Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay with this chapter. But on the plus side it's a bit longer then usual! I was having a hard time fitting everything into place. I know a lot of you were expecting a chapter of Q&A, but I want to get on with the plot. Sorry. Also! Sapphire225 is writing a somewhat side story called "Gradual Subjugation" which is set on Earth during the events of Domestic Liberation. Go check it out! Also, sorry for any grammar or spelling errors. I tried to comb through it as much as possible, but as we know, Spell check is a liar and I am naive enough to believe it.

Phase Thirteen: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The questions started off simple and most of the students looked timid and very skeptical of the operation they were witness to. It didn't help much that Brea couldn't keep her voice from squeaking or pronouncing a word incorrectly and having to apologize repeatedly, which only served to make her more self conscious and nervous. Craig did not seem to be fairing all that well either. His brow was moist and she was not sure if it was from the lights or from his nerves. As the seminar continued, things slowly but surely began to settle and the nervousness of the situation lost its bite. The tightness in Brea's chest that had made it all but impossible to talk without squeaking was loosening. An hour into the questions (most pertaining to their planet, society) a Mech raised his hands in the air, signaling he had a question. Impactor nodded towards him in approval and the young Mech stood. For a moment, Brea thought it was Prowl standing in the crowd, but quickly realized both wing panels and red chevron were absent.

"I would like to inquire as to the nature of you being here," he said.

Brea had been expecting this question and was mildly surprised it had not been asked earlier. However, she was not sure how much she could say. Both Ratchet and Prowl and Perceptor and well…everybody, had warned her and Craig not to say anything that would endanger their case against Xeon. It was a slippery slope to be ever aware of, but Brea felt she could answer without letting anything important slip.

"How I came to be here?" asked Brea.

"What I mean to say is that, could you recount the event in which you were abducted."

Having already retold it several times prior to the other humans and to Jazz and Fixit and everyone, she barely felt the slightest ping of melancholy at reciting it one more time.

"I was walking home from the place where I worked when I was chased down and incapacitated. I woke up on the cargo ship heading for Cybertron."

"What purpose did you serve?"

"I was kept as a pet."

"By whom?"

She felt a twinge of panic at having been asked the dreaded question, but swallowed her fear. "I'm not at liberty to discuss that," she replied smoothly. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Perceptor smile approvingly. "It's of no consequence," she added.

This did not seem to phase the Mech at all and he continued on. "Could you identify your abductor is faced with him?"

Brea considered. "No," she replied. "It was too dark to see and by the time he had transformed I was already half into stasis. I only remember seeing that his arm was blue and he had black hands." What she said seemed to strike the Mech. Even in the dim light of the room, Brea could see his face lift as if a thought just struck him and made him happy. He quietly thanked her and sat down. Before Brea could think more of it, another Mech stood to ask a question and the seminar continued on.

Brea laid her head back and stared up at the ceiling that stretched so far above her, trying to focus beyond the pounding in her skull. Two seminars in and she was thoroughly drained. These people were exhausting! At that moment, poor Craig was fending for himself with the young Cybertronians' questions (with Perceptor graciously translating) at the third meeting which she had decided to skip due to feeling ill.

Most of the questions were innocent enough, but as time pressed on the more inquisitive ones began to ask things such as "How does your culture differ from in the way of personal philosophy" or "What is the ecological make up of your planet" and things like that. Luckily, Brea had managed to navigate, albeit awkwardly, through such questions (as far as she understood them), but was able to mask her uncertainty with her rough Cybertronian. Just before the third one was set to begin, she asked if she could sit it out, sighting that she was not feeling well. Which was the truth, but mostly she was not certain she could sit through another seminar without snapping at someone. Also, her mind was heavy with thoughts and she needed to sort through them.

Perceptor readily agreed, likely worried she was falling ill. He had come to check on her several times already, fearing she might have contracted something from Preston. So far, Brea was almost sure she was just tired and needed more sleep. At worst, she might have caught a cold. Sleep, of course, was hard to come by as she lay there, mind all a jumble. The Mech who had asked about her abduction was still fresh in her mind and she wondered what his reaction to her answer meant if anything. Finally having enough of the muddled thoughts and worries, Brea forced herself into steadying her mind, trying not to think of anything…

But when things were quiet, it was hard to keep suppressed thoughts from resurfacing and it was hard not to give into the overwhelming desire to cry. Several moments later, she was started by the sound of the door opening. Begrudgingly, she pushed herself up on her arms to look up, expecting to see Perceptor or perhaps Brainstorm or Bluestreak. But it wasn't him, or any Mech she recognized. It stood in front of the door, looking around curiously. Its face was unreadable due to the mask and visor, but upon looking at him, an inane thought struck her.

Red visor…

"Um…Excuse me?" She said, shrugging off the observation and getting up. The Mech's head snapped to look at her and the visor glowed and it stomped forward. Nervous now, she stammered as she slowly began walking back. "C-can I help you?"

The Mech stopped at the edge of the table where Craig and her things had been set up, regarding her with unknown intent. In the back of her mind, in the section of irrational fears, thoughts generated likely scenarios and explanations for the Mech's presence. None of them friendly, yet logic demanded she calm herself and keep a level head. She was just being paranoid.

"What do you want?" Brea demanded meekly.

"You're a hard target you know that?" The Mech said, sounding almost friendly. But his jovial tone did not ease her. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Her stomach dropped and she stiffened.

Target? What does he…? No, she thought. It's not…he's not… because of that…He didn't send him. He didn't send him. He didn't…

"What? Why? What do you want?"

"Me? I just wanna get paid. Mech's gotta do what a Mech's gotta do to keep his tank full. We weren't sure if it was you or not. Lucky for us, Prime doesn't seem too interested in keeping his witnesses under close wraps." And with that, the Mech reached out and grabbed Brea, pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her up off the table. For a moment, Brea was too stunned to struggle or scream. The Mech turned to leave and she returned to reality with a jolt.

"Let me go!" Brea demanded, wiggling ineffectively and trying to wreath herself from his fingers.

"Kinda strange," the Mech mused, unconcerned for his prey's resentment. "Such a little thing could be worth so much."

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! NO!

"PERCEPTOR! BLUESTREAK!" Brea screamed as loud and as hard as she could muster, causing her voice to break towards the end, resulting ion a high pitched squeak. The hand holding her jolted as if she had started the Mech, but then the other hand came down on her, muffling her screams. "CRAI—"

"Quiet," He hissed at her.

She screamed harder until the hand squeezed her and breath was cut off. There were no more logical thoughts as Brea turned into full panic mode. The fingers did not loosen and she found it hard to take in a full breath and began to hyperventilate. Somewhere along the way she lost all perception of reality, too scared to even process what she was hearing or feeling other then the blind panic and utter denial and praying she was dreaming.

At some point it all became too much and she fainted.

Brea woke up with a start. Her vision was ringed by four walls and she blinked stupidly at them before memory came flooding back. Her heart pounded in her chest and he jumped to her feet. Whirling around, she took in her surroundings. She was in some sort of box, the edged of which came up to her neck. Grasping the edges, she looked beyond her enclosure. It took a moment for her to register that she was in a personal transport vehicle, like the one she had taken to the Academy with the others! The box she was in had been placed in the passenger seat. The driver seat was empty.

Faint voices caught her ear and she craned her neck to see beyond the back of the seat. The craft door was open and just outside stood the Mech who had grabbed her as he spoke to another Mech in low tones. With a disheartening start, she realized the Mech he was speaking to was the one who had asked her about her abduction during the first seminar. She couldn't tell what they were discussing, and in reality she wasn't eager to either. She felt as though she might have a pretty good guess.

It wasn't too much of a leap of faith to know exactly where she was being taken. Feeling suddenly trapped in her own reality, Brea hugged herself and began to tremble. Tears brimmed her eyes and she fought the urge to scream out for one of the Autobots to come and save her. Everything ached and Brea was unable to see past the gloom of hopelessness. She didn't even have the energy to panic and try to come up with an escape plane or what to…

Waitaminute. Before another swell of dread could take over, an idea struck her. A daring idea, a stupid idea, there was no way it would work…and yet.

Careful not to make a sound, Brea walked to the other side of the box, out of sight from the door. Just above it was the passenger seat arm rest with only a few feet in between the end and the dashboard. She tried to haul herself up out of the box, but it was simply too high and the metal was too thin to make any sort of adequate anchorage point. Her weight bared down on her palms, making sore red imprints of the metal edge into them. She tried several more times, ignoring the pain coming from her hands, until she managed to get one knee on the edge and grabbed the arm rest with one hand. It was awkward and painful, but she managed to negotiate herself onto the arm rest, taking a quick moment to ease the rapid beatings of her heart. From there, she carefully walked along the length of the arm rest and making a leap to the dash board. She landed awkwardly and nearly fell back and onto the floor, but managed to right herself.

A sound alerted her back to the two Mechs, standing just outside, and she waited for them with bated breath for them to either enter the vehicle or ruin her escape plan in some way or to resume their conversation. After a moment of nothing, she slowly began to move on with her plan, ever watchful of the Mechs. Carefully, she stepped over the controls and numerous buttons until she came to a small set of buttons near the steering wheel. Wracking her brain, Brea struggled to recall which of them controlled the door. Brea struggled between the far left or the far right button. It was one of them, she was sure. With a bracing breath and a leap of faith, she pressed the left button…and the door blessedly closed.

"Hey!" The Mechs outside yelled after noticing the door, and tried to stop it but it closed neatly into place, nearly crushing their fingers in the process. Muffled, anger filled voices drifted through the metal. It was the point of no return. Without wasting anymore time, Brea ran to the middle of the dashboard to the autopilot controls and began pushing buttons until the screen blinked to life, turning a light blue. The craft began to hum and vibrate as the autopilot booted up and it slowly rose from the ground, hovering in midair. The muffled yells of the angry Mechs outside were drowned in the roar of the craft.

"Please specify destination," came the mechanical voice from nowhere.

"The Sanctuary!" She cried.

For a moment there was nothing. And then the voice replied, "Destination not registered. Please select valid location from default settings or select location from map."

Brea felt her spirits sink. The blue screen disappeared to be replaced with an odd map, different colored lines crisscrossing all over.

"Oh man," Brea despaired, unsure what to do, but very sure that she have little time to deliberate. Resigned, she closed her eyes and slammed her hand down on a random spot.

A deathly silence stayed the room for a moment while reality itself seemed to pause.

"Selection verified; Beryllium Plaza. Estimated arrival time 0.56 breems."

The craft began to rise, higher and higher, the roar of its engines masking all other sounds, and the city in front of her fell slowly below the windshield's view as the craft ascended. Without warning, it suddenly pitched forward and Brea scrambled for purchase on the dashboard, crying out as she did for fear of flying off and breaking an arm or leg. That wouldn't do. She remained clamped to the controls for several seconds, too afraid to let go. As she calmed, Brea managed to unglue herself and she concentrated on calming her racing heart once more. Wherever she had chosen, she just hoped there would be someone willing to help her. She watched the city roll by. It grew quiet and Brea turned to ponder how best to move forward.

What now? She thought.

How long had she been passed out? Did Perceptor or Bluestreak or Craig realize she was gone? Probably, but would they be able to find her? She needed to find someone, anyone, to help her contact them. What if she couldn't find anyone to help? What if they treated her like a stray and sent her to the human pound or something like that? What if she was taken to a euthanizing facility?

Oh god…She felt her headache return with a vengeance now accompanied by her old friend Mr. Nausea. An overwhelming feeling of 'oh why me' crept over her and she sat still and wept.

In passing, she happened to glance down and spot a familiar building, sending a jolt of hope through her. It was the one she had seen when they had first left the Sanctuary! So it must be close, she decided. Renewed conviction spurred her into action and she leapt to her feet, scrambling toward the autopilot. She needed to land!

How do you land this thing again? She thought not without a healthy helping of panic.

The screen had returned to a happy shade of blue. Reaching out, Brea pressed the screen, expecting the voice to ask her for a new location. Instead, it said "Autopilot disabled. Please take hold of controls and drive safely."

She could feel the autopilot let go almost immediately as the steering wheel turned one way and the ship began to tilt, descending rapidly. Brea almost burst into tears and slammed her fist onto the controls in sheer desperation. "No damn it! Pull up, pull up! Oh God please pull up!"

"Please specify destination."

"I already told you! You stupid machine! The Sanctuary!"

With an angry growl, Brea struggled to keep her footing as she ran across the dashboard and tried to take hold of the steering wheel. It barely moved as she heaved and pushed and pulled in an attempt to pull the craft up. Buildings zoomed past and Brea turned to see the ground rearing up. At a complete loss as to what she could do, Brea made a mad dash and leapt back into the box she had awoken in and braced herself.

Suddenly, the mechanical voice rang out, "Initiating crash prevention measures, please secure all restraints."

There was a moment of blissful yet terrifying silence before the world came crashing down in an awesome and terrifying display or light sound and screams. An incredible sense of movement and pain overwhelmed all of Brea's senses and perceptions and everything was jerking around and tumbling. When everything stilled, there was nothing but silence.

Incomprehension filled her at first before she opened her eyes to a blurry world of gray shaded blobs. Breathing through her mouth, her bottom lip felt swollen and one of her shoulders really hurt. Her head felt as though it had been split open and she felt ill. Her vision slowly gained clarity and she was aware that she had been wrapped in some sort of scratchy towel material and was laying on a large desk, surrounded by several data pads. The room was dark with strangely luminescent light reflecting off of things and glowing with otherworldly hues. There was a perpetual sound of humming and soft clicks of machinery.

Motion caught her eye and slowly she turned to look at a large red Mech that was engrossed in the large glowing screen in front of him. What was projected on the large viewers was utterly incomprehensible to Brea and she made no real effort to study it. Instead, she debated on whether the Mech was friendly or someone she should be wary of. At the moment, she was more predisposed to assume the worse.

A sudden buzzing filled the room, startling her badly. The large red Mech reached out to the screen and tapped an icon on the far right. A square popped into existence in the middle of the viewers, displaying the visage of another Mech.

"Ironhide here, what do you need Magnus?" Said the red Mech in a gruff voice.

"Any updates on the Beryllium plaza crash?" The Mech – Magnus – asked.

"Yep," Ironhide said. "The craft is registered to a Mech named Rebar. Ran his serials through the system. He's got a pretty long record. Petty thefts and public brawls, mostly. He's been accused of some big stuff, but never convicted. Whirl's been given the task on finding him and bringing his sorry skid plate in for questioning. No luck yet."

"Who was driving the craftt?"

"No one."

"Really? Did he leave the autopilot on do you think?"

"No. I had my techs run through the data logs. Someone was operating the thing. Autopilot was set to land at Beryllium plaza but for some reason it was turned off and it crashed."

"Sounds like nothing more then a glitch."

"Maybe. I'm not too sure though."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Techs said the craft's fine save for the damage from the crash." The Mech paused, then added, "Plus, Rebar's record shows him as a former Decepticon."

The Mech on the screen sighed heavily, looking tired. "Ironhide, you can't use that as evidence that he-"

"I'm just saying that until he's proven innocent, I ain't letting him off."

The Mech on the screen sighed again and nodded. "Very well. Keep me updated. Ultra Magnus out."

Careful of her sore body, not knowing what was injured or how bad, Brea maneuvered herself into a sitting position. Her shoulder really hurt! Wincing against the throbbing ache, she gingerly touched the skin. It was hot and sore, but there didn't seem to be anything broken as far as she could tell. One good thing at least…

A large shape slid into her immediate vision and Brea jerked her head up to see the red Mech looking down at her. With a panicked squeak, she fumbled backwards, trying to get away, but the pain in her shoulder demanded attention. She sucked air over her teeth and winced.

When she looked up again, the large red hand of the Mech was reaching for her. Brea screamed.

Author's Notes part two: Well, hopefully that'll hold you all for a time while I work on the next bit. Again, sorry for the dely and the very likely dely of the next one as well. Until then, be cool and eat your veggies. Lnzy1 out!