"Come out wherever you are, little one."

He huddled under the seat, hardly daring to cycle air as his pursuer stalked past his hiding place. He knew he couldn't hide forever… but if he could just put off the moment of discovery a little longer…

"Where are you?" the hunter asked, voice a low, taunting sing-song as he turned around and crept closer. "I know you're in here… I can smell you…"

The thought of his pursuer sniffing him out was too much, and he snorted in laughter. It was a single burst of sound, no longer than a couple astroseconds, but it was enough to catch the mech's attention anyhow. Optics flashing, he strode towards the chair and swooped down to grab the little mech.

"Gotcha!"

He shrieked and kicked his legs as hands snatched him up… and let out a whoop of laughter as his captor tossed him into the air and caught him. Strong arms held him aloft a moment longer before cradling him close, and he giggled in delight as the larger mech sat down in the chair that had been his hiding place.

"Well, this has been a welcome respite," the mech rumbled, holding him to his chest. "But we have to get back to work now, little one. This war won't win itself."

He didn't understand quite what the mech was talking about, but he made his voice heard anyhow - a string of meaningless syllables that were his best attempt at mimicking the older mechs' speech patterns.

"Interesting strategy," the older mech noted, laughing softly. "I question some of the tactics, however. I'll take it under advisement, though."

He brightened, thrilled that he'd gotten a response, and babbled again.

"Ah, excellent point - we need to tighten our defenses in that quadrant." A massive hand rested atop his helm and rubbed gently. "We're going to make this universe a better place, little one. We are going to change the course of destiny."

None of those words meant anything to him, but he chattered and squealed anyhow.

"I'm glad you agree. Now hold on tight - we're going into transwarp."

He clutched the larger mech tightly as the ship vibrated around them, gearing up for a leap across space. The strength and power and deep voice this mech commanded should have been terrifying… yet they were comforting and safe to him. He trusted this mech utterly, looked up to him with utter devotion.

It was only natural, of course, that a sparkling adore their creator, the mech or femme who had given them life. If he could only see his face… a face that seemed to vanish into mist every time he tried to focus on it...

"PRIME!"

Optimus snapped to attention, his gaze darting from the window to Ratchet. "What?"

"If you're done steel-wool-gathering over there, you can help me pack up my scanner! Is there some kind of regulation that the medic has to pack all his own gear or what?!"

Optimus shook his head, clearing away the last fragments of memory, before hurrying to the white mech's side. "Just tell me where everything goes, and I'll make sure it gets there."

Ratchet nodded, his frown fading somewhat. "At least I know you'll be careful with all this sensitive equipment. A few other jokers I know would likely drop or step on something important."

"You know Bumblebee and Bulkhead mean well," Optimus replied with a smile, disassembling the medical scanner and carefully stowing the pieces in the proper crates. "Their enthusiasm just overrides their common sense sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Ratchet repeated, arching an optic ridge.

"Don't worry, I have them out on a mission at the moment," he told the medic. "They're going to see if they can find any trace of the Dinobots and determine if they want to come to Cybertron with us or stay here. They'll stay out of the way while we get everything packed up and transported to the new base."

"Not sure I trust those idiots with the Dinobots anymore than I trust 'em with my equipment," Ratchet grumbled. "If they come back scorched or bitten or stomped on, they better not come crying to me."

"They won't."

Ratchet nodded sharply and dug into one of the crates, grumbling as he rearranged the parts to better suit his tastes. From the way the items clunked and clanged together Optimus worried he'd break something important, but the medic seemed to know what he was doing, so he didn't voice a protest.

Optimus looked down at the component in his hands, idly turning it over in his fingers. Dismantling Ratchet's workshop was a necessary step in moving their headquarters from this old factory to the new facility closer to Sumdac Tower… but he couldn't suppress a pang in his spark at the thought of leaving. The new base would be completely up-to-date, with Cybertronian technology and better access to the satellites and other tools that would help them track down the remaining Decepticons on this planet. But this factory had been home, comforting and familiar, and though run-down and crumbling it had the sort of charm and history to it that only old buildings possessed. In an odd way, he knew he would miss it.

Don't mope about it, he told himself. This is a change, yes, but it's a change for the better. You'll be better able to help the humans AND the Autobots at the new base. Besides, it's not as if you're leaving Earth entirely…

"PRIME!"

Ratchet's shout startled him so badly that he nearly dropped the component, and took some rather inelegant fumbling and flailing to catch it again. "What is it?"

"Stop staring off into space and hand me that!" Ratchet snapped. "What's going on in that head of yours? CPU slowdowns? Do I need to do a virus scan before I close up shop?"

Optimus shook his head and handed the part over. "No, Ratchet… I just have a lot on my mind, is all."

Ratchet raised an optic ridge, then dropped the part into the appropriate crate with a resounding THUNK. "The news about Prowl being still online?"

"Among other things." Optimus thoughtfully ran a hand over the workbench. "I still don't understand how he could have survived that merge with the Allspark. His chassis was completely gray… yet somehow his spark hung on…"

"The scientists are still tryin' to figure it out," Ratchet noted. "Wish they'd hurry up and figure it out so we can get him back. Place isn't the same without him."

Optimus nodded. They had left Prowl on Cybertron when they had returned to Earth to complete their work, assuming that his chassis would be interred with full honors. It had been a shock to all of them to learn that the medics, while conducting an autopsy, had found his spark still clinging to life, barely a flicker but still burning with a tenacity that had startled them all. First Aid and Pharma sent back frequent updates, and the last they had heard Prowl had come fully online and seemed aware of his surroundings, though wasn't quite coherent enough to receive visitors yet.

Like Ratchet, Optimus hoped that Prowl made a full and swift recovery, and that the scientists finished their studies on him soon. Theirs was a tight-knit team, and they felt Prowl's absence all too keenly. Even Jazz spending more time among them wasn't enough to fill in that gap… and though he liked Jazz well enough, he was no replacement for their old friend.

"What else is eatin' you, kid?" Ratchet asked, sitting down on a crate. "Get it off your chest now, before the lunatics come back."

"I'm fine," Optimus insisted. "You might be a medic, but I'm not sure you're a qualified psychiatrist."

"Har-har," Ratchet retorted. "And I don't recall YOU being a qualified comedian either. Spit it out, Prime. I'm a tough mech, I can handle whatever it is."

Optimus sighed and sat down on the workbench, staring down at his feet. "Just… so much has happened in so short a time. I'm still trying to process it all - capturing Megatron, identifying Longarm Prime as a Decepticon agent, rescuing Omega Supreme, Prowl's near-death experience… it's a lot for a few days' work." He shook his head, chuckling ruefully. "If someone had told me back at the orphanage that I would be the mech who took down Megatron, I would have told them they were a few chips short of a full processor."

"Don't knock your origins, kid," Ratchet chuckled. "The greatest mechs often rise from humble beginnings. Just don't let it swell your head like SOME mechs we could mention - and who the SLAG let a dog in here?"

Optimus glanced up to watch the robotic canine dart into Ratchet's workshop, barking furiously as it ran in aimless circles. A short, plump man with a shock of black hair striped with white chased after it, panting with the effort. Despite his wistful mood, Optimus couldn't help a chuckle at the sight.

Ratchet rolled his optics and raised an arm, extending the prongs of his electromagnet. The robot dog yipped as it floated in the air and into the medic's outstretched hand.

"You can't even control the pets you build, can you?" he grumbled, handing the mechanical beast back to Professor Isaac Sumdac.

"I'm still working out the kinks," Isaac replied, gathering the dog in his arms. "Masterson did a number on Sparkplug's circuits when he reprogrammed him, but perhaps with a few more tweaks… ah, sorry, I'm rambling."

"You're just fine, Professor," Optimus assured him with an easy smile. "What brings you here? I thought you were overseeing the construction of the new base."

"I came to see if Sari was here," Isaac replied. "She is rarely home anymore, and I thought perhaps she was spending time with her friends here. But I haven't seen a sign of her."

"She's on Cybertron at the moment," Ratchet noted. "Kid managed to sweet-talk some higher-ups into letting her enroll in classes and learn more about the Cybertronian way of life. Suppose that makes sense, given her origins."

"...oh." The professor gazed down at the robotic pup in his arms, his expression drooping. "She… never told me where she was going. She didn't even say goodbye."

"I'm sure she was just over-excited about learning more about her Cybertronian heritage," Optimus assured him. "Still… the next time I'm on Cybertron, I'll contact her and remind her to stay in touch with you. Just because she's a technorganic doesn't mean she needs to forget her human origins… or her family."

Isaac nodded. "Thank you, Optimus. Your friendship means a great deal to me." He made for the door, then stopped and turned to face the Autobots with a puzzled expression. "My apologies, but I couldn't help overhearing something about… an orphanage?"

Ratchet snorted. "Yes, an orphanage in a place called Nunya."

"Nunya?" Isaac repeated.

"As in 'nunya business.'"

Optimus snorted as he struggled to hold back a laugh. "And here Bumblebee claims you have no sense of humor. But in all honesty… it's not a big secret, Ratchet. We can tell him." He turned his attention back to the human. "I spent most of my sparkling-hood in an orphanage in Iacon back home. It wasn't a terrible life, but… not the most illustrious of origins, I suppose."

"Ah." Isaac set Sparkplug down, and the dog busied itself with sniffing every square inch of the floor as the scientist sat down on the floor. "Then… we have something in common, I think. I lost my parents when I was very young, and lived for several years in an orphanage in India."

"Oh dear… I'm sorry for your loss," Optimus told him.

Isaac shook his head. "It has been many years. I was a little boy when my parents passed, and while I still miss them, time has helped heal the wounds." He patted Sparkplug's head when the dog veered within reach. "I was adopted by an American couple when I was twelve, and have lived here ever since. Not an illustrious origin, as you say, but origins do not always determine what we become, eh?"

"That's true," Optimus acknowledged with a bit of a smile. "Though I was never adopted - I got my adult upgrade while still in the orphanage, and like all orphans who never get adopted I was shipped off to the Academy first thing." And was expelled for the little jaunt that had cost him two friendships, he thought, but decided not to bring that up right now.

"If I may ask… you mentioned you were a sparkling. That's like a child, right?"

Optimus nodded.

"I thought the term was 'protoform,' though," Isaac replied with a puzzled frown. "And… how do Cybertronians have children? Certainly not the biological way…"

"'Protoform' is the term we use for a body that hasn't received a spark yet," Ratchet explained. "We use 'sparkling' for a protoform that's just received a new spark from a parental mech, or 'youngling' for a protoform that's given life directly from the Allspark." He shifted, the crate beneath him creaking under his weight. "Most mechs come directly from the Allspark, but when we lost the Allspark after the war more and more young mechs were brought about through sparking. Some claim it's an inferior method, but some of our best mechs were sparked rather than brought forth from the Allspark." He nodded at Optimus.

"So you don't need the Allspark to reproduce?" asked Isaac, his eyes bright with curiosity. "You can create new life on your own?"

"'Course we don't, otherwise the Council would have thought twice about launching it into space - or at least we HOPE they would have." Ratchet rolled his optics, making it clear just how much he trusted that particular governing body. "Any mech can spark a child - they just take a protoform and imbue a portion of their own spark into it. It's generally recommended they use a much smaller protoform than normal, though, since the newspark will be too small to support a full-sized protoform."

"Like the protoform that became Sari," Isaac noted. "So you are saying… that when I touched the protoform, I sparked a newspark somehow?"

"I have no fragging idea how the kid came about," Ratchet admitted. "What happened there is something we'll only be able to understand through dedicated study, and whether we get any of THAT done depends on if she holds still long enough for us to do it."

"I doubt she will want to be made a test subject anyhow," Isaac admitted. "So… you were sparked, Optimus? You had parents?"

"At least one parent," he replied. "Two parents are recommended for creating a sparkling, as both their energies will combine to form a stronger newspark, but one can manage it. I have some faint memories of a parental figure… but none of a second parent."

"Do you remember what happened to him?" Isaac asked. "Or… should I not pry? I'm sorry, I didn't stop and think how painful this must be for you…"

"It's all right," Optimus assured him. "I don't mind talking about it. Though there's not much to tell, to be honest. My memories from my sparkling days are rather patchy - I remember bits and pieces, but nothing completely clear until the orphanage."

Though that wasn't to say that there weren't fragments floating about in his CPU. Nothing definite enough to determine exactly what had happened, but still troubling - shouts, screams, rough hands snatching him out of a dark corner, a too-small cage crammed with sobbing and whimpering mechs…

"You're doin' it again, Prime," Ratchet snapped. "Come back to us."

Optimus shook his head. "Sorry. It's just been on my mind a lot lately. Thoughts of my father, and my past."

Ratchet shook his head. "Dwelling on it won't help, Prime. Your father most likely died in the war. We lost a lot of good mechs and femmes in those dark times, and the best thing to do is mourn them and move on."

"But his father could still be alive!" Isaac protested. "That means that perhaps, with Megatron in prison and the fighting over, he can try to find him!"

"Don't get his hopes up," Ratchet advised. "Too many mechs have tried to track down lost relatives after the war, and most of them end up disappointed - either their loved ones are offline or there's just no trace of them. Plenty of ways to make a mech vanish entirely, and not all of them end in death."

Optimus winced. No, compared to some fates, death was a mercy. Slavers and mercenaries had abounded in the final days of the war, profiting off the misfortune of others and taking advantage of the chaos to fatten their own pockets. And plenty of mechs had been assumed killed in the fighting, only to be recovered from slave ships in deep space… if they were ever recovered at all.

"There could still be a chance, though." Isaac insisted. "He can still try, right?"

"I still have duties to carry out here," Optimus replied. "There are still pieces of the Allspark to recover, and Starscream's clones to round up. Not to mention tracking down any other mechs the Allspark fragments might have created, like Wreck-Gar and the Constructicons."

Isaac nodded. "But that shouldn't take you forever. After you're done, I suggest you find out what happened to your father. Who knows - perhaps he's out there looking for you!"

"It's been vorns!" Ratchet protested. "Even if the mech's still alive, he's probably given up looking. Face it, it's like looking for a screw in a scrapheap."

But Professor Sumdac's words had struck a chord deep within Optimus, sending a jolt of energy through his spark. He'd always assumed that whatever had separated him from his family had also killed his father, but what if his father was still alive? What if, rather than give up his sparkling for dead, he was searching the cosmos for any sign of him? Would it be possible to track him down, and be reunited with him once and for all?

"Do you really think he'd be looking for me?" he asked.

Isaac smiled. "I'm a father, Optimus. And if there's one thing I know, it's that a father will move mountains and cross galaxies for their child."

Optimus smiled in return. "Thank you, Professor. That means a lot to me."

"You're welcome." He waited for Sparkplug to swerve close again, then snatched him up in his arms. "Let me know if I can be of any assistance. You Autobots have done so much for me - when I don't even feel I deserve it much of the time. It's the least I can do for you."

"Professor, we don't hold you responsible for your actions as Megatron's captive," Optimus assured him. "You don't owe us anything. But we'll let you know if we need your help."

"What Megatron made you do, no," Ratchet added. "Now for reverse-engineering your fortune out of the remains of a Cybertronian, even if the mech in question was Megatron-"

Optimus had just opened his mouth to tell Ratchet to stop talking when his comm unit pinged, and he touched the side of his helm. "Bulkhead, Bumblebee, what's the situation?"

We got a problem, boss! Bumblebee informed him. Dinobots are here, but so are some of Starscream's copycats! And it looks like they've sweet-talked the Dinobots into joining up with them! They got us pinned down in Meltdown's old lab!

Optimus stood, ready to bolt for the door at a moment's notice. "How many clones?"

At least two, boss, Bulkhead chimed in. The purple one and the femme one. No sign of the blue one.

"If Skywarp and Slipstream are there, then Thundercracker's not far behind," Optimus noted, using the temporary designations they'd come up with to avoid just calling the clones "the purple one" and similar nicknames all the time. "Hold on tight. Ratchet and I are on our way!"

You might wanna hurry, Bumblebee advised. I'd kinda like to NOT be stomped flatter than a plutonium pancake before going back to Cybertron!

Optimus nodded and turned to Ratchet. "Bumblebee and Bulkhead are in trouble. Starscream's clones have made an alliance of some kind with the Dinobots."

Ratchet groaned and pushed himself to his feet. "Fraggit, and here I thought some of this insanity would go away with Megatron locked up."

"Good luck, Autobots!" Isaac told them, stepping back to give them room. "Try to come back in one piece!"

"We'll do our best," Optimus vowed, and he and the medic transformed and tore out of the base, lights flashing and sirens screaming. Megatron and his personal forces might be in prison now, but there was still a great deal to do before they could consider Earth and its natives out of danger. And he vowed he wouldn't abandon this planet until they'd made it safe once and for all.

Sentinel ground his dental plates and resisted the urge to pick up the computer tech and shake him until the desired result fell out of him. What had begun as an exciting quest to boost his prestige in the optics of the Council had become a discouraging slog through mountains of information, hoping for a scrap or two that might be useful. And any thrill he might have felt at the hunt for said scraps had faded into a desire to fling datapads at anything that moved.

"I've aaaaaaaaaaalmost got it back online," Autobot Tech Officer Gizmo noted, still bent over the fritzing computer console. "Sometimes these Epsilon models get a bit temperamental, especially if you give them too big a workload. Best thing to do is reboot 'em and give 'em a few minutes to clear their caches-"

"Do I look like I care about the technical details?" Sentinel snapped. "Just get it working again!"

Gizmo flinched and tapped a few more keys. "It's up, it's up! Just give it a bit to warm up-"

Sentinel shoved him aside and sat down, fingers rattling over the keys. The records of Megatron breaking into the protoform bank were here, as well as records of a small protoform intended for a sparkling being stolen during said break-in. From there, however, the trail went cold. For all Sentinel could tell, the Decepticon leader could have sparked a child, sold the protoform for weaponry, or just chucked it into deep space for whatever Allspark-forsaken reason suited his whimsy.

He shook his head and pulled up another database of stolen or missing protoforms, scrolling futilely through the dates as if hoping something would materialize out of the mess. He refused to believe that Megatron's child didn't actually exist. They were out there somewhere… it was just a matter of finding them. HOW to find them, though…

"Could I suggest something, sir?"

Sentinel swiveled his chair around to glower at the tech. "Why are you still here?"

Gizmo yelped and backpedaled a few steps, hands raised. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I just wanted to help! You looked a little lost and I thought maybe a pointer or two could-"

"When I want your help, technician, I'll ask for it!" Sentinel growled. He turned towards the screen, clicked on a few more keys, stared at a few more pop-up windows, then turned back to Gizmo. "...coincidentally, if I asked you for pointers, what would you tell me?"

The tech grinned and scooted closer, reaching around Sentinel to type. "You're looking for a sparkling, right?"

"Yes… one that went missing during the war." He'd deliberately left the rest of the details vague - no sense starting a panic among the Autobots by suggesting Megatron's progeny might walk among them. Nor did he want Gizmo to get the bright idea to search for this missing mech himself and take credit for it.

"What information do you have on them so far?"

"Parental spark-readings, and a date range during which they may have been sparked."

Gizmo nodded. "Okay, that's not as hopeless as I thought." He swiftly navigated a few more menus, then pulled up a database Sentinel had dismissed as useless. "There's still the possibility that the sparkling got picked up by slavers and sold off, or was killed in the crossfire… but if they were found alive, they probably ended up in a foundling home."

Sentinel grimaced. He knew all too well about THOSE homes - he'd been in one himself. His creators had been brutally offlined during the sacking of Tyger Pax, and he'd been plucked from the rubble and shipped off to an orphanage in Iacon shortly after. It hadn't been a terrible place, at least - and he'd met both Optimus and Elita-1 there, so at least he'd had friends - but he still didn't like to think too hard about his lowly origins. Future Magnuses weren't war orphans and foundlings, after all…

"What's the date range?" Gizmo asked.

Sentinel provided it, and Gizmo plugged the dates in. "Okay, here's a list of the different orphanages and foundling homes that were operating during those dates. And even better, most of them take spark-scans of the kids they take in. That means if you can get ahold of those records and cross-reference them with your parental spark-readings, you just might find a match!"

Excitement burned in his core, and Sentinel copied the information onto a datapad before pushing back from the console and hurrying out, leaving a stunned Gizmo to mutter a sheepish "you're welcome" in his wake. He had a lead… perhaps a shaky lead, but a lead nonetheless. If Megatron's spawn had been picked up by one of the foundling centers, then it would be a simple matter to determine their identity and track them down. If they hadn't… well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

He transformed the moment he left the Hall of Records and drove off. It was time to pay an official Elite Guard visit to his old home. It was close by, so might as well cross it off the list first and get it over with.