A/N: I changed the sparkling's name back to Joyride, which was her name originally when I was writing "No Quiet." Then I realized Joyride was taken (a Powermaster) and changed it. Now I've decided I don't care. So Joyride it is.

Sitrep=situation report

Edit: This website keeps taking out half of Blurr's lines... randomly...and no matter what I do, I can't stop it except by separating his words like normal.


Chapter 4: Separation

Ratchet sat by Wheeljack's berth, holding his hand. He'd been in stasis lock for joors, his systems slowly stabilizing, but Ratchet couldn't shake his worry. "I need you both to hang in there," he whispered.

Around him, injured mechs were in stasis lock or recharge for the night. The Hate Plague had left them with eleven patients admitted and seventeen more having been in and out for quick repairs. Now the lights had been lowered for the night, casting the room into a soft blue glow, and the hum and whirl of various mechs' systems filled the air.

Slumping in the chair, Ratchet felt the pull of recharge and knew he would shut down soon whether he wanted to or not. He was considering recharging right there in the chair when the medbay doors hissed open. With a deep sigh, he glanced over his shoulder to see who his next patient would be.

Optimus Prime entered the room, his newly rebuilt armor gleaming even in the low light. "Ratchet," he said in greeting. He walked over and placed his large hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "How's Wheeljack?"

"Resting comfortably," Ratchet replied with a small smile. As far as he knew, Prime had been making the rounds all evening, calming down confused or hysterical mechs and checking up on various situations. Last he had heard, Prime was visiting Prowl, Jazz, and their sparklings.

"And the sparkling?" Optimus gazed down at Wheeljack, and the softness of his tone carried his concern.

Ratchet watched his bondmate's face. He'd retracted the blast mask while he'd worked simply because he liked the way Wheeljack looked without it, and now anyone who entered could see just how handsome he really was. "Strong," he finally replied, reaching out and placing one hand on Wheeljack's chest. "But jarred. The energy tendril connecting the sparkling to his spark is fading slowly, so the separation will no doubt occur early."

"Will that cause a problem?" Optimus knelt beside him.

Ratchet offlined his optics momentarily, basking in the familiar kindness of his leader and friend. Optimus Prime had always cared for each of them individually, treated them like friends. He'd been more like a coach running a team than a military general: confident, wise, fatherly. Even though he thought some 'bots had been too harsh in their judgment of Rodimus, who'd been shoved into a leadership role at a ridiculously young age, he still had missed Optimus's easy charisma.

The hand on Ratchet's shoulder gave him another comforting squeeze, and he onlined his optics again and answered the question. "Joyride will have to spend the rest of her gestation period in an external gestation chamber, but she's strong enough there shouldn't be any complications. We'll just have to be careful."

"Good." Optimus chuckled. "I can hardly believe it. We haven't had a single sparkling in our midst for a hundred of vorns or more, and now I find we have an orphaned youngling, two sparklings, and another on the way."

"Plus three more couples who've tried and failed." Ratchet gave him a small smile.

Optimus's head jerked back in apparent shock. "Three more couples have attempted?"

"Red Alert and Inferno, Mirage and Hound, and Tracks and Smokescreen." Ratchet shook his head. "Apparently they'd all tried prior to the attack on Autobot City, and Mirage and Hound even tried once afterward."

Optimus shook his head. "Good Primus! Why do you think we have a sudden surge of attempts after all this time?"

Ratchet reached out, accessing Wheeljack's power panel and releasing the stasis lock. He was stable enough to be awake, and Ratchet figured he'd want to see Prime. "Well, to be honest, I think it's because we'd made such progress. After vorns of being the losing side, we'd not only gotten the upper hand but also had built bases on the moons. I think mechs had enough hope to try. Past that, I think it's also a purposeful 'up yours' to all the death we've seen."

"Ah. Yes, that makes sense." He gestured to Wheeljack. "You didn't have to bring him online."

"He's stable enough." Ratchet leaned over his mate as Wheeljack's optics flickered on. "Hey, there," he whispered. "How do you feel?"

Wheeljack tipped his head to the side and frowned at him. "Tired, but otherwise okay." His gaze shifted to Prime. "Optimus! Then I wasn't imagining it. I really did hear your voice earlier."

Optimus reached out and patted his arm. "Yes, I'd say you did. It would seem that a desperate Quint reconstructed my internal systems and brought me back online."

"Are you Prime again?" Wheeljack sounded groggy, and his speech was slower than usual.

"Yes. I'm carrying the Matrix again, and Rodimus has returned to being Hot Rod."

Ratchet noted that Optimus failed to mention that the Matrix was empty and that he was carrying it for the purpose of refilling it.

Wheeljack was nodding. "Umm. Good." His words were slightly slurred. "Hot Rod was a good kid, but he was too cowed by your reputation and legacy. He would've figured it out, I think, but I still feel better knowing you're in charge again."

"I thank you for that. Now you just take care of yourself and your sparkling." Optimus stood. "Both of you tell me immediately if you need anything."

"We will," Ratchet replied, smiling as Optimus bade them goodnight and left.

Wheeljack waited until Optimus was gone, then spoke again. "So how bad is it?"

"You'll both be fine." Ratchet sent his assurance and confidence over their bond. "I'll need to go ahead and separate her tomorrow, though."

Wheeljack grimaced. "I understand. Just promise me that if we ever are stupid enough to try this again, you'll carry."

"Fair enough." Ratchet smiled and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Just relax. This entire nightmare is over."

"It would seem so." Wheeljack parted his lips as though he'd continue, only to gasp sharply. He pressed his free hand to his chest.

Ratchet released him and grabbed a scanner. "Slaggit!" He ran the device over Wheeljack's spark chamber, but he already knew what it would say. The energy tendril had snapped in and out: the separation was occurring now.

Heat radiated from Wheeljack's frame, and he panted, trying to cool his systems. "R-ratch-et."

"Hang on for me!" Ratchet raced across the room to the cabinet where Joyride's protoform was stored and threw open his comm. link as he ran. ::First Aid! Get here on the double! Wheeljack's undergoing an early separation.::

::On my way!:: came the immediate response.

Pulling Joyride's body from the cabinet, Ratchet wondered if his neural net could survive another sparkling emergency, especially his own. Shoving the thought aside, he ran back to Wheeljack, setting the protoform on the berth beside his bondmate and then rushing for the tool cart. "Talk to me!" he yelled over his shoulder, wanting to keep Wheeljack from going into stasis lock.

"If I survive this," Wheeljack ground out, "I'm gonna apologize to Jazz for not being more helpful during his separation."

"You're going to survive." Ratchet jerked the cart over. "Okay, love. Open your spark chamber for me."

Wheeljack did as asked, but at the same instant, he apparently lost his control over their bond, letting his excruciating pain escape. Ratchet's knee joints bucked as he cried out, and he had to grab the berth to keep from falling.

Behind him, the medbay doors hissed open, and First Aid and Hoist ran over to them. "We're taking over," Hoist said as First Aid guided Ratchet to the nearest berth.

"No!" Ratchet struggled against his apprentice's hold. He'd be damned if he left Wheeljack even for an instant. "I'm not l-leaving his side."

"Ratchet." First Aid's voice was unusually stern. "Ratchet."

He understood what First Aid was saying and why, even if he didn't want to. Trying to get his panic and anger under control, he forced himself to stop struggling. "I know. I know."

"Stay by his head." First Aid rushed to assist Hoist, who already had Joyride's spark chamber open and the energy forceps in hand.

Ratchet took position by Wheeljack's head, leaning over him and cupping his cheeks with his hands. "Almost done," he whispered. And indeed it was. Watching the two blue sparks in Wheeljack's chest, Ratchet could see that the energy tendril between them was nearly transparent.

Wheeljack gave him a weak smile. "You are so carrying if there's a next time."

Ratchet chuckled, although it was shaky. "Leave it to you to still have a sense of humor."

"Ready?" Hoist lowered the forceps as the last of the connecting tendril vanished.

First Aid held out Joyride's protoform. "Ready."

Hoist snapped the forceps into Wheeljack's spark chamber, quickly but gently grabbing the sparkling. He transferred the little ball to Joyride's chest, holding it in her spark chamber. Ratchet straightened, watching as the sparkling extended tendrils, searching for a connection. Finding the walls of its new home, it expanded and linked with the conductors. Hoist released the forceps, and Joyride's entire chest briefly lit in a blue glow as the sparkling accepted its body.

But then the spark flickered and paled.

"What?" Ratchet gasped, horrified as the spark shifted green. "She's losing heat!"

First Aid immediately closed Joyride's chest and ran her to the miniature berth they'd installed just for sparklings. "Checking energy readings now," he said, hooking her up to the diagnostic panels.

"Stay calm," Hoist told them both, manually closing Wheeljack's spark chamber. "Remember: this is not uncommon for early separations." He rushed to join First Aid in reading the assessment.

Ratchet nodded. He knew that, and yet he struggled to remain objective. He felt like there were two of him present: one the logical, methodical medic and the other the worried genitor.

"Ratch?" Wheeljack whispered, his fear snaking through their bond.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I have to oversee this." With three quick steps, he stood on First Aid's other side.

"Energy imbalance," First Aid reported, his tone purely business. "Giving her a 0.05 percent charge to stabilize." He pressed the red button on the terminal, sending a surge through the cables now connected to Joyride's chassis.

"No effect," Hoist said, stating the obvious.

Ratchet clenched his fists, knowing that if he could see his daughter's spark it would be nearly yellow. He brutally shut away the panicking genitor and forced the logical medic to the forefront. He could fall apart after the emergency had passed. "Try a mild magnetizing charge. It might help her energy connect to the chamber more thoroughly."

"Yes, sir." First Aid adjusted the settings and hit the button again.

A faint zap pierced the weighty silence, and Ratchet felt static electricity crawl over his armor. Work! he thought, desperate. Primus, please! I don't want to lose another.

"Ratch?" Wheeljack's voice still wasn't more than a whisper.

Ratchet couldn't turn his optics away from the readout, so he reached through their bond and mentally hugged him. What he saw as the indicator climbed the screen was that Joyride's spark had stabilized but was still weak.

"Trying the heat charge again," First Aid said. "This time 0.10 percent."

Zap.

Ratchet realized he'd stopped pulling air through his intakes and had put several auxiliary systems on hold. For a moment, the indicator didn't move, then it climbed from the red range slowly toward the green. His relief was so intense he nearly collapsed where he stood.

Hoist and First Aid visibly relaxed, their shoulders dropping. "Thank Primus," Hoist murmured.

"I'll stay with her," First Aid said, patting Ratchet's arm. "You take care of 'Jack."

Ratchet nodded, grateful, and returned to his exhausted bondmate's side, letting him know Joyride was well.

oOoOo

Wheeljack sat in his lab, reviewing the plans for an energy shield that he hoped to erect for Autobot City. He'd recruited Blurr to transfer from the storage room the materials for the working model, and with any luck, within thirty orns, the next 'Cons to attack would find their blasts bouncing off the shield harmlessly. In all, it was an ordinary day.

Except, of course, for the sparkling sitting on his lap.

Blurr zoomed into the room with more supplies. "I can't believe Ratchet lets you keep her in the lab."

Wheeljack chuckled. "I'm not working with explosives. In fact, I'm not working with anything that will go boom."

Joyride stared up at him with wide, blue optics. "Booo?" she asked, trying to recreate his sound with her currently limited vocalizer programming.

"Boom," he repeated, encouraging her with a smile. Once she was 45 orns old, he'd be able to upgrade the program. For now, the limited version was all her processor could handle.

"Boooo!" She bounced on his leg, waving her arms.

Blurr laughed. "Isn't that the point though? Even the most innocent things go boom around you."

"Hey!" Wheeljack glanced over his shoulder, prepared to deliver a comeback, but Blurr had already zipped out of the room. Joyride laughed, and he looked back at her with a grin. "I know," he said. "It's why I gave you such tough armor . . . just in case."

She chirped at him, tilting her head in an inquisitive fashion, and he hugged her. Seeing her alive and animated-and out of the gestation chamber-had a profound effect on him, and Carly, who was up for a weekend visit, had said something about Joyride having Ratchet and him 'wrapped around her little finger.' Wheeljack wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but he did think his sparkling was gorgeous. Her red and green racing stripes set off her white armor beautifully, and her red chevron provided an eye-catching contrast to her pale grey face and white helm. What struck him most, though, was that she truly looked as though she were a mix of Ratchet and himself.

"Something tells me your curiosity will get you in a mass of trouble," he teased her. "And then you'll use that adorable innocent expression of yours to worm your way out of it." He chuckled, imagining Joyride playing with equipment in his lab or the medbay, dreaming up projects or experiments of her own, but he kept those thoughts to himself, wanting her to choose her own path.

A sudden voice interrupted him from the doorway. "Are ya doin' work or just worshippin' yer sparklin'?"

Wheeljack glanced at Jazz, ready to return the teasing, only to see he was holding Silverstreak on his hip. "Maybe I should ask the same of you."

Jazz laughed and crossed the room. "Guilty as charged." As he drew nearer, Silverstreak held out his hands, as though reaching for Joyride. Joyride chirped at him and reached back.

Gazing at Silverstreak, Wheeljack decided that he looked much like a miniature Prowl with the black and white swapped. Then again, he assumed Jazz had suggested the design and colors with his mate in mind, and perhaps Bluestreak as well, since Silverstreak had been named in honor of his 'older brother.' "Blue couldn't babysit today?" he asked.

"He's on patrol." Jazz sighed as he knelt in front of Wheeljack and then helped Silverstreak to stand on his leg. The sparkling flicked his doorwings in excitement and clasped hands with Joyride, who squealed in pleasure.

"Hoist, Grapple, and Perceptor are all on duty as well," Wheeljack said. "Until we finish cleaning up the mess the Hate Plague made, I'm not sure we can come by any babysitters."

Jazz grinned. "It's problematic. I can't get off of monitor duty as long as I'm watchin' a sparklin' at the same time. But watchin' Prowl on duty, tryin' to look all professional while holdin' a sparklin', makes it all worthwhile."

Having seen their taciturn SIC levying orders while holding a recharging sparkling against his chest, Wheeljack had to laugh. "It's true. I'm sure he thinks it's undermined his reputation, but I think it's helped it instead. Everyone seems a touch more comfortable around him now."

"That's what I keep tellin' 'im." Jazz chuckled at Silverstreak and Joyride, who seemed to be playing some odd game that involved smacking their palms together to random rhythms. Silverstreak glanced over his shoulder and chirped at him, clearly asking a wordless question. "Yer cute," Jazz replied.

Without warning, the red alert alarm blasted through the base's speakers, making them all jump. Silverstreak's doorwings lifted high on his back, and Joyride shrank back against Wheeljack's chassis and whimpered.

"What the fr-er, now?" Jazz asked, but before he could activate his comm. link, Prowl's voice came over the speakers.

::Red alert. Decepticon attack underway. All personnel to battle stations.::

As though to underscore his words, the base shook from missile impacts, and Silverstreak and Joyride began crying.

Wheeljack held out his free arm. "Leave him with me. You need to be free to move. I'm reporting to medbay."

Jazz paused, then set Silverstreak in his lap. "Thanks, man."

A tension radiated between them, and Wheeljack suspected they both wondered how smart they'd been to have offspring during a war. Wheeljack gave him a small nod of encouragement, though, and Jazz returned it before racing from the lab.

Wheeljack held both sparklings close to his chest as he stood and made his way to medbay. "It's okay," he told them in a calm voice. "No one's going to hurt you."

He entered medbay just behind Blurr, who'd apparently been ordered to collect Kimi and bring her to medbay as well.

"WhereshouldIputher?" he was asking Ratchet.

Wheeljack answered for him. "Over here." He led Blurr to a large supply storage closet that he and Grapple had reinforced to double as a bunker. A modified playpen had been installed in the back corner, one that would keep the sparklings from climbing out.

After Blurr lowered Kimi into the pen, Wheeljack set Silverstreak and Joyride down beside her and then hesitated. He had medical skills, so he really needed to be on duty; however, the sparklings couldn't be left alone. He cringed, looking down at their upturned faces and teary optics.

Someone tapped his shoulder, giving him a start, and he turned to find Hound. "Hey," he said, indicating the steel pins holding his knee joint together. "I can't help fight, so let me watch them. You attend to the patients, okay?"

Wheeljack squeezed his shoulder gratefully. "Thanks, Hound." He raced into medbay, where Ratchet and Hoist were helping the remaining two Hate Plague victims, Cliffjumper and Cosmos, move to berths on the side lines, and First Aid was gathering surgical supplies for new patients.

Grapple rushed into the bay, looking harried. "My apologies! I was held up in the command center. Seems that Galvatron has had Soundwave hack Teletraan II from a remote access point, and Perceptor is struggling to get him shut out."

Wheeljack barely heard Ratchet's curses. Soundwave got past our firewalls and defenses? Primus! How? "I'm going to the command center!" he yelled, running out of the room before anyone could respond. Lightspeed and he had been the primary programmers for Teletraan II, with some help from Rewind and Perceptor. Still, of all the mechs present, he knew Teletraan II's systems best. He knew he'd be their best hope at stopping Soundwave quickly.

::'Jack?:: came Ratchet's inquiry over their bond.

::Gotta get Soundwave out of Teletraan,:: Wheeljack replied, and feeling his mate's understanding, he didn't explain further.

He arrived at the command center to the sounds of yelling and cursing. Blaster, Jazz, and Prowl were all at separate terminals, issuing orders, while Rewind and Perceptor worked at yet another two terminals, clearly fighting the cyber invasion.

"Sitrep?" Wheeljack asked as he joined them.

Perceptor glanced at him briefly. "It would seem that Soundwave has resorted to hacking one of our orbital satellites in order to avoid being stopped in person. Careful preparation was clearly made, as we have been unable to reinstate our firewalls and-"

"If we don't stop him," Rewind interrupted gently, "he's going to access all our gun batteries as well and no doubt turn them against us. As it is, he's destroyed all our ground-to-air defenses, and he's started encrypting our own network and shutting us out."

"Run the Data S.H.I.E.L.D. program," Wheeljack told Rewind, then caught Perceptor's attention. "Disconnect Teletraan from all of Autobot City's peripheral systems."

Perceptor's fingers seemed to fly over the keys. "Done." He frowned. "Unfortunately, this won't be enough to stop him."

"I know." Wheeljack sat at one of the two remaining terminals, glanced around to make sure everyone was otherwise engaged, and then did the only thing he knew to do: he pulled a cord from his wrist and connected himself directly to Teletraan II.

Perhaps not my smartest idea, he thought as his systems began synching. But I'm going to have to fight Soundwave mind-to-mind. He smiled sadly, hoping his gamble wouldn't end in one of his famous booms but also knowing he'd do anything to ensure Joyride's ultimate safety.

Losing touch with his external sensors, Wheeljack found his mind fully immersed in Teletraan II's programming. Streams of data arched around him as indigo binary numbers and turquoise Cybertronian glyphs, not unlike interfacing with a partner, and Wheeljack took a moment to imagine himself present in body. Teletraan reacted to the request for a visual cue, and then Wheeljack reached up with a 'hand', which he could now 'see', and ran his fingers over the glyphs of the Data S.H.I.E.L.D. program as it hurtled past him like a bullet train.

Feeling oriented, Wheeljack rushed forward, following a data pathway toward a black spot surrounded with a crimson aura. Must be where Soundwave is doing damage, he thought, erecting every firewall and virus protection program he had, including several experimental ones.

The data shifted abruptly, portrayed visually to his processor as his falling into a black well. As he landed, the 'air' around him seemed filled with a crimson fog. He whirled around, searching in 360 degrees through the well/data, looking for Soundwave-

Who was suddenly 'standing' in front of him.

"Interference: unwelcome." Soundwave's hands shot outward, grabbing Wheeljack by the neck and squeezing.

Realizing it meant Soundwave was trying to choke off his connection to Teletraan, Wheeljack grabbed Soundwave's neck and squeezed as well. Without the constraints of reality stopping him, Wheeljack began to kick at Soundwave with both his legs, a virtual representation of attacking the Decepticon's presence. Soundwave growled, his visor glowing brighter red, and then a voice echoed deep in Wheeljack's processor.

Resistance: useless, Soundwave said, launching his telepathic assault. His words began to flow differently. Your mind can never hope to defeat mine. I will unravel you like substandard programming.

Ignoring the words, Wheeljack exerted more pressure on Soundwave's neck. In essence, his victory was entirely pinned on being able to 'choke' off Soundwave's access to Teletraan first. And as Soundwave peeled back the layers of his mind, unspooling the images from his memory banks and distorting them, that single goal was all he had left.

Fear after fear surfaced to torment him. Death. It was all about death: Ratchet in intensive care, chest burnt through, Joyride on the verge of dying moments after separation . . .

He was running, scrambling, through golden streets, deep black burns cutting down the walls of the dormitories he passed. Sirens wailed. Mechs screamed. Seekers, their engines shrieking with the strain, hurtling toward them in another dive-bomb run. Who was this 'Megatron'? Why were the Seekers attacking them?

The academy never seemed so huge. Where was the hospital? He should know; he'd been there enough. All he could see was the smile of the intern who seemed to always be on rotation when he was hurt. A handsome 'bot, lovely red paint, an ex-classmate he'd stared at during mechanoid anatomy. 'I just defended my dissertation,' he would say. 'I might not be a medic, but I can help!'

And he did want to help, but that wasn't the only reason. He wanted to make sure Ratchet was alive. That he hadn't been killed on a sidewalk somewhere, his body smoking and burning just like the mechs Wheeljack now ran past-

who were already dead. All of them. This had to be a declaration of war. How many thousands more would he see die if so? Could he keep the mech he was falling in love with from being one of them?

Wheeljack tore Soundwave out of the memory he was accessing, knowing he meant to use the fear to build on, to exploit, to incapacitate him with. "No," he ground out, landing a savage chest against Soundwave's torso, causing the telepath's grip on his throat to lessen faintly. If he could only-

Wheeljack ran through the halls, careful not to slip on spilt energon and oil. He'd stayed by Ratchet's side for twelve joors, helping him treat patients. As a senior intern, Ratchet had been set loose without supervision as the casualties poured in. Before long, even beginning interns were performing surgeries alone, sometimes out in the hallway. A stack of dead bodies began piling up in the waiting room. Wheeljack had ignored it all, pushing the horror away and focusing on the brilliant intern who struggled to save as many lives as he could.

But during the past joor, they'd become separated. The influx of injured had finally reduced to a trickle, and Wheeljack had been recruited to carry out dead bodies. But he'd begun to get a bad feeling when he'd stopped seeing Ratchet whisking between rooms, and he felt he needed to find him.

He slid to a stop by a supply closet, realizing he'd only been checking rooms. What if Ratchet had decided he needed a moment alone? After nearly fourteen joors of intense surgeries, he might be nearly at the breakdown point. After all, none of them had ever seen so much carnage at once. Wheeljack opened the closet door and found himself unsurprised to see Ratchet, almost curled in on himself, sitting on the floor.

"Ratchet?" he whispered, closing the door and sinking down beside him. The closet light provided a faint glow of illumination.

And that's when he realized that Ratchet was holding a sparkling. She had a black chevron, similar to Ratchet's own, and golden and black paint that was slowly being overcome by grey. A small hole pierced her chest.

"I cleaned her up," Ratchet whispered, not looking up. "Her genitor brought her in, begging for help. He literally dropped dead the instant we promised to treat her." He stared listlessly at the tiny body. "I couldn't save her." He traced one fingertip over her face. "I don't even know her name."

Wheeljack leaned close, pulling Ratchet into his arms and hurting with a pain he had no words for. Rage, grief, fear . . . an endless swirl of emotions, built up over the orn and capped with the horror of what he now saw. He'd lost his creator shortly after entering the academy, so he knew better than to use trite offerings of comfort. He was in this hell with Ratchet, so he knew could never again use trite words. "We'll name her," he whispered back. "We'll name her and bury her with her genitor."

Ratchet nodded wordlessly against his shoulder.

Wheeljack pulled back slightly, staring at the dead sparkling. But suddenly she was white, red, and green, and he and Ratchet were much older.

Ratchet stared up at him with dimly lit optics. "We lost her, 'Jack. Joyride . . . the 'Cons . . ."

Wheeljack rejected the vision with his entire spark, flailing at Soundwave's mind with his anger and fear, pushing back with his experimental defenses, and refusing to back down. "Slaggin' glitch!" He bore down on Soundwave's neck with all his mental strength. "Don't you dare show me a thing like that! I will never let you fraggers hurt her, not ever!"

Soundwave staggered backwards under the brute force of the attack, releasing his grip on Wheeljack.

"Out, damn you!" Wheeljack punched him in the abdomen, pouring every program in his processor behind his 'fist.' "Get out!"

Soundwave's image flickered, then snapped out. The black well vanished also, leaving Wheeljack floating in a turquoise space of nothingness. A line of binary code, shining indigo against its surroundings, arced lazily past him.

A warning popped up in Wheeljack's processor. "Slag . . ." He could feel all his remaining energy draining from him. He could feel the 'tears' in his own programs where Soundwave had attacked. "This is not good."

As the virtual world around him faded, he tried to cry out to Ratchet and Joyride over their bonds, but the words died in his spark, unheard.

Postscript: I'm terribly sorry. I got severely hung on one of the scenes here and couldn't get through it.

One more chapter to go! I've already written it. It's with the beta right now.