Bumblebee had heard plenty of stories about General Strika, one of Megatron's most feared officers and one of the deadliest warriors among the Decepticons. None of those stories exactly made him feel better about being in her presence, let alone trailing along behind her as she led the way through Kalis' warren of tunnels. And being surrounded by her henchmechs, each one uglier than the last, just made him all the more jittery.

And when Bumblebee was jittery, he tended to run his vocalizer. Which he knew didn't help matters in the least, but what could he do about that?

"So… you work with Megatron, huh?"

Someone behind him - Prowl from the sound of it - slapped their forehead in exasperation. The massive magenta-and-gold femme just turned slightly to regard him over her shoulder, not even breaking her stride.

"The little one has an excellent perception of the obvious," she noted, and Bumblebee felt a rush of relief at the humor that colored her deep voice instead of irritation. "Yes, I serve Lord Megatron."

"So, uh… you must be really devoted to the ol' Slagmaker to wanna break him out. Some mechs probably woulda left him to rot and tried to take over- ow! Bulkhead, what was THAT for?"

"Don't get her mad!" Bulkhead demanded. "She'll slag us!"

Strika snorted. "You Autobots are not worth slagging. We are here for Megatron, not to target puny mechs and flesh creatures." She ducked beneath a low-slung maintenance pipe, though her back cannons still clanged against it. "And to answer your question, not every Decepticon is of Starscream's mold. Many of us are truly loyal, and will not stand idly by and let the Autobots execute him."

"Why're the slagging Autobots helping us anyhow?" grumbled Scalpel, a misshapen roach of a mech perched on Strika's shoulder like a malformed petro-parrot. "Thought your kind WANTED his head to roll!"

"That's none of your business," Prowl retorted coolly.

"Oh, don't play cagey with us," chuckled Mindwipe, sounding in remarkably good humor despite the plate fastened over his optics. "It's not as if the truth about your precious Hero of Cybertron has gone unheard by us. Megatron's son, resurfaced at last… and here so many of us had given the poor sparkling up as dead."

"He grew up to beat the slag out of his own father, so I don't see how that's much better," Scalpel grumbled.

Prowl held up a hand, halting Mindwipe's retort. "We're here. The maximum-security block is just above us. We're close to Optimus Prime… and Megatron."

"How do YOU know this?" demanded Scalpel, rubbing his claws together like a cyber-cricket. "I know you cyberninjas preach about processor over matter, but that doesn't make you telepathic!"

"Processor over matter can accomplish a lot," Prowl replied without a hint of irritation. "But I relied on more mundane means this time. Ratchet transmitted a map of the facility to me before he left to talk to the Magnus."

Strika nodded and held out a hand. "Then let us get to work. Cyclonus, bring the corrosives."

The tall, lanky swordsman nodded slowly and stepped forward, handing Strika a black barrel. She pried off the lid and used it to spread a viscous green substance over the roof of the tunnel.

Faint sirens caught Bumblebee's adial, and he frowned as he picked up other troubling sounds with them - blaster fire, crashes, shouts and curses. Under other circumstances he might assume a fight had broken out in one of the lower-security wings, or another escape attempt was in progress. But he knew the real source of the chaos - the rest of Strika's team, a collection of mechs who seemed to be competing amongst one another for the title of Universe's Ugliest Decepticon, were firing on the prison and staging a distraction.

I never thought I'd say this, but… good job, Team Chaar. Just keep it up until we get Prime outta here. After that I don't care if the Elite Guard kicks your afts-

A hand rested on his shoulder, and he nearly yelped and leaped through the ceiling before turning around. "Don't DO that, Prowl!"

"Calm down," Prowl advised, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. "If you twitch any harder you'll be spitting sparks."

"We're surrounded by these freaks and you're telling me to calm down?" Bumblebee demanded in a frantic whisper. "I ain't gonna calm down until this job's done and we're far away from them!"

"None of us like having to work with Strika and her team," Prowl replied softly. "But it's a necessary evil until we have Optimus Prime back. And I would refrain from calling them 'freaks' until we've parted ways."

Strika snorted, not even bothering to look at them as she focused on painting the ceiling with Oil Slick's corrosive compound. "We have been called worse. Often by fellow Decepticons. I do not select my team members based on their physical appearance, but on their abilities on the battlefield. If that means they are more… unique in their body shapes, then so be it."

Bumblebee gave Scalpel a look. The insectoid Decepticon stared back at him, as if analyzing just how to most efficiently disassemble him, and he stuck his glossa out at the diminutive medic. After having the little cyber-roach giving him creepy looks this whole mission, he would never complain about Ratchet's grouchiness again.

"How much longer?" asked Bulkhead, shifting from foot to foot.

"Have patience," Prowl urged. "If we rush this operation, we risk blowing this entire operation."

"But Optimus is right up there!" Bulkhead insisted. "We should be smashin' our way up there to get him, not just standing around!"

"Control your bruiser," Mindwipe sneered, curling his lip plate in disgust. "Obviously you didn't select him for this mission for his processor power…"

"Hey, shut up, Fang-Face," Bumblebee retorted. "We're all here 'cause we care about our leader. How long before we can go up there and spring him?"

"Patience," Strika replied. "Give the corrosive time to work. Then your brute can smash through to his spark's content."

"Great!" Bulkhead punched a fist into his palm. "Uh, was that an insult?"

"Only if you take it to be," Strika replied… and while her faceplate configuration made her expression hard to read, Bumblebee could have sworn she was smiling. "Some of us appreciate a mech with some power in his chassis."

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuh…" Strika's words seemed to have frozen Bulkhead's processor in its tracks.

"Did… did she just… flirt with Bulkhead?" Professor Sumdac asked.

"If so, it's probably a first for the big guy," Bumblebee noted.

Strika rumbled softly, and Bumblebee backed up a few paces before he realized she was laughing. "You Autobots are amusing. It will be a shame to have to kill you when all this is over with."

"I thought we had a bargain," Professor Sumdac stated, paling as he stepped closer to Prowl.

"We have agreed to help you rescue the son of Megatron," Strika replied. "We said nothing about what will happen afterwards. If you wish to remain in one piece once you have your friend, I would suggest you run fast." She tested the section of ceiling with a fingertip. "Soon."

Bumblebee rocked back and forth on his heels, humming anxiously and ignoring Cyclonus' annoyed glare. Hold on, Optimus… we're comin'.

The meeting with Ultra Magnus took place, not in the Council chamber, but in the Magnus' office. Ratchet drew himself up straight as possible, trying not to think about the last time he had stood in this office - being assigned to the living weapon that was Omega Supreme, an assignment that would forever disillusion him towards the Autobot cause. Oh, he had still considered himself loyal to Cybertron and the Autobot symbol, but no longer did he blindly trust every word that fell from the Magnus' lip plates.

He had a sickening feeling that his faith in the cause would sink even lower by the time they were through here. At least it wouldn't come as such a shock this time.

"I know why you're here," Ultra Magnus said, not even bothering to turn away from the office window to address Ratchet. "And the answer is no. Optimus will not be released until the Council has had time to further investigate the matter."

"And when the slag is THAT gonna be?" Ratchet demanded. "Next cycle? Next vorn? Or will you just conveniently forget he's locked up and leave him to rot in his cell?"

"These things take time, Ratchet," Ultra Magnus replied, clasping his hands behind his back. "If I were you, I would suggest you return to Earth and finish your team's business there. Optimus is no longer your concern."

"He's every bit our concern!" Ratchet snapped. "He's our leader and our friend! And we're not going to just sit back and watch while you treat him like a criminal!"

"Is that a threat?" the Magnus replied, finally turning to glower at the medic with his good optic. "That could prove costly for your career, medic."

"Oh, you want a threat?" Ratchet retorted. "I'll give you a threat, you pompous-"

"Magnus, sir," Jazz cut in, stepping forward in an effort to salvage the situation. "This ain't right, an' you know it. Optimus Prime's the Hero of Cybertron, an' one of the most loyal Autobots we got. He coulda demanded the Magnus Hammer after capturin' Megatron, but he didn't. He's one'a the most humble an' carin' Bots I ever met. Is the Council really gonna discount all of THAT just 'cause of who sparked him?"

Ultra Magnus sighed deeply and turned the rest of the way around to directly face Jazz. "The fact that Optimus has been a loyal Autobot up to this point will be considered when the Council makes a final decision. But all factors have to be taken into account… and the safety of Cyberton and its citizens is one of those factors. Autobots need to be able to trust us, to trust the Primes… and can they do so knowing that one of them carries Decepticon programming?"

"Sure they can," Jazz argued. "In fact, this could be great publicity for the Council! Won't it give more mechs faith in the cause knowin' that the son of Megatron himself joined up with it? An' don't the fact that Optimus is pretty much the opposite've his creator prove that he's a true hero?"

Ratchet scowled. He knew what Jazz was trying to do - appeal to the Magnus' pride - but he wasn't sure he approved of his tactics. Still, if it worked, who was he to argue?

"Excellent points," Ultra Magnus admitted, "and ones that we will take into consideration. You two are dismissed for the time being."

"But-" began Jazz.

"You. Are. Dismissed." The Magnus raised an optic ridge. "Unless Ratchet has deigned to follow orders and brought back the Magnus Hammer."

"I told the Council that I would bring the hammer back for the Magnus himself," Ratchet replied. "And at the moment, I don't see a Magnus. Just a slagged fool with his cranial unit so far up his exhaust pipe he can't even see the light of day."

Ultra Magnus' optic flashed in rage, but before he could reply a light flashed on his desk console. He touched a control on the desk. "Magnus speaking."

"Ultra Magnus, Kalis is under attack! Decepticons are firing on the correctional facility!"

The Magnus' jaw dropped… but he snapped it shut, his rage giving way to the firm, calculated expression he had so often worn during the Great War. "I want the Elite Guard mobilized and on its way to Kalis immediately. Those Decepticons must be stopped at all costs-"

Ratchet clamped a hand on Jazz's arm and steered him toward the door while the Magnus was distracted. They had tried and failed to do this the "right" way. Now all hope for rescuing Optimus fell on their shaky alliance with Strika's mechs. And in all honesty, that didn't fill him with a great deal of confidence.

All the more reason to hurry to Kalis before everything goes to the Pit, I suppose. At least I know Rodimus is handling things back on Earth - at least HE can be trusted to take orders and not do anything too stupid.

"Fraggit, I'm stuck."

Rodimus suppressed a groan and turned his head as much as the cramped ventilation system would allow to peer over his shoulder spoiler. "Again?"

"Hey, not all've us can be skinny types," Ironhide grumbled, wriggling in an effort to dislodge his bulk from the narrow duct. "Whose bright idea was this?"

"Hey, going through the ventilation shafts always works in the holovids," Hot Shot pointed out.

"This isn't a holovid," Red Alert reminded him. "As our leader SHOULD know!"

"Keep it down, you idiots," Brawn grumbled. "Want the whole facility to know we're here?"

"Brawn, Hot Shot, see if you can pull him loose," Rodimus ordered. "Red Alert, follow me. The rest of you catch up when you've got him free."

"Yessir," Hot Shot replied, and the two smaller mechs crawled back to the red bruiser's side. Grabbing his wrists, they began to yank, wincing at the screech of metal on metal that filled the shaft.

Red Alert sighed as she trailed after Rodimus, following him deeper into the facility. "When you mentioned you had a plan, I thought it would be a better one than THIS."

"This IS a good plan," Rodimus insisted. "These vents lead everywhere, even to the max-security wing, and no one thinks to patrol them. It's perfect."

"No one patrols them because only idiots get inspiration from cheap action vids," Red Alert retorted.

"Yeah, but they'll assume anyone trying to break someone out of max-security ISN'T an idiot, so therefore it's not worth checking out. But we're proving we're NOT idiots by defying their expectations and taking the route they assume only an idiot will take."

Red Alert just stared. "I'm wracking my processor, but I cannot follow your logic in the slightest."

Rodimus shrugged. "It made sense before it came out of my mouth. How much farther?"

Red Alert sighed and unfolded a panel on her arm guard. "It looks like we've actually overshot max-security by about… ten meters. Not far, but we need to back up a bit."

"Whoops. Reverse it is - if we can clear the blockage first. Any luck back there, you guys?"

"He ain't budging," Brawn grumbled. "Hot Shot, think you can cut him loose?"

"Oh, don't you dare!" Ironhide barked. "I ain't lettin' that pyromaniac bring his torches near me!"

"Oh, calm down," Hot Shot replied, igniting one torch in a burst of crimson flame. "I've cut you out of plenty of tight spots without scorching you, haven't I? Just turn on your super-armor and you'll be fine."

"That don't inspire a lotta confidence," Ironhide growled, but his armor silvered over as he activated his outlier ability. Hot Shot got to work, slicing at the metal walls of the vent.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Red Alert.

"Well, we can't very well leave him," Rodimus insisted. "Plus he's blocking our way back. Honestly, it's almost like you have no faith in any of my ideas."

"I'm not trying to undermine you. I just worry that if Hot Rod cuts too much he'll compromise the strength of the vent walls and-"

The SNAP of overstressed metal finally giving way cut off the rest of her sentence, and Ironhide cursed loudly as he fell through the floor of the vent and into the maximum-security wing of Kalis' detention center.

Megatron stared across the corridor at Optimus, his spark sinking at seeing him slump back and offline his optics. For hours the red mech had been struggling with his vocalizer restraint, trying to imitate Blitzwing's trick to disengage it. But he hadn't the triple-changer's knack for it, and his injured jaw meant that all he earned for his efforts was agony. And in the end, he had given up, surrendering to the pain and the hopelessness of his situation.

The silver mech knew he hadn't the strength to fight off so much as a newsparked electro-kitten… but every component of his being longed to snap his bonds and smash through both his cell and Optimus Prime's. His own life was forfeit - he had accepted that by now - but he refused to let despair claim his son. He didn't deserve to suffer for his heritage.

You cannot give up, Orion, he thought. Open your optics. Please, look at me! Give me some sign that you still have some fight in you!

The doors to the cell block opened, and another cluster of guards made their way into the detention block, muttering to each other as they pushed an empty hoversled down the corridor. Megatron frowned behind his vocalizer restraint. This was new… what were these mechs playing at? Was someone being transferred?

"Which one?" a blue-and-orange guard asked. "Or did Perceptor specify?"

"Just pick one," the green one retorted. "He ain't picky. The experiment just calls for a Decepticon, not a specific one."

Megatron's spark roiled in anger and disgust. So the Autobots had sunk to experimenting on Decepticon captives. Here he had thought Starscream had been exaggerating… but for once the treacherous flier had been correct. Evidently the Magnus had decided simple imprisonment or execution was too kind for the Decepticon rebels.

"Well, it's not like we got a lack of choices," the blue guard noted. "Hey, how about the Hero of Cybertron? Take him down a few pegs?"

Megatron shuddered, spark blazing with hatred and horror. Had he possessed control of his vocalizer he might have begged for them to take him instead, to bring him before their scientists for whatever barbarity they had planned. Though he suspected that his pleas would only encourage them to take Optimus, and perhaps even force him to watch as they vivisected him or did whatever else they had planned…

"Nah, not him," the green mech replied. "They wanna extract battle programming to make stronger Autobot fighters, so probably not the runt of the bunch. One of the Starscream clones, maybe? Or that ugly double-agent?"

"How about the triple-changer?" the blue guard suggested. "We could use some Autobot trips. Maybe even figure out how to iron out that stupid personality glitch while we're at it."

Blitzwing's angry personality growled like a feral cyberdragon. "You Autobots vill take us to the labs over our offline chassis!"

"That's tempting, but you're not in a position to stop us," the blue guard gloated, cracking his knuckles. "Relax, Perceptor's known for being relatively painless. Just ask Starscream - oh wait, he's dead. Well, anyhow, it's less than you deserve-"

The crack of breaking metal cut off the rest of his taunt, and the green guard shrieked and backpedaled as a bulky form fell from the ceiling and landed on the hoversled. The intruder cursed and rolled off the transport, silver plating shifting to red as he leaped to his feet. His hands retracted, replaced with silver piledrivers, and his optics flashed as he whipped around to glare at the two guards.

"What the frag…" he demanded… then his optics landed on the hoversled he'd just fallen onto. It didn't look much different from any other transport sled - except for restraints that had been hastily welded to either end, meant to secure a mech's wrists and ankles before taking them away. His jaw dropped, and Megatron imagined he could see the gears turning in the mech's CPU as he realized just what he had literally fallen into.

"Freeze!" the blue guard demanded, raising his weapon. "Hands in the air!"

The intruder raised his hands… then slammed them into the floor. The resulting tremor knocked both guards off their feet and rattled every captive in their cells. Even the red mech staggered, though he gamely stayed on his feet.

"Y'all get down here!" he bellowed. "Slag's worse'n we thought! Let's get Optimus outta here!"

"We gathered that!" Another mech dropped from the ceiling, this one a sleek magenta mech with yellow flames painted across his chest. "Go break him out of cell, and we'll handle the guards-"

The floor directly under the bulkier mech erupted, and he fell over with another spate of cursing as yet another Autobot hauled themselves out of the newly formed fissure in the floor. The green mech scrambled free of the hole and stood, slamming his fists together.

Bulkhead. One of Optimus' team, Megatron realized - a brawler with more strength than intelligence but with a frighteningly brilliant grasp of space bridge mechanics. So his son still had mechs loyal to him, and willing to put their own lives on the line to save him.

"We're here, Optimus! We gotcha! We're gonna bust ya- oh Allspark, this is bad." He lowered his fists, gawking at the various cells and their occupants. "I thought we didn't do this…"

"You Autobots aren't as merciful as you like to think you are. Now stop gawking and break open a few cells."

For the first time since he had awakened in his cell, Megatron felt a surge of hope as he watched General Strika emerge from the ragged gap in the floor. One of his deadliest officers had returned to his side - disobeying a direct order to do so, but in light of the circumstances her insubordination was welcome. Why she was in the company of Autobots was a puzzle for another time - for now, he was in no position to question a rescue, no matter how unorthodox.

The magenta mech shouted a warning as the doors to the max-security block blew open, and a squadron of guards surged into the corridor. More mechs crawled out of the floor and dropped from the ceiling, until the cell block seethed with blaster fire and fists and drawn weapons. A web of cracks spread across the clear wall of his cell as a stray energy arrow struck it, and the floor trembled under his feet with the force of a pitched battle.

It was Strika who reached his cell at last, and one blow of her fist shattered the transparisteel wall once and for all. She gestured to Cyclonus, who brought his sword down on the stasis cuffs and neatly sliced them away.

Under better circumstances than these, Megatron might have rallied to make a valiant stand, to take control of his Decepticons and lead them to victory. But the abuse and starvation he had suffered had taken their toll, and his limbs gave out the moment the stasis cuffs dropped away. His vision faded, and he vaguely felt himself being slung over a broad shoulder before blessed darkness claimed him entirely.

Bumblebee pulled himself out of the floor and emerged into chaos. Blaster fire hissed over his helm as the Autobot guards opened fire and the Decepticon warriors returned the favor. Cyclonus had shoved the hoversled onto its side, and Prowl and Rodimus hunkered behind the makeshift cover, occasionally raising their heads to hurl a throwing star or energy arrow in return. Ironhide was already hammering away at Optimus' cell, while Strika hauled a huge silver chassis out of the opposite cell.

Megatron… Bumblebee felt an instant of terror at the sight of the Slagmaker himself, but felt it give way almost immediately to a different sort of horror. The Decepticon leader had been in sorry shape after they had beaten his aft into the ground back in Detroit, but somehow he looked worse than ever after a stay in the detention center. His armor was riddled with dents and cracks, oil dripped from a deep fissure in his shoulder, and the stasis cuffs had rubbed his wrists until the base metal showed through the paint.

Slag… I never thought I'd feel sorry for Megatron of all mechs. And Autobots did this… I thought we were better than this!

"What are YOU doing here, Rodimus?" Prowl demanded as he hurled another shuriken at the guards, knocking one's gun from her hand. "You were supposed to stay in Detroit!"

"We thought you guys could use a hand," Rodimus replied, knocking an arrow. "Don't worry, Earth's going to be perfectly fine while we're gone."

That means slag is gonna go down while we're gone, Bumblebee thought. Because that's just how our luck's been goin' lately-

A shriek cut into his thoughts, and he looked down as Professor Sumdac ducked behind his leg to avoid a stray blaster bolt. Instinctively he scooped up the human and held him to his chest.

"Yeesh, maybe you shoulda stayed in the tunnel," he noted. "Stay up here much longer an' you'll get stepped on or crisped."

"Perhaps you're right," Isaac replied, his voice shaky from the close miss. "But there must be SOMETHING I can do to help!"

Before Bumblebee could reply he heard another shriek, and he glanced up to see two of the guards gawking at him as if he were holding a live bomb in his hands. For a moment Bumblebee could only gawk back, wondering just what their problem was.

Then realization clicked, and he grinned and approached the mechs, holding Sumdac out at arm's length. "Get back! I got an organic and I'm not afraid to use it!"

The taller of the two guards screamed and wobbled on his feet, as if about to keel over in a dead faint. The shorter mech kept his gun trained on Bumblebee, but his knees shook

"Stay back!" he barked. "I'm warning you!"

"YOU stay back or the organic gets germs on you!" Bumblebee retorted.

Isaac drew in a deep breath and gave a sneeze that, even to the yellow mech's untrained audial, sounded incredibly fake. It did the trick, though - the guards backed away. Bumblebee waved the professor at them a little longer to ensure they kept their distance, then sidled over to Optimus' cell as Ironhide dragged the red mech free.

"How is he?" he asked.

"Not good," Ironhide replied, unable to hide his worry as he hauled Optimus behind the barrier and laid him down. "Think you can you get his cuffs?"

"On it." He set Isaac down next to Prowl and knelt by the Prime's side, touching the tip of one of his stingers to the stasis cuffs. "Hold on, Boss. We gotcha. You're gonna be okay."

Optimus shuddered as the restraints clicked open, and he immediately curled up and turned away from Bumblebee, covering his face with his hands.

"Boss, it's us," Bumblebee assured him. "We're rescuing you. We gotcha." He touched the stinger to the gag, and it fell away with a clatter. "Talk to us."

Optimus didn't reply, only curled up in a tighter ball. Bumblebee took in the dried oil trickling down his jaw and the terrible dents in his armor, and he felt like purging his fuel tank on the spot. How could Autobots do this to anyone, much less one of their own? Had learning the truth about the Hero of Cybertron's past really tainted him that much in their optics?

Red Alert crouched down by Optimus' side, touching a scanner to his neck. "His energy levels are low, but most of the injuries look minor. He's probably still in shock, though. Let's get him out of here before we worry about repairs."

"How's the guard situation lookin'?" he asked, daring a peek around the barrier. The urge to upchuck the contents of his tanks returned with a vengeance when he saw a handful of mechs lying on the floor of the cell block, at least two of them already gray with death. "Oh slag…"

"We knew going into this that there would be a fight," Prowl murmured, sounding just as troubled as Bumblebee felt. "And any fight means the possibility of sparks snuffed. We have to keep moving, though - we can deal with the repercussions of this later."

Bumblebee knew the ninja was right, but that didn't stop him from wanting to follow Optimus' lead and curl up in a shaking ball on the spot. He had Autobot oil on his hands now. From this point forward he would be regarded as a criminal, just as Optimus was.

"The guards will return, and with reinforcements," Strika rumbled, shifting Megatron's chassis on her shoulder. "We had best be gone before they get back."

"What about the others?" asked Rodimus.

"Oh come on, they're Decepticons!" Brawl snapped. "Let 'em rust! Get Optimus and let's get outta here!"

Strika let her gaze move over the cells… and her optics flared as they landed on Lugnut. "They dare… big Autobot, take him!" And she passed Megatron over to a startled Bulkhead and moved to tear open the violet mech's cell.

"Uh…" Bulkhead stared down at Megatron, then hurriedly set him down on the floor and backed away as if he were radioactive. "Thought we were just gettin' Optimus and Megatron."

"You think we would leave our own to suffer?" Mindwipe demanded, cocking his head in Bulkhead's direction. "We may be monsters to you Autobots, but we are not sparkless. We'll not leave our comrades behind."

Bumblebee thought of a few smart-aleck comebacks he could shoot back, but instead he just watched as Strika pried off Lugnut's gag and cuffs, then lifted him in her arms with unexpected tenderness. The violet bulk's single optic flickered online, and he stared up at the General with a dazed expression.

"S-Strika," he rumbled. "My… my beloved…"

"Hush," she murmured, settling him in her arms. "You are safe now, my consort. Be brave for me a little longer."

Hot Shot exchanged a look with Bumblebee and mouthed consort? Bumblebee just shrugged. In all honesty, those two seemed perfect for each other… even if he never imagined Decepticons to be capable of love and affection before now.

"All right, we'll leave you Cons to your jailbreak," Hot Rod noted. "Meanwhile we'll take our guy and… um…"

"What the frag?" Brawn muttered.

Bumblebee returned his gaze to Optimus… and felt his jaw drop. Optimus was no longer curled up in a shivering ball on the floor - he had managed to drag himself to Megatron's side, and had pressed against his chest like an electro-kitten against its mother. His optics were still tightly shuttered and he trembled hard enough to make his plating rattle, but some of the tension seemed to have drained out of his joints.

Even as he watched, Megatron stirred… and his arm shifted to drape over Optimus' form. Optimus' shivering gradually eased, and he wriggled closer to the silver mech.

"Awww… that's adorable," Hot Shot murmured. Then he shook his head as he realized just what had come out of his vocalizer. "I didn't say that! You didn't hear it!"

"Too late, I heard it," Bumblebee replied, managing a smirk despite the complicated emotions churning in his spark right now.

"Boss, we gotta go," said Bulkhead, bending down to scoop Optimus up.

Optimus gave a soft whimper and clung tightly to the silver mech, like a sparkling against their parent.

"This can't be happening," muttered Red Alert.

"Evidently it is," Prowl replied. "It seems, if we're leaving this prison in one piece, we're all leaving together."

"It would seem that way," Strika noted. "If your big mechs will help us break open the rest of the cells, we can be out of here that much faster. I suggest you hurry - Oil Slick and Spittor and the others won't keep the rest of the guards distracted for much longer."