Sideswipe moved slowly across the rocky terrain, making as less noise as possible. As soon as he was safe under the cover of a rock large enough to hide him from the enemy's optics, he activated his secret communication frequency.

- Bro, come on. -

Sunstreaker didn't need to be told twice. He moved with the stealth and grace of a large feline (as the yellow Lamborghini himself would have bragged) and he reached his brother.

- This is almost too easy, - Sideswipe said, smirking.

- Let's not make these our famous last words, - Sunstreaker pointed out as he dared a peek at the base. – Can you see the others?

- Not really, - the red Lamborghini replied. – Prime, do you read? –

- Loud and clear, - Optimus's voice sounded from the other end of the link. – Are you in position? –

- We'll be there soon, - Sideswipe answered. – We didn't come across trouble so far, so… -

Just then, Sunstreaker touched Sideswipe on the arm and placed a finger on his lips, a sign that the red frontliner should stay quiet. Sideswipe complied, keeping as still as possible while Sunstreaker locked his gaze on a lone Sharkticon. What could one of the Quintessons pets be doing out there on his own was anyone's guess. It didn't matter, anyway. At any moment, he could come across the two Autobots and raise the alarm - something the Twins couldn't allow to happen.

- Careful, - Sideswipe transmitted to his brother.

- Always am, - Sunstreaker retorted, and lunged for the kill. The Sharkticon didn't stand a chance as Sunstreaker grabbed him by his throat and used his other hand to tear the chest-plate open. An instant later, the Sharkticon collapsed in a heap on the ground, his spark torn out of its laser core.

- Overkill much? – Sideswipe asked, even if he wasn't as sorry as he tried to sound.

- It was either that or let him scream for reinforcements, - Sunstreaker retorted. – Besides… they decided to mess with us first. –

Sideswipe opened his mouth to say something, but Optimus's voice cut into their banter.

- Sideswipe, report. -

- Oh, right, sorry, - Sideswipe said, remembering himself. – Nothing to worry about, Sir. Bro just took care of something ugly. –

- Were you noticed? –

- No. –

- Good. How far are you from your rendezvous point? –

- Three clicks, - Sunstreaker interjected, trying to ignore the slight cuff Sideswipe placed on his arm. You'd get it wrong, the yellow Lamborghini's look said; Sideswipe had a history of getting lost and unable to read co-ordinates right, after all.

It's been twenty years. Let go! Sideswipe's look answered indignantly.

Never, was Sunstreaker's final answer, and he turned his attention back to Optimus. - We'll let you know when we're in position. –

- Very well. Optimus out. -

Both Twins heard the characteristic sound of the transmission ending, and they exchanged a look full of meaning. It was show-time.

Once Optimus was done talking with the Twins, he opened his secret frequencies again so he could talk to the other Autobots.

- Jazz, do you read? - he asked.

- Sure thing, Prime, - Jazz answered. – Wreck-Gar did wonders with my radio-transmitter. –

- Flatterer, - Wreck-Gar said in a falsetto voice. He was standing next to Optimus and he had heard Jazz quite clearly.

The Autobot leader couldn't help but smile inwardly at that, and then he addressed Jazz again. – Where are you now? –

- In position and waiting for your command, - Jazz answered. – And I hope you give it soon, 'cause Blurr is really antsy. -

- Tell him he'll get his hands full soon, - Optimus said. – Have you heard from the others? –

- Prowl and Bluestreak are ready, - Jazz said. - Skylynx has already separated into both his parts and he's currently scanning the area for trouble. -

- Any sightings so far? –

- Negative. The joint is as quiet as it can be. –

- That's what worries me, - Optimus noted thoughtfully, but he didn't have time to ponder on it long, for the sound of another incoming transmission rang in that moment.

- Prime, we just got into position, - Sideswipe said.

- Good work, - Optimus said. – Do you see the surveillance? –

- Sunstreaker's aiming at it as we speak. –

- Very well, - Optimus said and he faced Wreck-Gar. – Ready? –

- Sir, yes, Sir! – Wreck-Gar answered, sounding just like a marine.

- All right… Autobots. - Optimus took a deep breath. – Let them have it. –

"Have there been any sightings of the Autobots?" the wizened-looking Quintesson asked as he faced his companions.

"Not as of yet," the spiky-headed Quintesson replied, keeping his optics locked on the monitors. "There's no indication of massive energy readings."

"From where do you suppose they will attack?" the Quintesson with the Death-like face asked.

"There's a 47% probability that they will go for the main entrance. However, since there's a 89% chance they'll consult our fugitive, there's also a 43% probability of them using a less conventional tactic."

"And our odds of counter-attacking?" the wizened-looking Quintesson asked.

The spike-headed Quintesson was about to answer when one of the monitors suddenly blackened. The Quintessons flinched, shocked to see even more monitors blackening one after the other.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Quintesson with the Death-like face asked.

"Something is destroying the entire surveillance system!" the spiky-headed Quintesson answered, his tentacles practically writhing as he typed swiftly on the keyboards. "I'm currently downloading the last recording from the main memory feedback. We might determine the nature of this catastrophe."

"Wait! What's that on the screen?" the first Quintesson asked, pointing at the recording that appeared on screen. Sure enough, all three of them could discern the face of a young Autobot, his optics alight and his silver face set in determination as he raised his gun and fired straight at the camera.

"It's only one of them," the spiky-headed Quintesson noted in surprise. "Where are the others?"

The wizened Quintesson understood. His face changed to that of Wrath, his voice becoming quite terrible in his anger. "They're attacking from all sides. They're trying to blind us!"

"Then they shall pay for their insolence," the spiky-headed Quintesson declared, changing to the face of War. He turned to the six Autobots who were still standing next to their pods, a vacant look in their online optics. "Slaves! Listen to your masters' word! Seek out and destroy our enemies!"

All six Autobots bowed their heads in acknowledgement and headed for the exit, no hesitation in their actions. Their masters' word was absolute and undeniable.

Bluestreak fired at another camera, then hurried after Prowl as fast as his legs could carry him. The tactician moved with experienced ease, hardly paying attention to the Sharkticon laserfire that flew past him. The young gunner, on the other hand, found it quite hard to keep up with his mentor and keep an optic out for the enemy-fire at the same time.

"Blast it," he said as soon as they both reached the safety of a makeshift cover. "I guess I'm more out of practice than I thought."

Prowl patted his protégé on the shoulder. "We're doing fine. The Sharkticons are worse shots than the Decepticons."

"Really?" Bluestreak said, pointing at a small scorch mark on one of his doors. "Could have fooled me."

The tactician's lips tugged to a half-smile. "It almost makes you wish you had no doors, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Bluestreak admitted, chuckling. "Almost." The gunner considered it strange that he could talk so casually while in the heat of battle; but, frankly, he couldn't bring himself to care. After trudging on for so long, prolonging his existence in the name of the greater good, Bluestreak finally felt he was alive again. "Which way?"

"There," Prowl said, pointing at a small steel door. "Go!"

Bluestreak nodded and, springing out of their cover and firing at the Sharkticons constantly, he finally made it at the door. Prowl followed him close behind, optics scanning the security lock on the wall.

"Can you open it?" Bluestreak asked.

"I'm not sure," Prowl replied, fingers twitching as he tried to decide which buttons to press. "I knew the password but I'm positive they've changed it."

"So now what?" Bluestreak asked, dodging the enemy laserfire with a quick duck of his head.

"Well…" With a little half-shrug, Prowl fired at the lock, destroying it utterly. Miraculously, the door opened.

Bluestreak blinked at the lock and then at his mentor. "I don't want to think what would have happened if you were ever locked out of your office."

"Desperate needs, desperate measures," Prowl replied, beckoning Bluestreak to stay close as both Datsuns ventured inside the building. Two Sharkticons tried to block their way, but the gunner took care of them with two well-aimed shots on their heads. Prowl kept running, determined to reach his own goal; but he had to come to a sudden halt when he saw a shadow walking down the same corridor he and Bluestreak were in.

"Prowl, that doesn't look like…" Bluestreak started worriedly, but Prowl didn't let him finish the sentence. He grabbed the young gunner by the wrist and dragged him in another, darker hallway.

"Don't make a sound," the tactician warned. "He probably didn't spot us."

"Who?"

Bluestreak got his answer when the shadow stepped to the light. The gunner bit his lower lip component so that he wouldn't gasp in astonishment and horror. Huffer was standing a few feet away from them, alive and functioning. But his optics reflected no emotion as he scanned the area, obviously trying to locate any intruders. Yes, his was now an enemy, even though he had the face of a friend. Bluestreak's doors twitched and his fingers reached for the trigger of his gun, driven by memories of the Hate Plague.

What are you gonna do? Shoot me? You just don't have the bolts for it, kid!

Aren't you gonna run?

PERCEPTOR!

The Bluestreak saw the minibot moving onward, disappearing down the corridor once more. The tension that coursed through him all but disappeared, and he sagged against Prowl.

"Are you all right?"

"I've been better," the gunner admitted in a whisper. Even so, there was also something that puzzled him. "How come Huffer didn't detect us? We were close enough."

"Yes, we were," Prowl said. "And he would have certainly detected us if his sensors were online."

"You mean they weren't?"

"Yes. It was part of the reprogramming process," Prowl explained. "We'd only serve as the Quintessons' optics and audios and they'd give us directions as to what to do via a radio signal. But optics can only see that far. They can't catch sight of, say… two mechs in a dark corridor."

Bluestreak understood. However, he had also realised something just as important. "Wait a minute… if Huffer and the others are controlled via a signal…"

Prowl smiled, very much like the way he used to whenever Bluestreak accomplished a task successfully. "Indeed. If we destroy the computer, the initial Autobot programming will counterattack the Quintessons' and free them from the mind control."

"Will it hurt them?"

"I'm afraid so. But it's still a risk worth taking," Prowl said, nodding to the direction of another corridor. "Come along."

"Wait, Prowl," Bluestreak said, following the tactician. "If Huffer has been sent to confront us, the others must be out there, too! We should warn Prime and Jazz and Sideswipe…"

"Or make sure we reach our goal," Prowl cut in. "Something tells me our warning would only come too late."

Another Sharkticon fell in pieces at Sunstreaker's feet, but the yellow Lamborghini barely bothered with it. He just turned his attention to the other oncoming Sharkticons, firing at them like a possessed mech. A rapid series of explosions followed one after the other as the Quintesson's minions perished, and Sunstreaker took the chance to address his brother; Sideswipe was standing with his back to Sunstreaker.

"You okay?" he asked laconically.

"Twenty Sharkticons down and counting," Sideswipe replied, sounding quite pleased with himself in spite of the raging battle they were caught in. "How about you?"

Sunstreaker didn't answer at once; he first shot a Sharkticon that had come too close in the meantime. "Twenty-five with this one."

"What?" Sideswipe exclaimed. "You're cheating! You were at nineteen just a minute ago!"

"Maybe my aim is better than yours," Sunstreaker said with a smirk, firing again.

"Or maybe it's your drop-dead looks," the red Lamborghini replied.

"If that was supposed to offend me, you're doing a horrible job at it!"

"Me? Insult my brother? Never! I-"

Sunstreaker tensed, unsure what to make of his brother's abrupt silence. "Sideswipe?"

"Bro…" the red Lamborghini said, and his voice was unusually nervous, "We've got company."

Sunstreaker turned around, unsure what to make of that statement. That is, until he saw what his brother did.

Ratchet holding up a gun in each hand, ready to fire at them.

"Oh, slag," the yellow Lamborghini said wryly.

TBC...