It was a bad part of town. Even with the cultural divide stretched out like a chasm in front of him, Sunstreaker could tell that. He'd been dragged through enough sleazy dives over the vorns for him to look past the veneer of this organic world and compare it to a thousand others. It didn't take a genius to recognise the interfacing parlours and the bars that offered nothing more than the pursuit of total intoxication.

Optimus Prime would probably ground his soldiers indefinitely if he ever found out they'd been here. Ratchet would shake his head, baffled and bemused by the vagaries of organics. Ironhide would rotate and charge his cannons, associating this level of debauchery and low-level criminality with humanity's sometimes disconcerting Decepticon aspect.

Sides liked this part of town though; that much had been obvious the first time Sunstreaker's brother brought him here. It appealed to the red-clad twin's vibrant personality, and reminded him of better times in far away places. Only Prime's orders, based on human demands for secrecy, kept Sideswipe from joining the crowd and experimenting with the experiences this place offered.

Given that frustrating constraint, Sideswipe has been confused by Sunny's decision to return, time and again, to the same-run down multi-storey parking ramp. At most they could park, as Sunstreaker was doing now, in their vehicular forms - looking down on the humans from the vantage point of a barren parking slot. Sides had never been one to watch from the sidelines. After their first visit he'd turned away, regretful, but content to return to NEST and the society of their Autobot comrades. It wasn't until the third time Sunstreaker slipped away during his off-duty hours, and Sideswipe had pushed a little to get a feel of his brother's ambivalent emotions through their spark-bond, that the red-clad twin had started to understand. Now of all times, with both of them worried and uncertain what to do for the best, Sides would know where to find him. And know, too, not to try.

Sunstreaker cycled air through his engine intakes. He shared so much with his brother: his upbringing, his commitment to the Autobot cause, the Corvette Stingray chassis that he wore in his own distinctive colour... half his very spark. He didn't share Sideswipe's indiscriminate attraction to other people, his ability to focus on the moment, or the ease with which Sides could put their eternity of conflict behind them and relax.

For Sunstreaker, the world was one of patterns and shapes, difficult memories and broken promises. When he looked down on the swirling mass of humanity, he saw streaks of light and colour, ever changing, vibrant with the promise of new life. Humanity was a young race. Short-lived. Even in the heights of depravity, they were celebrating the sparks within them, and the simple fact that they were alive. There was a dizzy innocence to it. Not a single person strolling down the still-thronged street market, rolling between bars or exploring the promise of more exotic entertainments, was plagued with the memories of a lifetime at war. Not one of them could imagine a single event that would change humanity's meaning forever… the way the Autobots and Decepticons both had been changed.

Watching them, Sunny could almost forget that he was now part of Cybertron's last generation.

Sides had taken the realisation in his stride, pointing out that neither of them had ever expected to procreate, or even to survive the war. Sunstreaker couldn't do that. He'd let the conversation drop, diverting his brother rather than trying to find the words to explain to him. Sideswipe had allowed the change of the subject, but not without a sidelong glance. He knew his brother was unsettled, even if Sunstreaker himself had no words for his feelings.

The destruction of the All-Spark had shaken him more than he wanted to admit.

Okay, so it had never played heavily on his mind, but always before, he'd believed he was fighting for the fate of his race - for the sparklings of generations to come. He'd watched cities fall, and friends return to the Matrix before their time – a constant reminder of the dangers of letting anyone but Sideswipe past his spark's solid defences. Despite that a precious few mechs had somehow managed to infiltrate his armour. The death of his commander and kind-of-friend Jazz, just three years before, was still a ragged wound, raw even without their current concerns. That was just the latest loss amongst many. As much as it had hurt over the vorns – all of it, and so, so deeply – Sunstreaker had taken the pain without complaint, knowing that this ordeal couldn't last forever. He had no illusions about the type of world that would follow unless he and others like him were prepared to fight for it. He'd resigned himself and his twin brother to a lifetime of suffering and loss, at least in part, for the sake of a future he never expected to see.

Now that future was gone.

Sunstreaker couldn't imagine backing out now, stepping back from the fight or letting Megatron's evil whims rule unchallenged. He'd see this through. But he couldn't silence the quiet voice that told him here, on this organic world and at the hands of its ever-astonishing natives – their long ordeal had become war for war's own sake.

That was what drew him back here, to the ephemeral, organic humans. That was why he'd let his artistic side, limited to a certain pride in his appearance for so many vorns, re-emerge. If he lost himself in the colour and light, in the sound and the movement and the beautiful vibrancy of the place, he could persuade himself that perhaps there was something still worth fighting for in this broken universe. He could find a reason to go on. And, just maybe, he could forget that the thronging life below was something he and his kind no longer shared.

Sunk deep in thought, watching fascinated as the lights from the human vehicles were distorted into streaks by his slow-cycling optics, Sunstreaker was hardly aware of the humans gathering around him.

The first three had been an irrelevance, their interest in him unsurprising. The few vehicles parked around him in the ramp at this time of night were sorry, drab and run-down things. For the most part their bodywork was dented and rusted, having seen the light of better days. Even those few that seemed well maintained had been forced into servitude for far too long, their engines tired and worn. Not even the best of them could match Sunstreaker's alt-form for style. At their best, none would match the Corvette Stingray for basic quality. Beside his glowing yellow shell, his neighbours looked drab and tawdry. He didn't doubt that his presence was worth an audience. And if these teenage boys had come to stare at him for four days in the last five? Well, he didn't blame them.

Even so, the arrival of a fourth and fifth human surprised him a little. They were older than the first three, with hair pulled back from their faces in tight ponytails and dressed in leathers similar enough that they could almost be some kind of tribal uniform. They strolled up to the youths with a cocky confidence that reminded Sunstreaker of himself and Sideswipe. Like the twins, these two carried an air of suppressed violence about them, an imminent threat. Sunstreaker refocused his attention with the instincts of a trained warrior, wary as he assessed the newcomers.

Despite his instinctive reaction to them, there was little either could do to him. A little leather and steel might intimidate their fellow humans, but Sunstreaker was made of sterner stuff. At need he could, and would, transform into the giant robot form that would send these macho men running, tears streaking their faces, and still less pleasant fluids dampening their pants. The thought brought a certain amount of satisfaction to Sunstreaker's battle-hardened spark. He'd take Pit-slag from Prime for it, so perhaps the option was best avoided, but simply picturing the possibility gave him a warm glow.

He watched with more interest than genuine concern as the two swaggered up to the human adolescents, whistling through their teeth.

"Well, kiddos, I've got to hand it to you. Wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't've seen it for myself."

The first man stopped, looking back at Sunstreaker with frankly admiring eyes. His partner leaned against the old 4x4 in the next bay along, kicking idly at its tyre with one foot.

"Who the hell would leave a beauty like that alone in a place like this?"

"I'm telling you, man." That was one of the teenagers, shaking his head and running a hand through hair slicked and pulled back in imitation of his elders'. "Every day for near a week. Same spot every time. Never seen the guy, but he sure ain't got a lick of sense."

"He won't be back any time soon?" The two elder men were drifting closer now, walking around Sunstreaker to inspect his chassis with whistles and sighs of admiration. One of them glanced back at the loitering teenagers, clearly expecting an answer.

"The 'vette's been here till dawn the last three days. No one's coming for this beauty. Either he doesn't care, or he's got a hell of a good security system."

Interested, and more than a little smug, Sunstreaker checked the strength of his door locks, and the system that would electrify his shell at need. Prime had looked a little askance at that last one, but surprisingly Lennox and his people had been as keen on it as the twins. Apparently car theft was a big enough issue in the local cities that no one wanted the red tape of dealing with a 'stolen' Autobot. Although, Sunstreaker realised with a tinge of sorrow, there was at least one mech in the system who might appreciate seeing a good write-up on one of the twins… and Sunstreaker would give a lot to see a smile on that mech's face.

Smirking sadly to himself, he dialled up the volume of his alarm system's siren, ready to let rip at the least provocation. Prime might have a problem with his Autobots frightening humans to incontinence, but not even Optimus would blame Sunstreaker for making use of a human-analogue burglar alarm.

He almost let loose a mere moment after the thought. The oldest of the five men, marked out by his grey-streaked hair, touched Sunstreaker's hood. Greasy fingerprints marred a previously-immaculate waxed finish, sending a shudder through his rigid frame. It was bad enough that he already had a scratch to buff out of his undertray before his next shift. Now it looked like a visit to the wash-racks was going to be in order. Snarling in the silence of his own thoughts, it took every ounce of control Sunstreaker had not to back out from under that somehow-covetous touch. He hesitated for a long second before deciding that a single brush of thick, insensitive fingers wasn't worth causing a scene that would cost him this vantage point. He held his silence, waiting for the man's intentions to become clear.

It didn't take long.

The second youth, silent until now, folded his arms.

"Well, man? We got a deal?" He jerked his head over his shoulder, indicating the down ramp. "Ya got the truck outside already, right?"

It wasn't until the eldest man smiled a grim smile, looking down and nodding at his partner, that Sunstreaker realised the touch had distracted him from the second mature human. He sent out a scan pulse in a hurry, only now noticing the leather-clad man crouching by his side. He reached for his alarm systems with sudden concern, distracted for a few moments as Sideswipe reacted to his alarm with an urgent query. Those moments were all he had.

The device wasn't intended to do the vehicle any permanent harm. At its worst, it was designed to knock out a top-end car's computer-controlled, anti-burglar and locator capabilities. There was no way these humans could know what their computer-killer would do to Cybertronian systems. The compact box, no larger than a cigarette packet, was cold against Sunstreaker's undertray, magnets snapping it into place with a sensation like an ice-cube dropped into a human's collar. Sunstreaker recognised the discomfort for the briefest of instants.

Then the waves of pain hit him. Electromagnetic pulses scrambled his processors and fired every sensor in his frame. Agony rippled through Sunstreaker's flaring spark, his very thoughts broken up before they could achieve coherence. He didn't feel the coarse tarpaulin fall heavily across his shell, or of the winch that gathered him up onto a low-sitting tow truck. He'd long since lost awareness of his surroundings… lost all connection with the outside world. Consciousness didn't so much flee as yield, surrendering to the onslaught and plunging him into deep darkness.

There were sights that no one in the cosmos ever expected to see. Human versus Autobot basketball – ten on three – had to rank up there on the list.

The Autobots technically had the height advantage, the tallest of their human opponents barely coming up to their mid shin strut. In this game though, that might well be more of a hindrance than a help. Sideswipe, Ironhide and Jolt had fought at one another's sides long enough for civilisations to rise and fall. They each had an instinctive knowledge of where they should be, and where they'd find their teammates. They passed the ball between them with impressive skill. What confounded their attempts to score were the delicate nature of the human ball (burst basketballs were counted as a foul against the offending team), the precision needed to get the miniscule leather bladder through a hoop they had to lean down to see, and the sheer unpredictability of the equally delicate human players around them. No Autobot was at their most graceful when trying to keep a double handful of fast-moving organics in sight, while simultaneously trying not to squish them with a careless step (if for no other reason than that would be a game-ending foul too).

The basic objective of the hybrid game was unchanged – to score as many baskets as possible. The detailed rules, allowed team compositions and game length had evolved over many months of collaborative effort. Leaning back against the hangar wall, dilating his optics to better observe the floodlit concrete apron on which his mechs were playing, Optimus Prime felt a certain amount of contentment. Thrashing out a rulebook that didn't bring human and Autobot to blows had been one of NESTs more satisfying joint operations.

Leaning against Prime's leg, arms folded across his chest, Major Lennox seemed to feel the same.

"Hey, your boys are getting pretty good," Lennox drawled, with a deliberately irritating edge of condescension. "Might just have to see what the book is up to on them actually winning one of these days."

Prime inclined his head, in acknowledgement, but not in agreement. "Sunstreaker, Mudflap and Ratchet are still the better team," he observed in a mild rumble.

Lennox whistled through his teeth. "Yeah. Wouldn't have guessed. Put the three least sociable mechs on Earth together… well, it doesn't sound like it would work out well."

Prime chuckled, low and deep. "Sunstreaker has felt Ratchet's wrench too often to tune our medic out as he does others. And young Mudflap is in awe off them both."

There was a scatter of applause from the off-duty NEST soldiers watching the game, and the few Autobots on the sidelines – Mudflap and Skids amongst them. Roped into refereeing the Sideswipe-inspired pick-up game on one of his occasional visits back to Base, Bumblebee acknowledged the point for the human team. He wasn't the only one to shoot Lennox a grin when the major whistled enthusiastically in support of his men. Lennox sighed and subsided, leaning back against Prime's leg as play went on.

"So tell me, Optimus: if you had to put together three 'bots in a dream team who would they be?"

A quick interrogation of the Base data-network uncovered an explanation of the term, clarifying Lennox's question for his alien ally. It was an interesting concept. Prime pondered it for a few seconds, weighing the strengths and weaknesses of his Autobots in his processor and trying to project their shared aptitude for this complex precision sport. He was unsurprised to discover that his instinctive first answer held up to several thousand cycles of simulation and probability analysis. His optics dimmed a little as memory caught up with instinct. Lennox had asked about a fantasy team. Prime's answer was that taken to its extreme.

"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker," he said firmly, before letting his voice soften to a murmur. "And Jazz."

Lennox stiffened, pushing away from Prime and taking a few steps forward before turning to peer up at the Autobot leader. It wasn't often any of the 'bots mentioned their fallen comrade. He sometimes forgot that to them the three years since Jazz returned to the Matrix was barely the blink of an eye… or cycle of an optic. Lennox swallowed hard, glancing up at Prime's neutral expression without pity but with a soldier's grim acknowledgement of loss and the pain it carried. He tilted his head and went with the suggestion.

"That's three big personalities on a small court. You don't think they'd get in each other's way?"

"Sunstreaker and Sideswipe would never hinder one another unless they did so deliberately. And Jazz… in battle, he was adaptable enough to complement any team with grace and danger personified."

There was another moment of silence before Lennox sighed. "Wish I'd been there to see it," he said finally, leaning back against his ally's big metal legs. "I sometimes forget there was so much before Earth for you guys… forget just how long you've been fighting this war."

"Long years… though it has cost us valued companions… friends." Prime's voice had dropped to a low rumble, his optics dim as they followed Sideswipe passing the ball to Ironhide before reclaiming it moments later. "I apologise for troubling you. Jazz was on my processor for other reasons." He vented softly, the breeze ruffling his companion's short hair. "Many of my warriors still roam the stars, William Lennox, but there are many more that linger only in cherished memory."

The conversation was getting maudlin and they both knew it. Lennox wasn't looking up at his leaning post any longer, honestly not sure whether he had the strength to meet Optimus Prime's ageless and far too expressive optics. Prime kept his gaze fixed on the game in any case, not willing to burden his human counterpart with the weight of Cybertron's tragic past, or the many fears he held for the warriors yet to answer his call. He forced thoughts of his lost soldiers away with a physical shudder that earned him another sidelong glance from Lennox.

"However, I fear I have 'cheated'. A team comprising Sideswipe and Sunstreaker does not satisfy the rules of this activity."

It was the right thing to say. Lennox managed a laugh that sounded halfway convincing. "Hey, splitting twins between teams is one you 'bots insisted on, not us."

Now Prime allowed a hint of humour in expression, easily read despite his battle mask. The two exchanged a look before both turned back to watch the competition.

"Indeed. I fear rivalry is strong even amongst my Autobots. A team that utilised the deep knowledge and instinctive collaboration of a twin bond would be - "

Prime's voice cut off, a frown forming on his face. Sideswipe had retaken the ball after the Autobot team's last basket, snatching it from his human opposite in mid-court. He was bouncing it with care, his optics searching out Jolt, when the red-armoured warrior paused. His head turned south and east as if on a string, and a startled expression appeared on his face. A moment later it was replaced by a scowl. Sideswipe's wrist-blades slid out in a blaze of energy, the ball bouncing waist high unheeded before falling back into the hands of his surprised opponents. The front-liner started to move, paying no attention to the shouts of the humans around him. And then, quite suddenly, he wasn't paying attention to anything any more.

The humans on the opposing team, reaching barely past ankle height on Sideswipe and almost directly below him, weren't in any position to see the soft blue glow in his optics blink out with alarming abruptness. It was only Ironhide's quick slide and grab that snatched two of them to safety, and cries rang out when Jolt, on the other side of the court, summoned his electro-whips. Three more humans were tangled and jerked backwards, the painful shocks they received cast into insignificance moments later by the tremendous impact of Sideswipe's armoured form against the concrete where they'd stood.

Lennox was up and running in a moment, Prime already striding over and past him. They weren't alone. The shout rose from a dozen Autobot voices – both verbally and over their internal comms.

"Ratchet!"

The Autobot medic took longer than anyone wanted to get there, racing back across the airfield from his perimeter patrol. Lennox had time to get to the side of his own shocked men, checking on the superficial burns left by Jolt's whip and scanning pale faces with a practiced eye, before the search and rescue hummer roared through the milling crowd, sirens blazing. Ratchet transformed at his patient's side, his servos gripping the insensate mech as his gruff voice called Sideswipe's name.

"Turn him over," Ratchet snapped, not looking up. Prime obeyed, rolling his warrior carefully as the medic's hand steadied Sideswipe's helm. No touch could be careful enough to satisfy Ratchet's intense scrutiny. "Gently, Optimus! I don't know what caused this yet."

A second set of sirens and this time it was a more conventional base ambulance arriving on the scene. Lennox left the human players, all more concerned for their fallen opponent than themselves, in the capable hands of his own medics. He frowned up at Ratchet instead, trying to see past the bulk of Sideswipe's vibrant red armour to what the medic was doing. Optimus could see, but seeing told him little. An alarmingly steady stream of mumbled profanity poured from Ratchet's vocaliser as he passed his hands over Sideswipe's body, scanning it. Even without a clear report, that was enough to make the Prime tense. Lennox had seen Ratchet this perturbed only a few times before, but even he had clearly realised it wasn't a good sign. The medic's playful displays of temper on chasing malingering Autobots out of his medbay were one thing, this torrent of vehement profanity and muttered instructions to the unconscious Sideswipe, stopping only just short of a plea to snap out of it, was quite another. It carried a tense edge that put both of NEST's joint commanders on guard.

Ironhide recognised it too. The big, black mech was watching Ratchet fuss with arms crossed across his chest and a grim look.

"This doesn't make sense, Optimus. And you know what makes even less?" Prime's weapons officer looked pointedly around at the assembled mechs as if looking for someone in particular.

Optimus frowned at his friend for a moment before his optics brightened in realisation. He raised his voice, looking around. "Sunstreaker?" Prime said aloud. His optics scanned the crowd and when he spoke again, it was via the com channel, echoing through human radio sets and into Lennox's earpiece. "Sunstreaker. Report!"

Lennox scowled, unimpressed. Both twins had been known to turn their radios off while not on-duty, particularly if they intended to sneak off-base. In theory, there was no reason to assume Sunstreaker's silence was in any way a cause for concern, but Prime knew his expression and rigid posture said otherwise. Even Lennox had to admit the timing was bad. This was escalating far too fast for anyone's liking. The major's hand went to his earpiece, tapping at the radio he habitually wore on base, even when not on duty.

"All perimeter positions check in!" The human had no idea what had dropped Sideswipe. It had looked like some kind of internal collapse, but for all Lennox knew, this was the result of some long-range weapon beyond Earth's technology and merely a distraction before the main attack. There'd been that strange, alarmed expression on Sideswipe's face, that sudden look towards the south-east. Towards Mission City, in fact. To Optimus Prime the inference was obvious. It took his human counterpart a little longer. Lennox turned in that direction, his surprised eyes following a long dust trail as the gate guard down there reported the approach of Bumblebee and Jolt, two of the Autobots' fastest scouts, steadily increasing the gap back to where Ironhide rolled out solidly behind them.

"Let them through." Prime spoke over the radio before Lennox could turn to ask the question. Lennox turned back, ready to shout up at Prime for the lack of consultation or at the very least demand an explanation. His voice died in his throat. Commed instructions from Ratchet streaming through his processor, Prime had already bent down to gather up his fallen warrior. Sideswipe hung limp in his leader's arms. Ratchet hovered beside them, a cable extending from his wrist and plugged directly into a socket in the side of Sideswipe's neck. The medic's frown of concentration changed into a frustrated snarl.

"Damn it to the Pit and back, Prime! They have to find him. Now!"

Prime eyed his friend with concern, trying to hide it but aware that even Major Lennox had started to recognise the way his optics irised wider. The human frowned as Prime's deep voice rose, asking a question as much of the humans on the base as his fellow Autobots.

"If any individual is aware of Sunstreaker's intended destination this evening, or can narrow his current location down further that merely 'off base', Bumblebee urgently requires that information."

Total silence met his words. Most of NEST's human personnel looked nonplussed by the urgent inquiry. The other Autobots were sombre but unable to help. They'd have spoken out long before if they could. Lennox crossed his arms across his chest, holding his tongue in the face of the emergency. The major had likely assumed Prime was dispatching his weapons-master and scouts to confront a threat, or to act as glorified messenger boys. In human terms, there was no way to explain the urgency. As far as Lennox knew, tracking Sunstreaker down and letting Sideswipe's twin brother know he was ill was probably the right thing to do. Prime's true motive would simply never occur to his counterpart.

"Slag it." Ratchet snapped the cable back into his wrist, his hand brushing Sideswipe's face with a touch far gentler than his words. "Twins! Why in Primus' name did he have to curse us with twins! Optimus, we've got to get him to my medical bay, but we need Sunstreaker back here. I can stabilise this one's systems, for now at least, but it's not Sideswipe I need to treat."

The angry words sent a chill through everyone within hearing, the first hints of understanding dawning on the human faces surrounding them. Ratchet's voice carried back as both mechs began to stride away, Sideswipe still cradled in his Prime's arms.

"Whatever this is, it's bad, Prime. Very bad. If Sunny doesn't get help soon, we could lose them both."