It was no use. After three hours of trying, Bluestreak knew that there was no way he was going to fall into recharge. Not after the day he'd had.

Not after what he'd been told.

He onlined his optics. In their dim glow, he looked at Hound, who was still curled up beside him. Instead of the contented look the green mech usually had when recharging with Bluestreak plugged into his ports, Hound's face was creased by a small frown. Over the hardline connection, he could feel the soft idle of Hound's processor ticking through its defrag cycle. He could tell that Hound wasn't recharging as deeply as he normally did when connected to Bluestreak.

Bluestreak quietly cycled his vents and tried to think as quietly as he could.

The Autobots had made a deal for the return of Bluestreak and Sunstreaker within a day of their capture. Bluestreak wasn't sure what the Autobots had traded in exchange for their release, but there were two large human-made machines sitting on pallets at the rendezvous point when they arrived. The Decepticons loaded the machines into Astrotrain and left while Ratchet was still running his initial scans of the freed captives.

Sunstreaker had immediately told their rescuers that Vortex had taken Bluestreak into his lab, but that they'd only been gone for about an hour. Bluestreak tried to reassure everyone that he was fine, but no one seemed to believe him... Especially those who'd faced Vortex before.

In the medical bay on board the Ark, Ratchet had frowned and scanned Bluestreak again. "And Vortex didn't do anything to you?" Ratchet's optics flicked disapprovingly towards Prowl, who was still hovering in the examination room. "If you would prefer to tell me in private, I can make everyone else leave the room," Ratchet offered.

Bluestreak smiled at Prowl, who had stiffened and lifted his door wings defensively. "No, it's all right," Bluestreak said, and turned back to Ratchet. "There's nothing to tell. He really didn't do anything to me. Not like he's done to others, anyway. The only thing he did was to scan for my serial code. So, I guess the 'Cons have that info, now," Bluestreak said. He hunched his shoulders slightly, trying not to think about all the things the Decepticons could do with his serial code. "And after he did that, he tried to convince me that I was someone else."

The pitch of Prowl's engine changed slightly, and Bluestreak looked at him again. Prowl's door wings twitched slightly. "What do you mean?" Prowl asked, looking at Bluestreak intently. "Who did he say you were?"

"He said I was some seeker," Bluestreak said with a shrug. "Someone named Thunderbolt. He apparently had this mech's serial code memorized because they were together – you know, lovers - and he claims that I have the same code. That maybe the Autobots made a mistake, and put the wrong spark in my frame. But that's ridiculous, right?" He smiled at Prowl. "I mean… You knew me really well before Praxus fell. You would have told me if something didn't seem right about me. You would have been able to tell if I was really a Decepticon." Prowl kept staring at him with a strange look, and Bluestreak felt his smile slip slightly. "Right?" Bluestreak prompted.

Before Prowl could reply, Ratchet said, "Knowing Vortex, he was just planting seeds for some kind of manipulative game down the road." The doctor finished his scan and pulled his data cables free of Bluestreak's medical ports. "Primus forfend that you ever get captured again, of course. But if you do, keep that in mind."

Bluestreak nodded. "I will," he said, and looked back at Prowl.

Prowl had continued to stare at Bluestreak. His door wings had dipped down, but he lifted them again when he noticed Bluestreak's gaze turn towards him. Then he smiled slightly and put his hand on Bluestreak's. "I'm just glad that you've come back to us safely," he said.

Beside him, Hound shifted in his recharge, his frown deepening. Bluestreak froze, blanking his processor and hoping that he hadn't woken Hound with his thoughts. Finally, Hound relaxed again, his face smoothing into a more neutral expression.

After Ratchet had released Bluestreak from medical, Hound was waiting in the hall for him. Bluestreak was touched by how worried Hound had been for him, even though he'd only been gone for a day or so. The green mech immediately led him back to their quarters, kicked their roommates out, and proceeded to reassure himself that Bluestreak was fine. Bluestreak was happy to cooperate, allowing Hound to pull him into a berth and have his way with him. Bluestreak hadn't minded the overloads, either.

But his mind had kept drifting back to the odd expression that Prowl had after hearing what Vortex had told him. There was something in the set of his door wings, something in his optics, something in the forced smile that he'd given him, that Bluestreak's processor kept returning to, over and over.

Hound shifted once more, and the arm he'd thrown over Bluestreak's chest twitched. Deciding that there was no point in both of them being awake, Bluestreak gently pulled their cables free of one another before carefully extricating himself from the berth. As soon as he was standing, Hound settled and stopped moving.

As Bluestreak turned to leave their quarters, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging next to Trailbreaker's berth. He paused, considering his reflection. In the dim light of their quarters, he spread his door wings wide. In his dreams and in his nightmares, he almost always had huge wings. And in dream logic, it always made sense that he could fly with them.

What would he look like if he had the wings of a seeker?

He stared at his reflection for another moment, trying to picture himself with actual wings. But all he could see was himself: a grey and red Praxian.

He shook his helm and slipped out of the room.

A few mechs were still up and about. Night shift didn't start for another hour, while other mechs were just coming off afternoon shift. Bluestreak made his way to the rec room, and waved at Tracks and Blaster, who had commandeered the television and the couch. Blaster glanced up when Bluestreak walked in. "Hey there, Blue," he called. "We're just catchin' the start of WKRP. Did you wanna join us?"

"Not tonight," Bluestreak said. He walked over to one of the entertainment terminals on the side of the room and flicked it on. "I'm going to get caught up on my show. But thanks!"

Blaster waved an acknowledgement and turned back to the large screen.

To avoid the inevitable arguments when different mechs wanted to watch different shows, the Autobots had set up several small terminals that anyone could use to watch or download shows or movies that Teletraan 1 saved in its system. While one group was watching something on the large screen, other mechs could watch something on the smaller screens. The terminals were designed just for entertainment purposes, but were connected to the main network on the Ark.

They would suit Bluestreak's purposes just fine.

Bluestreak sat down in front of the terminal and plugged his data cable into the unit. He actually was a few shows behind on Airwolf, so he started up the first episode that he had missed.

As String and Dom worked to foil another plot using their incredibly sexy undercover military helicopter, Bluestreak accessed the main network and slipped through the cracks into the Autobot datanet. While his optics were fixed on the screen in front of him, watching the show, his processor listened for any sign that Teletraan 1 detected the triple-encrypted carrier program Bluestreak was using to insert himself into the net.

Nothing pinged back. A quick scan showed Bluestreak that the Autobots had only clumsily patched the backdoor that he'd discovered way back when he was stationed in Rodion. Bluestreak felt slightly insulted that they hadn't bothered asking for his help in fixing the security flaw. With a few small configuration changes, this hole would have been completely gone. Well, mostly... Bluestreak still probably could have found a way in. It just wouldn't have been this easy.

You were the best hacker I've ever seen in my life, Vortex had said.

Bluestreak pressed his lips together and pushed that voice out of his mind.

He quickly found the personnel files of the Ark crew members, and pulled up his own record. He skimmed backwards in time through the record: his commission for the Ark crew, his commendations earned while serving in Eremus Unit Theta 8, his transfer to the unit, his initial posting at Rodion, his artillery and sniper training, his stint in basic training, his reconstruction and rehabilitation at Iacon General Hospital... Bluestreak stopped skimming and began reading the directory summaries, still paging backwards through his record.

He didn't know exactly what he was looking for, but he was sure that he'd know if it he saw it.

Bluestreak of Praxus
Recovered as 'unidentified mech' from Quartz District, search quadrant Gamma 519, in critical condition
Stabilized and transported to Iacon General Hospital
Request for medical transfer authorized by Lieutenant Prowl of Praxus on 1352.02.3955.64
Identified on 1352.02.3955.67 as Bluestreak of Praxus. Identification confirmed by Prowl of Praxus

Bluestreak of Praxus
Commander of Quartz District, Praxian Civil Defense Corps
Promotion granted 1340.22.4568.35

Bluestreak of Praxus
Lieutenant of Quartz District, Precinct 3, Praxian Civil Defense Corps
Promotion granted 1311.36.2214.57

Bluestreak of Praxus
Officer of Spinel District, Precinct 2, Praxian Civil Defense Corps
Commission granted 1274.56.6684.25

Bluestreak frowned and drummed his fingers against his knee in time to the music in the show as he thought. Nothing unusual was jumping out at him. He opened one of the directories and looked at files inside, picking one at random.

Bluestreak of Praxus (Serial code: **** **** **** **** MP11B)
Private, Autobot Artillary, Rodion Base
Addition to service record.
On 1366.02.8532.55, Private Bluestreak was detected accessing the Autobot datanet without authorization. This issue was taken to his commanding officer and I recommended expulsion from the Autobots. Sergeant Roadbuster did not follow standard security protocol, and referred the matter to Lieutenant Prowl for unknown reasons. I escalated the matter to Base Commander Ironhide, who advised me that the matter was being handled. I registered my concern that this violation was not being taken seriously, and was further advised to drop the matter.
Refer to file: Enhanced Surveillance of Private Bluestreak of Praxus.
-Lieutenant Red Alert, Director of Security, Rodion Base

Bluestreak blew a gust of air from his vents. Of all the files to open at random while he was in the process of hacking into the datanet again. He flipped backwards through his record and selected another file.

Bluestreak of Praxus (Serial code: **** **** **** **** MP11B)
Session date: 1358.58.2344.63
Patient is responding well to rehabilitation. Today Bluestreak spent one hour on the stairs and another two hours on the vehicle mode treadmill. He is still demonstrating weakness in his left leg, and seems to be trying to use his sensor wings to stabilize his balance. Further work on the balance table should correct that tendency. Also recommending another motor function scan to ensure his mobility protocols are not corrupted, as his gait is unusual for a ground frame. He continues to be a pleasure to work with, and he has proven to be a source of inspiration for the other patients.
-Technician Pipette, Rehabilitation Department, Iacon General Hospital

Bluestreak's brow ridges rose. Pipette called him a 'source of inspiration' and 'pleasure to work with'? He remembered the surly technician who seemed to take satisfaction in causing Bluestreak pain. But for some reason, the tech had written glowing things about him where Bluestreak would never be expected to read them. Bluestreak smiled to himself. Maybe Hound had been right about the tech having a prickly exterior but a spark of gold.

He briefly wondered what had happened to the tech.

The next file he opened had some text, but included several photos. After just a quick glance at them, Bluestreak's tanks lurched, and he immediately closed the file again. He was glad that he hadn't picked up his ration yet, or else he probably would have ended up wearing it.

He hadn't caught what the text had said, but the file was in the directory about his frame being recovered in Praxus. The images that Bluestreak had seen before closing the file were of a mech's frame, crushed, broken, and covered in energon. He'd caught impressions of silver plating, limbs crumpled beyond repair, and the glimmer of sparklight glowing faintly in what remained of the mech's chest.

Bluestreak shuddered, remembering Prowl's description of the damage he'd sustained in the attack on Praxus, and how he was lucky to be alive.

He watched the screen of the entertainment terminal for another minute, waiting for his spark to settle. The humans were flying through canyons in their helicopter. Normally Bluestreak would be admiring the vehicle's lines, but his processor was still consumed with what he had just seen. Finally, after allowing himself to calm completely, he opened an earlier file in his record and began to read again.

Bluestreak of Praxus (Serial code: **** **** **** **** MP18S)
Praxus Gazette, 1340.22.4569.92
Headline: New Civil Defense Commander Installed in Quartz District
Commander Bluestreak of Praxus was officially installed as the chief of the Quartz District this afternoon. The new Commander has served as a lieutenant in the Praxian Civil Defense Corp for the past 290 years, and has received several commendations for loyalty and service during his tenure. The Commander has prioritized increased surveillance to discover threats to Praxus, and promised to have new aerial defense systems installed around the city's perimeter.
"With the tensions between the Autobots and Decepticons increasing steadily, it's important for us to keep our citizens safe," Commander Bluestreak said to reporters after his installation. "With the Praxian Council insisting on neutrality, it is up to Civil Defense to protect our citizens from any threats that arise, either internally or externally, from the ground or from the air, and from either side of the conflict."

Attached to the article was a photo of Bluestreak, sensor wings spread wide, as he received his emblems of rank. He wasn't smiling, and looked very serious as the emblems were applied to his sensor wings.

Bluestreak had known that he'd been a ranking officer in the Civil Defense Corps; Prowl had told him that much. He'd also known that he was a district commander. Bluestreak had never asked Prowl much about that time of his life, since the conversations about Bluestreak's past in Praxus always seemed to upset him. Maybe he should make a point of asking Prowl about it now.

Bluestreak was about to flick to another file, still not sure what he was looking for, when something in the back of his processor nagged at him. There was something different about this file from the previous ones he'd looked at. He cycled back to the entry from Pipette, then returned to the story of his installation as Commander.

His optics widened when he noticed it. All of the files were coded with a masked version of his serial code. It was standard to only display the last set of characters, since that was usually enough for a quick identification and to confirm that the file was genuine.

Somewhere around the time that Praxus was razed, the serial code in his file changed.

Maybe it's a mistake, Bluestreak thought desperately. Maybe the wrong code was recorded somewhere. He opened an earlier file. He only had to read the first line of the file, and he felt his tank lurch again. He opened another file, and another, and another, but all of them started with the same designation and serial code.

Bluestreak of Praxus (Serial code: **** **** **** **** MP18S)

The same code was listed on all of the entries from before the fall of Praxus... And while that code was similar, it was not his.

In his memory, he heard Vortex's voice, and saw the copter wave the spark scanner at him. I know this code – your code - as well as I know my own. It's Thunderbolt's code.

Bluestreak's spark stuttered as he realized that Vortex might have been telling the truth. The Bluestreak who was in the Praxian Civil Defense Corps and who helped defend the city-state from intrusion did not have the same spark serial code as the Bluestreak who woke up in the Iacon hospital.

"Who am I?" Bluestreak whispered.

"Whatcha up to, Blue?"

"Aaah!" Bluestreak jumped, kicking the side of the terminal and letting out a bleat of surprise. "Primus, Jazz! Don't sneak up on me like that." He made a show of resettling his plating while he frantically started pulling his processor threads out of the datanet. If he did it too quickly his intrusion would be easy to detect, and –

Jazz leaned over Bluestreak's shoulder and yanked his data cables free of the terminal ports. As soon as Jazz pulled his cable out of the port, Bluestreak felt the program he'd built to let him slip into the network freeze, then crumble as the connection was broken. The remaining shards of the program would be simple for anyone to find in the network and trace back to him. Bluestreak looked back up at Jazz and felt his spark sink when he saw the expression on Jazz's face.

"I'm just checkin' to see what yer up to, like I asked," Jazz said. He let Bluestreak's cable retract from his fingers, and gave the Praxian a smile that didn't look real. He dropped his voice lower so that only Bluestreak could hear him. "So. Care to tell me what you were doin'?"

The entertainment terminal was still playing an episode of Airwolf. Bluestreak worked his intake and offered Jazz a smile. "I couldn't recharge," he said truthfully. "And I'm behind on my show." Also true!

Jazz nodded as if he accepted that answer, but the arms he crossed over his chest spoke a different story. He waited a beat until there was a peal of laughter from the large television before speaking. "And what were ya doin' in the datanet?" he asked pointedly, his voice still quiet.

Busted.

For about two microseconds, Bluestreak considered lying. But he knew that lying to Jazz was a certified Bad Idea. "I was just..." Bluestreak rubbed the back of his neck. He thought about Prowl's threats in Rodion to kick him out of the Autobots if Bluestreak hacked into the datanet again. But he also thought of Prowl's face, back when Bluestreak first woke in Iacon, and how sad and relieved he looked at seeing his friend was still alive. His friend... His lover... The other Bluestreak. Then he thought of Prowl's reaction to Bluestreak's statement that Vortex had told him that he was someone else.

Did Prowl suspect after all?

Bluestreak looked up at Jazz, his door wings sinking low on his back, and told the truth. "I was just looking for something. Just... Something that Vortex told me. I wanted to see for myself." Bluestreak worked his intake as he recalled the anguish on the interrogator's face when he read his serial code. "And I think... I think I need to talk to Prowl," Bluestreak said softly. He glanced over at the TV, and saw that Blaster and Tracks still seemed engrossed in their show. "But not here."

Jazz clapped a hand on Bluestreak's shoulder armor. "That's something we agree on," the spy said. "Let's go."

Bluestreak followed behind Jazz towards the command section of the Ark, but he wasn't paying much attention to exactly where they were going. His processor churned, trying to sort out what he'd discovered.

He was not the Bluestreak that Prowl knew. He might not even be Praxian. In fact, if Vortex was telling the truth, Bluestreak was a flight frame. He was a seeker! And if that was true...

That meant that he was a Decepticon.

A shiver ran through Bluestreak's frame. All of those things he'd seen Decepticons do, all the atrocities he'd seen the aftermath of, all of the pain the Decepticons had caused to Bluestreak's unit and his friends... Was he really one of them? He hugged his arms across his chest as he recalled Prowl's visceral hatred of Decepticons for what they'd done to Praxus, and to him.

Or to who Prowl thought he was.

Bluestreak wasn't in the command section of the Ark often, but he knew his way to Prowl's office. He often went there when Jazz wasn't around, just to make sure his friend was still fueling and wasn't working too hard. But when he looked up, he realized they'd passed Prowl's office, and instead were heading towards Optimus Prime's office.

The door opened as they approached, and Bluestreak felt his spark stutter in its casing again. Had they realized the same thing as he had? Did they realize he might have been a Decepticon? Was he going to be kicked out of the Autobots after all?

Bluestreak clamped his plating down to keep it from rattling as they stepped through the door. Inside, Optimus sat at his desk, his hands folded in front of him. Prowl sat in one of the guest chairs, his helm tipped down and his door wings low against his back. He glanced up at Bluestreak as he came in, then quickly looked away.

Oh frag, Bluestreak thought. He knows I'm not who he thought I am.

Drawing a vent of air, Bluestreak snapped to attention with a "Sirs!"

"Bluestreak," Optimus said. He gestured at the chair next to Prowl. "Please. At ease. Sit down." When Bluestreak didn't move immediately, Jazz gave him a gentle push. That prompt was enough for Bluestreak to nod and then slip into the chair beside Prowl. As soon as Bluestreak was seated, Optimus said, "I understand that you were accessing the Autobot datanet."

Jazz must have commed ahead. They knew what he had been doing. Bluestreak gave another small nod. "Yes, sir," he murmured, not daring to look at Prowl.

"I also understand that, while you were captured, Vortex said some things to you that might have been... confusing," Optimus said. He tipped his helm slightly. "Am I correct?"

Bluestreak looked at Prowl, who was still staring at the floor, then back to Optimus. "Yes," he said. He flicked his door wings out and cycled his vents. He had to tell them. Bluestreak looked at Prowl and said, "Prowl, I'm not who you think I am."

Prowl looked up, his optics wide. "Bluestreak, I..." he started to say.

Bluestreak held up a hand to stop Prowl. If he didn't get this out now, he wasn't sure he would have the courage to do so later. "I got to thinking about what Vortex had said, and some of it made sense. And I couldn't recharge, so I – yes, I hacked into the datanet. I know I promised to never do that again, but I needed to look for myself. I'm sorry." Prowl opened his mouth as if to say something else, but Bluestreak barreled on. "I swear I only looked at my own personnel files this time. But Vortex – he mentioned my serial code, so I went looking through my records, and... My code. It changed, around the time that Praxus fell. In fact, right when it did. I had one code before that, and another one after." Bluestreak looked at Prowl, trying to discern some emotion from his friend, but Prowl was simply staring at him with the wide-opticked look he often used when Bluestreak was overwhelming him with words. "I... I think they made a mistake, back in Praxus, in all the confusion. They found a spark and they found a frame and... I think they matched them up wrong. I'm not who you think I am." Bluestreak lowered his door wings, hoping to soften what he was about to say. "I'm not your Bluestreak, Prowl."

Prowl's look of surprise faded at Bluestreak's last words, replaced by a sad frown. Then Prowl nodded. "I know that."

Bluestreak stared at Prowl. He knew? "You know?" he asked. Of course. They knew he was in the datanet, somehow. He was a good hacker, but so was Jazz. They must have known what he was looking at, and seen the serial codes, and Prowl must have come to the same conclusion that Bluestreak had, and-

"Yes." Prowl visibly gathered himself, and met Bluestreak's gaze. "I know you're not... I know that you're not my Bluestreak." His glossa flicked out, wetting his lips, and then he added, "I've always known. I've known since the before you woke up in Iacon General Hospital who you really are. And... I owe you an explanation."

Bluestreak stared at Prowl, but wasn't really looking at him. His processor whirled in a thousand different directions, and each one brought him back to the same incredible statement: Prowl knew that he wasn't really Bluestreak.

He knew. He knew? He'd always known?

Bluestreak wondered if this is what it felt like to have a processor crash.

All of the questions he wanted to ask queued up in his vocalizer. What the frag? How did Prowl know? Why did Prowl not tell him? So it was true, he really wasn't Bluestreak? Was Vortex right? Also: what the frag?

But instead, all that came out of Bluestreak's mouth was a static-filled "What?"

Prowl glanced at Optimus, then back to Bluestreak. "Just before the fall of Praxus, I was working on an analysis of troop numbers, and I discovered that the Autobots had a problem. The Decepticons had control of all of the major spark fields remaining on Cybertron, and were systematically eradicating all of the remaining neutral cities. So, I approached a scientist I knew with an idea: take Decepticon sparks and plant them in new frames, then bring them back online as Autobots. Alongside a doctor we'd brought onboard, they developed a method for removing a spark from a frame, seating it in an entirely new one, and flashing a new processor to the spark. It had never been done before; only rebuilds of existing frames had successfully been accomplished up until that point." Prowl's door wings wavered behind him, and his voice crackled with static. "Then Praxus was attacked, and a severely damaged Decepticon seeker was discovered in the rubble." Prowl glanced down at his lap, where his fingers of his hands were knit together. "You, in other words. We... We took that opportunity to attempt the impossible... And we succeeded." Prowl looked up at Bluestreak again with a somber expression. "A brand new processor was flashed to pair with your spark, and you were brought back online as Bluestreak."

"But..." Bluestreak shook his helm. "I was... Bluestreak was someone you..." He paused and tried to collect his thoughts again. "You had photos. My service record. Stories of the two of us. If I'm not Bluestreak, that means... It means..." His processor made the connections between what Prowl had just told him, and what Prowl had told him so long ago. He gestured with his hands, trying to find a way to express just one of the turmoil of emotions inside of him. He finally settled on anger. "Did you seriously bring a Decepticon back to life as your dead lover?" Bluestreak couldn't stop the snarl of his engine. "Because that is seriously fragged up."

"Those're exactly the same words I used, Blue," Jazz said from where he was leaning against the wall behind Optimus.

Prowl was shaking his helm. "It was not my intention to... to bring my Bluestreak back to life. Please believe me," Prowl pleaded. "It simply seemed to make sense at the time. You were the first attempt at the process, and I needed to be able to monitor you closely for... for Decepticon tendencies." Prowl's door wings canted downwards apologetically. "Bluestreak was dead. He was killed when Praxus was razed. I mourned him, but we were at war. I knew I needed to carry on. I knew that you were not the same Bluestreak I knew before, and I knew that you were previously a Decepticon. I was sure that I could keep my emotions separate from the task at hand. After all, I couldn't see myself empathizing with a Decepticon. Not after what they did to Praxus... And to Bluestreak. My Bluestreak." Prowl pulled a vent, and when he looked at Bluestreak his optics were sorrowful. "But I was not prepared for how much you looked like him. And then... While you are very different from how he was... I found myself becoming fond of you, despite myself. I found myself wanting to be your friend. For real. For who you really are." Lifting his helm, Prowl looks at the ceiling and said, "After I realized that, I had the program stopped. Even though we'd perfected the technique, I couldn't let the program continue in good conscience. So... I ordered it cancelled and the research destroyed."

Bluestreak stared at Prowl as every conversation they'd had flickered through his mind. Prowl had known, all that time, that he wasn't his Bluestreak. Prowl had known that everything he'd told Bluestreak about himself was a lie. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Bluestreak asked, his voice crackling with static.

Prowl's door wings shot upwards, then fell once more. "I... was afraid. Of this reaction," he said. "I know I should have told you as soon as I'd decided that the program was unethical. I know I should have told you the moment I didn't want the charade to continue. But I was afraid of how you'd react." Prowl lowered his optics. "And the more time went by, the harder it became to tell you. So I didn't." He looked back up at Bluestreak once more. "I am so sorry."

Bluestreak ripped his optics away from Prowl, still stinging from the knowledge that his friend – someone who he thought had been his lover in a previous life – had lied to him so outrageously. He looked at Optimus, and at Jazz. "Who else knows about this?" Bluestreak scratched out. Prowl had mentioned scientists, and doctors. Did Smokescreen know? Ratchet? Wheeljack? Perceptor? Skyfire? Did everyone on the Ark know but him?

"On Earth, only those of us in this room know," Optimus said. His deep and steady voice brought Bluestreak's spark rate down just slightly. "And I was only made aware of your true identity earlier this evening." He cast a disapproving glance at Prowl, who wilted under his gaze. "And Jazz was told just before me. No one else here knows."

"Pharma knew, of course" said Prowl. "And we worked with a scientist named Mesothulas. If they are still alive after all this time, once we re-establish communication with Cybertron, we will ensure that they continue to keep this information confidential."

"Confidential. Right." Bluestreak shook his helm. His processor whirled as he tried to sort out everything that he'd just been told. It felt like everything he knew had been picked up and turned ninety degrees. "I'm not sure why you expect me to believe anything that you say, Prowl," he snapped. He knew he should be reining in the anger brewing within him, but the words kept pouring out of him anyway. "You ripped me out of my frame, stuck me in another, lied to me about who I was, lied to me about what'd I'd done." He flared his door wings out and lifted his hands as if he could draw his words from the air. "I spent hundreds of years trying to figure out why my frame looked wrong. Did you know that I have dreams about flying? That I have nightmares about having my wings torn off? I spent ages trying to get to know myself, trying to figure out who I was. But meanwhile, the mech I thought I was... he was dead this whole time? And you knew?" Bluestreak's engine roared as he stood up, and he felt a small flash of satisfaction as Prowl shrank away from him.

"All right, Blue," Jazz said. He'd stepped away from the wall as Bluestreak rose to his pedes, and grabbed Bluestreak's arm. "I know yer angry, and ya got every right to be. But let's talk about what you want done next."

"Next?" Bluestreak stared at Jazz, and numbly sat down when Jazz pushed on his elbow. Bluestreak looked at Optimus. "I'm... I'm a Decepticon. I can't stay." He looked at Jazz, then back at Optimus. "Can I?" His voice sounded small.

"Bluestreak, I know that this must be a terrible shock to you. But you should know that your actions have spoken loudly on your behalf," Optimus said. He rose from behind his desk, and walked around it to kneel before Bluestreak. Even with the Prime on his knees, Bluestreak had to tip his helm upwards to meet his optics. "I am very familiar with your record. You have more than proven yourself in your tours of duty, and the commendations that you've earned."

"If I had any doubts about your loyalty..." Prowl's voice sounded thin. When Bluestreak looked at him, Prowl dipped his door wings and reset his vocalizer. "Part of the rationale for keeping you close to me was to monitor your political leanings. If I thought for a moment that you would defect back to the Decepticons..." Prowl's voice faded out.

"He'd've put ya down," Jazz said bluntly. When Bluestreak looked at him in surprise at his bluntness, Jazz shrugged. "I just read all the reports on this program Prowl was runnin.' Not all of the implanted sparks became Autobots. For some of 'em, their Decepticon sympathies ran spark-deep." Jazz tipped his helm towards Prowl. "But Prowl's reports showed that yours aligned itself with the Autobots, almost right off the post."

Another thought occurred to Bluestreak, and he looked at Prowl, trying to suppress the rumble of anger from his engine when he looked at the Praxian. "How many others were there?" he asked. "And... Are there any others here on Earth?"

"There were only twelve sparks that were successfully implanted into new frames," Prowl said quietly. "Three of them were... disposed of after exhibiting sympathy towards the actions of the Decepticons. Six more died in the line of duty for the Autobots on Cybertron, before the Ark left. One remained back on Cybertron. So..." Prowl's optics met Bluestreak's. "There is one other here on Earth."

"Who?" Bluestreak asked, then held up his hand. "Wait. Maybe I don't want to know, after all. I mean... Do they know? About who they are?" He thought about all of the other mechs on Earth, wondering which of them might be someone other than who they thought they were.

Optimus shook his helm. "No. But we will be giving them the same information that you have just received. Everyone deserves to know who they really are." He looked at Prowl once more, his tone dripping with disappointment, and the Praxian's door wings drooped again. "That information will be confidential, for them to keep secret or to tell others, as they wish. As far as we know, however, they do not suspect that they are anyone other than who they think they are."

"So you don't think they feel like there's something wrong? Like I did?" Bluestreak asked.

Prowl shook his helm. "You were the pilot for the project, and... We made some miscalculations," he said slowly, as if carefully choosing his words. Then he paused. "No. We made mistakes. We took a spark that was on the verge of guttering. That fear of being crushed and trapped appears to have imprinted on your spark, as you saw during your basic training." With a glance at Optimus Prime, he continued. "We also did not expect the spark to have such an attachment to its frametype. It was a poor choice to put you in a ground frame, and... We did not make that error again. All subsequent candidate sparks were placed into a matching frametype." Prowl lifted his hands as if to give a small shrug, and said, "I am so sorry for the anxiety it caused you over the years."

Bluestreak nodded slowly, letting all of the information sink in. Then he looked at Optimus, and lifted his door wings slightly. "So... You aren't kicking me out of the Autobots?" he asked.

"No," Optimus said, and took one of Bluestreak's hands in his huge one. "Of course we aren't." Optimus's voice sounded sincere (as it always did), and Bluestreak felt himself relax slightly. "I know that you - your spark - once sided with the Decepticons, and fought for them. But if I didn't believe that mechs could change, there would be no point in fighting this war." Optimus patted Bluestreak's hand. "As far as I am concerned, you are an Autobot through and through. But what comes next is up to you."

"For my part," Jazz said, "I'd like to see if I can borrow you from Artillery for a bit. The 'Cons have one network that neither me nor Mirage have been able to hack into." He grinned at Bluestreak, his visor gleaming in the overhead light of the Prime's office. "After seein' what ya did with our datanet, I'd love to know what you could do against Soundwave's security."

"And there is one more wrong that I would like to see corrected." Prowl had picked up a datapad that sat on the desk beside him, and handed it to Bluestreak. "I believe you are owed several promotions, dating back several million years." He looked at Bluestreak evenly, radiating sincerity. "I also admit to blocking your promotions so that I could better monitor your career. There is no need for that now."

Bluestreak skimmed the datapad, and his door wings shot upwards. "First Sergeant?" he asked incredulously.

"It would be well deserved," Prowl said quietly. "And long overdue."

"So, Blue?" Jazz asked. "How about it?"

Bluestreak looked at Jazz, then at Optimus, still holding his hand. He looked at Prowl, noting how the Praxian's door wings were canted downwards. He thought about Hound, and Trailbreaker, and all of his other friends. "I... I definitely want to stay in the Autobots," Bluestreak said firmly. "But..." He pulled a deep vent. "This is a lot to take in. I think I need some time to process it all."

"Of course," Optimus said. He stood up and returned to his chair. "You are being placed on leave, effective immediately, to give you the time you need. And... If there is anything else you think you need, anything else you want us to do, anything that would help you come to terms with what you've learned today... Please let me know."

Bluestreak nodded, then stood up. "Thank you," he said. Then, with a final glance at Prowl, Bluestreak fled the office.