they hovered, while Springer's rotors came back out. He was able to land first, Jetfire second, with Silverbolt and Air Raid following moments later.
"Took you long enough," Sunstreaker said, turning to look at Silverbolt. His paint—along with Sideswipe's—sported a number of long scratches. Likely products of racing through the jungle. The twins never liked being careful.
"We had further to go," said Silverbolt. He looked at the offline Destroyer. Now up close, Jetfire could see the Destroyer had darker paint than most other Destroyers he'd seen. "You find any others?"
"Just Blackback there." Sideswipe nodded at the frame.
"Blackback?"
"We've seen this mech before," Sunstreaker said. "We encountered him a few times back on Cybertron. Mean fighter, even before he became a Second and transfered to a Destroyer-class." He huffed, shaking his helm. "I promised I'd find a way to offline him next time we saw him. Someone beat me to it. Still, nice to see some poetic justice done."
Jetfire raised an optic ridge. "And by that you mean?"
Sunstreaker shrugged. "One of Blackback's favorite ways to offline Autobots was to rip out their sparks."
"Well, looks like he got a taste of what he put those Autobots through," said Springer.
"Like I said, poetic justice."
"Poetic or not, we need to find out what happened here." Silverbolt moved forward so he was standing closer to the structure than anyone else. "Line up. Assault formation."
Assault formation—meaning biggest gun in front, next biggest at the sides, smallest guns at the rear. In this case, Springer moved up front, Air Raid and Silverbolt moved up to his sides, and Jetfire was at the back with the twins.
They moved as soon as they got in place. Springer's THR—Thunder Heavy Rifle—created a faint orange glow, its twin barrels humming and ready to fire Hard-Light at better than twenty rounds per micro-klick. Another faint glow came from Air Raid's Nova Auto Shotgun, its cylinder-like appearance causing the light from his weapon to be more localized than Springer's massive rifle. Still another light came from Silverbolt's Rapier Assault Rifle, but nothing compared to Springer's or Air Raid's.
As they passed the door and into the room beyond, Jetfire took note of how thick the door was. Three meters at least. Looked like high-strength alloy, too. What was so important that it needed a door that thick, but not important enough to warrant turrets?
The first room they entered was an entrance security checkpoint. A second door was at the far end of the room, as wide open as the first. A security console was off to the side, along with a gun rack and scanning equipment. Four offline drones were on the floor. Two had fallen next to the security console, and two were by the inner door.
All four had arrows sticking out of their chestplates.
Arrows. Not bullet wounds, swords, or knives. Arrows. Like the ones humans had used in the past, only made entirely of metal, and built to a Cybertronian's scale. That just made things highly unusual; Jetfire had seen such weapons only a few times, and none since the war.
They advanced to the inner door, keeping their corners clear. Springer turned left when he went through. Air Raid went right. Silverbolt up the middle. He and the twins mimicked them.
Now, they stood at the top of a long, winding staircase that led straight down to what appeared to be a large chamber built underground. There were Decepticons everywhere Jetfire looked.
Only none of them would ever move again.
The Decepticons were made up of drones, Brutes, Heavy Soldiers, and Pyros. Not one was online. Nearly all of them had arrows, or what appeared to be throwing knives, sticking out of their servos, pedes, or chestplates. Some were pinned to the wall, upright, as the arrows or throwing knives kept them in a standing position. Some had no knife or arrow wounds, but instead had stabbed, slashed, or bludgeoned with their own melee weapons. And still a few others—the largest of them, Jetfire noticed—hadn't been offlined by arrow, knife, or melee weapon. Instead, their chestplates had similar wounds to the one Blackback had. That, or their upper frames had been blown apart entirely.
A trail of offlined frames started up at the top of the stairs near them, and went all the way down into the chamber.
Air Raid echoed Jetfire's thoughts. "Holy slag… What happened here?"
"We're going to find out," said Silverbolt. "Move up."
There was something different among his fellow Autobots as they started their descent down the stairs. Jetfire heard it in the way the twins held their swords just a little too tightly, handles making an audible groan under their grip. He saw it in how Springer had his missile launchers moving back and forth slowly, following his optics. He felt it in how tensely Silverbolt's wings moved, twitching with each step.
They were nervous. That was good.
So was he.
They reached a landing in the staircase, one of many. Here there were more offline Decepticons, the wider nature of the landing allowing more frames to fit in the area.
His fellow Autobots made their way through the collection of offlined frames, each of the deceased seemingly ended in a more brutal fashion than the last. He followed slowly, stepping over the unmoving deceased. He mentally sighed when he caught his pede on one of the frames.
"Hehe. That tickles!"
He jumped forward and spun around, streamlined Arrow Light Pistol and Micro-Missile Rifle coming up to aim at the speaker of the voice. He heard his fellow Autobots do the same.
A deep purple Decepticon was lying on the ground between two of his offline comrades, servos held up and optic band bright in fear, battlemask covering his mouth. He was of slim build, and the lack of wings told Jetfire he wasn't a seeker.
"Don't shoot!" The Decepticon said, his voice a little higher than it had been a moment ago. "I'm just a technician!"
"On your pedes!" Silverbolt barked. "Keep those servos up!"
The self-proclaimed technician did as he was told. Now that he was standing, Jetfire noticed he was taller than any of them. Rail-thin and had little armor, but tall. "See? I did as you asked! Can I put my servos down, now?"
"Now until you prove you're unarmed."
"How am I going to do that? I don't have a weapon! What, am I supposed to pretend I'm handing my weapons over to you? That makes a lot of sense!"
The twitch of Silverbolt's wings told Jetfire the other mech was angry.
The Decepticon seemed to realize this, too. "Um… That probably wasn't the best choice of words."
"Probably."
"Look, uh—I can't prove I'm unarmed. All I can offer is the promise that I am. You'll just have to trust me on that."
Silverbolt was silent for a couple micro-klicks, then he lowered his weapon. Jetfire followed suit, then the rest of them did.
The Decepticon lowered his servos with a loud sigh and started pacing, his nerves clearly making him do anything but stand still. "Wow. That was tense. Is that what you deal with all the time? What the other 'Cons deal with?" He looked at the offlined frames around him. "Well, used to deal with. Can't really deal with it now, since they're all offline. Except me, of course. I wonder i—"
He was cut off when he tripped over a Brute that had an axe lodged in its helm, making him disappear from sight behind the offlined frame.
Jetfire wasn't sure whether to laugh or sigh.
The Decepticon's servo shot up into view. "I'm okay! I know you were all concerned!" The rest of the 'Con appeared, one part of his armor now sporting a dent. Must have been low-quality stuff. "Just, you know, I get nervous when I'm talking to others. I start babbling and babbling. Knock Out says it's a nervous tic of mine. A product of being recruited for the Decepticons instead of volunteering. I just tell him tics can't be nervous; they're a small organic parasite here on Earth with little organic processing power. He never likes me saying that. Think it has something to do with how I said it was ironic that Breakdown once had trouble with his engine. Or wh—"
"Can we just shoot this mech?" Air Raid asked, reopening the squad communications channel, now with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe added in.
"I was going to say stab," added Sunstreaker.
"You mean slice to pieces. Slowly, painfully, and completely," said Sideswipe.
"I was summarizing."
"We're not going to offline him," Silverbolt said firmly. "It's not what Optimus would do. We won't do it, either."
That ended the conversation.
"—R when I told Soundwave I found it unusual his name was Soundwave when he didn't create a lot of sound waves. Or the time I told the drone who came in with an axe stuck in him from an accident at a training exercise not to axe me a question," the Decepticon went on, clearly oblivious they'd shared some words through a communications channel. He glanced down at the Decepticon he'd tripped over, and his optic band flashed. "Looks like he didn't listen when he was axed to stand down, either."
It became deafeningly silent when the Decepticon suddenly stopped talking, looking straight at the Autobots with his optic band flashing brightly.
… Was he expecting them to… Laugh?
"You do realize you're joking about how your own friends offlined, right?" Jetfire asked. And what was with the puns? This mech was strange.
"Oh, they weren't my friends. Actually, I'm quite hated around here. I think it's because of my puns. Or my habit of asking people what they're doing. Or how I've been known to download human games to a few of the computer terminals. And the jokes are another of those not-tics Knock Out told me about. It's a defense mechanism. I'm actually quite terrified right now. Like, to the point that if someone sneaks up behind me and scares me, I'll probably offline from a spark attack. Hey, look—that mech has an arrow in his knee-joint! He'll never patrol again! An—"
"Okay, look," Silverbolt finally cut in. "We're not here to hear you ramble on."
"What about ramble off?"
Jetfire caught Silverbolt's wings twitching again even as Air Raid hid a smirk by pretending to examine a Decepticon who had a pair of arrows sticking out of his chestplates. "What's your name, 'Con?"
"Sceptor, though most people just call me Twitch," Twitch said, optic band flashing. "Think it's because of my, er, personality."
"Alright, Twitch—what happened here?"
"Not really sure. I was just heading downstairs when the alarm went off."
Jetfire, along with the others, immediately tensed. They'd walked into a Decepticon facility that had sent out an alert? They had to get out of here right now.
Twitch seemed to sense their sudden distress. "No, no, no! Not that kind of alarm. This was a localized alarm. Meant to be heard only by people inside this facility. I know; I had to set up the two different systems."
"And what is this place?" Sideswipe asked.
"Site Delta-Bravo. I'm not really sure what it's for; I just make the computers run."
"Then how can you not know what it's for?" Sunstreaker asked. There was a dangerous edge to his voice. A promise of violence if he wasn't satisfied with the response. Jetfire wouldn't allow it to come to that even if, somehow, Silverbolt agreed, but Twitch didn't know that.
Twitch's optic band brightened in fear. "I swear I don't know what this place is. The systems are just here to keep the lights on. The cloaking device running. Our communications with the rest of the Decepticon network. I mean, there's some data storage, but it's mostly data logs by everyone here. Vids. Stuff to keep us entertained. Of course, I'm the only one who knows they're there, but that's what everyone else gets for hating me."
Sunstreaker wasn't happy with that answer. He went to step forward, but Jetfire held a servo up and stopped the elder twin, ignoring the glare he was sent. Jetfire saw no signs Twitch was lying. "What happened after the local alarm went off, Twitch?"
"Everyone came running up from the barracks," Twitch said, pointing off the stairs and down to the chamber below. "Then there were a lot of things happening at once. A bunch of people rushed past me to go up to the door. Then they came back a few micro-klicks later, falling from the top of the stairs with arrows sticking out of them. There was a lot of shouting and screaming. I got pinned between some soldiers fighting something above us. So much noise. Everyone was shooting at it, or trying to."
"Shooting at what?"
"Someone, or something. I don't know; I never saw it. But it was fast. Too fast. Way too fast." Twitch looked around, and for the first time, Jetfire saw the true emotions the Decepticon was feeling. The look in his optic band was one of pure horror. "It kept moving. Kept fighting. No one stood a chance against it."
"This was done by a single combatant?" Springer asked. He sounded shocked to Jetfire's audio receptors. And Jetfire was right with him. What kind of single fighter could cause this much damage?
"I think so?" Twitch said, sounding uncertain. "I think it was one. But they moved so fast. There could have been a squad of them. I don't know for sure."
"Okay," Jetfire said. "Then go with something you can be more certain of: how did you survive?"
Twitch shrugged. "Dumb luck, I guess. Whatever my fellows were fighting reached this landing, and the ones unintentionally pinning me fell at the same time. Ended up trapping me beneath their frames. By the time I managed to get one of them off me, everyone was offline, and the thing had moved on to keep fighting further down the stairs. Then the fighting stopped. I was too scared to move until you showed up."
"This thing you Decepticons fought. It still around?" Air Raid asked.
"No one's come up the stairs since it first came through. So, I guess. I'm not eager to find out, though." Twitch looked between them all, optic band flashing with apprehension. "Look, I've told you all I know about what happened. Can you just get it over with, now?"
Jetfire shared a look with Silverbolt. "Get what over with?"
"Offlining me. That's what you were planning on doing when you got what you wanted, right?"
"No," Silverbolt said. "That's not what Autobots do to prisoners."
Not all of them, Jetfire thought, his CPU wandering back in his memories before he forced it to the present.
"So I'm a prisoner, then?" Twitch looked between Silverbolt and Jetfire, along with the others.
"Essentially," Jetfire said. "We can't take the chance of you letting you leave and alerting the Decepticons to our presence here, and we can't shoot you. That leaves taking you with us."
"Oh." From how Twitch shifted from pede to pede, Jetfire suspected the Decepticon hadn't expected to be taken in. "Well, I guess this is better than being shot." He glanced at the frames around them. "By you, at least."
"Right. We're moving out," said Silverbolt. "Twitch—get to the front with the Triple-Changer."
The apprehension Jetfire saw in Twitch's optic band earlier returned. "The front?"
"Yes."
"But I'm a technician."
"As you've said."
"So wouldn't it make sense for me to be at the back—as far away from bullets and arrows as possible? That usually gives technicians a better chance of living."
"We're not going to trust you with watching our backplates."
"Right. Decepticon. I'm one. Can't be trusted. Is there a chance I could get a gun, at least?"
Jetfire didn't find Twitch's casual usage of the term inspiring; any trained soldier would have referred to firearms in a formal manner. It was drilled into their helms during training. "Do you know how to use a weapon?"
"Um, do failed training courses count?"
"No."
"Then no."
Jetfire looked at Silverbolt, and in that look he knew the other seeker was thinking the same thing he was. "No weapon for you. Now, get up front."
Twitch sighed. "Walking ahead of heavily armed and armored soldiers while not even wielding a knife. Nothing bad could happen to me, right?" He stepped up next to Springer. His optic band flashed as he looked at the double-barreled rifle the Triple-Changer held. "That doesn't look like it was issued…"
"It wasn't." Springer gestured with his rifle. "We're moving, now."
Jetfire and his fellow Autobots fell back into formation; Twitch struggled to keep up with Springer. The offline frames were a constant as they continued down Delta-Bravo's staircase. Jetfire found himself sickly fascinated as they went past Brutes whose helms had been crushed with their own hammers, Pyros who'd been turned to black marks on the floor from their own flamethrowers. The mangled remains of anyone else that had been in the way.
It was a mess.
They reached the bottom of the stairs. The space around them in all directions was a tall, wide, and long room filled with rows of storage containers. Some of the storage containers were open, their contents spread out over the floor around them—everything from a small amounts of energon in vials, to ancient artifacts and writings, to weapons that had taken extensive damage.
One of them Jetfire recognized as a sword that belonged to an Autobot he once knew. An Autobot who met his end trying to fight Megatron.
This was a trophy room.
"Huh. So that's what was in those containers," Twitch said. "Always wondered why everyone else was guarding them. Weird things to guard, though. Is that a display case of armor parts?"
"What do you think, Jetfire?" Silverbolt asked, ignoring Twitch.
"Room for Megatron's trophies. Bet my spark on it," said Jetfire. "He took a lot from our fallen. Some from our living."
"I don't think I want to see what else he has down here," said Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, falling into synchronized speech without realizing it.
"Trust me, younglings. Just from what I've personally seen him take, you don't even want to imagine."
The earlier tension was back in them all as they slowly edged out into the room. He kept watch of the rear. Everyone else watched their own corners. But there was just so much to watch for; the ceiling was high, and the containers were stacked just below it. If someone wanted to, they could ambush them from above. Or from the side as their optics briefly went up to the ceiling. Or even from below. Jetfire had that happen to him once. He'd been the only survivor.
In the distance, the sound of shattering duraglass carried through the air. Like a hammer crashing into a window.
Someone was still down here.
They all froze as one, weapons aiming instantly in the direction of the sound. It was down several rows of containers, in what appeared to be a small structure built before the room was filled with containers.
"What is that, Twitch?" Silverbolt whispered.
"That's where I work—the computer room," Twitch said in an equally quiet voice.
"How many points of entry?"
"You mean pointed entries, or entried points?"
"Twitch…"
"Sorry—habit. There's two doors. One to our left, another to our right."
"Good. Springer, twins—take the right door, and Twitch with you. Air Raid, Jetfire—with me."
They split up at Silverbolt's orders, staying as silent as they could. The loudest of them was Twitch, but he still did well for a technician; Jetfire only heard his steps faintly.
Within micro-klicks, he'd reached the left door with Air Raid and Silverbolt. Inside the computer room beyond, he could hear someone moving around. Walking. Tapping keys. Shifting broken duraglass under their pedes. Whoever they were, it didn't seem like they were aware Jetfire and the others were here.
Despite that, Jetfire felt there was something wrong. That they were missing something. That whoever was inside was not someone to cross.
That something bad was about to happen.
He was running on autopilot as he stacked up behind Air Raid, with Silverbolt at the side across from them. That would put Jetfire taking the middle, while they took the right and left.
"We're in position," Springer reported. "On your mark, Silverbolt."
Jetfire played that moment of breaking duraglass back in his CPU. He listened to the sound three times before he realized what he'd missed.
The sound had been a recording.
This was a trap.
"Mark."
Jetfire had no time to give out a warning before his fellow Autobots moved forward in perfect synchronization. He had no choice but to follow. He entered the room a nano-klick after Air Raid and Silverbolt, his weapons up and ready to fire. Eager to fire. Eager to project the mechs beside him from the trap he just realized they stepped into.
Two rows of servers lined the sides of the room, protected by duraglass barriers as thick as Jetfire's lower servo. A central terminal was in the middle of the room, connected to every server by hardlines that traveled through the floor. At the opposite side of the room, he saw Springer and the twins clearing their corners in the same way he had with Air Raid and Silverbolt, with Twitch slowly following behind them.
Jetfire registered all of that in less than a nano-klick.
His CPU wasn't fast enough to register the arrow that shot his Pistol from his servo until he heard a loud whistle, and realized he was holding nothing.
"Contact!"
Jetfire reacted to Air Raid's shout instantly. Time seemed to slow as he whipped around to face the threat a fraction of a micro-klick after the other seeker opened fire with his Nova Shotgun.
Only Air Raid's exploding shots hit the wall, turning a section of duraglass to ashes. Nothing was near it. It looked like the other seeker had just decided to fire randomly.
"It's there!"
Again Jetfire turned at the shout, this time from Springer. The Triple-Changer was aiming at empty air by the time Jetfire turned his helm. Then there was a flash of movement followed by a loud whistle of wind, then a crash. Springer's THR went skidding across the floor, an arrow lodged in its firing chamber.
Jetfire hadn't even seen where the shot came from.
To his side, he heard a tank-churning snap, then a cry, then a thud. Nearly as loud as the cry. Silverbolt falling to the floor.
Before he could even turn, he was hit by a blow he hadn't seen coming. But Primus did he feel it. It slammed into him with the force of Ironhide's fist, sending him to the floor and sliding forward a good thirty feet. He rolled and came up in a crouch, bringing up his Micro-Missile Rifle to fire at their attacker.
The only one there was Silverbolt, and he was rolling on the ground with a pede that had clearly been broken.
"One."
The unfamiliar voice echoed around the room from seemingly every direction, its tones rich and deep and full. Like its speaker found speech itself a treasure, and it was its keeper.
Jetfire turned his helm when he heard Air Raid fire his Shotgun again. This time, he caught a dark blur of motion that dodged Air Raid's shot. An arrow came flying out from the blur, and Air Raid's weapon became pinned to the wall. It moved to the seeker as Jetfire went to bring his Missile Rifle up.
He didn't have time to fire before Air Raid was slammed into the wall from an attack Jetfire's optics couldn't see, the thick duraglass breaking from the sheer force of the impact.
"Two."
Jetfire was able to just barely follow the blur's form as it moved across the room. He fired a burst of Micro-Missiles at the blur, but they didn't even get close. It moved too fast. Too smoothly. It was like trying to hit a drop of water in a rainstorm.
The twins fired their Arrow Light Pistols at the blur's general direction, and Springer added the firepower of the chaingun attached to the side of his servo. Twitch ran for the door, crying for mercy.
Three more arrows flew out from the blur, and an arrow stuck into the barrel of Springer's chaingun while the twins' Pistols went flying.
Then the blur was upon them.
A great clang rang out as Springer's helm snapped to the side, struck by something Jetfire couldn't get a look at. Then Springer doubled over from a strike to his tank. Then he went down entirely when a servo grabbed the back of his helm and slammed him faceplate first into the floor hard enough to crack it.
"Three."
The twins drew their second swords in a flash and moved with speed and precision few could match or exceed in one-on-one fights. With the two of them together, any fight against a single opponent while they were on the ground and mobile, should have ended before it started.
Only it didn't.
The blur dodged or blocked every strike sent its way. Every hack. Every stab. Every slash. Every punch or kick. It moved between the twins like lightning, already waiting for their latest attacks. It was holding off both twins at the same time. No one could do that. No one should have been able to. Not when they were on the ground in their element. But Jetfire was seeing it with his own optics.
And he was seeing them losing.
Suddenly, Sideswipe was knocked back two steps. Then Sunstreaker's swords were thrown aside in the middle of his attack. A powerful blow sent him crashing into the ceiling, and falling to the floor. He groaned when he landed.
"Four."
The blur was back to Sideswipe almost before the younger twin even had time to react to the pain of his brother. He managed to throw out a single attack that hit nothing but air, then he was sent sailing into the wall and slumped to the floor.
"Five."
Two more flashes appeared from the blur. Twitch screamed and fell to the floor as two throwing knives pierced both his pedes. He hadn't had time to take three steps to the door.
From start to finish, the fight was over within ten micro-klicks.
Jetfire had been given only one opportunity to fire his weapon.
"Six."
His attention snapped back to the blur. Only it was not a blur any longer. Now the blur had become a mech. A tall mech—nearly Ironhide's height, but no where near as broad. His black and dark green armor was thick, yet streamlined. Covered in throwing knives, arrows, and other various weapons and gadgets, a battlehelm hiding his entire faceplate from view. A great metal bow was held in one of his servos. As dark as the mech and nearly as long as Jetfire was tall, its design was… Unique. Both practical and stylistic. Its bow string was transparent, and was glowing a faint green in the dim light.
"Jetfire," said the mech, rumbling voice slightly distorted by his helmet. "Seeker. Aerialbot. Top-ranked in combat prowess and tactical expertise. Not much of a threat."
Jetfire kept his Rifle aimed at the mech, ignoring any verbal jabs. He couldn't afford to let his guard down. Not against someone who just dismantled them in direct combat.
"Wise of you not to rise to a simple insult; that wisdom comes with experience." The mech walked up to the main terminal casually and started to use it. Like he knew Jetfire wasn't going to shoot unless he was sure he could offline the mech with one shot. Taking this mech on by himself was certain doom. "But not always. I once met a politician who spent their whole lives living in the dark part of society that no one talks about. Instead of growing wise through his experience, he learned nothing. When he overstepped his bounds, he welcomed the assassin hired to end him into his home. Know why?"
Jetfire just kept his Rifle up, watching for a time to fire a missile. But the mech left no opening wide enough for Jetfire to exploit. Any shot he fired wouldn't hit its target; Jetfire had seen how fast he moved.
"Arrogance. The politician thought himself invulnerable. Important to his masters. Despite treating everyone below him as garbage and slaves, he never learned life's most important lesson: there's always someone bigger. Better. Stronger. And they don't like it when their pawns move themselves. So when the politician had the wrong people meet an unfortunate end, the bigger someone who didn't like the politician making their own orders had them murdered. Funny how justice works sometimes."
Jetfire slowly moved around so he was to the mech's side, able to see what the archer was doing. He still didn't have a shot.
"You don't talk much, do you? I respect the quiet ones."
Jetfire's optics flicked to the terminal screen. The mech was flipping through pages too quickly for Jetfire to follow, but he saw how the mech kept dismissing a warning message that appeared every few micro-klicks. "What did you do?"
"Ah. Now he speaks. What I did is not a concern to you. Yet. But it will be shortly."
A flashing red light appeared in the room, followed by a blaring alarm and a computerized voice that said, "Sixty micro-klicks to self-destruction."
He did what?! Jetfire needed that reversed, otherwise they were all offline. Black Sites, be they Decepticon or Autobot, always had shielding to block comms to the outside. He couldn't call for a space bridge out of here, and there was no way he could get anyone to safety in a klick.
He needed to control the terminal.
Jetfire applied pressure to his trigger digit.
"Careful, Autobot," the mech warned, not even looking away from the screen. How could he have known? "Better than you have tried killing me, and they had the element of surprise. They're dead. I'm not."
"You'll be dead if you don't reverse that self-destruct," Jetfire said, forgoing Cybertronian terms for the sake of time. Why did the mech use one in the first place? "Whether it's because I shoot or because you don't make it out of here before everything turns to fire. I can see you're not a seeker or a Triple-Changer. You'll never make it clear of the blast radius in time. You trying to kill us just ends up killing you, too."
"You say that like I want you dead. That's not the case."
"Interesting way of showing it."
The mech looked around the room, heedless of Jetfire's Rifle. "Let's have a roll call, shall we? Are any of you dead?"
Jetfire had noticed earlier that everyone was looking in their direction. They were hurt and needed medical attention, but were far from offline. No one answered the mech's question except Twitch slowly raising a servo.
"See?" The mech turned back to Jetfire. "All alive and waiting for you to save them. Even that Decepticon I spared up on the landing."
What? He left Twitch live? Why?
"I'm afraid you don't have the luxury of time to be surprised. You have a choice to make, Jetfire. I've deactivated the outside communications jammers for this place. One call, and you and all your friends live. You just have to lower that weapon and trust me. Or, if you don't believe me, you can try to kill me and reverse the self-destruct sequence yourself. I'll even give you one shot. But if you fail to kill me, I'll beat you senseless and leave you to burn. So, what'll it be? Save yourselves by trusting me and leaving, or try to kill me and deactivate the sequence? Fifty seconds to decide."
Jetfire didn't like either option for different reasons. He didn't trust this mech as far as one of their resident humans could throw him. But on the other servo, he didn't trust his chances of ending this mech with one shot. His Missile Rifle was a swarm weapon—its shots didn't do a lot of damage on their own, but together.
"Forty-five micro-klicks to self-destruction."
He needed to make a choice.
"Tick-tock, Jetfire. Tick-tock."
Damn this mech.
He made his choice.
Jetfire lowered his Rifle and went to help Silverbolt off the ground, attempting to open a channel to base at the same moment. "Jetfire to base—I need an emergency evacuation at my coordinates right now. The anomaly we went to investigate is about to blow, and I'm the only one mobile."
He didn't wait for an answer before cutting the channel. He helped Silverbolt up and propped him against the wall.
The mech stared at Jetfire as he quickly moved to Air Raid. Jetfire ignored the look as much as he could, but when the mech tapped his digits against some kind of interface on his servo, Jetfire found he couldn't ignore it any longer. What was he doing now?
His silent question was answered when an emerald green vortex appeared behind the mech. From its intensity, it was a space bridge.
How did he have one of those?
The mech looked back at the portal, then to Jetfire again. Jetfire got the impression there was a smile behind that battlehelm. "This has been fun—let's do it again sometime." The mech walked through the portal.
Then he was gone.
Who was he?
"Thirty micro-klicks to self-destruction."
The sound of a space bridge opening brought Jetfire's attention to the other side of the room, where he'd been standing moments ago. Override and Bumblebee came running through the space bridge. Their help would be appreciated.
"Get Silverbolt and Air Raid out!" Jetfire shouted. "I'll get Springer!"
They rushed to carry out his instructions. They soon disappeared into the space bridge, only to reappear as Jetfire approached with Springer.
"Fifteen micro-klicks to self-destruction."
Override and Bumblebee grabbed the twins while Jetfire eased Springer down on the other side of the space bridge. They were nearly across the room when he returned and ran toward Twitch and put him over his shoulder-joints.
Jetfire moved back to the space bridge as quickly as he could, but was stopped when he heard yet another bridge opening behind him. Had the mech returned? He looked back.
A group of Decepticons were flooding out of a bridge just outside the room. They spotted him and raised their weapons.
Damn.
"Five micro-klicks to self-destruction."
The Decepticons immediately started to file back into their bridge, only occasionally firing at Jetfire. They didn't want to be anywhere near this place when it blew, either.
"Four… Three… Two…"
Jetfire reached the space bridge and tossed Twitch through it. Then he used the jets on his pedes to send him in after the Decepticon.
"One."
The heat of an approaching explosion was instant and painful. Searing. Like being burned alive by a Pyro.
Then it cut away.
Jetfire realized then that he'd been rolling across the floor of the base. He took a moment to make sure he was intact. When he found he was, he looked up. Everyone who'd been there with him was there, too. Even Twitch, though he was loudly complaining about being burned. He'd live. They all would.
But the mech that endangered them all had gotten away.
He rolled onto his backplates and let out a long sigh. He wasn't looking forward to filling in Prime and Ultra Magnus about this one.
I can safely say two things about the last section: 1, I enjoyed writing it immensely; I've been looking forward to bringing in this character (you can probably guess which) for a long time now. And 2, I am not sure if I am happy with the ending. I wrote most of it in a one-day writing frenzy due to my last few weeks being very busy, and me deciding I was done with not getting this update done. So there are probably a lot more repeating words than I normally use, along with the odd term or name that doesn't appear at any other point besides one. Those aren't intended, and I will go through this again to make sure I find the ones missed during edits.
Again, I leave you readers with the following: chapters of this length, which is about 12-13,000 words, or the 15,000+ word updates I'd been doing up until last update? I asked this before, but I just want to be sure there is a majority of people who agree with each other on this. Please review or PM me your vote/and or thoughts on the matter.
This chapter's credit song is "Imagine Dragons - Friction" This chapter's ending had a lot high-energy and tension, or was intended to. This song mirrors those themes. I personally loved listening to it and envisioning the combat.
So, thank you for reading, and I hope you all have a great day.
See you soon.