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.

52. Algus

And so, after an unplanned, far-too-long, NINE MONTH gap in updates, I return. I am not entirely sure what happened to lead me to being dark for so long, but I don't plan on ever leaving for that long again. I am really, really sorry to all of you who have been waiting so patiently for an update. I sincerely hope you think it is worth a tenth of the wait I subjected you to.

Enjoy.

As per the usual, thank you to all who favorited, or reviewed, or followed since my last update far, far in the past. Ya'll are great.

TheSilentOne - Yes. He probably does.

Optimus isn't in a good place either, no. Might be an AA situation.

Aw, that made you cry? I honestly feel bad now. Thanks so much for reviewing.

Guest - Hehe. Well played. If this were Youtube or reddit, I'd give you an upvote.

AmongtheIgnorant - Thank you!

Usual general reminder: due to the length of time between updates, I recommend re-reading the previous one to get a better idea of what's going on.

Thanks go to Crystal Prime and xDaughterOfKingsx for beta reading. They went over the chapter together, then again with me. Their input was very helpful, and they are generally great.

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

---

"Light breaks, Good shakes

When the Night Awakes."

I killed her.

"So don't fret, don't bite

For the Darkness will take you Home tonight."

I killed her.

"Hmm, hmm

Hmmm, hmmm."

I killed her.

"Is there singing, in whatever Afterlife people like us get?" Cold asked, the sharp edges of his dark form highlighted green from the sphere above us. His sharp fingers flipped digital switches on the control panels of my Apex Archive, the sounds quiet yet jarring in the blanket of silence and darkness. "Or is singing too good for you and I?"

I focused on his words, but barely heard them. Could barely comprehend them. I couldn't get my mind off one fact: I'd killed my own mother. I'd become a murderer by the time I was in grade school.

"It's something I've pondered from time to time. Not really sure why. Maybe song was a passion of mine, before I became the proper man you see before you. Maybe it's the act of voicing a piece of one's soul that I find fascinating. Maybe I just appreciate the sheer purity in being serenaded with the tortured screams of those who experience naught but undiluted agony in their final moments. Your screams were particularly delightful, when I killed you the first time."

I said nothing, continuing to stare blankly head, not even attempting to fight against the chains of Light he used to shackle my hands to the walkway. There wasn't a point in fighting.

How great is the Darkness that tames the Xel'Tor?

"No answer? I suppose I don't blame you." He flipped a few more controls, moving slowly to another panel. "It isn't an easy topic. About the most traumatizing event someone can go through. It changes you, no matter how hard you try to resist. I still think about that one time I died, but that's another story."

He flipped one more control, then stood back. The sphere above us pulsed brightly, then dimmed and fractured with an audible crack.

When it did, my head started to pound like I'd been hit repeatedly with a hammer. From the inside. It rid me of thought. All I could focus on was the pounding, and the pain that went with it. It hurt so much!

The torture intensified when Cold chuckled. "That hurt? Good. I would have been most annoyed had my meticulous effort to prolong your suffering didn't work. Let's test it, just to be sure."His hand flashed with twisted red Light.

A piece of the sphere, no more than an inch long and a quarter of that wide and deep, came flying from the main body and hit me in the helm.

Then all became pain.

A hundred hot knives cutting into my head. A thousand hands beating the inside of my helm. Pain. All was pain. All was pain. All would be pain. Agony. Suffering. Death.

The world went dark.

I woke up.

I was looking down at the walkway floor, hanging by the Light chains around my wrists. My head was pounding harder than it ever had before. I felt… Felt…

Why wasn't I standing up? Last thing I remembered was staring up at the sphere as it cracked. Then… This. What happened in between? Why didn't I remember?

Something tapped me on the helm, and I looked up. There was a shard of glowing green crystal, inches from my face, floating past me in a slow-motion tumble. It was interwoven with circuitry that made my head spin just by looking at it.

Where did that come from?

Cold laughed his multi-toned laugh, bringing my attention to him. "W—what's so funny?" I asked, stumbling over myself when I caught sight of his optics. So dark…

"You. You and your criminally apathetic state of existence. You just had a memory ripped from your mind, and you do nothing to get it back."

A memory? Was that what that crystal shard was? "I don't… I don't…"

"Yes, yes. I know. You don't remember. That's kind of the point. I ripped a memory out of your head—as painfully as possible, too. That created a gap in your mind, yet you did nothing to fill it. Even now, after you regain consciousness, you're just staring at me like some damned fool. I'm honestly disappointed by that. When you've disappointed the man who's literally killing you in the most agonizing way he can come up with on short notice, you've done something wrong."

I'd done a lot of things wrong. If what he was saying actually happened, then it was just another failure. Another mistake. Another wrong.

The already-dim sphere above us grew dimmer still. I felt frost begin to form on me, chilling my armor. Cold laughed again. "Honestly, this is quickly becoming a favor for you. You are so pathetically down it makes me sick."

Nothing new there.

The former Xel'Tor stalked forward, crouching so that he could look me in the eye. The look in his many-lensed optics created ice on my spark. "Now, let's say we really begin this execution, hmm?"

His hands flashed with Light.

And my world became torment.

---

Soundwave almost felt Megatron's fury.

There was a sound in the air. A voice, heard even through the door separating he from the real-time channel in the Communications Room. Muffled and unintelligible, but there, if one had the proper audio receptors. It was not uncommon for Megatron's infamous temper to bring about such thunderous anger, but long had it been since Soundwave felt that anger from another room.

He did not envy Starscream at the moment.

The Air commander had been inside the Communications Room for the last twenty klicks. He'd contacted Megatron to notify the Overlord of recent developments, the destruction of Sites Delta-Bravo and Alpha-Zeta chief among them. Needless to say, Megatron was not pleased. And he would be even less pleased when he found out about what Soundwave was seeing in his feeds.

Soundwave had kept the alarm silent, so as not to disturb Starscream's briefing, but it had happened again. Another attack. Another Black Site. Another total loss.

Another letter: R.

Someone was sending him a message. Someone impossibly skilled in the digital world. Why, Soundwave did not know. How, Soundwave did not know. And he needed to turn both unknowns into knowns. Quickly. Before there were no more Black Sites left to protect.

The enraged voice of Megatron faded.

Soundwave paused, glancing up from the terminal he currently used to tap into the Deception Network. Where once was a muffled voice, there was now silence.

Three micro-klicks later, the door to the room opened, and Starscream came storming out. His wings were hitched in anger, but his posture was bent. A submissive stance. It complimented the dull look in Starscream's optics. Megatron's verbal abuse was even worse than Soundwave anticipated.

The Air Commander looked to Soundwave, his optics regaining his typical self-importance. "Megatron is cutting his thorough examination of Project: Overlord short. He is returning to this system to… Address my failure to protect his belongings."

Soundwave had already concluded that would be Megatron's course of action. He also found it likely Starscream would face a grave punishment when the Overlord arrived.

Starscream's wings twitched once, then lowered. His posture straightened, and he began walking down the hallway; Soundwave disconnected from the terminal and followed. "What has transpired since I briefed Lord Megatron?"

Soundwave sent Starscream a data packet containing details of the third Black Site raid.

Starscream cursed loud enough to gain the attention of a pair of drones they past by. "Send recovery teams to salvage what they can. There must be survivors."

It was an empty order. A formality. Both he and Soundwave knew there would be nothing to salvage from a Black Site's self-destruct. But searching for a survivor may yield more promising results. He sent orders to the appropriate units, according to Starscream's orders.

"And find out who's doing this!" Starscream went on, a deep growl in his voice. "Whoever they are, they are too skilled and subtle to be Autobots."

That was not correct. The Wreckers were one of several such Autobot groups who possessed the necessary abilities to perform such covert operations. But Soundwave did not find the thought worth voicing. There were four Wreckers currently on Earth. Too few to take down three Black Sites. However, the Dinobots had the required strength and firepower. That was a theory worth testing later.

A klick later, Starscream and Soundwave arrived at the Nemesis med-bay. "Update, Knock Out," the Air Commander growled.

"I'm afraid there is little to tell at this point," Knock Out said, gazing at a monitor with disinterest. Beside him, laid out on a berth, there was the stasis-locked drone Starscream recovered. "This unit sustained considerable damage before stasis took it. We're having trouble getting its CPU to cooperate; much of its data is corrupted or jumbled."

"I don't care about why; I care about results, Knock Out."

"As do I, but there are only so many methods that can be used with damage like this."

"Then use the fastest one."

"In that case, I suggest seeking out Shockwave. However, I would also caution you to avoid interrupting his experiments."

Starscream's wings hitched. Soundwave noted the movement was not from anger, but fear. Most within the Decepticon ranks harbored a healthy dose of it when it came to Shockwave.

Knock Out smiled. "That's what I thought."

The Air Commander let out a huff, then advanced closer to the inactive drone. "What of its injuries? Have you determined a cause?"

"A kinetic weapon of some sort. Powerful enough to pierce armor, yet not as strong as one of our Railguns; those would have gone straight through."

"Were you able to recover a slug?"

"Also an unfortunate no. See this damage here?" Knock Out stepped forward and pointed to a section of the drone's armor that was bent outward. "That was not made by the surrounding entry wound. Someone dug around in there, then took whatever made the hole."

Starscream's wings twitched in thought. "The attackers recovered their rounds?"

"So it would seem. I'm not one to sprout wild theories, but I suspect our mysterious adversaries are very careful about what they leave behind."

"And they left this drone for us to find."

"What did I just say about wild theories?"

Starscream huffed, wings twitching once again in thought. Then he went for the door. "I do not enjoy being a step behind an enemy. This one lived for a reason. Figure out what it is."

"Oh, I will. With time. Just have a little patience, Commander. Surely Lord Megatron is understanding of the situation."

Soundwave did not miss the soft growl the Air Commander gave as they left Knock Out. Or the second hitch in the seeker's wings in the same klick. Starscream had not appreciated that farewell.

They returned to the bridge. Per Soundwave's recent instructions, drones were working doubly hard to coordinate recovery teams to the latest destroyed Black Site. Dreadwing was also there, watching the controlled chaos impassively.

"Commander. Officer," he said, nodding in respect first to Starscream, then to Soundwave.

"Captain," Starscream said, his voice smooth but his wings hitched with annoyance that had not faded since the med-bay. "I have an assignment for you."

Dreadwing gave Starscream his full attention.

"It has come to my attention that security at our Black Sites is lacking. I want you to address this fault. Gather the squadrons together, have them patrol the skies above the other Black Sites on this planet. I don't want one more Black Site to fall."

"With all due respect, Commander—I do not believe assembling the squadrons will prevent another attack."

"Are you questioning me, Captain?" Soundwave heard the fury in Starscream's force, just as anyone else would have. He suspected only he also heard the insecurity.

"No, Commander." Dreadwing, in contrast to the Air Commander, was calm and ordered. "I am offering my input."

"Did I ask for it?"

"No, Commander."

"Then do as I say! Go!"

Dreadwing hesitated for a half micro-klick, then bowed his helm. "As you wish, Commander." He left the bridge.

Starscream watched Dreadwing leave, then stood there for a long moment, glowering at nothing. His life signs had risen significantly. Soundwave had seen the look—and the readings—enough to know the Air Commander was too wrapped up in his own anger to command effectively. His immediate dismissal of Dreadwing, and whatever advice the Second would have shared, was already proof enough of that.

He needed to clear his processor.

Soundwave made a few quick adjustments to a Nemesis subsystem. Soon after, a notification appeared on the terminal next to Starscream. The slight relaxation of Starscream's tense wings showed his change of mood. "It appears our tertiary radar has just malfunctioned."

Just as he had done whenever the tertiary radar malfunctioned, Soundwave sent a repair crew authorization request to Starscream's terminal.

Starscream quickly denied it. "No. The system is old and outdated. Unworthy of a full crew. I shall go topside and repair it myself. I will return shortly. Soundwave—you have command until I do."

Then, like Dreadwing, Starscream left the bridge.

As he had already done once that cycle, Soundwave merged his own position with that of Tactical Overlord. He linked himself fully with the Network, as he did while on the bridge, and dedicated a portion of his attention to monitoring Starscream's progress. The radar system was not truly damaged, of course—it never was. It was, in all actuality, a system that had long been due to be phased out and replaced. Soundwave had indefinitely delayed its departure.

Soundwave had long ago found Starscream greatly enjoyed the basic task of checking the unimportant defensive system. Perhaps standing within the unlimited expanse that was space calmed the Air Commander. Perhaps the work distracted him from the constant pang of Trine bonds that would never again fill.

No matter the case, the tertiary radar system kept Starscream's temper in-check. That was what mattered. Soon, his helm would clear, and he would resume command. Which was exactly what Soundwave wanted. Command was for others.

He was best suited for other duties.

Chiefly among them, finding those who had the ability to find Decepticon Black Sites at will. And the resolve to attack them at all breems of the cycle.

---

The world was numb.

"Let's see if this gains a reaction."

There was a flash of Light, a faint tug at the back of my head, a floating crystal that skimmed off my shoulder.

The world became a little more numb.

Cold's optics appeared in my vision, their lenses seeming to swirl around as he narrowed his gaze. "It seems you've already grown so weak your pain receptors have turned themselves off. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; you're a pitiful excuse for a sentient being, let alone a Xel'Tor. But still. I was hoping for more."

He pushed me backward, his hands flashing with Light once more. The chains around my wrists disappeared. I fell to the walkway, the ice that had formed on my armor temporarily shattering. Above me, dozens upon dozens of tiny, green crystal shards floated in the air, occasionally impacting with one another and veering off in different directions.

Something told me the shards were important, but I couldn't remember what they were, how they got there. Couldn't remember why they were important.

What was happening, again?

Cold crouched over me, his head tilted to the side. Gazing down at me with faux interest. "I find it fascinating to see how quickly you've broken again. How easy it was to do so. You're supposedly a Xel'Tor. You're supposed to be… More. Yet you're less. Like a reverse Xel'Tor. Perhaps Decreeing you was a mistake. Perhaps providing you life in the first place was a mistake."

Maybe it was…

The shards of crystal flickered, along with the giant sphere from whence they originated. Cold looked up, as if thinking deeply. Then he hummed, the simple sound coming out heavily distorted. "A mistake committed by the Higher Powers. A mistake committed by The One. Wouldn't that be something. Normally, the mere suggestion He made a mistake is enough to rattle the cages. Enrage the saints. Bring the celestial version of fire and brimstone running to punish the heathen. Here? There is no response. No counter. Like they no longer care about what I say or what happens to you. Or perhaps they're just showing their true worth."

He rose to his full height, rolling his jagged shoulders, and looked up into the dark, seemingly infinite expanse above us. Then he bellowed, "Did you hear that, Magister? I called you worthless. I called your masters pathetic. I dare to stand here, beyond my time, above my authority, out of my place—and you do nothing to stop me. I should have incurred your Wrath by now. Incurred your masters' Wrath. Yet, here I am. Untouched, while I turn my supposed replacement into a broken exoskeleton. Some Higher Power you lot are."

Some Trials must be faced Alone.

Cold focused on me again. Light formed around his hands, arcing like deep crimson lightning. "As much fun as this has been, I think I've grown tired of you. Enjoy what is sure to be a positively divine meeting with The Void."

Shards of crystal started flying off the sphere. Slowly at first, then more rapidly. One, two, three, four per second. Then twice that. Then thrice that. Each time they did, I felt a little… Less. My mind was foggy and empty. Barren. Why was I here? Where was I?

… Who was I?

Suddenly, the Light faded from Cold's hands. I saw him look up at something I couldn't see. His head slowly tilted to the side the longer he looked. A confused expression.

What was my name?

Cold iced the air with a chuckle. "My, my, my. They don't seem to quit, do they?" He stepped forward, stepped on my chest, and shoved me backward.

I slid back, limp, until my wing caught against the walkway and caused me to roll onto my side. I skidded to a stop, now facing the direction Cold was.

The Rubions were frozen, covered entirely in dark ice. There was nothing behind them. No light. No life. No hope. Only darkness. For all was Dark without the Light.

Then, there was something.

Ever so faint, so slow, so small, but there even in spite of hopelessness. Two moving spots. One red. One blue. Tiny specks that shone like suns among the Darkness.

They… They're familiar…

"Here the Orphans come." Cold was crouched above me, looking out at the moving lights I saw. "Beaten not once, or twice, but thrice. Standing upon limbs battered and fractured. Their heads swimming in the pain and agony of defeat. Their chance for a future already killed by my hand. Yet they come. Why? Because they've been told again and again they have hope. That they have a chance to live. Such a disgusting lie."

Why were they familiar…?

"Let's have some fun with them, shall we?" Cold stood up and stepped over me, standing himself right at the edge of the walkway. Then he stood still and watched the lights below. Staring at them. Waiting. Waiting. Ever waiting.

His hands flashed with Light.

In the distance, at the very edge of visibility in this dark place, I saw a bolt of Cold's Light race through the ice covering one of the unmoving Rubions, splitting apart like a reverse lightning bolt.

The ice shifted, then started to fall. Then, seconds later, the great, rumbling crack of countless tons of mass snapping free reached the platform.

The dim spots of light, far away from us, were right in the path of the falling ice. They had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. They were going to be crushed beneath it.

And so they were.

The ice hit the floor right on top of the lights. There was a deafening roar seconds later, a horrible screech as ice grated against metal. Then nothing. No sound or light or spots. No movement.

Just the Darkness.

"Huh," Cold said, his tone heavy with faux surprise. "That was anticlimactic. After all that, nothing. I was hoping for at least some resistance. They didn't even try to avoid… It…"

He trailed off. He looked left, then right, multi-lensed optics shifting rapidly from side to side. Then he began to laugh. Loudly. Unnaturally so. "Oh, well played, Orphans." His distorted voice was a bellow. A hundred-fold projection without causing pain from its volume. "Well played indeed. Light images. Very clever. Now you've made it a game."

His hands flashed with Light again. Simultaneously, crimson cracks appeared in the ice of a score of Rubions around the walkway.

"Too bad I've never played fair."

He turned his hands into fists.

The ice fell from the Rubions at the same time, creating a long series of cracks and grating that hurt my audio receptors. Then, just like last time, nothing. No sound save for Cold's deep, slow breaths, and my own spark beating in my chestplates.

"Hmm." Cold kept looking out in the distance, shifting his head left and right. Still searching. "Impressive, Orphans. Seems you've been paying enough attention to change things up. It only took you and Sparkles dying to figure out you don't stand a chance in the open. So where are you?"

Yet again his hands lit with Light. Yet again ice fell from Rubions. Yet again he seemed displeased with the result. "You're wasting your time, you know," he rumbled, voice echoing again and again in the enormity around us. "He's already gone."

I am.

"He's lying here, useless. Broken. Just as he's always been. How he will be until I end him one last time."

That was a Truth.

Cold stared into the dark, saying nothing. His entire focus on finding… Finding...

What were their names? I could see their faces, feel who they were. But their names escaped me. They were right there. Right at the tip of my tongue, and I couldn't get it out.

Why couldn't I remember?

Cold brought the ice down from another Rubion. "You two are so determined. So driven. Almost an admirable trait. Unfortunately, now it's just a delay of the inevitable. You will lose. You will die. Everything you've worked for in here will be for naught. Why not just make it easy on yourselves, hmm? Give up. Forget your useless hope. Just come out. Come out and let the Darkness take you Home tonight."

More ice fell. From one Rubion. Then two. Three. Four. Then twice that number. Then triple it. The almighty rumble of ice crashing into metal went on for nearly a minute. All the while, Cold continued standing there, staring out into the black. Searching for something I couldn't see.

"Now, isn't this interesting," he said, voice no longer projected. "They are present. They announce their presence. Only that announcement is false. A trick. Now again and again and again they avoid being crushed. Could they… Ah." He looked up into the total blackness above us. "Very clever."

Cold turned back to me and used an icy foot to shove me from my side to my back. "Watch carefully, you waste of metal and flesh. I want to be sure you see your friends die."

… Friends?

Cold looked back to the dark sky. His hands began to arc with twisted, powerful Light. He fired a lightning-like bolt of that Light into the distance, the bolt creating a cracking boom as it superheated the very air around it. It died out in the far distance, having lit up nothing but Rubions. He shifted and launched more bolts. Then more. And more.

On his fifth such burst of Light, something else was lit up. Something high above, slowly moving through the air toward the walkway.

A platform. A platform with two figures on it. One red, one blue.

I know them… I know them...

Cold laughed, the sound once again amplified. "There you are."

He shot a bolt of Light from his hand.

The familiar figures glowed and fired off Light of their own in the form of fast-moving orbs. They were pathetically small and slow in comparison to Cold's bolt.

Their Light was tossed aside like they hadn't even been there. The bolt impacted the platform, and with a flash and a constant crackling, it disintegrated into crimson ashes. And for a moment, I thought the two familiar figures had, too.

But then I saw them falling. Straight down at first, then at an angle. Then almost horizontally. They grew closer and closer to the walkway, glowing brighter and brighter until they looked like streaks of blazing fire in a sea of black.

Then they reached the walkway.

They landed further to the right, some distance away from me. They didn't land softly, or in a controlled manner. Sparks flew as they skidded across the walkway, eventually rolling to a stop with little grace or control of their movements.

It was then I realized the two figures were female. Femmes. Femmes of exceeding height and almost unnatural beauty. Femmes who were wounded. Deep dents riddled their armor, and some sections were cracked and broken. Energon leaked from some such wounds. Neither the blue nor the red one looked in good shape.

The red one got to her feet first. She wobbled a moment, clearly shaken from what she'd just went through, then found her footing. Despite the multitude of cracked armor pieces and dents, she stood strong. Glowing with Light. Staring down Cold with more determination than I could even imagine mustering.

Sorrow is not moved by Fear.

A shard of crystal moved back toward the sphere.

… E… Elita…

That was her name. It came to me, unbidden, from the depths of my strangely empty mind. She was… She was…

Who was she, again? Why did it feel like she was important?

Cold looked to me, his frightening optics flaring. "Stop thinking."

He kicked me in the head. Hard. My vision faded, then returned. My helm was pounding. Felt chilled where I'd been hit. My vision swam, blending colors together.

By the time I could see straight again, the blue femme had gotten on her own feet. She didn't look any better tha—Than the red one. Worse, in fact. Energon still leaked freely from her injuries, and she didn't stand quite as surely as the other. Her pede might have been broken.

"So…" Cold looked between the two femmes, his stance relaxed. His arms at his side. "Here we are. All together for one last hurrah. I give you credit for getting here, Orphans. It's a long way from here to Collection. A long, dark way. Find the journey worth it?"

The femmes ignored Cold. "Shadowstreaker," said the red one, her voice almost musical in the darkness clouding my mind. "Shadowstreaker, can you hear me?"

Was that my name?

"Of course he can't. Haven't you been paying attention? I've broken him again. Rendered him to an empty shell." The air between me and one of his hands became hazy, then I was lifted up off the floor and forcefully planted on my feet by an unseen force. "See?"

They looked at me; I looked at them. They were familiar. What were their names…?

Whatever they were expecting to see, they didn't see it. The blue one deflated a moment, while the red one put on a brave face. "Shadowstreaker. You're in there somewhere."

"He's really not."

"Come back to us," she went on. "You're needed."

Behind me, Cold laughed. "Oh, this is such a delicious sight. You're seeing your plan unravel before your very eyes. Go head. Keep going. I want to see how long it takes for the last of your hope to die."

"I don't know what you saw in there, Shadowstreaker. I kept my promise; I didn't look. But I know how you are. It wasn't your fault."

"Oh, but it was. Just as it's your fault Orphan-Two doesn't remember that night. How it's your fault Orphan-Three grew up without your parents."

That threw the red one off. She took a shuddering breath, but kept her eyes on me. "We've all done things we regret, Shadowstreaker. But our mistakes don't define us."

"They've defined you," Cold cut in again. "They've defined you every waking moment since that day. Every breath into your lungs. Every blink of your eyes. They define you so thoroughly that you can't even admit what you are. What she is."

"Sh—Shad—ow…" The word came out broken. Pained. Breathless.

Ice began to form on her armor. Ice like mine.

Only hers began to melt when the blue femme placed a hand on her shoulder.

… How?

The blue femme took up the role of speaker. "It doesn't need to go like this, Shadowstreaker."

It… Didn't?

"Of course it does. You know what's about to happen. How badly you're about to lose. How much it will hurt your precious mate when he feels his spark collapse in on itself."

Hints of ice formed on the blue femme's armor, then melted immediately. How? "We can win this."

"You will only win pain and suffering."

"Shadowstreaker," she said in a voice clear as a spring morning. "You can win this."

"How delusional are you? Do you not see? He is but an empty suit of metal. A husk. And even when he was well, he had no chance against me."

There was a tone in Cold's voice as he said those words. An inflection he did not mean to use. I couldn't place it.

"Fight him."

A jolt went through me. A pulse of energy that seemed to vibrate my entire body. I'd heard those words before. Those exact two words. Spoken in the same tone, with the same calm significance, by a different voice.

Fight him.

Who had said that to me? I could see their face, clear as crystal, before me. A mech's face. White and covered in golden Primic runes, staring at me with gilded optics that spoke of war and death and ancient days long past.

What was his name?

A numbingly cold fist struck me across the face, and all thought left me. "Stop thinking."

"Think, Shadowstreaker," the femme said, her voice carrying more and more weight. More and more strength. Where did I know her? "Rationalize."

Think. Rationalize.

Fight. Win.

The fist struck me again. Harder than before. My vision spun.

"I said stop thinking."

"Be who you're meant to be. Find what he—"

A bolt of crimson Light shot forth, missing her and the red femme only because she pulled both of them down to the floor.

"My patience has run out," Cold growled, his voice thunder and fury. "Time to die."

The femmes were back up in the blink of an eye, responding to Cold's attack with their own Light. Streaks of blue and red flew from their hands, carrying with them a humming energy and power no weapon could match.

Cold knocked them aside with a flick of his wrist. They were redirected in mid-air, exploding harmlessly against the walkway. "Poor form."

He vanished a flash of negative light, then reappeared right behind them. They reacted fast, splitting apart and moving in opposite directions as soon as they saw him disappear. His Light-covered fists met empty air, and he was forced to redirect more Light from the femmes.

"Better," he said. "Much better. Let's see how long you can keep up."

They fell into a pattern. A dance of doom. They fired Light; Cold fired Light. He teleported; they fled. Repeat. Portions of the walkway gave way under their constant bombardment of one another. Hundreds of shards were blown off from the sphere, filling the air with tiny emerald stars that orbited the platform as if in zero gravity. I barely felt anything as the shards separated from the main sphere.

Orbs and bolts of Light that had missed or been tossed aside by Cold flew into the distance and detonated against Rubions, alighting the air blue, rose, and crimson. The echo of their explosions echoed unceasingly. Repeated unendingly. Beating the air like grand drums sounding out the anthem of death.

I stood in the middle of it, heedless of the Light and fists. Watching with eyes that did not see. Audio receptors that did not hear. Hands that did not feel. My mind kept repeating over the same facts. The same words.

Fight him. Think. Rationalize.

Rationalize what?

In mid-fight, Cold turned to me, his hands crackling with Light. "I thought I said to stop thinking."

He launched a bolt of Light.

I felt nothing as it hit me in the chest. Nothing as I was sent ragdolling through the air. Nothing as I impacted, limp, against the walkway hundreds of meters away. I felt nothing even as I laid there, motionless, with a hole in my chest.

Energon pooled beneath me. My breaths came short and rapid. The air smelled of ionized metal. There was no resonation. No noise. No sound.

My mind kept repeating.

Fight him. Think. Rationalize.

My vision flickered. When it came back, I could see him. The mech. Standing tall over me. His white and gold frame radiating light and warmth and power. His optics carrying the weight of all creation.

"Fight him." I could not hear the words, yet they rang in my helm. "Don't give in."

"How?"

There was a second voice in my head. Deep. Resonate. Unfamiliar. Was that how I sounded? So hard to imagine speaking.

"You are to be the Xel'Tor. Act like one."

My vision flickered again, and the mech was gone.

My deadened hearing returned. I could still hear the fighting. The clang of metal and the deep echo of Light exploding. I rolled onto my side, helm spinning from the simple movement.

The femmes were being worn down. Movements that had been executed with graceful perfection and lightning speed were flawed and beginning to slow. More dents and deep cracks riddled their armor. More of their energon spilled. Their Light grew dimmer and dimmer as their bodies betrayed them. All while Cold appeared untouched. Unharmed. Unstoppable.

They needed help. But what could possibly stand against Cold? What could be done against someone who could not die? Against someone who could bend reality, twist Light to their will?

… Nothing. Nothing could be done. There was no armor to put on. No weapon to deploy. No sword to pierce his untouched metal skin. There was only failure and death.

Cold teleported again, appearing behind one of the femmes as he'd done dozens of times. Only this time, the femme—the blue one—was too slow. Far too slow.

She did her best. When she realized she couldn't get away, she dodged. Cold's first fist sailed harmlessly over her head. The second hit the floor in front of her. By the time the third attack came, she not only avoided it—she fired two knife-like bolts of Light Cold himself had to dodge.

But she couldn't avoid the fourth strike.

Her own attack slowed her, and he capitalized. His hand was a blur of pitch black and crimson as it collided with her stomach. A mixture of a clang and a crack echoed across the walkway as his balled fist tore through her armor, through her body, and out the other side.

Everything went still.

The fight stopped. The red femme froze, her face etched with pain and horror. The rumble of Light explosions died away. All was still. All was silent.

Then the red femme cried out, "No!"

Cold ripped his fist from the blue femme's side, tearing out metal and parts. She gasped soundlessly, energon flowing from her stomach like an open faucet. She wobbled, but remained standing, pressing both servos against her wound in a feeble attempt to keep the energon from gushing out. She only succeeded in coating her hands.

Cold watched her with a tilted head, smiling a twisted smile. "Go on," he said. "Fall."

She did.

The blue femme landed with a loud thud. Her breathes came shallowly and rapidly. Even more so than mine did. Her optics flickered between being dim and completely dark. Between living and dead.

The red femme charged at Cold, her own optics wide and panicked, her face set with fury as she went in for a kick that could have felled a building. "NO!"

Cold caught her leg without even looking. He slowly turned his head to her, his fingers spreading ice across her leg, and chuckled. "No?"

Then with one hand, he lifted her clean off her feet, into the air above his head, and slammed her into the walkway once, then twice.

Bits of armor and energon went flying. Cold tossed her aside after the second hit, sending her tumbling across the walkway in my general direction. She looked terrible. Her face was a mess of dents and fractures, and one optic had been shattered. Her arms were bent at awkward angles, as was the pede Cold hadn't been holding. Part of her chest armor and back armor had been bent inward, breaking at the sides, where the greatest stress had been placed on the metal.

I couldn't tell if she was moving.

And just like that, any will I may have had to fight, fled. Any semblance of curiosity over what the white mech said to me, died.

"And that is why you never let troublesome emotions like love to worm their way into your heart," Cold said, dismissing the remaining Light that crackled around him. "It clouds your better judgement. Corrupts your soul. Makes you feel. It's revolting. Be thankful I'm here to put you down before it really sucks you in. Friends. Lovers. Children. All worthless. The Darkness will take you Home."

The blue femme tried to say something, only for the words to die before they reached her lips.

"What was that, Orphan-Two?" Cold leaned down and tilted his head to her as if listening. "I couldn't quite hear you. You'll have to speak up. Course, you'll also have to let out the energon in your air intakes that you're keeping in. Might be the only thing keeping you from shutting down. Choices, choices. What do you think you'll do?"

I barely heard her response: a faint, wet gasp for air.

Cold hummed. "I'll give you a moment to decide." He rose to his full height and moved to the red femme next, crouching at her side. "Now, let's see. Are you alive?"

The red femme answered by deploying a tiny blade from her wrist and twisting her body to throw a knife-enhanced-punch with one of her broken arms.

He didn't bother blocking it. Her weak strike hit his armor with no force. No strength. Her fist crumpled on contact, the blade bending upward. She gave a sound like a bitten-back cry, and he chuckled. "Was that worth it, Orphan? Was that measly act of rebellion worth the pain?"

She spit energon in his direction, the glob falling well short of its target.

He chuckled again. "Go head. Hide behind defiance. We both know what I'm talking about. We both know what you did."

She glared at him as well as she could with flickering optics, saying nothing.

"What does it feel like, hmm?" He tilted his head at her, his multi-lensed optics shining with a mad glee. A predator playing with its prey. "Being surrounded by people you've hurt. Who you've lied to from the moment you met. Is it as maddening as I imagine? As lonely?"

Frost began to form on the femme.

"That's right. It's all your fault. That night, all you had to do was resist. Resist the impulse to take that opportune moment. But you didn't. You acted, and all that came after was because of you. Lay in the shame that knowledge brings. Bathe in it. It will be the last thing you ever feel before Darkness."

Movement behind Cold caught my attention. The blue femme was moving. Slowly. Agonizingly slowly, but she was moving. She rolled onto her undamaged side, the minor effort visibly draining her. Despite that, her eyes were focused. Flickering, but focused. Determined as she looked right at me and mouthed two words.

I didn't catch them. But I could feel the importance behind them. The last, desperate hope she placed not in herself. Not in an action.

In me.

Then she collapsed fully. Her optics went dark shortly after.

The red femme, already almost covered in frost, jerked once. Twice. She frantically looked to the blue femme, making a sound between a gasp and a choke when she saw her.

"Ah."Cold said, following the red femme's gaze before looking back at the red femme herself. "Seems I was wrong. Shame won't be the last thing you feel. It will be the crushing, excruciating loneliness that comes from, for the first time, not just being alone, but feeling how fragile you really are without any bonds to hold you up. Enjoy that agony."

Cold rose to from his crouch. Then he looked at me. "Get up."

The air between us became hazy, and I was lifted up off the ground and set on my feet. Immediately, my vision danced and I fell again, the wound in my chest leaking more energon.

"Oh, come now," Cold sighed. "You're not that hurt. Try again."

I was lifted again, and I was set on my feet again. My vision spun yet again, and I started to fall. Only this time, the hazy air kept me upright. Forced me to stand. To look at Cold.

And the unmoving blue femme behind him.

Why did she look to me to help? What had she tried to say?

"There we are. Nice and standing." He started walking around me, gazing up at the shards of crystal that still floated above the walkway. "A better position for your end."

What had she said? It gnawed at my mind, drilled deeper and deeper into my psyche. I could still see her mouthing to me. Could still feel her sense of purpose.

Why did she put her hope in me?

"We've had a wild ride, haven't we?" He went on, stopping just to my left. "You me. Them. We've fought. I've won. You've broken. I've broken you. You even got to see me kill Sparkles. Fun times. But it's time we said goodbye. I've spent enough time on you, and I have better places to be. Better people to kill. But don't worry—I have one last gift to give you before you die." He turned to me, one of his servos flashing with Darkness. A Blade of Darkness appeared in his hand, grip held out to me. "Kill her. Go to The Void with a fresh reminder of what you are, Xel'Tor: a murderer."

For once, I didn't hear him. I was still focused on the femme. On the words she couldn't say. I could see her lips moving, trying to pass on information she deemed so important, so significant, she used the last of her strength to get them to me.

At last, something clicked. I managed to make out one of the words she had mouthed.

Fear.

A hand struck me in the face. Numbly, I felt my head start to spin, derailing my thoughts. "How many times must I tell you to stop thinking?"

No more.

… But why?

The hand struck me again. Harder, it seemed. My vision went dark entirely, then came back fading in and out between light and dark.

Cold was leaning down directly in front of me, his multi-lensed optics staring into mine. "Stop. Don't ruin mygoodbye gift."

But… How could I? I was worthless and insignificant. He wasn't.

Again the hand struck me. Again my vision went black. When it returned, I was on my back, and Cold was glaring down at me.

And the crystals, ever so green, floated above him. Spinning. Drifting. Drawing my eyes ever deeper into their complex structures.

"Stop," he growled out, his distorted voice rumbling. "I won't say it again."

Fear. What was that word? What did it mean?

He growled again, the sound fitting an beast instead of a sentient. He jabbed down, widening the hole in my chest. Then his hand glowed with crimson Light. Light that burned and melted my armor around his hand.

Then I realized, I could feel that. The burning. The pain. Oh, the pain. But I felt it. Why could I feel it now?

"F—fe—ar..."

I didn't know what drove me to say that one word. But it came out broken. Weak. Silent. As pathetic as I was.

Cold's hand stopped glowing. The burning remained, but it began to lessen. "What was that? You'll need to speak up."

"Fear…" My voice was barely a whisper. Barely sound itself. Why was I bothering to speak?

"Yes? What about it?"

"Wh—wh…" I paused, spitting out energon that had built up in my throat. It tasted sickeningly metallic. "What is fear?"

A strange look appeared on Cold's face. A mixture of incredulity and annoyance. "Is that it? Is that all you have to say? I stopped melting you from the inside out for that?"

"What is fear?"

"Fear is the chill running down your spine right now. Fear is looking in the mirror and seeing what you really are. Fear is the dread you feel when you see me."

"I don't… Feel."

Cold scoffed, the sound two-toned, and looked up at the floating shards. "Right. Try this, then: fear is what cripples your thoughts. Worries you. Makes you hesitate. Fear is what makes you weak. Makes everything weak. And I laugh when you feel it."

That made sense. What fear was. Was it fear that I felt, looking at Cold? When every fiber of my body tensed whenever his twisted optics landed on me. How my thoughts came to a halt if I stared at him too long. How it felt wrong to disobey him. To think.

So why did the femme want me to know about it?

Cold's head whipped back to me. His optics flashed, his hands glowing once more with Light that burned and melted my armor. "Stop that."

"W—why?" Why was I asking? Why was it important? Why wasn't I obeying?

What else had she tried to say?

"Because I told you to. So stop questioning." The Light around his hands intensified, creating a crackle in the air that bore with it the smell of burning metal.

My metal.

The pain I felt, at first faint and distant, grew to an unbearable level. My vision flickered once, twice, then died on the third. Darkness was everywhere. Oily. Cold. Total, blanketing me in black. But even in that complete darkness, I could see.

I saw afterimages. Imprints. Echos of what my eyes had recently seen. I saw the fragmented sphere. Saw the shards above me, shining like lanterns in the dark. I saw the white mech standing over me. I saw Cold standing in his place, looking enraged. I saw the femmes fighting back. Saw the blue one try speak.

And in that strange, afterimage state, I realized what she'd mouthed to me.

Then I was back again.

My body jerked. I gasped for air, then coughed immediately as the deep inhale upset my damaged intakes, sending only a faint wave of pain through me.

Pain...

"Ah, there we go," Cold said, looming over me with narrowed optics. "Up you get. You've some murdering to do."

I didn't rise to his command. I kept coughing, using the breather to gather what meager strength I had. I held onto what I'd learned. Focused on it with all my ability. Kept it at the forefront of my shattered mind like a lifeline. I knew what she said.

His fear.

"Up. Now. Don't make me say it again."

Slowly, ever so slowly, I got myself up to my knees. I was left exhausted by the effort, breathing heavily and my vision spun so much I barely saw straight. With a shakiness that didn't come from my physical condition, I said, "Fear."

"Oh, god. You're still on that? Shut up already."

"You said…" A wave of dizziness made me pause. "You said fear makes me weak."

"Yes. Yes it does."

"And everyone feels it."

His already-narrowed optics narrowed further. He was suspicious. Suspicious of me and my words—words I wasn't even sure why I was saying. "Yes."

"Does that mean you feel fear, too?"

Cold scoffed. "Fear is beneath me. It is a relic left behind with mortality. A vulnerability that enslaves those it touches. I am no slave."

He… Didn't answer… "But you are someone."

"But not anyone. I am Cold. I am Fear. What is fear to the one who controls it, hmm?"

"Something to—to... Hide…"

"Hide? Why would I hide it?"

"Because it shows you are vulnerable. It shows weakness."

---

The Fragments carried out their Duty.

They muttered words unheard by mortal ears. They moved, acting out actual events and imagined ones. They wandered empty lands. They repeated past actions.

None strayed from Duty, and none paused in carrying theirs out. They were apart, yet together. Many, yet one.

They were Fragments of a Whole.

And, just as they were Fragments of a Whole, they stopped as one. They stopped in the middle of speaking to dark, empty air. In backing up freshly-shattered memories they could neither comprehend nor repair. They paused in their Duty. Became something more than Fragments. For they all heard it. They all felt it. The Call. The unconscious Proclamation.

The Key had not yet Fallen.

---

Cold's optics flashed. "I think you've talked enough. Get up and kill the Orphan."

"Do—"

He planted a foot on my chest, forcing me back down to the walkway. "Shut up."

I did not. "Do you feel fear?"

"I said shut up."

"Do you fear?"

"No."

I didn't know where the words came from. How I had the strength to breathe, let alone speak. But they came to me, and I spoke them with all I had. "You… Do… You're lying. You fear something. Someone. For if you are fear, you need to know what it feels like."

The look Cold gave me was murderous. Furious. Black rage meeting white-hot fury. I was right. I was right about him. About his lie. What else had he lied about? What else wasn't true?

That line on thinking died when he stomped on my chest.

My armor was dented in like crumpled foil, stealing what breath I could muster as it edges stabbed at my insides like icy knives. And I could feel each and every one them. Fully. With no numbness. No dull ache. Just pain.

The world went grey.

"How very… Astute of you." Cold's voice carried every ounce of displeasure I saw on his face. Every annoyance. Every rage. "Yes, I fear. I do fear something. Someone. But not you. I fear the Unnatural One. The Daykiller. Worldbreaker. Endmaker. And trust me, there's nothing you can do to match what they did."

I don't have to.

"What you can do, and I think I've delayed long enough, is die."

He pushed his foot harder against my chest. I felt my intakes split. Felt energon fill them. I felt my own armor push against my spark. The world grew more and more grey. More and more distant. Sound grew faint.

But then he stopped.

No warning. No explanation. He just stopped. It was then I noticed how concentrated he looked. How focused he was, but not on me. He was looking at the ground next to me, leaning slightly to his left—my right.

He was listening. To what, I didn't know.

He stepped away, leaving me behind, and went to the edge of the walkway, staring out into the distance as he had before. Light appeared in one of his hands, and he launched it up into the air. It was not a bolt destructive force, but a light source. The entire area lit up with light that appeared grey to my optics, showing me what it was Cold listened to.

The Rubions were moving.

Not quickly. Not in overly complex ways. But they were moving. Changing shape. Form. Shattering what little ice Cold didn't drop in his attempts to kill the femmes.

Cold looked up, stared at the shards of crystal hanging in the air, then back out at the moving Rubions. Then to me. "Impossible." He didn't look angry or annoyed. Just… Curious. "I've rendered you to base functions. I've shattered in you in mind and body. Yet those Rubions move. Yet you live more now than you did before. How?"

Because people are more than base functions.

I'm more.

Slowly, the shards of crystal began inching their way toward the sphere.

Cold growled, his hands flashing with Light. The shards stopped. Then he stormed toward me without a word. Without a gloat. Without a piercing blow to my sanity. That alone showed the gravity of his fury, but there was more. I could see his eyes. Could see the cold rage boiling within their lenses. Only this was more than anger or rage. This was realization. A realization that, in his mocks, in his barbed words, in his torture, he'd done the exact thing he'd been trying to avoid.

Allowing me to rise.

Darkness condensed around his hand as the shards started their journey anew, heedless of Cold's attempt to stop them. A Blade formed from that Darkness—a wicked, jagged sword ending in a hooked tip that seemed to suck in light.

The sound of jet engines carried through the air.

Cold froze in place. He kept his murderous gaze on me for one more moment, then slowly turned back to the Rubions and the darkness beyond them.

At the edge of the Light flare he made, objects were flying. Not at great speed, but in perfect formation and significant numbers. Numbers that kept increasing. Ten. Twenty. A hundred. A thousand. More. Many more. Coming in from all directions.

"No." Even with the qualities of his voice, Cold's whisper was so faint I wasn't sure I really heard it. But that whisper quickly grew in volume. "No. No. No. This isn't right. You're not even whole! You can't be doing this!" His gaze went to me again, and his optics were even more enraged. He closed the rest of the distance between us and brought his Blade down with a lightning-quick thrust.

Only for an orb of Light—a small, flickering orb with little strength behind it—to hit its side.

The orb detonated with a blinding flash. Cold cried out, the sound closer to a roar, and closed his optics for the briefest second. That action threw off his aim. His Blade pierced the ground to my right, embedding itself several feet into the walkway. With another minor roar, Cold whipped his head to the orb's point of origin.

There, still holding aloft a broken servo, the red femme smiled a broken smile.

The volume of Cold's growl vibrated the air. "You absolute bitch."

"You know me," she said, her voice a shattered breath. "Can't resist an opportune moment."

Everything exploded in fire.

Missiles, unseen and unheard until the moment of impact, detonated against Cold a hundred at a time. The light of those blasts blinded me and ruptured my audio receptors, the heat of their flames searing and extreme. Yet it didn't… Hurt. I could feel the heat, yet at the same time I couldn't. Like it was there, but it couldn't touch me. Like it wasn't allowed to.

Cold took the first volley of missiles directly, unable to move in time to avoid them. He let out a roar that was silent to my damaged receptors, and summoned bolts of Light around his arm that formed a wicked-looking shield.

The next volley of missiles were accompanied by fast-moving balls of sparking spheres that exploded with many times the force of a missile. Cold's shield that held under the fire, spheres and all. Even so, he could not stand against it. With his shield still up, he started to slide backwards, his feet scraping the walkway under him as he was forced away due to the sheer immensity of fire bearing down on him. Quickly, he went from standing over me to being over two hundred meters away. He glared at me the entire time, face set in a snarl. Optics burning with hatred and promises of eternal agony.

They began to land.

They were clones of me. Perfect copies, down to the last detail. They fell from the sky ten and twenty at a time, landing heavily on the walkway in random, unpredictable patterns that had Cold looking ahead, behind and to either side. At first, they stood where they landed, stock still as the others still in the air continue to rain missiles. Returning Cold's furious looks with blank, unblinking eyes.

Then, in perfect synchronization, they rushed forward. They deployed swords and added servo weapons. They added their own missiles to the volleys already hitting him.

Cold expanded his shield into a sphere around him. Tendrils of Light went with it, anchoring him to the walkway. He let out another silent roar at the approaching horde, and launched bolts of Light from his hands, the air between them and the walkway arcing dangerously.

My copies became ashes by the dozen. Charging swordsmen became piles of crimson dust as the Light tore through their chests. Bombardiers ceased to exist as the bolts jumped from target to target. Missiles exploded in midair, sometimes on friendly ranks.

The ground around Cold became a barren wasteland of glowing ash and dust. A wasteland occupied by a single, enraged occupant whose optics grew brighter and brighter as his fury grew.

But they were legion. Their fallen automatically replaced from the sky. Their weapons never falling silent. Their march unceasing. Unflinching. Their assault a certainty, not a question. An assault that steadily tightened around Cold like a closing fist of black steel.

The wasteland around Cold shrank. From a hundred meters in radius, to fifty. Fifty, to twenty. Then the ranks of my copies closed, and I lost sight of him.

A group of my copies gathered around me, falling to my sides without expression or communication between them. They removed breached sections of my armor and replaced them with theirs. Forced the energon from my intakes. They ripped their own energon lines so I could get a transfusion. Tore out their own critical components to swap out my heavily damaged ones. All without a word. Without a moment's hesitation. Without their blank optics ever once changing.

As the copies replaced the last of my broken parts, the crystal shards began to merge with the sphere once more.

I took a breath. And with that one breath, the world gradually changed to its natural shade. Weakness left my limbs. The constant throbbing of my wounds faded. I felt alive. Alive and more.

Memory after memory sprang forth in my mind, filling the void in my head. Every thought, pure or corrupt. Every face, friendly or terrifying. Every anguish and every joy. Every smile and every rage. Every decision I'd made. Every success. Every mistake. I saw everything.

Everything that made me, me.

But how was I doing this? How was it there were so many of… Me? How had I called them here? How was I directing them now?

Seldom seen are the Xel'Tor's Images.

A deep red wall of Light appeared where I had last seen Cold. It vaporized all in its wake, rendering hundreds to ashes. It dissipated not ten feet away, taking with it three of the ones who repaired me.

When it cleared, Cold stood alone, crackling, glowering. Bolts of Light dancing around him, ready to kill. "You think this clever, BOY?!"

One of the bolts sped toward me.

There was no time to react. No time to dodge. I could only watch as the bolt raced forward, felling two of my Images without stopping, before it would hit me, turning to me to ashes. Robbing me of the new life that flowed in my limbs.

Killing me before I could ever apologize to Arcee.

One of the Images that donated its parts to me threw me aside at the last possible moment, shoving me to the ground and out of the path of danger. We locked optics in that moment. Me on the ground, staring up—and my Image, standing tall, blankly looking down. Two identical sets of royal eyes—one sentient, the other something else—knowing what was about to happen.

The bolt hit, and the Image became crimson dust floating in the air. An imprint of its shape remained, then drifted away.

"You think this will HELP YOU?!"

Cold's furious bellow tore me from the moment. I instinctively pushed myself backward just before another bolt ripped through the air, leaving dead Images in its wake. The air sizzled as it past.

"NOTHING can help save you from me!"

He fired three more bolts, each one barely containing their own destructive power. More Images took the bolts for me, disintegrating in the blink of an eye. I rolled up to my feet, ducking behind a squad of Images as they landed and quickly fell victim to more bolts.

"You will die just like you did before!"

More bolts came my way, and more Images died. I kept running, rolling, dodging. With every missed bolt, Cold became more and more visibly enraged. The Light around him cracked and thundered like lightning. His voice, already booming, was a constant stream that must have been tearing his throat apart. His multi-lensed eyes were burning, fiery hatred incarnate.

Hatred balanced by dangerous intelligence.

As I kept avoiding his bolts, he kept anticipating my moves. His attacks kept getting closer. First being just too close for comfort, then too wild to be mistakes. Routes I'd planned to take suddenly closed when a dozen bolts destroyed the company of Images there.

He was leading me where he wanted me.

I knew it. Sensed it. Felt it. Yet I couldn't see another way. Couldn't see anywhere else to go but the paths where his Light was not. But in the back of my mind, I knew what was going to happen. What he was leading me to.

And it arrived when I was suddenly in the open. Surrounded, but vulnerable. Looking right at him.

He smiled a smile clenched from barely-contained rage. "There you are."

The inevitable bolt of Light he shot was right at my chest. I knew, in that split second before he fired, that I would die if it hit me directly. I jumped as he launched it, but wasn't fast enough to dodge completely. It skimmed my side, turning my armor to ashes, burning my insides. It was even more painful than expected.

I cried out, and my Images converged on me. A group of them went to my side, quickly removing and replacing my parts as the last group had. The others on the walkway surrounded us, forming a thick, impenetrable wall of bodies that even Cold's bolts could not pierce. Not in one shot.

It didn't stop him from trying.

Bolt after bolt hit the ranks around me. I could tell they were being slaughtered, but they held strong, unmoving. Unfazed. Whenever one died, another fell from the sky and took their place. With how quickly they were falling, my Images were practically raining down.

How could I get out of this? How could I fight, when I can't even stay still without being killed? How had I even gotten this far?

How had I known more when I was fractured than I did now, when I was whole again?

"You're… Doing it… Aren't you?"

The voice was so quiet, so weak, I didn't at first hear it over the war between my Images and Cold. As his bolts ripped above, as my Images fired enough ordinance to fell a dreadnought, I looked to the source of the words.

Elita was there. So was Chromia's body. Two groups of my Images surrounded them, linked arm-in-arm. Silent sentries of the dead and dying.

She looked even worse than before. Not from some new injury; from loss of energy. Life. Her optics were so dim they were almost out.

"Elita." I tried to move to her, but my Images held me tight, keeping me still. Their repairs had not concluded.

"You… Are." She blinked at me, the single, simple movement seeming to be a mighty effort on her part.

"Hey, you stay here, alright? You stay awake."

"Blame," she said. "Guilt. You're… Not seeing."

Deep red bolts of Light shot through the air right above us. Hundreds of Images faded away, and hundreds of new ones took their place before their predecessors fell.

"You can't sit in there forever," I heard Cold growl, just as I felt—more than saw—another wave of bolts impact the ranks of Images around me and Elita. More replacements fell from the sky.

"You can't…" Elita choked, coughing an alarming amount of energon onto the walkway next to her. "Can't keep doing this…"

What was she talking about? Keep doing what? Fail? Because I haven't been doing anything else recently.

Above us, beyond the swarm of Images patrolling the sky, the great sphere of my Apex Archive flickered.

More bolts hit our guardian Images. Only this time, they got close enough that I saw them illuminate the last few rows I could see.

"I'll reach you eventually," Cold growled, voice rumbling over the sounds of war. "Just give in. Make it easier on yourself. On me."

His words were like honey, luring me in. I nearly fell into that familiar pattern of accepting his words. Pondering his statements. Giving him strength over me. I forced my mind to other matters. To Elita. She stared at me, dimming optics dazed and unfocused. Not seeing her real surroundings.

"Still… Doing it," she said.

"No talk," I said. "Stay quiet. Stay awake."

"You need to… Stop…"

"Stop what? What is it I'm doing?"

She took a wet, rasping breath. Her optics cleared, homing in on me with shocking clarity. "Stop trying to be what you aren't."

None Ascend through Pretending.

I… What? "What's that mean, Elita?"

Her optics dimmed, lids beginning to close.

My Images finished their repairs to me, breaking their grip. I immediately crawled over to her, kneeling at her side. I grabbed one of her broken, limp servos. The one with the bent blade. I didn't think for a moment how much it would have hurt for me to wrap my larger hands around hers. "Hey!"

Her optics opened again, looking confused and glossy.

"Stay with me!"

Her optics started to close again, heedless of my words. Her body began to shut down. Her chest went still. But as she did, she spoke again, but the voice that came from her mouth wasn't hers. Wasn't one voice, but many. "Act like one…"

Then she was gone.

Everything around me had long become red. Lit crimson from Cold's Light, set alight by his increasingly powerful bolts. Dust from my fallen Images—sometimes shot into the air by their violent ends, sometimes shot out of the sky—began to gently fall down to the walkway, coating everything, including the Images around me, in a fine, glowing red snow. A twistedly peaceful image in the midst of arcing Light, exploding missiles, deafening Nucleon shots, and the still bodies of Arcee's sisters.

I stayed by Elita's side, holding her unmoving hand in my own, ignoring the droves of Images that fell to Cold's bolts. The mechanical roar of thousands of Ion Displacers attempting to down Cold's shield. The vibration of shockwaves from missiles and Nucleons failing the same task. My world narrowed down to two points: Elita and Chromia.

I'd failed.

I'd failed them. I'd failed to help them when they needed it. Failed to save them when they could be saved. Failed from the moment Cold became involved.

I'd failed again.

The sphere flickered. And with it came Cold's booming, echoing laughter. "Oh, did you lose another one? How sad. Terrible, really. Always tragic when death is involved. Though you must be growing used to it."

The sphere flickered again, even as I did my best to tune him out. I kept my focus on Elita. On what she said, in her last moments.

"How many deaths are you up to now, anyway? Not counting the slaughters on the battlefield? Three? Four? Ah, yes, of course: everyone you've known from your home."

Stop trying to be what you aren't. What did that mean? What was I trying to be?

"Your friends. Your mother. Father. Brothers. All gone. Some still alive, but as good as dead to you. Some you killed yourself."

A good person? A soldier? Arcee's mech?

"Not to mention these two on two separate occasions. Plus yourself. Plus there's that fascinating discovery that your creators are missing, too. Don't you wonder what happened to them?"

My Images fell more rapidly than ever. Their ash choked the air, while the glow of Cold's Light grew brighter still. But I ignored them, and I ignored him.

Was it something else I was pretending to be? Something I kept failing at doing?

What… What if it was something I was succeeding in?

"You've become a magnet for death, haven't you? A walking tragedy."

Act like one.

Those words were making sense. Whenever the Mech spoke, he had spoken bluntly. Without hesitation. Without fear. He had not told lies, bent facts.

He spoke in Truths.

"Tell these monstrosities to give up. They can't win. You can't win. Not without your Shard. Only through me will you succeed. Otherwise, it's just a matter of time before everyone you love gets killed because of you."

The truth was, Cold might have been right. The truth was, I wasn't what I wanted to be. The truth was, I was different. I was something dark. I was responsible for the deaths of people who should have lived.

The truth was, I wasn't a hero. I hadn't been in a long time. And no matter what I tried, that wouldn't change.

Something deep within me, something fundamental, broke.

The sphere flickered again, but not from a negative thought.

Light flashed, and all around me my Images turned to ash. More bolts arced upward into the air, killing the replacement Images before they could reach me. There was nothing between me and Cold.

I continued looking down at Elita even as more bolts filled the air, felling my Images long before they could move to gather around me once more. The Light of his shield burned as he stopped directly behind me, blocking the continuous fire of my Images.

"This is touching to see. Truly." I could hear the smile in his voice. That cruel smile he showed whenever he inflicted pain on another. "But I tire of this. Of you. This little act of rebellion is over. Stand up."

I didn't move at first. I kept gazing down at Elita's face, then carefully set her hand down on her damaged chest, then did the same for the other. She looked peaceful in death. The burden of whatever secret she had kept all her life no longer weighing her down.

"Stand. Up."

Obediently, I stood up.

"Turn."

I faced him.

He leaned down and flashed that smile again, the full gesture hidden by his Darkness, and slowly ran the edge of his Blade across my neck. It was so cold, it numbed everything within three feet of it's touch. "Been fun, Zech. Enj—"

That was when I stabbed him through the base of the chin with Elita's knife.

His optics went wide, flashing with surprise, pain and rage. He leaned back, one hand going to his neck as black energon poured down it, glistening in the Light burning around us. He went to speak, or scream, only to gurgle and have more energon pour from his mouth, the knife within a shining beacon in the dark metal and fluid around it.

I ducked beneath his Blade and closed the short distance between us. My fist struck the hand holding the sword once, twice, then separated the weapon on the third hit. It clattered to the walkway, ice forming around it, then vanished in a reverse-flash of Darkness as Cold dismissed it.

I pressed while I could, slamming both fists into his lower abdomen. He bent forward just slightly, strong even with a knife in his mouth. But it was enough. With all the strength I could muster, I punched upward into his jaw. Right into the bottom of the knife.

It pierced further in, disappearing from sight.

His gurgling came to a sudden stop, his mouth forced closed with a wet snap. His head remained snapped upward for a moment, then he stared down at me. He didn't try to speak. Didn't raise a hand. Didn't re-summon his Blade. He just stared. Optics fire and wrath. Hands trembling with anger. Energon dripping down his chest and onto the walkway under our feet.

He fell.

Not fast, or without control, but slowly. Unwillingly. Glaring at me the entire time. He ended up on one knee, barely catching himself with a hand to the floor before he fell further. His deep, dark energon flowed from his jaw and onto the walkway floor beneath him, creating a puddle of black. The Light shield around us fizzled and died.

It was only then I realized none of my Images were firing. Those on the ground stood in place. Weapons down at their sides. Staring on blankly. Those in the air hovered in jet form, their humming engines the only sound in the cavernous dark.

With a sound between a crack and a metallic snap, Cold brought a hand to his jaw and ripped it open, breaking the weld the knife made. His energon waterfalled down onto the walkway, joining the puddle already there. He reached into the flowing blood and tore out the knife where it had embedded itself into the roof of his mouth via his jaw, then let it clatter to the floor.

"I a—m..."The word came out broken, said around the rapidly-slowing flow of pitch energon running from his mouth. "So tired of you."

"Good."

His fist flew forward like black lightning, glowing deep red with Light, carrying with it strength a hundred-fold my own.

A wide, prolonged beam of plasma slowed its journey before it could hit me, then cut it off.

He cried out, more from annoyance than pain, and glared at the offending Images. Three of them were standing next to one another, Plasma Chainguns up and close together, set to beam mode. Cold's attention went back to me. The look was in his multi-lensed optics. The one he'd used on me many times to frighten me to my core. Still me into submission.

I stared back.

"Because I'm tired of you, too."

His only answer was to growl and launch a bolt of Light at me with his newly-regenerated hand.

An Image fell between us as he did, taking the shot in my place. Its crimson ashes joined the others still raining down. "I'm tired of hearing your voice in the back of my head. Bringing my mistakes to the forefront of my thoughts. Taking pleasure in tormenting me."

He fired another bolt, only to be thwarted again by a sacrificial Image.

"But most of all," I said, feeling the tremor in my voice. The loathing beneath it. "I'm tired of you hurting my family."

"You laid the groundwork for all I do," he said, tone mocking. Face smiling. Hiding his frustration behind one more effort to turn me back into a shell. "You are a monster."

"Yeah. Yeah I am."

For a split-second, he looked surprised. Then he looked confused when the sphere didn't flicker. He growled again, summoning his Blade once more, and swung at my helm.

The world became Light.

Deep, dark Light that rumbled and cracked like lightning and thunder. Vibrated the very air with a dangerous, violent electricity that both soothed my pain and burned it into my very soul.

No Blade struck me.

I opened optics I didn't realized I'd closed. Cold's Blade was four feet from my face, shaking lightly from the visible, significant effort of its wielder.

And, stopping the Blade from continuing, were my Light-covered forearms.

Purple, black, blue, green, red, yellow, gold. The Light was all colors, and none at the same time. An iridescent flame that merged with my obsidian armor one moment, enhancing it—adding depth, shine, pop—only to catch fire the next and contrast with my armor.

My optics went to Cold's.

For the first time, they no longer looked terrifying.

"I am not a hero. I am a monster, but I'm also not you. I'm me. Flawed. Broken. Whole. I am a mech who seeks to improve himself while doing what good he can. I am a monster who protects the people close to him. I am both monster and man. And you can no longer control either."

"No." The word was a growl. A rage about to be unleashed. "Guess not."

The same, violent energy around us seeped into my body, flooding me with strength and emotion I could neither identify nor control. It built, then fled.

A dark flash of Light stole away my sight. When it returned, Cold was picking himself up halfway across the walkway, and I remained in place, hands balled into shaking fists as the air around me crackled with Light.

My Light.

The Light spread from my hands, licking its way up my arms and shoulders like an unnatural fire. Then it traveled to the side and down, engulfing my head and my chest. And as it did, it was as if I was breathing and seeing for the first time. I could feel the chill in the air. The anger in my mind. The unfamiliar energy flowing within me, radiating strength, emotion, heat and cold all at once. I could see the individual differences in each flake of raining ash. See the sentient, breathing pulse within my Apex Archive. I could see that colors were alive. Existing not in the ultraviolet, or the visible, or infrared—but something else. Something living.

Life seeks Light. And Light is Life.

"You shouldn't have that yet!" Cold bellowed, voice thunder in the air. The force of his rage forming Darkness around himself. "You never even started your Path!"

As if waking from a dream, my attention returned to Cold. To the Darkness brooding around him. The energy inside me pulsed, and my Light pulsed with it. Both condensed into a single, resounding thought. A concept.

Leap.

My Light burned brighter as I crouched, then jumped. It took me into the air, far above the heads of my Images and across the walkway. Then it took me down. Fast. Too fast to have been gravity's doing. My hands became coated in Light fire that vibrated from my fingers all the way up my arms. Humming songs of death.

Cold watched me approach, and dodged to the side just before I would have brought my Light-coated hands down on his head.

His departure left me to slam down on the walkway itself. The resulting impact sent out a shockwave of Light all around me. An explosion of deep violet fire and sparks surrounding two crackling, swirling vortexes that had formed around my fists and forearms.

I stood, tearing up part of the walkway floor when I removed my fists from the deep dents they formed, and looked toward Cold just in time to duck back from his Blade. It whistled through the air my neck just occupied, its mere presence forming ice crystals on my chin.

"Why are you always given the easy way?!" He bellowed again, advancing with rapid steps, swinging long, wild strikes with his Blade that I was barely able to avoid, even feeling as strong as I did. "You didn't EARN THAT LIGHT!"

"Haven't I?"

On one of his swings, I ducked under instead of away, then came up within his guard. My vortex-laden fist gave off a dangerous hum as I swung up and hit his jaw. The force behind the blow snapped his head to his left and knocked him back half a dozen steps.

"Haven't I gone through enough with you?"

He brought his Blade around again, but in this state of Light-enhanced rage, I saw it coming and punched it backward, giving me another opening to land an uppercut to his chin. The hit staggered him back, and I capitalized. I ducked and spun, sweeping his legs out from under him. He fell on his back with a thud, and I jumped on his chest, keeping him down.

"Haven't you killed enough of my friends for me to get something out of it?!"

"Boy, you've no idea how many it would take for you to earn that."

I screamed as I rained blows down on him. Wide, looping punches that I put more and more strength behind. Unleashed more and more of my anger for him. For what he'd done. For what I'd done. For what I'd failed to do.

He tried dodging or blocking at first, but the speed of my fists and the weight of my fury fell down on him. Quickly, he couldn't keep up. His head jerked with each hit. Left, right, back. But he glared at me the whole time, throwing back his own, black hatred. Even when my punches broke his optics and the snapping back of his head began to dent the floor behind him, his face was set in a scowl.

I kept going. Even when my hands started to break from so many hits. Even as the iridescent Light on my fists turned as white as my rage, and his dark energon splattered back at me.

"I." His head jerked right. "Am." Left. "Tired." Right. "Of." Left. I brought up both hands above my head, their close proximity forming electric bolts of Light I dimly felt arcing between them. "YOU!"

I brought my hands down on his head.

Only for him to grab them.

The feel of his touch seem to suck life from the fiery Light around my fists. Seemed to crack my armor under his strength. With a deep glow of crimson Light, all the damage I'd done to Cold was repaired before my optics. His optics flashed anew with hatred. "Alright. If you want to keep playing with fire, let's play. No more holding back."

An unseen force threw me aside before I realized what was happening. I collided with lines of my Images, felt their bodies break before my Light-covered frame, and kept going until I hit—and bent—the control panels at the inner section of the walkway, directly below the newly iridescent glow of my Apex Archive.

My Images continued the attack they had paused for me to take over, but Cold's hands flashed with his Light, and a new shield formed around him, blocking their assault. His hands flashed again, and he turned his open palm to the right, his optics flashing bright at the same time.

A spark appeared in the air above and behind him. That spark grew rapidly, expanding into a whirling, roaring, oval-shaped, near-transparent vortex leading to a blue tunnel in a sea of stars.

That tunnel led to my cell back home.

I saw a still image of myself standing before Ratchet, then there was a blur, an acceleration of time, then another still image of Moonracer, Ratchet, and Arcee were crowding around my berth while I laid still in it.

The look on Arcee's face broke my spark.

"What is this?"

"The assurance of the inevitable, through the fear of Loss and the fear of Failure."

He held his hands out to the side. Double shoulder-width and level with his chest. Palms up to the sky. Optics aflame with rage and scorn. Invoking the image of a demented prophet of old. New bolts of Light appeared around his shield and hands, arcing brighter, angrier and more dangerous than ever. A hundred lightning storms condensed down to his size.

When he spoke, his voice was that storm. "COME, CRETIN—COME AND MAKE WAR BEFORE THE SLAYER OF ANGORNIX."

My own Light flashed in answer to his challenge, and I gave him just what he wished.

---

It was her turn to operate the space bridge and watch the prisoners. It wasn't a job she wanted. In fact, she would have rather assaulted Shockwave's island than take it.

But orders were orders, and shifts were shifts. No matter how much she didn't like it. She just had to straighten her spine, put on her best scowl to shut up the annoying, pun-loving Decepticon, and avoid looking at the Hard-Light cell to keep her anger in check. Simple enough.

In theory.

"That was when I asked Hacksaw if he hacked before he sawed, or sawed before he hacked," the 'Con said. "'Cause, you know, his main medical tool was a saw. And his name was Hacksaw. He didn't like the joke."

She didn't, either.

"Yeah, I've noticed not a lot of Decepticons like jokes. Like, real ones. Oh, sure—they make jokes. But they don't mean them. They're biting, you know? Like they mean to tear you down. Or make you mad. Or cry. Or want to jump out an airlock in the middle of FTL travel. On fire. While passing a black hole."

That made her briefly glance up from the screens in front of her that displayed the locations of everyone out looking for Ned Booth and his convoy.

The 'Con wasn't looking at her. His gaze was up at the ceiling of his cell. Far away. In a completely other place than the brig.

He grunted, then made a sound of clearing his throat behind his mask. "Yeah. The Decepticons don't like jokes. But this one Neutral they once had to go to for emergency supplies…"

Arcee gritted her denta and looked back to the screens.

"He… Hehe. He kept asking Starscream what the stars did to make him yell."

The coolant for the base reactor was highly acidic by nature. She was the only conscious, mobile person on base. No one would know…

Faintly, she heard a sound like shattering glass. Then something sent a chill down her spine.

Arcee stopped in place, tuning out all distractions. Ignoring the 'Con in the cell. Listening intently to her senses and instincts.

There was something wrong. Different. She could feel it. No longer hear, or see, but feel. Like an itch at the base of her skull. A nagging whine in the back of her helm. A sense that something shouldn't be.

Something was very wrong.

She stood up, paid no heed to how the 'Con stopped his latest story to ask her what was wrong, and kept listening. Looking across the room gave her nothing. No bad feeling, no hesitation. Same with looking behind her and toward the door.

Which left…

She looked toward the side of the room she wanted to ignore.

Her senses went wild. The chill in her spine replied in kind.

It was coming from the cell. His cell. The second prisoner. The one who'd been stupid without so much as a word to her. The idiot who she didn't even want to talk to. Look at. The mech who'd left her alone.

Arcee forced herself to take a breath. She did, and realized she was clenching her fist tight enough stretch the cables in her digits. Calm, she told herself. Being angry wasn't going to do her much good. No matter how much she wanted to hit that mech for being so damned stupid. So absolutely, amazingly, stupendously...

Calm. Calm.

Right. Something was wrong. She felt it. Her instincts in situations like this were rarely wrong. What was happening? What was giving her such a foreboding feeling? What could she do? No matter what that was, what was her next step? She ne—

Her last open bond was forcibly snapped shut.

The shock of suddenly being entirely on her own sapped her of breath. Of focus. Of thought. A burning, cold numbness spread through her, working it way from her spark all the way to the ends of her digits. Alone.

She slammed her walls in place, blocking out the pain and loneliness. Ironhide. There were two reasons he'd ever block a bond. Neither were good. One he'd repeatedly gotten on her for doing. Her optics immediately went to the desk and Ironhide's icon on screen.

His signal read nominal.

So it was the… Second reason? What? He'd blocked her? After how much he knew it would hurt, how long he'd been alone himself? The frag?

The console beeped as someone contacted base. The ID was Ironhide. "Ironhide to base—I need a bridge. It's urgent," he said, blandly.

Arcee snarled and leaned forward in her seat as she opened her end of the channel. "What the frag are you doing, Ironhide?! Stop blocking me!"

"It's urgent."

He cut the connection.

Arcee jerked back as if slapped. He just… Ignored her. What the pit? What was so important he needed a bridge, but didn't need her? Didn't even need their bond?

Fine. If he was going to be like that, she'd rip him apart in person. She approved the request, locked onto her brother-in-bond's coordinates, and activated the bridge. Once sensors showed he'd come through, she turned the bridge off and got up to give Ironhide a piece of her CPU.

She snarled again when the console beeped a second time. The ID was Optimus. "Optimus to base—I need a space bridge. It's urgent."

Fine, she thought with a grind to her denta, barely listening to the full hail. She locked onto Optimus' coordinates and activated the bridge again, setting it to turn off automatically after ten micro-klicks.

Second bridge opened and closed, Arcee stood again and stormed toward the door. Her servos balled into fists. Her optics already hard with anger. Her processor practicing the best curses to throw at Ironhide.

Then she stopped as her CPU caught up to what her audio receptors heard.

Since when did Optimus say the same things as Ironhide?

Before she could further wrap her CPU around that, the brig door opened, and Ironhide and Optimus stepped in.

One look at their optics told Arcee all she needed to know.

They weren't themselves. They weren't the mechs she knew. Their optics were wrong. Too fiery. No balance. It was like looking into boiling cauldrons.

"Open the doors, soldier," Optimus said to her, but it wasn't his voice. It had his own, but it held none of his life. Inspiration. Only his fire.

Shadow' had been right. Somehow, someway, Cold had gotten to the Prime. Exploited something she couldn't even speculate on. And by the way Ironhide was looking at her, Cold got to him, too.

Frag.

"What for, Optimus?" She asked, trying to buy time to assess her options. The brig was a large room since it had been Dinobot-sized. Plenty of room to maneuver. If she could lure them away from the door, she could slip by them. Lock the door behind her. Get more people back here to help.

"Time we put a stop to the madness, Arcee." Ironhide's words were serious, but that bland tone turned them chilling.

"What madness?"

"The madness of keeping a war criminal in captivity instead of a grave," Optimus said.

The chill in her spine became ice.

They were here to kill Shadow'. To execute him while he was in stasis without a blink of an optic. This wasn't them. This was Cold.

And that fact was terrifying.

"I… Um…" She struggled for a moment, reeling. "Why now, Prime? This seems sudden."

"I understand you are fond of him, soldier. But you cannot allow that emotion to cloud your judgement."

"He's hurt you already, Arcee," Ironhide said. "And he'll keep hurting you. Are you ignoring how much pain you're in right now?"

She hadn't even talked to him about that yet. He was tapping into their bond. Using deductions to influence her. After all, Shadowstreaker had hurt her. He'd hurt her by not talking about what bothered him. Hurt her by holding those demons in until he hurt the people she loved. Hurt her by leaving her alone as soon as he saw a hint of an answer to those demons.

But that wasn't worthy of an execution.

"Not ignoring it," she said. "I'm just not sure now's the time."

"Why not?" Ironhide took a step forward, crowding her. "He's out right now. Can't fight back. Can't try tugging at your spark. Can't hurt you."

He was overemphasizing her interests. Trying to influence her decision. Too subtle to be him, but not for Cold.

Delicately, she took a step to match him. "I'm just saying… Maybe we need to run it by the others. Most of them will be quite shocked by this reversal."

"Their opinions are irrelevant in this matter," Optimus said. "For too long, I have prolonged the lives of those who do not deserve life. For too long, I have allowed monsters live in the place of their victims. For too long, I have ignored rationality in favor of morality. I will prolong, allow, and ignore no longer. It is time for the guilty to pay for their crimes."

Even despite knowing enough to realize what was happening, even knowing how twisted Cold was, Arcee could not stop the vice-like dread that gripped her spark as he said those words. His beliefs had been turned on an axis.

"Optimus, we ne—"

"Open the doors, soldier."

Stop calling me that, she thought. But it was passing. Arcee realized this was it. She'd just run out of time to delay, and she was no closer to figuring out what to do. She had nothing. No next step. No time to get help. Nowhere to go.

When she said nothing, Optimus took three steps forward. Arcee could not help but notice how big the Prime was. How he carried the Forge of Solus Prime on his back. How he outweighed her by a factor of ten or more. Larger than most of the opponents she'd faced.

Opponent. Huh.

"Open. The doors. Soldier." There was an edge to Optimus' voice. A hardness he seldom used on his own troops.

So she straightened her spine, put on her best scowl. Then delivered her delayed answer in the clearest, strongest voice she could.

"I can't do that, Optimus."

The Prime's faceplate hardened. His frame language changed. "You are protecting him," he said, in the closest thing to a growl she'd ever heard from him. "Defending a love is understandable. Protecting a traitor and war criminal is inexcusable. Ironhide—restrain her."

Without comment, complaint, or any emotion besides anger, Ironhide stalked forward to grab her in his large, rough servos.

He cried out when she deployed her servo-blades cut his outstretched palm with a lightning-quick swipe.

Just as quickly, she slid backward, creating sparks on the floor, and fell into a defensive stance. Her spark pulses quickened. Her frame faintly shook as it anticipated what was to come.

This was it. No going back now. She'd made her choice clear. Her place was here. Between them and Shadow'.

And she would not be moved.

They stared at her with an anger she did not deserve. With optics that showed how far from themselves they really were. Her brother-in-bond's giant servos became fists that could bend metal and shatter armor. A battlemask sealed away the last trace of familiarity Arcee felt for the mech who used to be Optimus Prime.

"Stand down, soldier." The hardened edge to Optimus' voice had turned to stone. A grating, frightening tone Optimus reserved for but the most terrible of foes. Arcee had been present many times when he used that voice. Always, it had inspired her.

Now, it reminded her of Megatron.

"Make me."

Their optics flashed. Then they charged.

She met it.

---

All was war.

My Images had doubled, tripled and quadrupled in numbers and ferocity. Thousands of them rushed forward only to die to twisted Light. Legions more descended from hordes above to wage war against a corrupt Xel'Tor. Their assaults were a constant roar, and their deaths choked the sky in ashes.

From beyond those ash-choked skies, massive, combined Images fell from places unseen. They came in the forms of tanks, cannons and giant versions of myself. Their firepower shook the very air, and rendered the ground to dust.

The distant Rubions were illuminated yellow, crimson and iridescent. Their barely-moving forms loomed above like mute titans. Watchers of a battle between darkness and Darkness. Monster and monster. Xel'Tor and their replacement.

"POINTLESS!" Cold's voice was everywhere at once. Around us. Amongst us. Inside my skull. His eyes were crimson stars, lit with unfathomable anger and unrivaled loathing. His Light was death, felling Image and titan alike. "I'VE STARED INTO INFINITY. DEFIED HIGHER POWERS. CRUSHED REALITIES UNDER MY HEEL. KILLED GODS. WOULD-BE GODS. DEMIGODS. I ENDED A COUNCIL. NOT EVEN PURITY COULD STAND ALONE AGAINST ME! WHY DO YOU TRY?"

I wasn't sure myself. But I knew I couldn't stop.

I Leapt along the fragments of the walkway. Part of it had been shattered by a bolt of Light that destroyed two combiners at once. Those sundered pieces floated up into the air, heedless of their own weight or gravity. Some of my Images used them as cover, while others used them to gain favorable positions. Swordsmen rained down from them. Falling, with blades deployed, toward Cold's form.

None of them had gotten close.

The fragment I had just Leapt from exploded in Light. The combined Image that had formed a cannon became part of the crimson ash rain.

"YOU ARE NOTHING COMPARED TO ME."

"Yet you fight more than you expected." I had projected my voice the best I could, but it was small in comparison to his. "Yet you feel fear."

"YOU ARE NOT THE UNNATURAL ONE. I FEAR NO OTHER."

I Leapt, flying through air filled with projectiles of all kinds of destructive power, and landed on a lower fragment far away from the last, occupied by a team of Images that fired their Nucleons at the same time at full charge. I wasn't high off the floor, now. Near the edge of Cold's storm. I looked to him just as he looked to me. "Fearing another implies fearing something about them. What they do, or what their presence can bring about."

"SILENCE."

He raised a hand, and I Leapt again just in time to avoid the blinding bolt he sent my way. The group was not as lucky.

I ended up back on the walkway, near where it had broken. All around me were Images innumerable. Wheeled combiners in the form of tanks twice my height and three times that as long. Giant versions of myself that could look Grimlock in the optic. Rank after rank after rank of my standard Images. It was a true army. No, a series of them. And more kept coming. How could I be doing this? How could I be controlling them?

Focus. Think. Rationalize. Fight him.

"It's not the person you fear, is it?" I said, moving in and out of ranks of my Images, never staying still for long. "But what they represent."

"I DEMANDED SILENCE."

A shockwave of Light annailiated the space I had just occupied, felling companies of Images and combiners and throwing me further in the direction I had been moving.

I controlled my travel with a roll, coming up on my feet in a crouch facing Cold. "That Daykiller represents what you fear, don't they? And it's not what they do, or how they do it. It's something a lot more personal."

"YOU KNOW NOTHING, BOY."

I Leapt to avoid the next, angry bolt and landed on an empty fragment of the walkway. "I don't need to. Know why? Because it's finally sunk in you aren't afraid of me; you're afraid of what I represent: a new you. A Xel'Tor that isn't you. You won't be at the top. And that reminds you of your Daykiller."

"YOU KNOW NOTHING."

He sent two tremendous bolts at me, forcing me to Leap up instead of the side. I grabbed the edge of another fragment far above the one he destroyed, and let myself be pulled up by the Images that were already on it. "They beat you, didn't they? You fought them, and lost. That's why you're afraid of them. You fear losing."

"SHUT UP!"

He went to fire another bolt, but at the same moment, the tank combiners fired their weapons in perfect coordination. Iridescent projectiles the same rough diameter as my chest was wide impacted his shield at high-hypersonic speeds. The chaotic clamour of battle seemed to be sucked away as they detonated in a flash of light that reflected off Rubions four or five beyond the first in sight.

Despite Cold's power, the shots made his shield flicker. He was forced to reduce his offensive onslaught to concentrate further on maintaining the barrier.

And that was the sign of weakness I was looking for.

I took a deep breath, focusing inward on my Light. On the way it guided me. Gave me strength. Just as before, the violent, powerful energy it gave me condensed into a thought. A new one.

Crush.

As his bolts lessened, I joined the horde of Images falling from the fragments to attack from above.

I fell through the echoing blasts of weapons fire. Through a gauntlet of swords and faces identical to my own. Through memories of mistakes and the falling ash of Images. My Light shone brightly in that sea of black armor. My fists arced in preparation of connecting with his shield. Of Light meeting Light in a clash that was sure to rock the very Animus.

Cold looked up at me as he vaporized Images and strengthened his shield. At first, he looked furious. Then his face relaxed. Then he did something that chilled me.

He smiled.

---

Arcee ducked under a wild swing that would have put a dent in her helm, then kicked off the offending mech's chestplate to avoid another blow.

"You're defending him!" Ironhide bellowed, throwing more long hooks toward her. "You're choosing him over me!"

Arcee didn't bother with words. She darted forward, inside his reach, and slashed at both of his pedes.

He grunted in pain, but stayed upright and came at her again. She slid between his pedes, coming up smoothly behind him.

Optimus was there, fist already heading for her tank and lower torso.

She slid right, avoiding the full force of the attack but still catching part of it on her hip. It still spun her, and only her training allowed her to use that momentum to spin right back around and open a cut across the Prime's upper pede.

Arcee retreated back, putting some distance between she and them that wouldn't last long. Klicks into their duel, both Ironhide and Optimus bore a dozen or so shallow cuts and gashes, while she remained relatively untouched.

But she wasn't going to keep it up.

She was very skilled in a wide variety of methods of violence, but so were they. She'd invested more of herself into skill, speed, agility. But they had reach. Strength. And there were two of them. One on one, she favored her odds. Two? Not so much. Not for long. Just doing what she was now—staying just out of reach and giving them a minor wound here or there—was taking all of her concentration. Sooner or later, she was going to slip up. And that would be that.

"You are a traitor to the Autobot cause." Optimus came at her again, his much-longer servos so very hard to avoid. His optics so angry that they genuinely disturbed her. "An embarrassment of a soldier. A disgrace of a friend."

"I'm not the one trying to commit murder."

"It will be justice."

He came at her again, forcing her back. Back. Back. Toward the 'Con's cell, where she'd run out of space to move.

Couldn't have that.

Right after dodging Optimus' latest punch, Arcee spun and faced the cold-plasma barrier. With three fast steps, she ran up its slippery surface, then pushed herself back in a flip.

Optimus and Ironhide's angry optics followed her as she sailed through the air, over their helms, and landed behind them in a defensive stance.

"Give up," Ironhide growled, turning his considerable mass around just before Optimus did.

"You cannot delay us forever," Optimus added.

"How can you not even hear yourselves?!" She yelled. "Where can you find the justification? When have we ever done this?"

"It will be justice," they both said.

Same script. "You're gone, aren't you? There's no reaching you."

"It will be justice."

That was all the answer she needed. Arcee set her jaw, gritted her denta, and went on the attack.

She rushed toward them, and they matched her.

It happened so quickly, Arcee didn't at first understand what happened.

They were charging each other, then Ironhide was on the floor, motionless. Optics blank and unseeing. Limbs faintly convulsing. She slowed in alarm, her gaze going to her fallen brother-in-bond.

That was all Optimus needed.

His massive hand impacted her tank with the force of a speeding transport. She was sent flying from the blow, sent sailing backward until her lower backplates hit the desk across the room, and her momentum sent her tumbling over it and the chair behind it.

She groaned, tried to get up, and failed. Her CPU was dazed, made dizzy from the hit. Her tank attempted to purge itself, but she swallowed it back down and looked to Ironhide.

He was still motionless. Still convulsing. She knocked the bond to get him to open it.

That simple act flooded her with suffering.

So much pain. Loneliness. Cold, numbing emptiness. A pit of crushing despair that was rapidly fading to black. Knocking on the her other sealed bonds produced nothing.

Gone.

Something horrible had happened in the Animus. Something so terrible, so horrific, Ironhide was fading from what happened on Chromia's sealed end.

Ironhide was offlining. And she was watching it happen.

Optimus stepped up to the desk, gazing down at her with contempt. He did not round the desk to get to her, but his battlemask remained in place. He reached over the console screen and hit a button without looking away from her.

The door to the locked chamber before Shadow's cell flickered and died. The main door followed after.

Optimus took the Forge of Solus Prime from his backplates. "I will deal with your treachery later, soldier. First, I must carry out a judgement long past due."

"Op… Optimus. I… Ironhide." She could barely hear herself. Could barely form the words. The desperate plea for the Prime to stop. To do something for her brother-in-bond.

The Prime stepped over Ironhide to get to the cell.

Arcee struggled up to her knee-joints, then one pede. The effort nearly destroyed her. It hurt so much, and Ironhide had blocked their bond. She added her own walls to the block, and that let her breathe again. Let her get up fully to her pedes.

Just in time to see Optimus slam the Forge into Shadow's chestplate.

---

Something hit me in the chest. Hard. Harder than I thought possible.

My attack was forgotten. My Light redirected itself from my hand to my chest, searching. My breath left me. I swore I felt my spark stop pulsing.

Instead of landing an attack on Cold from above, I fell at his feet in an uncoordinated heap.

All around me, my Images disappeared in puffs of black smoke. From the tanks, to the cannons, to the standard ones that had been with me since I started fighting back. All of them vanished without warning. Without time to finish their attacks.

The only sound was the weak—oh, so weak—pulse of my spark in my audio receptors, and the crackle of Cold's Light and shield.

He dismissed his Light, dismissed the shield, seeming to punge us in darkness even with the sphere above. "Ah. Right on time," he said, voice rumbling at its normal level once more. "Good thing, too. I was almost having to actually try there for a second."

I… I can't…

Cold stepped over me, cracking his neck. "Though I must say, that was fun. Haven't had a reason to bring out the true power in ages. Sparkles and I could have, but he didn't give me any time. Or a reason. He died pretty quick. So, thanks, I guess."

… Breathe.

"You know what I love about how time works in an Animus?"

My Light danced across my chest, searching. Seeking the wound. There was none.

"The delay. Time is so… Weird here. Everywhere, really. It's not set. Doesn't flow the same in any one place. Events that take place here, in an Animus, can take days, weeks, months, decades to influence reality. Same is true from there to here."

He kicked me in the chest, the act flipping me on my back.

"Unless, of course, there's a more direct link between two points. Like a portal."

The vortex was above me, spinning rapidly. Within it, I saw the frozen moment of Arcee standing above my berth with Ratchet and Moonracer reverse then accelerate in time. People came and went. Sat at the desk and rose to leave.

I saw flashes of combat. Moments in time where three combatants were sped through or frozen in battle.

Where Arcee fought Optimus and Ironhide.

Assurance. He'd said the vortex was assurance. Ironhide and Optimus were his assurance. The tools he'd twisted to carry out his will. He'd sent them after my physical body. And Arcee wasn't letting them close.

I didn't deserve her.

"Then the delay is reduced down to hours. Minutes. Sometimes mere seconds."

Time accelerated. The battle blurred past. Then it slowed to a crawl as Optimus stood at the edge of my berth with Solus' Forge over his helm. Behind him, Arcee was struggling up from the floor.

But Ironhide wasn't moving.

No…

Cold leaned over me, partially blocking my view of the vortex. "Marvelous, isn't it? Seeing how time is mangled by passing between states of existence. How instructions and actions sent from one end to the other don't totally synchronize. That's the only reason the Orphan's mate lived as long as he did. Why there's such a delay between when the Prime hits you and when you feel it."

I felt my spark actually stop as the invisible hammer hit me again.

---

"St… Stop," Arcee choked out, still struggling to breathe.

The clang of the Forge impacting Shadow's double-layered armor rang out from the cell, heedless of her desire.

She forced herself to take a breath, then let it out all at once, "Stop!"

He didn't. The Prime brought the hammer down again, further compressing Shadow's armor.

This couldn't be happening. It had to be a dream. A nightmare. Prime couldn't be under Cold's control. Her brother couldn't be dying.

But it was. Prime had gone mad. Shadow' was being killed before her optics. And she had to do something about it. Anything.

But, then…

Her optics went to Ironhide. He was still online. Just. There was a technique she knew of. A lesser-known, often dismissed technique that sometimes could save a bot from offlining from a spark bond breaking. She might be able to save him. Save one of her siblings.

But Shadow' would surely die without intervention.

The hammer fell again.

Arcee looked between the two mechs of her life. On one side, there lay the brother expiring. On the other side, there lay her potential sparkmate being murdered blow by blow. And there was no time to save them both. It was one or the other. The brother-in-bond, or the future sparkmate.

Then she noticed what key Optimus had pressed.

A plan formed in her helm as soon as she had. A plan that required precise timing, dare, and a touch of luck. There was no time to debate it with herself. No time to consider another option.

She acted.

She darted straight for Ironhide, crossing the room in long, fast strides, and started to count backward. Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen…

Arcee slid to a stop at Ironhide's side and immediately began to remove his chestplate armor with one servo, while she turned the other into a servo-blaster and pointed it at the cell interior. Ten. Nine…

Optimus raised the hammer for a fourth hit.

She fired a single shot.

That shot went through the locked chamber, into the cell, and harmlessly hit the head of the Forge.

Optimus paused.

Come on, she thought. Come on. Six. Five...

The Prime turned to her, optics dark with outrage. He started toward her, leaving the heavily-damaged Shadow' behind. The Forge in his servo dripped energon across the floor. "Do you dare fire upon a superior?"

Two. One…

Just as Optimus crossed the threshold of the cell interior, the timed door release he'd accidentally hit ended. The doors reactivated with a hum, locking the Prime in the locked chamber in front of the cell.

Optimus stopped when the doors activated. He looked forward, then back, then bashed against one of the doors with the Forge. Then again. And again. The Hard-Light didn't even flicker from the assault.

The trapped Prime tossed the Forge to the floor and looked to her. Arcee couldn't hear what he said, or be sure if he even spoke since his battlemask remained in place, but the look in his optics was enough for her.

She looked away and focused on her dying brother-in-bond, adding her second servo to her work. "Stay with me, 'Hide. Stay with me..."

---

I felt myself get hit me again and again. Felt the head of Solus' Forge crush against my chest. Felt my armor stab against my vulnerable intakes and spark for the second time today. Only this time it was real. It wasn't here, in the Animus, but there, in reality. And in reality, there were no Images to fix me.

The hammer stopped.

I didn't notice at first, so caught up in the pain just trying to take a breath caused. Once I realized, it brought no relief. The damage was done. My Images were gone. I could feel my Light beginning to fade away, the guiding force behind it going silent.

Cold had already won.

He looked up at the vortex, arms crossed, head tilted to the side as Arcee tricked Optimus out of the cell. "Really, Prime? You fell for that? How pathetic. I did Orphan-One a favor by killing her; she would have fallen in with the most simple-minded Prime in history."

Cold uncrossed his arms and crouched at my side, looking down at me with a glint in his optics. "You feel like you're dying right now, don't you? That's how it feels to have your bones ground to dust. To have what remains stab your own heart. It's a feeling I always end up inflicting on my opponents." He leaned down so close his face was no more than two feet from mine. "I did tell you that you couldn't win."

He had. And he'd been right all along. This whole time, this whole fight, he'd never been in real danger. He'd only doubted his ability to control me, never whether he would win or not. I might as well have been tickling him, with how ineffective I was.

What is an Ardent without their Emitter and Shard?

My optics went to the vortex above us. Off to the side, outside the cell, the Omni Saber remained embedded in the floor.

"This was the only way it could go," he said, standing. "You had raw strength, I give you that. Images. Those are rare beyond belief. But you're an amateur at this. At Summoning. And I'm Beyond at it. Honestly, you never even had a chance."

No. I hadn't. He'd said it himself: I couldn't win without my Shard. But he'd called the Omni Saber one.

And it had appeared next to me.

He opened his hand. His Blade appeared in it, dark and jagged. Absorbing what little light remained here. "Say hi to the Orphans if you see them. You'll all be together soon."

As he went to stab me, I focused on the Omni Saber in the vortex. On my Light. On that surging, violent and instinctive energy that guided me from the start. Only traces of it still remained, but what little that did I directed into one last, desperate action. One last concept I did not understand.

Come.

---

She manually pulsed Ironhide's spark.

It was much like how humans could keep hearts going by squeezing them in their hand. Only it involved keeping the spark rotating within its housing, and that it, by nature, was a far more intimate act purely due to the nature of a spark. But when a life was on the line, there was no room for modesty.

"Stay with me," she said for the thousandth time, avoiding looking up. She'd moved to Ironhide's other side, mostly because it gave her better access for keeping Ironhide's spark pulsing. But it meant Optimus was in her peripheral vision, glaring. Occasionally slamming a servo into the walls of his makeshift cage.

"He's just like the stories…"

Arcee didn't waste time telling the 'Con otherwise. She needed to keep Ironhide's spark pulsing until Ratchet and Moonracer got back. She'd contacted them. They were trying to get back, but Optimus or Ironhide had done something to the bridge when they arrived. No doubt Cold's doing. They were making progress fixing it remotely, but they needed time. And she was going t—

The Omni Saber ripped itself from the ground.

The crack of it breaking the floor left her hearing disrupted. The orange flash and sound of shattering duraglass that filled the room as the Omni Saber tore through the main cell's Hard-Light left her disoriented.

The Omni Saber's disappearance into the air above Shadow'—right where she felt something didn't belong—left her in shock.

---

Cold's Blade descended and pierced me.

I didn't feel it at first. Then it was all I felt. The cold. The emptiness of its existence. The way it seemed to devour me from the inside out. Stealing away my soul as Cold smiled that disturbed grin.

That grin turned to a gasp as the Omni Saber came flying through his chest.

It cut through him like he wasn't even there, with the sound of metal being torn asunder the sole indication there was any resistance. The Omni Saber impaled him to the floor, its impossibly sharp blade sinking deep into the walkway floor right next to my helm.

Time stopped.

Cold stood there, looking down at the Shard protruding from his chest, speechless. Boastless. Uncomprehending of the deep obsidian sword that was coated in his dark energon.

He collapsed.

Not to the floor, but forward, along the path of the Omni Saber's edge. His own Blade vanished in smoke as he fell to his knees limply, then further still. He almost landed on top of me, only catching himself at the last second. The energon pouring from his chest said the wound was mortal, and his flickering optics showed that it wasn't something he could heal.

Darkness surrounded us, and those optics locked on mine. Despite how dim and fitful they were, the pure, black hatred was unmistakable. "Round one… To you."

Then he vanished in his reverse-flash.

The Animus came to life.

The darkness surrounding everything became a breathtaking sunset. The walkway began repairing itself. The Rubions moved in full, shifting in shape so quickly and in such complex ways it was hard to follow them. My Apex Archive became a green star, strong and bright and alive. A great weight I hadn't felt crushing my head until now suddenly lifted.

The air warmed.

He was gone. Not retreated or moved. Gone. Nowhere in sight or mind. Nowhere.

The pain in my chest suddenly didn't seem so bad. The phantom pain of his Blade lingered only for a few moments more. The breath I forced into my intakes felt like the deepest, most refreshing breath I'd ever taken, energon included.

Slowly, I rolled myself off my back and onto my tank, and from there up to my knees. The twilight stretched out in all directions, dark enough to create deep shadows, and light enough to see further than could be possible anywhere else. There was no ice in sight.

I won.

… But the cost of that victory was too high. Far too high.

Light flashed. Bright white, radiant Light. It was not as blinding as before.

The Being appeared before me, its eyes as ancient and intense as ever. Robes fluttering behind it. Its mere presence banished my aches and pains. The wound Cold created in my torso sealed. The feeling of my chest being crushed from Solus' Forge faded.

The Being looked down at me, towering far above my helm even if I had been standing. Its eyes like staring into the hearts of twin stars. "Your Trial ends, and not in the manner as the Last," it said, the countless tones of its voice thunder with no fury. "A Centurion who long earned his time for Rest now basks in Glory. A Fallen Centurion has fled. You have begun your Path with minimal wasted time. With minimal Steps. Just as The One said."

Its presence angered me at first, brought forward the knowledge it had done something to Megatronus and Solus. Inspired rage at the fact it could have helped me. Could have stepped in, banished Cold. The Mech would still be alive if it had. Chromia and Elita would be alive.

Its last words turned that anger into puzzlement. "Wait… What?"

"The Moon is Setting. He is ahead of you, and You are Behind. The Council remains Broken. Fractured. Time is short; Hope is scarce. The Xel'Tor is Needed. You adapt to Acceleration under the correct circumstance."

This was planned. This was all planned. Put together to break me. Influence me. Direct me on a path I never asked for. Then put me back together like some damned child who wanted to see what was inside his toy. "You… Planned this?"

"We are the Instrument. He planned all."

I started to shake. Not from fear, or weakness. Rage. Rage against all that had gone against me. Rage for all who were responsible for those things. "You took away my family."

"With all Life at stake, Paths grow dark."

"You took my creators away."

"They disobeyed our Instruction. We forced their hand."

"You used them. Used my creators. Elita. Chromia. You used them to change me. Then you tossed them aside like trash."

"We have done no such thing."

"You LET THEM DIE!"

"Do not forget your place."

It did not yell the words. Did not change the volume of its voices. But it shook the Animus when it spoke. Colored the air with command. Summoned forth the authority of Creation itself. It seemed to grow a thousand-fold in size, while I seemed to shrink. I was less than an ant under the stars that were its eyes. Less than dirt before its presence.

"You stand before the Higher Power of Sha-Col-Noal, Voice of The One, Overseer of the Cycle, Tribunal of the Realm of Mortals. Our sovereignty is absolute. Our Power a Gift from The One Himself. Our will is From Above. You will cease your fury."

I stilled in mind and body, awed into submission. My head lowered instinctively, away from the sight of The Being's powerful gaze.

The Being seemed to shrink once more, returning to its normal size. Its presence making me feel only like a small child instead of less than nothing. "We act not for pleasure, nor from cruelty. You were Sleeping, and the Xel'Tor is Needed."

It said nothing else. I could feel it staring at me—through me. Waiting. I dared to look up again. To meet its eyes. "But I don't even… Want this."

It looked at me, etheric smoke rising from its eyes, not saying a word.

"I don't want to be special. I don't want to be here," I gestured wildly around me, feeling that instinctive power surge inside me. "I don't want to have some kind of higher calling. I don't want any of this!"

"And what do you want?"

Of all it could ask, that one, simple question threw me off. What did I want? From life? From it? From everything that happened?

What did I want?

The Being stepped forward so that it stood one large pace away. Its flaming eyes met mine. "What do you want, Child of Realities, Son of Solus, Man of Megatronus, Key of Doors?"

Not this.

Not the whirlwind of events following me. Not the entities that sought me. Not the chaos of my own mind. Not the Shard at my side. The Light in my hands. The Animus around me. I wanted none of them. So what did that leave?

My optics went to the vortex Cold had made. It was still there, defying the laws of physics. Within it, I saw the Omni Saber obey the instinctive command I gave it. Saw my cell turn to Hard-Light mist by its journey. Saw Optimus turn to me.

Saw Arcee do the same while saving Ironhide's life.

An image formed in my head. A longing desire that, until that moment, I hadn't fully realized or given thought. It was us, far away on a planet I had never called home. We had a house. A modest one, with a yard of organic and inorganic earth. There was no war. No fighting or conflict. Just us. Our laughter. Mine, deep and bass and resonating against the walls; hers, higher and infectious and music to my spark.

And other laughter, too. Other voices. Some high like hers, some low like mine. Then some higher still, innocent of the sins of the damned. Of the horrors of war and strife. Loving in a way that was forgotten in exchange for understanding just a piece of the universe.

I looked away. The Being still stared at me, primeval eyes gazing into my soul. "You already know, don't you?"

"We do," it said. "But we fear you may not be Destined for such a life." Its eyes flashed, and the vortex vanished and reappeared behind me. "Our time is up. Heed our Instruction. Upon your Return, Breathe. What will happen after will repair your body."

Even as I listened to those words, I didn't grasp them. Didn't understand them. Not fully. Not even when the Omni Saber flew back into the vortex. My mind was still filled with the image I'd made. On the laughter.

"We have granted Sorrow and Inspiration their Chance, as you were granted yours," The Being went on. "But not in the same way. We have put them where they are needed. Once you have Breathed, Seek them out, as you must Seek the Shards and the Emitters. Without either, the Council has already failed."

Why wouldn't I get that laughter? What was stopping me? I looked to The Being, demanding an answer. "Why not?"

And, even when it had just told me things of significance, The Being knew what I was asking. "Because we are the Vok, and we are no longer enough."

Its eyes flashed again. I was thrown from my knees, into the air, and—with the Omni Saber flying after me—through the vortex.

---

Arcee jolted.

Her spark went crazy, pulsing erratically, strongly. Full of life and strength she had not had but a moment ago. The bonds she had slammed her walls in front of cracked the immovable, mental and emotional barrier.

Tentatively, she lifted her damaged walls. There, unmistakably, were three presences she could feel. Only one was open. The other two were blocked. Surrounded. Walled off as strongly as she could wall of them. But present. A path that led to something.

She hadn't realized she'd stopped manually keeping Ironhide's spark going until the mech weakly removed her servo from the inside of his chestplates.

Arcee shook herself and focused on Ironhide, both physically and in bond. He said nothing to her, or at anything. His optics were distant and glossy. But he was online without her assistance. And, from what she felt in their bond, he was growing stronger by the moment.

Did that mean…?

She turned her optics to Optimus. To the Prime's own optics that looked groggy. Confused. Alarmed. As if waking from a nightmare.

She looked beyond the Prime. Beyond the arcing orange mist that had been the cell walls. She looked to Shadow'. To the air that felt wrong.

Out of that air, the Omni Saber came again.

It was a dark blur. A flash of pure black. It embedded itself into the floor once more, just in front of the berth.

And that berth's occupant jerked to life.

Arcee was up in a pulse, the stabilizing Ironhide no longer top priority. But she caught herself. Reminded herself why Shadowstreaker had been in an induced stasis. Why he'd made her promise. Why it was barely worth noting a sword disappearing and reappearing from thin air.

She advanced slowly, cautiously. With blade and blaster deployed. Her spark urged her forward when Shadow' coughed up energon. It shouted when he rolled and fell to the floor. But she kept her resolve. Kept her nerve.

Until he took a breath

The Hard-Light mist condensed. Moved. Pulled from the air in an angry orange whirlwind that began at Shadow's mouth.

The mist arced around him and over him, creating miniature, orange lightning bolts centered around his chestplates. Before her optics, she watched as those bolts decompressed his armor. Righted dents. Healed cracks and breaks.

She kept watching as the Omni Saber answered those bolts of Hard-Light. The Thirteen artifact rose into the air, attracting bolts to its obsidian surface. It pulsed with an energy neither Hard-Light nor Cybertronian in nature.

Then it split apart.

Nigh-indestructible metal broke. Shifted. Molded. Changed. What was once a sword nearly as large as the Star Saber became thousands and thousands of tiny bits of metal. Bolts of the arcing mist grabbed hold of those pieces and pulled them toward Shadow', attaching them to—or around—his body.

In the space of one breath, it was over.

The mech before her was not Shadow', or Cold, or the Mech. He was all of them. Shadow's build and height. Cold's jagged, dangerous-looking armor. The Mech's floating parts at his shoulder-joints, pedes and servos. The Primic rune of both. A single, iridescent rune, etched just below Solus' mark on either side of his helm.

That rune was the last piece that connected to him, and when it did, he opened his optics. For a moment, they were angry orange, and looked like fire. They locked on her, focusing in with an intensity she found frightening.

She raised her servo-blaster in response.

The fire faded. Their color changed. She was left with the familiar, royal cobalt optics she loved. They looked strained. Exhausted. Weak. But something inside her liked how they looked at her.

Shadow's gaze didn't leave her as he slowly eased himself up and against the berth behind him, taking deep, slow breaths. Filling freshly-healed intakes. Slowing the pulse of a spark that had been nearly crushed.

He smiled at her, and that smile mirrored every ache and pain she saw in his optics. "Hi."

---

The cycle progressed exactly as Soundwave anticipated.

The additional security at the Black Sites on Earth had proven pointless, as Megatron had built Black Sites across the Sol System. Over the last seven breems, Black Sites on Pluto, Mars, Titan, Mercury, Venus and Earth's moon had fallen. No survivors had been found. No evidence appeared to be left behind.

Starscream had ordered a lockdown on all Decepticon activity. All mines were shut. All bases put on Alert Red. All patrols spread throughout the system and put on standby in case another Black Site went dark.

Effectively, the Decepticons were sitting still, waiting for the next attack from a foe they could neither track nor fight. Soundwave felt little in the way of emotion, but he sensed it better than most. The current emotional of the Decepticons was poor. Shockwave had shown open disdain for what was occurring throughout the Decepticon Network within the system. Dreadwing had twice requested alterations to patrol patterns. And Starscream's anxiety levels had reached a critical point.

Add in general stress and unexaggerated rumor, and even the drones were apprehensive. Fearful of an enemy they could not see. It was just one more added factor to a situation that, if not managed quickly, could turn very ugly, very quickly.

Unless every helm could be rallied behind the same idea.

Soundwave was working on that.

He was in front of his terminal on the bridge. The one he designed for his use alone. It was his center for his intelligence operations and analyzing the file from Delta-Bravo.

For every Black Site that had fallen, another portion of the file had unlocked itself. Not before, or from the software Soundwave deployed to decode the file. It only unlocked itself. And as before, each fallen Black Site was followed by an image of a letter appearing in the file. There had been six added recently.

V. N. P. A. E. S.

When added to the two already unlocked—J and R—they made eight. Eight randomized letters resulting from nine Black Site attacks. Delta-Bravo was the start. Soundwave was uncertain of the end. This unseen enemy was searching for something. Something they thought Megatron had. What? What did they seek?

Why the letters?

He had struggled with that question. Struggled with the confoundingly advanced nature of the file itself. There were many words that could be formed with those eight letters. Many more that were illogical to use in the situation. He had spent a significant portion of his time pouring over words. Attempting to see meaning in them. Project designations. Titles. Planets. Locations.

It was in locations that he had found an answer. For the letters, when translated to human English, matched fewer locations than in the Decepticon archives. Still, the search had been long and spread across a hologram of Earth he used to assist his work.

Until he had accounted for the ninth Black Site attack. The first one. The only Site that had not produced a letter, but a file. An unnamed file. Nothing that identified it, but whose existence was undeniable. Unavoidable.

A blank space.

That search modification produced one result: Jasper NV.

It was a town in the state of Nevada, of the United States of America. It had a population of several thousand. An economy made up primarily of healthcare and financial services.

And was near the center of an area thirty kilometers in diameter that available sensors could not see into.

Such an anomaly was uncommon in nature. Unseen on Earth. Statistically improbable when accounting for Jasper being home to the three young humans that had been seen in the past with the Autobots.

But he had to be sure. He did not report intelligence that was flawed, unresearched. Worthless. That was why he had—as their sightings grew more and more uncommon—dismissed the importance of the human children.

That was why he was watching a feed on his terminal. A live feed of a drone he had sent into the area. To the outskirts of the dark zone. The drone flew well for an automatic, but it lacked skill. Instinct. Everything Laserbeak had excelled in, when she had still followed him.

When any of his Cassettes followed him.

The drone was close now. Close to the edge of the dark zone. If Soundwave lost its signal, he'd know for sure that dark zone came from an Autobot cloaking field. He consulted the map. Eight hundred meters to go.

The feed from the drone was clear. Displayed perfectly the desert below it. The Earth sky. The empty roads crisscrossing the land.

The eight hundred meters ran out. The drone's feed cut out. Soundwave had his answer.

Jasper, Nevada hid a secret. A secret known by the enemy that had ravaged Decepticon Black Sites. A secret that, for reasons he did not know, their enemy had now shared.

The Autobots were in Jasper.

Soundwave opened a channel to Starscream. He had intelligence to report.

---

And so, Cold is gone. After three years, Cold's gone. The character I put in on a whim. Who was meant to be a throw-away, thrice-featured character who wasn't a person, has finally left the building. Holy crap, did his role blow up.

And The Being! Oh, The Being. I finally gave an excuse to give just a bit of what it is. Just a tease of what it's doing. That's been in the works since... let me see. 2013? Yeah, 2013. Been a while.

Oh, and some other stuff happened this update, too.

This chapter, while taking more than nine months to write, was a tremendous amount of fun. Particularly these last two months, when the dark ages of my muse finally lifted, and I was able to write something other than a prompt on DeviantArt. (My username is the same there as here, if you want to check out some Mass Effect stuff).

However, event though this update was stupid fun to write, the next two are going to be even more fun. Stay tuned.

This chapter has two credit songs, on account of how long it is.

The first credit song for this chapter is "Ryan Amon - One" This song is a mixture of intrigue and ambiance. It starts slow, gradually building intensity, yet never hammers away at you. Never accelerates in tone or feeling too quickly. I find it a perfect companion theme for the end of Shadowstreaker's last scene and up to the end of Arcee's.

The second credit song for this chapter is "Moon & Sun - Beyond" This track begins with a menacing, dark, forbidding theme that appears again at the end. In my opinion, it suits the ending scene rather well.

Thank you for reading. If you liked what you read, please share or suggest it to a friend. And if you really liked it, leave a comment. They are the lifeblood of all writers, and it takes just a few seconds to leave.

See you soon.