Plots are hatching

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and all I get out of this is good mood.

Sometimes being rich was just useless. Sure Reg got all the cool toys when he was kid and electronics now, the latest trends to wear and lots of money to spend were nice, but Reginald Simmons was learning that money couldn't buy everything. It was the cliché of the century, but clichés were clichés for a reason and that was because it was the conclusion most people made. The material goods had gotten him some hot girl friends and all the cool guys had wanted to be his friends despite him not being the football player kind of type, but closer to, well, nerd. Smoking in secret had been his admission to the social pressure. But no one of his friends really understood him, his life just was cursed and pre-planned like it was, and the latest girl friend had decided that gifts and movies weren't enough for her. She'd chosen to date some lame-ass kid from the chess club instead.

Because Thomas was so deep. Oh, the utter humiliation. It wasn't like he was shallow as a puddle either, he just had to play it down a little to fit some the generic stereotypes to fit in.

He had liked Marcia Lane, his Macy. She was funnier to just talk with than most girls, she was pretty and had a quick wit. She had liked his model planes too. And now she had decided she liked Thomas Rye better. He hadn't wanted to believe it at first, but slowly he'd come to realize that it was true after all.

He taken up art last summer just because his father derided painters so often, calling them useless and pretentious. It had been all the rebellion he could handle at the time, that and smoking at the tender age of fifteen. He knew his friends were reluctantly awed and jealous for that bit of daring, but the truth was that it wasn't daring at all. It wasn't important. And the truth was that he had no say to his life in general.

His mother's voice carried from downstairs, but he didn't hear the words. He sighed and got up hoping she didn't have anything for him to do right then.

"What is it?" he shouted when he walked down. His mom peeked from the kitchen, white and pink apron tied around her.

"You have some friends asking you out; I gave them lemonade, they are waiting on the porch," she told him and he nodded, wondering if it was Sebastian and his little brothers or Mark and Stephen. Turned out it was neither and it was one awkward moment, trying to remember whether he should remember them from school, the tall boy that nursed his mother's glass between his hands and the red-haired girl, very pretty though not as pretty as Marcia, that had already drunk hers. He was pretty sure he had never known them so well it would warrant visiting him.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" he asked eventually. Awkward moment persisted.

"I'm Judy Garland, no Dorothy jokes please," the girl said and stood up taking his hand. Her handgrip was surprisingly strong and confident.

"He's my boyfriend Ron Witwicky. Come hang out with us," she continued without blinking. Reg stared at her and she stared back, her boyfriend looked embarrassed, but he finished his drink too and took both glasses, taking them inside the house.

"Why? I don't even know you," he asked, but it didn't seem to bother the odd girl.

"Just because," she answered and smiled. Reg was going to refuse, but suddenly the walk back upstairs felt like hiking up Mount Everest. He was down now and his legs felt so heavy and what could he do except stare the wall? Or do some more models Macy wouldn't bother to look anymore? He wanted to go out and these absurd people were already there so it would save the time and cost to phone his friends. And at least they didn't know about Marcia so there would be no friendly-except-not teasing.

"All right, I'm coming," he said and Judy's eyes widened. It looked like she was going to say something, but then Ron came back out and closed the door behind him and she snapped her mouth shut.

Oh hell, Judy thought. She had been sure this was ridiculous enough plan to not succeed, but apparently simple really worked the best. She gave Ron a helpless glance and started to guide their new acquaintance towards Sandstorm. What to do now?

"It was easier when the giant robots just demanded my great-grandfather's glasses," Ron whispered to her.

He was actually starting to feel ridiculous, not having anything to speak with his new friends except weather and he wasn't going to fall that low, but just as Reg considered changing his mind the boy, Ron, turned towards the half house. It belonged to a noveau rich, as his mother said, telecommunication expert who had started building it and then ceased due to some rumoured tax difficulties, leaving it as the eyesore of the block. The neighbourhood association has tried to get the situation sorted out with the owner, without much luck.

"Lets go see if we can get inside. If they've got the pool in working order already we can trespass a bit," Judy proposed and it was like he was in a trance, Reg found himself following them as they climbed over the greyish picket fence to the front-yard that was full of brick piles, dirt piles and other harder identified heaps connected to constructing a building. The thrill of being somewhere he wasn't supposed to be was beginning to get to him and Reg grinned as they walked around the house to the back-yard.

There he saw a car. An undoubtly expensive, stylish orange sports car and he stood still.

"I think the owner is here," he whispered, though the car was luckily empty. His companions looked slightly unnerved, but didn't move away.

"There is a person who wants to see you," the boy said, "he's a friend of ours. Kind of." At this point Reg started to worry about kidnapping, maybe these kids were the kidnapper's children. Would they put his picture to a milk carton, Have You Seen This Boy?

"It's the car, Sandstorm. Sandstorm, this is Reginald Simmons, respectively," the oddest introduction left Judy's lips. And the car drove to them. There still wasn't anyone inside. He was beginning to feel like Alice who had fallen through a rabbit hole, nothing made any sense and his head was beginning to feel oddly light.

"It's nice to, uh, meet? You?" He only managed to say that much because the words were automatic; he didn't need to think about what they should be.

"He's also a giant transforming alien robot," the girl ended the introduction.

His nightmare, escaped from ice. Was his father dead? When it switched colours?

Reg was at a loss for words and the same moment the world spun promptly out of his control, and a last half formed thought (oh god it got away how what about father?) blissfully faded away into silent greyness and eventually into black.

"I think he fainted," Judy said looking at the boy lying in front of them and pitying him a little.

"Don't just stand there, we have to get him inside Sandstorm before somebody sees," Ron said and took a hold of the boy's chest, forgetting blissfully, Judy noticed, that they wanted to get caught before they had enough time to do something well and truly stupid like, say, infiltrate a secret army base. Ah, what the heck! She took his legs and Sandstorm opened his door.

"Thank you for not going into processor lock the first time," he said bemused. Judy snorted.

"The joy is all ours," she quipped. And then they got going.

Judy fiddled with the radio, trying to find good songs. She figured that since their chauffeur didn't complain he didn't really mind either.

She wears red feathers and a huly huly skirt
She wears red feathers and a huly huly skirt
She lives on just cocynuts and fish furrom the sea
A rose in her hair a gleam in her eyes
And love in her heart for me

"Rrright," grumbled Judy and switched the channel. The song was kind of a good joke, but she wasn't in the mood for hula hula girls. The next chords were more promising.

There in the night what a wonderful scene
Mom was dancing with Dad to my record machine
And while they danced, only one thing was wrong
They were trying to waltz to a rock and roll song

This time she laughed and let the song go on, a-one, two and then rock, humming along.

"Mine so would do that." Then there was a pause.

"Mine are so going to ground me till I'm a legal adult," she groaned. Never mind the army, the Government and the Decepticons, her parents were scarier. Ron groaned on the driver's seat.

"I was trying to not think that," he told her and tried to look like he was paying attention to the road and Judy decided it was a very good thing it was Sandstorm who did the driving.

"And I hope no one pays any attention to us, because if they do they are going to call the police. There is no way in hell you can pass for an adult even if it's a passing glance," she said and Ron twitched.

"You," he said pointedly, "are a hex." She just clicked her tongue and shook her head in mock despair.

"What way that is to talk to your darling?"

Ron hadn't noticed that big difference to being just friends yet, they hadn't even kissed again. Then again, they had pretty much been in mortal danger the whole time, when they hadn't slept inside something that was basically, yuch, other person's body cavity even if it was pretty un-body cavity like what with the lack of disgusting body parts.

"Guess not," he said.

Sandstorm had a good time, listening to his passengers. He was common with the tactic they engaged, distracting themselves from their fears with teasing and banter. Necessity as it was it was also entertaining and he decided that Whirl just had no appreciation for comedy, the way he complained about carrying the humans around. Sandstorm got bored easily and in the lack of recreation capabilities in Xantium amused himself with fighting. For him, war might be no energon walk, but it was a pit of an adventure and so was Earth. He didn't understand why Springer was so grim, like they weren't about to deal a great blow to the enemy and wreck to their sparks' content while being at it.

Actually, the way the war was going energon walks were no energon walk so the metaphor had just gotten out of hand.

Judy's finger tapping his steering wheel distracted him from his musing.

"I just asked, have you ever been in love," the human female asked. The image of a certain spacey red jetformer flitted through his processor, but he shook it, frustrated as he always was when he remembered Flight, not knowing if the Aerialbot had survived the last few vorns.

"I do experience a software subroutine analogous to that neurochemical state. I can't empirically affirm that my programmed analogs of emotion exactly reproduce the human emotional states, but I admit to feelings that have many parallels with the kind you mean." Now they were giving him blank looks and Sandstorm congratulated himself for successfully using Topspin's favourite evasive tactic.

Confuse them enough and they won't press the matter.

When Reg woke up he was puzzled as to why he was lying flat on his back in the backseat of a car. A moving car too, he could hear the engine. He sat up slowly, looking around baffled before his gaze fastened to the odd pair that sat on the front seats, as the sun beat down through the window on his shoulders, warm and comforting. Then he remembered the giant robot that had been a car, and God, had it eaten him? A startled shout escaped his lips and the red-haired girl that had apparently claimed the shotgun turned around as much as the seat belt let her.

"Put your seat belt on," she told him. If it had been anything more difficult he couldn't have done it, but now his hands worked on automaton and fastened the belt. He flinched when he heard it click and wondered it if the monster would let him take it off at all.

The silence was oppressing, with the engine humming softly around him, and the muffled noise of other cars from the outside. Just when Reg was about to crack the boy began to talk.

"Uh, sorry about this, but we are kind of kidnapped ourselves. At least if you ask from our parents right now. But we have a real good reason for this." You needed a good reason to be kidnapped? Reg wanted to scream.

"Where are you taking me? Is this car a monster?" he screamed, pressing his back against the seat and it would have worked better if he could have gotten further from the monster car, but no! The boy, Ron Wickity or something, winced.

"He's an alien, but not a monster. Sandstorm isn't going to hurt you; he hasn't hurt us, either." But Reg wasn't about to buy that; he could see the white bandage on the hand that was gripping the steering wheel. Many nights' bad dreams rushed back to him like he'd been tackled during the PE. Ice cracking and bright lights, booming voices and trying to desperately run away… He whirled around panicked, or rather tried but the seat belt indeed held.

"You are lying," he accused, "I can see your hand!"

Ron cursed Whirl in his mind and so did Sandstorm. The Wrecker was pretty sure that this new boy would take the "it was an accident" explanation even worse than Judy had, though for different reasons. They were still trying to come up with something to say when Judy took the reins.

"It was a Decepticon, not an Autobot," she lied through her teeth, "and they might be very dangerous killing machines, but other than that they are really nice guys." The honest part didn't have the preferred effect as Reg Simmons seemed to try and curl inside himself, eyes huge like saucers. Ron, who by now had stopped even pretending he was driving and turned fully around, saw that he was actually shaking. No good.

"I don't think that helped, Judy. Sandstorm, now might be a good time to explain the war and the sides to him. And about the cube too."

And so he did.

By the time Officer Parker met Jonah and Emilia Garland, the noise had already alerted pretty much the whole precinct. He gave an amused look to his partner, Carson, who was trying to signal him to come and help him with the overzealous parents. No way in hell; he was enjoying the show too much. So he simply waved happily to him and smirked when Carson tried to stab him to death with a mere look.

"Mister Garland, would you mind keeping it…" the officer tried to calm the elderly man down. Mister Garland, a very dignified-looking man, gave Carson an unbelieving stare.

"Down? How can I keep it down when our little sugar cube has gone missing? Get off my back and go find our baby!"

Sugar cube? Laughing to parents' worry had always been very low in Parker's opinion, but if the parents' age was anything to go by the daughter, or heaven forbid, son had to be a teenager by now.

"I need that description one more time," poor Carson asked looking like a deer in the headlights.

"Again? She's sixteen years old, an adorable girl with cute, big eyes and cute red hair and she wears cute skirts and shirts with cute flowers in them and she's got adorable voice! She eats very healthy too! Our little gingerbread crumb! Got it?" the man demanded.

"I fear not," Carson mumbled. Yeah, Officer Parker decided, what with how the young were these days the adorable girl had probably run away. And while mocking the parents worry was still low he couldn't help thinking that just maybe the poor sugar cube had a good excuse.

"She's so adorable maybe somebody just walked off with her," Mrs Garland said with a voice that was almost calm.

"If something happens to her, I… I'll…" her voice faltered and pity and shame overcame Parker and he took a step forward to console the poor woman. Then she cracked her knuckles.

"I will make their miserable, cursed souls miserable for he rest of their lives!" she exclaimed and laughed and while she was probably, hopefully, just hysteric the sound of it stopped him mid-step. He was kind of scared and judging by Carson's face his partner felt the same, but at the same time he wondered. Some parents really cared that much for their children? He was almost jealous.

"Hey, Parker!" he heard someone yelling from the pen. "Come here! We have gotten another case."

The working environment was a far cry from good, but he could do with what he was given, Hailstorm decided tinkering with his holo projector. The kind of waves he needed it to stimulate were beyond its capabilities for the time being.

"You're actual-ly ki-kind of smiling," Mixmaster said.
"What?" Hailstorm queried, looking up and looking confused.
"You're smiling," Mixmaster repeated. They were in the temporal Base of Operations on the wastelands that humans called the Mojave Desert. They were also unhappy to be there. Granted, they hadn't had anything but bad luck and results thus far, but was Starscream really going to run the risk of the Wreckers getting the All Spark?
"We can see you smiling. Don't bother to argue." Hook didn't even look up from his datapad as he delivered his statement, severely annoyed with Hail. Of course they could.
"Why would I argue? Of course I'm smiling. It's been vorns since we have been on a mission together. We've gone through a lot together. And what comes to Starscream, if he tries to sabotage the retrieval of Lord Megatron we can always kill him." The icy blue cyclo craft's words were self-assured, his gaze serene.

Hailstorm wanted Megatron back; Starscream was the worst that had ever happened to the Decepticon cause, Optimus Prime counted. He wanted the traitorous Sub-Commander dead and he wanted the Autobots to have the All Spark.

Because if Decepticons got a hold of it the war would come to an end and without war he would be void, no personas needed to fill him. May the war go one till all is void rather than just him.

When he had been Siege he hadn't resembled his designation much, his personality shy and sweet. He'd had a lover too, one of the Autobot High Command. Rather than endure the cyclocraft's distraught expression, Welder had decided to let the air support mech help with some basic nursing during Sojourner's recuperation. To become Prisma he had switched shells, he had been small and graceful, but also razor-tongued. Once a teammate of his had made a list of "Crazy-Aft Things that Gadget has done" and nobody who knew him was surprised to find out that it was about half as long as the list of idiocy of the whole team. Shimmer, White Noise, a jet named Spectre.

"It's good," Scavenger said and reached over for one of Hailstorm's hands. Petting it; he was the self-confidence challenged one, not psychotic.

"I like it when you are happy." He was always so earnest.
"I am at least content on a regular basis. You're acting like I am chronically depressed." There were vorns when that was who he was. On the other hand many of him weren't so it didn't count. Hook snorted. He was the arrogant one.

"It's got nothing to do with depression, you keep too much to yourself off-duty." Hailstorm was a glitched con, but they were a glitched lot and they dealt with it. They could deal with the spy-turned-lover. Hailstorm made an amused noise, a high-pitched whirr of his facial gears.

"You calling me introvert is like a seeker trine calling a solo crazy," he baited them. It would be either Scavenger or Longhaul.
"We interact all the time," Scavenger took the bait lazily, still holding his hand, "we did make friends with you for example." It was truth that they were downright easy to get along with compared to the late Stunticons, may they rest in pieces.

"And then you made me a lover. I'm not sure I really count. Not that I'm complaining." This him was tactile and so he flirted, manufactured like he was because gestalts tended to be tactile.
"We didn't know you since creation so you count." This was Longhaul.
"If you say so. But would you mind letting me get this done before jumping my structure?" he asked Scavenger, whose caresses were growing more and more insistent.

"You all are trying to get me open my interface ports every time I enter the room. Or the corridor. Or the medbay." A slightly devious smile graced his mouth components.

Zenith had been moody and pessimistic, unrequitedly in love with his commanding officer and always in the medbay complaining from one kind of damage or the other, most of them imagined. There had been only two things that Trance would have rather run from, not that he had admitted it: that accursed con telepath Soundwave and a fragged-off Ratchet after a big battle. He had given up his wings to become him.

He was running calculations in his head, if he could get the gestalt to turn on Starscream when they were fighting for Megatron and All Spark he could neglect the holy cube in favour of their leader. Hopefully the Constructicons wouldn't be killed afterwards; gestalts were hard to come by.
"Hey, you went after us first." This was Scavenger.
"And I don't recall any of you complaining either."

Torch, Failsafe, medic trainee Polarity. And in the end, when it all returned to him, fire and death and Hailstorm. Always Hailstorm.

They had sent the gestalt to build them base a deca-cycle ago, but the place was still under construction and it would continue to be until they got more supplies to build the secondary level ready; even the Constructicons couldn't make anything out of thin air and sand. The base certainly wasn't big enough to comfortably house them all, but they'd had to retreat there to regroup and tempers were flaring.

Starscream was frustrated beyond words. The only way for him to keep the loyalty of the Decepticon army was to lead them to Megatron, but he would loose his position the moment they did find him. And Starscream had no delusions about his warlord being dead; Megatron was bigger than life, as much as he hated to admit looking up to him. You couldn't count people like Megatron dead until you crushed their spark, processor and vaporized the remains. Hailstorm had finally answered him, after deca-cycles of playing time. The Decepticon Air Commander knew that the infiltrator hated him with passion, but he also knew that Hailstorm wanted to frag this up and he needed somebody to take the blame for his machinations.

He had much to loose, but too much to gain to give this opportunity up. Megatron's cause was just, but Megatron himself was unpredictable with his favour and stubbornly capricious, next of line to chaos, complete opposite of the order he preached for. Starscream had eventually been able to earn this coveted position, but it had been fight all the way up: Megatron had never liked him, always preferring somebody else, forcing him to leave a trail of shells behind every step up.

The normal arrangement for the original Cybertronian army, the undivided Cybertronian army of the Golden Age, had been the Lord High Protector, the Air Commander as his sub-commander and two Minor Commanders under him, one of them Special Operations commander and then the lieutenantes. As devastating as this entire war was both sides had to improvise a lot in their officers.

Since the Autobots hadn' had any high ranked flying units at the beginning of the war so they had simply filled their Second-In-Command position, First Lieutenant, with their Special Ops commander.

Megatron's decision had been a little harder, one of his lieutenants pit bent on becoming the Second and the Decepticons, while had the upper hand in almost every other division of armament, had practically no infiltrators that could be spared from other, more important tasks (or medics, but that was inconsequential). Most of the Decepticon soldiers tended to lean toward the "when in doubt, blow it up" school of strategy and Megatron was content enough with the situation. While it left some subtler battle tactics out of the question if he wasn't sparkling-sitting his commanders it also ensured that most usurping attempt were about as sneaky as hammer to the head. Onslaught was one of the few exceptions, but he was a gestalt leader and so his judgement was seriously compromised, his OS placing the welfare of the gestalt above the common good, which, Starscream thought sardonically, was what Megatron wanted. Because if he didn't get what he wanted nobody was happy.

He was avoiding Soundwave like cosmic rust for now. The telepath had been Megatron's most trusted advisor, because the Decepticon leader hadn't trusted his second to advise him a route out of an empty energon cube without backstabbing him and then burying the cube just to be sure. Sadly Soundwave could be trusted; criminal waste of talent in Starscream's opinion.

"And why we should trust this source of information?" Barricade asked as Starscream entered their temporary command centre. He wasn't sure if he should count the black and spiky mech as an opponent, plain indifferent neutral or an ally. Barricade was complicated. He had never shown any indication of treachery or hint of doubt towards the Lord High Protector, whose Elite Guard member he was, but he certainly was a lot less of a nuisance than Soundwave or Blackout. He seemed to be pit bent to find the All Spark, not necessarily their leader.

"The Senate might not know, but somebody high up has to. Do you think they would want to pass up an opportunity like this?" he replied. "Frenzy can hack into the files easily enough if you just get him to the right building. We don't necessarily need the glasses and I refuse to follow the Autoscum blindly around this miserable mudball."

The one thing they had in common was the hatred towards the planet and its jumped-up primals. Barricade smiled and it wasn't a nice smile.

"Very well," Barricade noted with a grin. "Send coordinates of this White House." He turned to his back to the acting Supreme Commander and noted:

"Ah, one more thing. I just received a transmission from Hailstorm; he's delivered some information. It seems the Wreckers have three humans in tow." Starscream brightened his optics in surprise.

"One more? An unwise move," Starscream noted, "but how does he know? He's here!" And how he would love tearing the annoying cyclo-craft apart when he had fulfilled his role! He despised it when his subordinates hid capabilities from him.

Barricade didn't answer, shrugging slightly before exiting the room and Starscream spun around irritated, sending a query to Blackout.

ETA 0.5 cycles, was the answer he received. At least something was going his way. Sending the pair to South Korea had been a mistake, especially since they could use Scorponok's hunting capabilities to follow the Wreckers. And, inexplicably, the drone unnerved the otherwise disgustingly serene Hailstorm.

That was when Soundwave hailed him.

Starscream told himself that the only reason he permitted the nosy telepath live was because he might be as loyal to him as to Megatron after Megatron was conveniently out of the way. Maybe. It was worth a shot.

Explain yourself! he demanded, firewalls fortified. It as unlikely Soundwave could hack into him from Nemesis, but the clinic touch of the other's mind still made him touchy.

Danger detected: The Ark advancing. Counsel required. So careful wordplay, Soundwave was subordinate to him, but didn't like taking orders from him. Starscream cursed him, Optimus Prime and the elusive Wreckers to the Pit and then Megatron just for the good measure.

Engage the enemy, but don't endanger Nemesis unnecessarily. If you can't win even against a relic like Ark, retreat, but make sure to win us at least time. He broke the connection and fought the urge to bang his ead against some hard, flat surface.

Much to his own surprise he didn't hate Optimus Prime. He covered the unnerving lack of real eaction with fiery temper tantrums every time they came across, but the truth of the matter was that he kind of admired the way the mech with no military training had managed to organize and use to his advantage such a ragtag bunch of wannabe-soldiers. The real melee fighters among the Autobot ranks were rare, but they didn't do too bad, all things considered. Now this very ill-timed advance almost made him hate the opposing leader, along with the worry about Xantium, but not quite and he had never been the type to long for worthy opponents either. Unworthy opponents were much to his taste.

But as unnerving as the nothing personal –attitude of his was since he really couldn't afford to go soft in such a back-stabbing bunch of vile mechs as the Decepticons were, he had to concentrate to the elementary. The All Spark, the end and beginning of this all. It was all that mattered. He would rule Cybetron even if he was the only mech alive there.

It was half an hour and lengthy explanation later and Sandstorm was getting a little bored with the routine, to be honest. It didn't help that he had to abide by the speed limits: he didn't want the authorities paying any attention to him while the probably not co-operative young was with them.

The probably not co-operative young was beginning to realize that it just might pay to co-operate. Not out of fear, though he was still afraid because whatever the thing said about Autobots and Decepticong, they had only his word for it and it could be Autobot propaganda or outright lies for all he knew. Never trust anyone who has more fire power than a small Third World country. Not because he just waned to have this quickly over with, though that was true too. And certainly not because for a moment of very temporary insanity he had thought that just maybe Macy would like alien lifeforms better than chess. He was fairly sure that Macy would just faint too and then never talk to him again.

The realization had struck as he had just been about to demand them to let him out and he had closed his mouth quickly. Sector Seven had been founded to guard the Cube, All Spark, and the Mega Man, a Cybertronian, and protect Earth from the alien invasion.

With no cube, with no giant robot and this thing public, in the army's and Senate's hands, would there be need for Sector Seven? Or would he be free to live his life as he did?

He had never been one to make quick decisions about important things, or even less than important. He was the boy who in his seventh birthday pondered so long whether he wanted to start with cake or ice cream that when he decided to have ice cream it had already melted. He had gotten more decisive since, but still he liked to take his time with things that would have long-term consequences. But now he experienced a brief but fierce vertigo of mind, he realised that he had to make the decision now, no options, and the consequences could be devastating if he did the wrong thing and it exited him. Like he was his father, always sure and at least step ahead of everyone else.

"And what you want me to do about this?" he asked. He could always play the victim card if things went badly.

"Intel from the base and your help in getting Ron and Judy in. Also, some kind of guarantee you won't double-cross us." It was the cars voice and God it still unnerved him when it came from around him without clear source. He wanted so badly and he was going to have. So jump off the plane and pray your parachute works.

"If I help you the cube, All Spark, you will take it away, right," he said slowly.

Sandstorm had known it would come to this and he hated it. Because while the All Spark was rightfully theirs, the humans had possessed it four generation and the boy wasn't being unreasonable challenging them in this. Especially when it was his creator who was the leader of this branch of humans. But they would have what was theirs and if it took grossly threatening this little, helpless being he could do it.

"The All Spark is ours and denying us it would be parallel to denying your race your female gender and a very prominent part of your energy resources." But let's give the friendly persuasion one more try. When Reginald Simmons answered his voice was impatient, but also inexplicably amused.

"No, I meant that if I help you I don't have to ever see the cube or the robot in ice ever again?" Feeling his processor trip over itself at Reginald's question, Sandstorm answered with an affirmative. Then he thought abut it second time.

"What robot in ice? Tell me more." Because while the thought was too hilarious to be likely, mighty Megatron imprisoned by these puny humans, he had a bad feeling about this.

But the next one who talked wasn't Reginald.

"Was there one a city named Crystal City in Cybetron?" Ron asked with a quiet voice. It wasn't a sure thing, but considering the differences in Earth's and Cybertron's minerals it could translate… And maybe Sandstorm was never afraid, but he could be very unnerved.

Time measurements. Some of them vary in different continuities. I took Wreckers from IDW and I decided to be consistent with my continuities.

astrosecond 0.498 seconds

breem 8.3 minutes

cycle (IDW continuity) 1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)

mega-cycle (IDW) 93 hours

deca-cycle (IDW) about 3 weeks

stellar cycle (IDW)7.5 months

vorn 83 years

AN: The songs are She Wears Red Feathers by Guy Mitchell and Rock And Roll Waltz by Kay Starr. Don't own at all. I felt I had to include something really that old since the last one was so anachronistic.

Yes, I did it! I ship Sandstorm and Fireflight too and I blame the usual culprit, ajremix.

By the way, I'm getting tired of writing how people panic when they see the Transformers the fist time. At least this time I didn't have to go through the "But they don't exist!" phase. Reg may seem a little meek here, but I figured that with a dominating father like his, he's still in his shadow. And about Judy's parents, I figured they had to have been an odd lot to have raised her so there.

South Korea was chosen instead of Quatar because of the time difference.

My Constructicons pay homage to Dreaming of Everything's Constructicons (since I'm not that sure of their characters).