AND AWAKEN UNTO THE SUN

*taps on microphone* Hello? Anybody out there?

Rated: T (mentions of non-con and acts of war)

Guest 1: Sideswipe and Prowl are oil and water. I think Prowl was more pissed that Sideswipe thinks he can outplan someone who was handpicked by Prime himself to run his strategic maneuvers.

Guest 2: Frontliners are not stupid, Prowl's figuring that out. It takes a certain amount of intelligence to be able to attack in patterns and assess a situation for best possible outcomes. Prowl doesn't seem to have realized the twins perform his job every time they step out onto the battlefield. ;)

Guest 3: I'm not sure what they were playing. I'm positive though, that its nothing that's combustible. I'm sure Wheeljack was commissioned to create Cybertronian versions of human games but with materials that cant be destroyed. They are a rather 'rambunctious' group. And Thank you so much on the congrats.

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Bombs dropped, missiles sang, voices shouted. The cacophony of the battlefield. The pain, the sorrow, the hurt, the lives lost. It was existence in its worst, vile, striped away to pure instinctual base level of depravity and the worst that was brought out in any species. Those who perished rarely went silently, most lingering on scorched, hardened terrain as their life was painted upon the mantle of their homeworld. Regardless of planet, regardless of origin, war and destruction were not for the faint of spirit.

Devastation, that's what covered the face of the planet. It was on its cracked and scarred surface. On the faces of its people. A feeling in the very essence that pulsed within their bodies. Like love, it was an emotion that was so strong; it could be seen as a tangible thing and not just a reaction. It became a mask, covering everything with its ash.

It was painted, in vivid detail on every survivor of Prime's unit. The Prime had taken a severe hit. To affect repairs, the contingent had sought shelter in a partial bombed structure. Thinking that the enemy would pass the dilapidated building by and not think twice to probe into the inner workings of the building, the band of Autobots sheltered themselves and waited signs of back up. The medic was working furiously over the Prime's chest plates, sealing off lines and even ripped off one of his own armaments to place over the weld scar to give it further protection.

'Hold still you stubborn slagger," Ratchet said, soldering the last piece into place. "I almost have you patched up.'

"It's not that bad," Prime argued.

"I make that call, not you," Ratchet said, finding the crude, but sufficient patch job to meet his standards. When they got back to Iacon he as going to have the Prime under his scalpel for many long hours to fix the rest of the damage. Thankfully most of it wasn't life threatening. But the cracked chest plate made the leader's spark vulnerable.

"Sir," Jazz said, winding his way through the debris.

Ratchet had sequestered the Prime in another room, not wanting the other troops to see the extent of the damage. Ratchet stood, addressing Jazz as thunderous as any Prime of old.

"What is the status of the other soldiers?"

"There's nothing life threatening. I was able to get the lines sealed off so no one is in danger of bleeding out," Jazz reported, not liking the dim optics of his leader. There was a large puddle of crusting energon below the large frame. "But we lost four soldiers. Two were vaporized by a blast. One was shot through the spark chamber and the other was crawling for safety when a seeker landed on top of him, crushing him instantly."

"Not good odds," Ratchet muttered. He checked his inventory, discreetly omitting the details of his dwindling supplies. Most of the soldiers had already been patched up during the initial attack but each time they lost ground and regrouped, there were more injuries and Ratchet's subspace only held so much. His main focus was to Prime, then the others fell into a triage that went unspoken through their ranks.

"Any word on back up?" Prime asked, his voice sounding tired and though he tried to hide it, pained. He didn't like the casualty report. It always gave him a sick feeling in his tank.

Jazz shifted, noting that Prime had twice the amount of dings, scratches, and broken glass. One elbow was immobile from the last 'hide and patch' session that Ratchet had performed before they had been found and scattered to seek safer grounds.

"Sir," a voice called from outside from the room.

Jazz took the initiative and went to the door, blocking the view of the inside as best as his small frame could allow.

"What is it Hound?" he asked.

Hound stood patiently a few paces away fro the door. His headlights were busted and his left hip was dented, making him walk an uneven gait.

"There's something I think you see need to see, Sir," Hound said, jerking his head toward the direction of interest.

Jazz looked over his shoulder, locking optics with Ratchet before adding, "I'll be back in an astrosecond. Keep me appraised."

Ratchet gave a solemn nod, returning to scan over Prime's frame, searching for anything he may have missed. When a satisfactory beep answered his query he handed the Prime a cube of medical grade before taking his leave to attend the others. Jazz was correct in that they were in need of decent repair, though none of their injuries was life threatening. Small miracle of Primus.

"There are some inner rooms, and some of them are occupied," Hound said as the duo ventured further into the structure. Over half the building was slagged, most support beams bowed and melted from the impact of a missile. There were a few rooms where the roof had caved in, puddles of energon signaling the loss of yet more lives.

Jazz peeked into the rooms that were intact and much to his surprise, there were an assortment of mechs and femmes. Each was placed in a room, on a berth, lines running into the systems and powered by small self sustaining berths.

"Do you know what this place is?" Hound asked, nodding to the four rooms that were no bigger than cells in the brig.

"No medical designations on any of the surfaces," Jazz said, looking to the doors and walls for scientific notations. "No decoration or sigils to designate what these rooms are. Any designation on the bot who lived here?"

"Nothing personal as far as I can tell," Hound said. He turned his concerned gaze into one of the rooms, his optics sweeping over four immobile forms. There was just the berths. No personal items nor storage places to store trinkets. It was cold, utilitarian. Just like the brig. "Do you get the feeling this is a detention center?"

"Sparse and unmarked living quarters?" Jazz muttered, a frown creasing his face. "But I don't think that's what this is. I see no marks from reprimand or other forms of punishment. And if they were in a detention center, their bodies aren't kept. Their sparks and consciousness are stored in a memory cube."

"So, what are they?" Hound asked, his voice dropping as if it was the proper thing to do.

"They're a collection," came Ratchet's voice from a few doors down. He had followed the duo and was glancing into the window of an occupied room. "This was an influential mechs estate. These are his… acquisitions."

"What do you mean?" Hound asked his voice sounding sickened at the thought.

"Those in power can … purchase…. Any number of things to suit their whims," Ratchet said, nodding to the closed door in front of him.

"But, isn't that illegal?" Hound asked. He was new to the world of war and the atrocities that had been committed under his very olfactory sensor. He had no clue to the depravity of his fellow Cybertronians. At least, until recently. War had opened his optics to things he now combated every evening in his charge. His answer came in the form of Jazz's terse nod.

"These femmes have been used as receptive ports.' Ratchet said, not even blushing from the taboo explanation. "There is still dried transfluid on them."

"So…what?" Jazz asked, trying to wrap his processor around the idea that someone was using others for their own personal release valve. "Some mech kept them here to what? Interface with them?"

Ratchet palmed the door and stepped inside, earning a bark of reprimand from Jazz. As usual he paid no heed to Jazz's hissed warnings.

"They're all in stasis," Ratchet said, checking over the small readouts on the berths. "They berths have their own power and energon supply to keep the frames alive while the owner, does what he wants to the unconscious participants."

"What should we do?" Hound asked. He was secretly glad he wasn't the one making the decision. Who knows how long these bots had been under a stasis spell. Some didn't come out of it in good humor. Others, the more dependant ones, faded away as their body could no longer sustain itself.

"We wake them up," Jazz said, looking to Ratchet, his expression dark with conviction.

"It would be unkind to let them fall prey to the Deceptions," Ratchet said, tapping in a code on the medical berth to override its main function. The first bed powered down as Ratchet went to he second. "At least this way they have a chance of surviving and not being crushed by an abandoned home."

The last berth gave a clumsy falter as Ratchet imputed the code. It was a second before he realized why.

"This femme is sparked," Ratchet said, nodding to the bright red femme.

Though capturing a bot and keeping them unconscious while doing unspeakable things to them was bad enough, now one of them was sparked up by an unknown mech, and it was only a mech, due to the copious amounts of transfluid that was found both in and on the bodies as systems started the slow cycle to wake them from their deep hibernation.

"We'll need to find a youngling shell," Ratchet said, disengaging the sparked femme. "She will be due soon."

"Stay with them, but speak slow and carefully,' Ratchet said, as the first optics started to flutter in response. "It's going to take their processors some time to catch up, depending on how long they've been depending on the operating system."

"Where are you going?" Hound asked, sounding panicked at the thought of being stuck in a room with four awaking femme, one of whom was sparked.

"I'm going to wake the others," Ratchet said, hearing a distant boom. "The sooner they can snap out of it the sooner we can get moving and they can get back to Iacon."

Jazz gave a nod of understanding, though a part of him wondered how in the name of Primus they were going to be able to move out with so many new innocents to protect. They were broken, beaten, battered, and low on energon and medical field units. To add extra bodies to an already overtaxed group of soldiers was going to make the going even more difficult, especially if the awakening bots knew nothing of the wartime regime.

Ratchet disappeared without another look. The next room housed one mech and by his ultra sleek lines he was a fast model. Ratchet powered down his station and went to the next room, hearing Jazz speaking to the femmes to calm their fearful chatter.

Jazz took it upon himself to follow in Ratchet's wake, putting the awakened bots at ease with his charming smile and easy going nature. They instantly trusted him. Hound excused himself from the group and disappeared in the first room where the femmes had been found. Jazz paid him no mind, his attention centered on the collection of mechs and femmes that just woke from one nightmare into another.

Ratchet finished a room with three mechs and went to the last room, finding two more mechs. He went to the first and started the sequence then felt this systems freeze. An icy chill crept up his spinal strut as if something otherworldly was trying to take possession. He shivered, his hands punching the last set of codes with a more force than necessary. He turned and felt his breathing function halt. It was unusual to find bots that had been kept as secret treasures but it wasn't so unusual the owners went to great length to keep them sedated and compliant, and also took the time to make sure they were polished and presentable. If the owner ever wanted to show off his prized collection, he didn't want them looking dirty, scuffed, or dull.

Whatever the owner used on his possessions was expensive, as all of them had a beautiful luster that would get them unfriendly attention, but there was something about the hue of the last mech. His armor was pliant, yet sturdy. It must have been custom made, and by the specifications popping up in Ratchet's scans, it was a dense alloy. The properties of the armor were not the thing that captured Ratchet's attention. It was the color.

Cybertron's sun had once shone like that. It just wasn't a gold, it was orange and yellow and white and fire cast into physical form and given a spark. The face attached to the armor wasn't bad to look at either, but the color was most certainly a prime target for any Con wanting to add to his termination tally. Ratchet typed in the code, powering down the station. And no sooner had the power went off than the optics flared to life, shining like an eternal sun. They blazed white, slowly dulling to an icy blue, the mechs lip plates curling as his consciousness returned. Ratchet spun, and nearly crammed his olfactory sensor into the silent wraith that now stood behind him.

He never even heard the mech remove himself from the berth!

"Who….are…. you?" the red mech asked in a slow, static filled voice.

"My designation is Ratchet," he said, "I am the CMO of the Autobots. We took refuge in what we thought was a shelled out building when we found your stasis rooms."

Ratchet didn't need his proximity sensors to tell him that something large, hot, and formidable just rose against his back, boxing him in. He could feel warm ex-vents around his neck and helm.

"Medic?" the red one asked, his vocalizer giving a sharp buzz that wavered in pitch. He noted the medical sigil adorning the bot. Along with the red insignia of a faction he was unfamiliar with. It must have been the mark of the Autobot's, whoever they were.

"Yes, I'm a medic," Ratchet said, his optics narrowing at the mechs throat. "I can take a look at your vocalizer if you want."

The mech gave one dip of his head of affirmation and when Ratchet reached up to touch the red mech, the golden one at his back stepped closer. Ratchet could swear his spark beat was matched in rhythm between the two mechs. He fought the impulse to sputter his vents and bolt from the room. With a tentative servo Ratchet found the problem and soldered the lose wire into place in the voice box.

"Thanks," the mech said, his voice deep. "The designation is Sideswipe. And the mech behind you is my brother, Sunstreaker."

Ratchet gave a look over his shoulder, noting that Sunstreaker's chin was almost resting on his shoulder the mech was so close. If his brother was going to be attacked, he'd be perfectly positioned to avenge his termination.

Ratchet felt that cold chill run up his dorsal line again. He wanted to turn around but with both mechs currently sandwiching him between them, he couldn't turn in either direction.

"Would you like me to check you're vocalizer?" Ratchet asked over his shoulder. It was hurting his neck cables to crane his helm in such a way.

"It's fine," came the bass timber that made Ratchet quiver despite himself.

"Ratchet?" Jazz called out, stepping in the doorway and finding his CMO between to mechs. "How're you doing?"

"We're fine, Jazz,' Ratchet said, pretending to be looking over the wide red chassis in front of him for some sort of minor repair. "Meet Sideswipe and Sunstreaker."

"Pleasure," Jazz said with a crooked grin. Just as he spoke, a piece of armor fell off and clattered to the floor. Jazz turned his guilty visor to the offending metal and muttered a soft, "Opps."

"And just when were you going to tell me how damaged you were?" Ratchet snarled, forgetting about the mech box he was in. He spun, clanging into both of the awakened mechs who arched their brow ridges in shock as the medic stormed over to the smaller mech, picked up the piece of armor and grasped the black and white mech by his scruff bar. "Do I have to remind you on the protocol that states you are to list any potential dehabilitating injury to your medical officer?"

"It's just a minor injury," Jazz protested, being marched by his scruff bar by a thundering white medic.

"This minor injury serves as a critical junction for two major functions and if it's weakened, it means you become a target," Ratchet snarled, planting the smaller mech against the far wall and shoving him down to the floor. "Now hold still before I get rough."

"He's not normally this gruff," Jazz said to the now startled mechs and femmes who had been awakened.

Ratchet paid no mind. He scanned Jazz's midsection and found more than just one 'minor' injury. It was a wonder the small mech was walking at all with his busted rotors and two energon leaks.

"You'll need a hose replacement and a weld patch to your transformation calibrator," Ratchet said, not worried about the newly awakened. Every bot, regardless of situation, recognized the medical designations and submitted accordingly. Well, most bots did. There were the few thick helmed idiots that seemed to gravitate toward Ratchet's unit. Or maybe it was the influence of the Prime who had the same kind of flaw? Either way, Ratchet spent more of his time chasing his patients than repairing them. Honestly, one would think the Pit Master was after their sparks with the way they behaved.

"Ratchet, do you have any cubes?" Hound asked, forgoing any pleasantries with the strange group.

"Only one that is full," Ratchet said as he pulled off a flexible plate from Jazz's midsection to get to the damage.

"Any empties?" Hound asked, chancing a glance to the two mechs who had stood in the doorway and observed the scene with keen interest.

"Several. Why?" Ratchet said, his tone as neutral as if discussing the weather patterns as he clipped, burnt, and soldered inside of Jazz who wisely remained immobile.

"I'm draining the berths for energon," Hound said, going to Ratchet's side and kneeling down beside of him. "I've already filled two but I ran out of cubes."

"Subspace level six and seven," Ratchet said, angling his hip to allow Hound access to his subspace pocket. The panel clicked aside and Hound shoved his servo inside, feeling around for the empty cubes. "Smart processing, by the way."

Hound grinned at the compliment while Jazz looked thunderstruck. With a noise of triumph, Hound extracted several cubes. Ten empty cubes stood stacked beside of the scout as he fumbled around inside Ratchet's pocket before the medic gave a grunt and shifted.

"You found them all," Ratchet said, finishing up with soldering a line in Jazz.

"Thanks," Hound said, rising with five empty cubes in his arms. Much to his surprise the two silent observing mechs stepped forward, relieving him of his burden.

"We can help," the red one said, his tone meaning there was no argument against the offer.

"I appreciate it," Hound said with a nervous smile. He handed half of the cubes to the red mech but before he could divide the remaining ones, the golden mech had lifted them with ease and followed the red mech down the hall.

"I ran out on the second room to your left," Hound called as he limped behind them.

Both mechs disappeared into the room and much to Hound's relief and surprise, both knew how to operate the medical stasis berths. It didn't take long to fill the ten remaining cubes. When they started to store them in their own subspace pockets, Hound cleared his vents, unsure of their motives.

"There's a dozen injured mechs with us, including the Prime," Hound said, watching as both mechs slowed their actions, listening. "We've been running for some time and all of us are in need of fuel."

"And you carry no spare?" the gold mech asked, his optics shining like a bright star.

"Already went through the rations," Hound explained. "We've been trying to make it back to Autobot lines but every time we get close, we're discovered."

Hound watched, curious, as the two mechs looked to each other. The usual hum of comm. chatter was absent. He stared, wondering why they were looking at each other so intently. When the golden one gave a nod toward his red counterpart, Hound understood. They were bondmates. Communications over spark bonds wouldn't register to outside observation. It would make sense, seeing how both had been placed together in the unknown owner's collection.

"How far to the Autobot line?" Sideswipe asked.

"Last time we attempted, it was about forty kliks west of here," Hound answered, noticing both mechs empty the stored cubes from their subspace. Apparently they understood the urgent need for fuel by the ones who were injured.

"Anyone severely injured and will slow us down?" Sideswipe asked, opening a panel on the berth and extracting a couple of power cells.

"Prime was hit near the spark chamber and a couple of bots are missing pedes," Hound reported, having been just a few meters away from the mech when he was shot. Thankfully no other had seen the extent of the injury. "But everyone is functional."

"Speaking of Prime,' Jazz said, leaning against the door frame, one arm wrapped around his middle. Ratchet must have done a few more repairs than just simple patching, if the dulled visor was any indication. "He's wanting a full status report and civilian count."

"We're almost done," Sideswipe said, a smile crossing his face plates. It looked strained, almost, fake. Without another word he went to the other berths and removed their power sources and stowed them in his subspace. He looked to the gold mech and added, "Scavenge the other berths, Sunny."

"It's Sunstreaker," he amended with a threatening rumble. He locked gazes with his counterpart before turning and disappearing through the door without a sound. Jazz cocked an optical ridge at the stealth the golden mech displayed.

"Prime wants to meet everyone," Jazz said, looking away from Sunstreaker's retreating form back to Sideswipe.

"Sunny isn't very social," Sideswipe explained, lifting several of the filled cubes and walking toward Jazz.

Hound struggled to balance the remainder and followed suit, giving his commanding officer a grateful smile when he took some of the burden.

"This way," Jazz said, nodding down the hall where the last of the rescued bots were being lead back to the Autobots by Ratchet.

There was the sound of rending metal coming from one of the rooms, no doubt Sunstreaker was scavenging for the power supply Sideswipe mentioned. Why they needed the small battery cells, Jazz didn't know. They couldn't power a bot, let alone give anyone a boost they would need in a firefight. Most of the weapons that their company still possessed used different power sources than a medical berth, so the reason for collecting the parts seemed trivial to Jazz.

Perhaps the two wanted to trade the parts on the open market for passage off planet, or maybe used to barter for any number of goods and trade? With the war now going on full, parts were in short supply. Maybe the two just wanted to have a little tradable commodity if they didn't wish Autobot protection.

"Shall we let him know we're leaving?" Jazz asked, hearing the unmistakable sound of a berth being dismantled.

"He'll find us when he's done," Sideswipe said, casting a look toward the noise, then heading in the opposite direction.

"So, are you two bondmates?" Hound asked as they walked. He wanted to keep the atmosphere amicable, because if the Decepticons decided to attack again, he doubted very much that the injured mechs could defend civilians. He didn't want to speak that fear out loud.

"I guess you could say that," Sideswipe said with a nonchalant voice. "He's my brother."

"Oh! A family unit!" Hound said with a grin, excitement over the fact of finding a family with more than one survivor to be something to celebrate.

"You glitching?" Sideswipe asked, giving the green mech a sideways glance of suspicion.

"No, I just like the idea of saving a family," Hound said, giving a nervous laugh.

Sideswipe noticed the mechs cheek plates turning pewter and realized he was being truthful. It was a strange sentiment, one that Sideswipe was unfamiliar with. Another thing Sideswipe was unfamiliar greeted his optics when he turned the last corner after Jazz.

There were at least a dozen mechs all in various states of injury and some close to stasis. The thing that captured Sideswipe's attention was the fact that the Prime, the leader of the planet, was on his knees, helping to wrap a thermal bandage around a mech's wounded leg. It was something one normally didn't see every day.

The upper class never catered to the lower caste. To see a mech of standing, especially a Prime, kneeling and doing a menial task like caring for a wounded ground soldier…. It was humbling and startling.

Sideswipe cocked an eye ridge, watching as the injured talked freely with the Prime, speaking to him as their equal and not the famed leader that came with the prestige of bearing the Matrix. It was then Sideswipe noticed that all bore the red sigil upon their person.

"Here," Hound said to a minibot, kneeling down and handing him one of the pilfered cubes.

Sideswipe narrowed his optics, watching as the minibot only drank half the cube then much to Sideswipe's shock, handed it over to the mech beside of him. Muttering a word of thanks, he took it and downed the cube, his optics brightening with the added charge.

Hound wandered through the wounded mechs, handing out his cubes. When he was done, he turned to Sideswipe, his servos out in expectation. Without word, Sideswipe followed behind the green mech, helping him to distribute the cubes. Much to his continued surprise, ever mech thanked him, two of which were barely conscious but retained enough mentality to thank the servo that helped steady their fuel.

One yellow minibot looked half terminated. A servo was burnt to cinder black, his left pede was missing, and the servo clutching his rifle looked too small to even touch the trigger. Apparently he wasn't the weapon's original owner. When Sideswipe handed him a cube, the mech's servo shook at he extended it to take the fuel, but fell lax against his body from lack of energy.

Some strange sensation welled up in Sideswipe. He knelt, just as the esteemed Prime, and held the cube to the minibot's lip plates.

"Thanks," the yellow bot muttered before taking a few sips. As the fuel hit his systems, his optics brightened. His servo came up and helped to steady the cube he was being fed. When it was half gone, he pulled away and nodded. "You finish the rest."

"My systems are operating at full capacity," Sideswipe admitted. Without accepting protest he made the minibot down the entire cube.

So caught up in the exchange of energon and gratitude, Sideswipe missed the introductions of the new bots and the battered soldiers. His audios didn't perceive his designation over the chatter of the crowd by Jazz. He barely discerned the welcome by the Prime and the offer of shelter in Iacon, and the option of joining the Autobots.

Sideswipe's attentionhad drifted to focuson a mech not much younger than himself. There were growth seams around his joints and a couple of primary junctures. His optics was a deep blue and door wings fluttered on his back. A rifle lay across his lap as he picked broken glass from his chassis.

Prime surveyed the newly awakened bots, noting there were five femmes and eight mechs. All had high polish shines that looked out of place with the battered and broken soldiers. The femmes huddled together, the fast model mech blending right in with them as they cowered away. Either they were terrified of the world they just woken to, or they were suitably impressed by the Matrix bearer.

Ratchet was standing to the side of his Prime, his scanner deployed and aimed with sneaky intent. Everything registered as normal, except for a small blip on his screen. Frowning, Ratchet realized it was a residual ping from another nearby source.

As Ratchet ran his scan, he noted that there was definitely something wrong. A quick dialogistic alerted him that it wasn't his systems that were fragged up. Someone else was. And by the proximity detector in his attuned frame, it was coming from the ruby colored mech who called himself Sideswipe. Out of curiosity, Ratchet stepped closer and deployed his diagnostic sneak attack. And couldn't stop the startled intake and wide bright optics that signaled his understanding.

As if knowing what caused the medic such surprise, Sideswipe stepped away from the last injured mech, his spark telling him his twin was nearing his position. He waited until gold flickered in his field of vision before looking to the still stunned medic.

"Go on, tell everyone how abnormal we are," Sideswipe said in a tone that sounded conversational and polite. "Tell the Prime what you discovered. Go ahead and tell him and we can get that little fact out in the open and we can go our separate ways. There will be no need to get hostile, nor to attempt to terminate us."

"Why would we do such a thing?" Prime asked, stepping forward and placing himself between Sideswipe and Ratchet. He didn't like the statuesque Ratchet nor the dangerously calm ruby colored mech Jazz called Sideswipe.

Sideswipe's expression faltered slightly his optics bore into the stern, worried face of the Autobot leader. He could have sworn he could hear the hum of the artifact within the powerful frame in front of him.

Sunstreaker joined his twin, their shoulders nearly touching. His expression was dark, scowling into the Prime's face as if he was any other threat. There was no reverence in his frozen optics.

"Any attempt at subduing or terminating us will be met with extreme hostility," Sunstreaker said, his frame vibrating with the building energy.

"What are you talking about?" Prime asked, he wasn't perturbed by their defensive state. He was more worried as to what would make them automatically think they were to be hunted and destroyed.

"They're twins," Ratchet said quietly, having regained his composure.

That statement met dead silence. Finally, after an eternity, someone spoke up.

"What's a twin?" Jazz asked, looking to Ratchet with a blank expression.

"It's a rare occurrence when one spark resides within two frames," Ratchet said, stepping around Prime and looking to the defensive pair. "They're has only been one other set in recorded history."

Hound came up behind the twins, flanked by Jazz. The twins tensed, but instead of hostile intent, they felt curious optics on them. It was nothing like what they were used to experiencing. The twin's helms tilted toward one another every so slightly, the golden one flexing while the red one gave twitches meant to be calming.

"Communicating…," Jazz muttered, earning half glances from the pair. He noted their posture and brief optic contact of scared affirmation before Jazz's face split into a grin and he laughed. "Primus! You are communicating over a bond! It's just not a spark bond. At least, not like how it is as we know it."

"Amazing," Hound said looking between the two. "I expected such a bond when I noticed you earlier but I never would have guessed it was something as unique as a split spark. Tell me, does you sparks hurt? Are you in pain now and require help?'

"Why would we need help?" Sideswipe asked taking a step to the side, Sunstreaker followed him as an exact copy on the other side. The twins now stood facing each other, Ratchet and Prime on one side, Hound and Jazz on the other, making a strange boxy configuration.

"What to you mean, their spark split?" the small yellow minibot asked. He was the one that Sideswipe helped to ingest fuel. The one missing a servo and half a leg.

"One spark, divided in half, each half taking a frame," Ratchet said, staring between the two as if they were the most interesting things on the planet. Both twins felt their fuel pumps falter. They knew that look. Nothing good came from it.

"But they look fine to me," the small minibot said, looking at the two mechs who claimed to be only half a spark.

"It's abnormal," one of the rescued mechs said, taking a step away as if he afraid of being contaminated. He was the fast racing model that had been huddled with the femmes.

The minibot turned lopsided optics to the mech and growled, "They are unique. That doesn't mean they deserve your fear, pity, or hatred. In fact, I think this is a good sign."

"Good sign?" the mech gasped. "Have you taken a hit to the helm? There is nothing good about them!"

"It's a sign from Primus," the minibot said, looking to the twins who wore identical stunned expressions. They had never been defended before, especially not from a minibot. "They are a miracle and Primus knew we would need a miracle. And look, he sent two."

There came sounds of laser fire in the distance. Someone gave a whimper, the newly awakened bots huddled together for protection. The busted soldiers grabbed their weapons, half of them barely able to hold a gun, let alone fire it at an enemy. But the determination shone in their optics. They were not going to go down without a fight.

The twins could respect that.

"So, while we've been charging, who's the bot that's leading this crazy war?" Sideswipe asked, going to the yellow minibot and easily pulling a rifle from his weak grip.

The minibot frowned but didn't protest. He struggled to his pede and held out his servo, expecting his weapon back. Much to his surprise, Sideswipe spun, ignoring his silent request and walked away. Another bot caught the struggling yellow bot before he toppled over.

"Megatron," Prime answered.

"Pit," Sunstreaker growled, his frame shifting like an eruption about to happen.

"Megatron?" Sideswipe repeated as if not believing his audios. "The one from the Kaon pits?"

"That's him,' Ratchet confirmed, making Sunstreaker fill the room with an audible growl.

"He leads this uprising," Prime said, his rifle appearing from subspace as the sounds of approaching battle drew near.

"He was in Kaon with us," Sideswipe said, not carrying who was within earshot of him. "We helped him to break out of Kaon, and when he tried to recruit us into a more… elaborate… campaign, we refused."

'And the slagger sold us like a slave trader!" Sunstreaker snarled, making even the seasoned warriors step away from the igniting ball of flame.

"We were immobilized and sold to put on display here for amusement." Sideswipe said, his fists curling at his sides. "We owe that slagger a debt."

"He's earned himself the Pit," Sunstreaker sneered, making energon lines run cold from the tone and volume.

Even Jazz stepped away.

A building shuddered in the distance, its walls thundering like many heavy footfalls. None of the newly awakened bots had experienced something as traumatic as a war, let alone sensing the danger that their world was about to collapse on their helms. Weapons fire could be hear from the street, punctuated by shouts and sounds of mechs in pain.

"I don't know how much more we can take, Prime," Ratchet said, looking to the assorted soldiers who were busted, broken, burnt, and exhausted.

"Who is the best shot?" Sunstreaker asked, looking to the assorted mismatched mechs.

"Me," came a timid voice from the doorwinged mech that captured Sideswipe's attention. He held up his rifle, the scope and charge pack only used by those in the sniper trade.

"Anyone else?" Sunstreaker asked.

"I'm a good shot," Jazz said, frowning at the golden mech, trying to discern his motive.

"Good," Sunstreaker said, nodding to the sparse weapons. "The two of you station yourselves in opposite corners, giving you the best vantage point to take down anyone who gets past us." Sunstreaker looked to the yellow minibot who was determined to fight and added, "The rest of you, give your weapons to the snipers to provide cover. Sideswipe and I will need a couple of those weapons as well."

"Allow us," Sideswipe said, looking to a more severely injured mech. He held out his servos and said in a stern, commanding voice, "Give me your weapon."

"Why should I?" the mech protested, his only remaining arm sparking and allowing his gun to fall lax. He frowned at the traitorous appendage.

"We will need two, maybe three each," Sideswipe said, going to another mech and pulling his gun from his grip with sputtering curses. "Those who are less injured, set up a perimeter around those who are compromised. If the snipers don't shoot them, you do."

"And no one leave this shelter until one of us comes and gets you." Sunstreaker added, opening his subspace and extracting some of the power cells he robbed from the berths. He tossed several to Sideswipe, who caught them with practiced ease.

"We don't take orders from you," Jazz said, his critical optic now on the two unknowns.

"Just stay out of our way and you won't get slagged," Sunstreaker said, making Jazz's spark falter from the tone and the look on the mechs handsome face.

Weapons fire sounded close by, making those unused to such sounds cower and click like sparklings. The shouts were becoming louder as well. There was the drumming sound of rounds striking a building and echoing like a bass beat.

Sideswipe turn to the group, his optics on Prime. "We'll take care of this. Keep everyone safe."

There was something about Sideswipe's look. Whether it was the set determination of his jaw. The strength of his voice. Or maybe the glimmer of something tangible, about to be unleashed, but a part of Prime, the part that was connected to the Matrix, knew he could trust these two.

"You have my word," Prime said with a nod.

Sideswipe gave a slight smile, calling to his brother. "Sunny?" Sideswipe gave a knowing look to the collection of mechs and called, his face twisting into a cruel mask, "Lead the way, bro."

Sunstreaker's expression turned predatory, his icy optics draining to white. A feral curl was on his lip plates as he shot out through the exit like a golden blur. Sideswipe didn't acknowledge those witnessing the transformation. He merely allowed it to happen, like so many times before. His own expression went wild, hungry, his optics going to a golden white. With a noise of primal hunger he raced out of the building after his twin.

"Oh, Primus," Ratchet muttered. There was no doubt about the two mechs being twins.

"Why did you let them go?" the yellow minibot asked, sounding scared. There was no way that a mech could survive out there in open battlefield conditions, let alone two who were armed with two or three low charged rifles.

"It's a suicide mission," Jazz muttered, feeling his spark clench at the two brave mechs who just bought them some time.

"I have a feeling," was all Prime said before motioning for the remaining weapons to be distributed between the most able bots.

The newly awakened bots opted to remain clustered together, the mechs surrounding the femmes and shielding them with their own bodies. The doorwinged mech took up position, as did Jazz, though the saboteur was having some difficulty in movement. Ratchet's patch job had numbed some sensitive systems, making the affected areas not work according to mental command. Luckily Hound understood and helped the small black and white mech to his position. Jazz's frame stood out in contrast to the dark surroundings, so Hound stepped in front of his Commanding officer, using his own drab plating as a shield and allow the smaller mech some camouflage.

"Primus," Hound breathed upon looking out across the expanse. He didn't need the curious soft spoken questions from the others to initiate his hologram matrix and project what he was seeing inside for the benefit of his Prime and comrades.

"Primus," Jazz echoed in Hound's audio as he watched with unbelieving optics.

The bots protected inside the building watched the small projection that showed the devastation outside. A line of mechs littered the ground, two still falling from their considerable heights to the depths below as well aimed shots pierced their bodies. The twins were a blur of color as they moved, scaling the side of buildings, dropping down onto unfriendly targets, laser fire missing them from all directions. Apparently the sparse Autobot forces that had been found realized they had allies and turned their attack upon the Decepticons that had been hunting them.

Avoiding friendly fire the twins advanced. Any bot with a purple sigil was terminated. Some met with punctured spark chambers, others had their helms twisted from their bodies and a shot sent down their spinal strut. The dead barely made their descent to the ground as the twins moved to their next target.

The bots sheltered inside watched in wide optic fascination as the twins advanced, more ruthless than the Deceptions and twice as accurate with their aim. Sideswipe ran past bots, shooting as he went, knocking down three Cons and allowing the scattered Autobots the chance to gain the upper hand. Without waiting for affirmation, Sideswipe was already racing down the street, dodging fire aimed by a seeker.

Hound felt his breathing function halt when Sideswipe ran up the incline of a partially melted building and landed on the seeker. Without preamble he fired into the cockpit and wrenched the wings to prevent control as he started to spin and jumped clear. The seeker crashed into the side of the building but before he could regain his senses, Sunstreaker ran past, shooting the seeker in the chest, dead center to his brother's shots. The seeker twitched and fell sideways, his optics dimming, his armor graying. His trine mates met a similar end thanks to a couple of the exploding energy cells shoved into their chassis.

The Autobots in hiding felt a wave of relief, noting the tide was turning in their favor until a chilling site met their optics.

A combiner team had merged and was making for the twins.

They would never survive such an encounter.

Undeterred, they downed eight more before heading into the range of the combiner team. Like a magician, Sunstreaker disappeared from where he had been running. Sideswipe jumped aside, rolling away and firing toward the oncoming enemy. He skidded and jumped, his servos quick to deploy the small battery cells pilfered from the berths. As he rolled and ducked to avoid enemy fire, he laid the foundation along the junction supports that kept the street elevated above the one below.

Sideswipe shifted his aim as a couple triple changers thought to get the jump on him. The advanced weapons fire rained down on the ruby mech, giving him an aspect of surging fire.

The mechs in hiding couldn't watch, neither could they look away. If a warrior was going down, they could at least witness his sacrifice. Sideswipe's rifle was losing its charge. The last bit of power was easily deflected by a triple changer, who had sent the weak blast toward his counterpart, earning a grumbling rebuke as the two advanced on their target.

Several of the femmes turned away from the holo-projection, unable to witness the carnage about to unfold.

A wicked look gleamed in Sideswipe's golden white optics. He clutched the rifle like a club and without warning, jumped the nearest triple changer. His blows were rapid and precise, knowing the exact weak points of the frame type thanks to his training in the Pit. As the mech crashed to his knees, Sideswipe flipped over him just in time to avoid the laser shot from his counterpart.

The other triple changer gasped at striking his friend, weakening him further. Sideswipe used the distraction to his advantage, wrenching the triple changers weapon from him and sending one shot through his helm. The other he sent toward the second triple changer.

A shot to the shoulder supporting the other's rifle, a shot to the left knee and finally, a shot to the helm and the mech went down. The mech clutched against Sideswipe's chassis as a shield gave a pitiful whine, the helm leaking fluid all over the ruby body. Without hesitation, Sideswipe placed the barrel against the mech's back and fired straight through his spark chamber. He pushed the body from him and rolled to the second, sending a blast through his spark chamber and grabbing his weapon just as a heavy pede came thundering from above.

The combiner team had waited to see what would happen before intervening. Much to their shock, their comrades had not taken down one bright red fighter who was half their size. As the giant super mech concentrated his effort on trying to step on the ruby mech, he didn't see the flash of gold from an adjacent building.

Sideswipe dodged left and right, sliding on his side, the screech of metal making audios hurt. He thudded against a support structure, his hands scrambling with a small battery cell and laying it close to the beam. When the giant loomed above him, he moved, going to the next, darting and weaving in no apparent pattern.

Skidding on his aft plates, Sideswipe looked up into the flaming red optics hovering over him, a smirk of malice as he looked down upon the now hapless mech. Just as the giant raised his fist to smash down, there came an explosion, then another, and another, until the street was shaking with the effort to hold the colossus' weight. The last place Sideswipe vacated gave a soft beep, the power cell hitting an overload setting and exploding, taking the last thread of support. The street groaned as the metal bowed. Sideswipe held onto the structural beam behind him and felt the ground shift as the street caved in to the street below.

Dust billowed up, choking the atmosphere. Pieces of broken glass showered down, metal confetti falling as a parade celebration. The gestalt shuddered, throwing out a hand to catch himself on a building that had survived the impromptu remodeling. Sideswipe coughed out of his vents, struggling to get clean air to cool his systems. The shadow of the giant rose up in front of his vision.

Such a sight would have scared the oil out of any normal bot. Sideswipe didn't even flinch. Through the haze of smoke and raining debris, Sideswipe looked up into the hellfire optics of his would be executioner and smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile. It was a look that sent spinal struts to shuddering and energon lines to run cold. It was a look that made rational mechs pause and take stock of their physical situation before it was drastically changed.

The combiner didn't seem to understand the look.

Out of no where, a golden blur erupted from a building. Sunstreaker launched himself at the giant mech who was leaning toward his twin. The three rifles were clutched in his servos as he landed on the giant's back. Before his presence could be detected he hit the overload button on the power cell that was encased in the twisted remains of the rifles. He shoved the contorted mass into the neck junction of the giant before dropping from his shoulders, tossing two charging battery cells at the connection points. The explosion took off half of the giant's head.

Metal groaned as the gestalt bond was strained. Two supplemental explosions next to critical junctions tore the gestalt apart. They fell into a crumpled heap, their bodies remaining in the joining configuration. The mech that made the torso and helm lay sparking, his armor along the edges already turning to grey. The other four members of the gestalt fritzed and jerked, no doubt their gestalt bond reeling from the loss of one of its members, let alone the leader of their consciousness.

As the four remaining mechs struggled to put their processors right, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker jumped into action. Sideswipe tossed his twin one of the rifles he stole from the triple changers. Without hesitation they landed on the half transformed bots and fired into their chests, shattering their spark chambers.

The remaining Cons who witnessed the take down of their heavy hitter turned and ran. Three were dropped with shots through their spark chamber. The other four got away. Not that Sunstreaker didn't try to stop them with distance shots. The area now cleared, Sideswipe called to his twin, earning his frozen glare and single nod of understanding. Sideswipe turned and headed toward the hiding place of the Prime and his damaged soldiers. He skidded inside the building, his optics still golden white and focusing on Prime.

"Situation contained, area cleared," Sideswipe said as if reporting on an every day subject. "Get everyone mobilized and follow me out."

Prime offered a single nod, motioning for the bots to mobilize. With the civilians in the center, they moved out, Prime opting to take up the rear, Jazz at his side. Hound was projecting a one sided image as a precaution as they moved. The Autobots who had been looking for their lost leader sighed in relief and joined the party, taking up positions to protect the wounded and civilians. When they reconfigured, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe fell back, flanking Prime and Jazz as if it was the most normal thing to do.

Sunstreaker walked by Jazz, his optics still the color of frozen terror. His step was as silent as Jazz's own, his pedefalls a perfect mirror image of Jazz's shorter stride.

Jazz felt a shiver run through him, feeling as if he was flanked by a ghost. His sensors only registered half a pulse, like an echo of life. It was very disconcerting. Add to the fact he just watched the two mechs take out over twenty soldiers, two triple changers and a fully formed gestalt, and Jazz knew these two were beyond formidable. It wasn't wise to piss off either. And judging by their attitude when told who was leading the Decepticon campaign, Megatron had unknowingly put himself in their crosshairs.

Poor slagger.

"You are welcome to join the Autobots," Prime said, his helm canting to each twin as they walked in perfect stride. "We could use mechs with your skills against the Decepticons."

"Thanks," Sunstreaker said, turning toward the much taller mech. He called over Jazz's helm, "But try not to get in our way."

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Whew! There ya have it! Another alternative to how the twins joined up. Not sure if something similar has been before but apparently I've been finding positive alternatives.

Reviews would be loved!

Next week: Sideswipe's at it again. The ARK will never be the same. :D