Author's Note: Hello everyone! I'm so sorry it's taken this long for me to upload another chapter; I've had a lot of things to do I wasn't planning on having to do, and this chapter was incredibly hard to write. Please let me know if there are any errors you find; I have no beta. What I do have is an enormous headache, and it makes writing difficult.

WARNING: There is rough language in this chapter. The F-word is used. You've been warned. (It's very brief, but it's there.)

Hope you like this chapter!

Special thanks to those who reviewed and favorited/followed this story from last time! You guys make this story worth writing.

Disclaimer: I don't own shit. Especially not Transformers.

Chapter Nine

"When you're alone, deep in space, there will be times when you end up talking to yourself. That's just normal. Don't worry about it. It's when you realize you have a crush on your washrack that you know you've been gone way too long." - Smokescreen

"Normal speech."

Inner personal thoughts.

"Comm chatter."

:Bond Speech:

Astrosecond: 2 seconds

Klik: approximately five minutes

Joor: half an hour

Breem: nearing one hour

Cycle: meanings vary; most often half a solar cycle

Mega-cycle: one human day

Solar cycle: one Cybertronian day

Vorn: approximately two months

Orn: five years

Mega-vorn: nine years

Mega-orn: twenty years

Mechnometer: Approximately twenty-four feet

At the Ark…

Little pedes pounded over even, sleek floor. Silver, dirtied plating flashed as Bumblebee's small, thin form darted past a shaft of sunlight, sending rays ricocheting into the menacing shadows that seeped into the hallway, seeming to smother whatever light sought entry. A single kick against the steel floor sent his tiny figure soaring, arms and legs desperately extended, into open darkness. An opening loomed, and the figure flew through it with inches to spare, writhing its small body and flailing through the air. Once through, its limbs spread wide once more, and the sparkling fell down in an open-armed descent down the inside of the elevator shaft. His delicate digits rapped harshly against wires, keeping his fragile frame a safe distance from cables that could shred through the thin plating that covered his body at these speeds. Air whistled past, licking over his sleek, energon-streaked chassis and his simply shaped box-helm, biting cruelly at the horn-like protrusions that served as sensors. With a high-pitched cry, the form curled tightly, angling its feet and spinning forward until it almost brushed the wall. With a snapping motion that cracked in the rushing air, it unfolded. Tiny servos flared, spreading digits wide, and then-

Slam! The digits caught. Bumblebee came to a jerking halt, smacking against the wall and bouncing away, held midair by a convenient - and familiar - ladder-rung. It was the top bar; placed immediately above it was a square indent sliced thinly along its length in several places. The grate he had opened, once upon a cycle that seemed so long ago now. His movements were trembling, tense with fear. He heaved himself up onto the top rung, releasing his digits from the bar as quickly as he could. Sparks flew as one of his digits snagged and was pulled free. Bumblebee gave a shocked warble, optics snapping wide, clutching the wounded appendage to his chassis and pressing himself harshly against the grate, away from the ledge.

Quiet, rasping sobs echoed in the lengthy elevator shaft, and the sparkling's tears ran clear tracks through the gore that covered his frame. Gears' fluids had stained him as he fled the brig. Bumblebee tried not to look at the blue rivulets and silvery bits mixed in; the mess of molten mech covering his body.

He had to find help.

And there was only one mech he knew who Bumblebee was certain could protect him from anything. Anything at all.

In the rec room...

It happened so fast.

All around Daystar a battle raged like the wind storms of Vos. Mechs flew briefly through the air, either by design or lack of attention to their surrounding foes. He heard a piercing shriek, and a shard of metal buried itself entirely within the wall behind him.

Scrambling frantically away, Daystar's quick gaze searched the heaving, jerking mass of bodies for his twin. They always fought best side by side, and at the moment, he felt unequivocally afraid of the seasoned veterans around him, and very willing to seek support.

They had never met warriors like these. He'd heard stories, of course; Blackjack always whispered tales to them of the times when Decepticons attacked his encampment, or when the Autobots drove hoards of empties and other unsavories away with their falsely noble intentions. But the Coalition mechs he'd sparred and the other neutrals he'd tested or killed were nothing compared to mechs who had lived their lives soaring through space, setting galaxies alight with their war, and passing safely through the flames. He'd never quite grasped the meaning behind Ionicon's words, "They've survived themselves for centuries", not until now.

But as he watched, two black and white autobots seamlessly danced around one another, firing and slicing their weaponry into enemy ranks with a precision and grace only years of hardship and war could teach, and Daystar knew what it meant to 'deal out death'.

Twelve Coaltion mechs had been deactivated, twenty had been put out of commission, leaving a paltry sixteen to battle against the combined Autobot and Decepticon forces in the limited space of the rec room. Not a single Old-War mech or femme had been killed as of yet, that he had seen, and very few had fallen out of the fray.

It was like pitting scraplets against one gladiator; a few seasoned war-makers against numerous and impassioned, but inexperienced, neutrals.

Daystar searched more energetically for his twin, feeling shivers creeping up his spine. His own family was not much better than the Coalition, though they undeniably had more talent and advantage.

He found Nightstar amid a group of vibrantly colored Decepticon seekers.

The black twin was spinning and writhing in place, his flexible frame bending painfully in order to bring his long, twin blades around him to hack and tear into his enemies' plating, eating into the delicate internals within.

The trio of seekers that surrounded him were not heavily damaged by his maneuvers, being quick enough to dodge most slashes, but they were finding that attacking the black body within the whirling cage of blades in kind was more difficult than it seemed.

Daystar bolted forward, feeling his spark leap with relief. But before he could reach the group, it happened.

Something ripped through his shoulder, blasting out of his front in a fiery purple eruption.

He stopped, shock holding his body still. Nighstar's roar of shock at the ghostly sensation of pain the dark twin felt from his wound ripped through the bond to him, but he barely twitched. Pain blossomed from his upper left side, through his arm, chassis, and neck; the kind of deep, throbbing pain that grew so fast and so greatly that all he could do was shiver; he couldn't even think.

Claws sunk into his side, grinding against his internals, dragging him back and lifting him effortlessly into the air. He opened his lips wide - soundlessly shrieking - as pain and energon spilled into him, blue trails of his lifeblood spattering the silver plating of the enemy beneath him in thick, heavy streams. His fuel tank had been ruptured.

:It's okay!: Nightstar's not-quite-a-voice was uncharacteristically ragged; strained. Daystar's thoughts were scattered, but he clung to his twin's words as a lifeline, his vision flickering. :I'm coming - I'm almost there!:

Suddenly, it didn't matter that he had never really cared for Nightstar's attitude or his silence. His bitterness was a vague memory. He was afraid. He didn't want to die.

:Nightstar-!: He spasmed as the mech who held him captive tensed, his hold shifting in Daystar's middle and scraping against his bloody tank.

There was a heave - he was flying through the air, weightless, agony blinding him to his whirling surroundings-

He hit the floor.

His arm came loose and spun away. His intakes felt torn, shredded by the screams that ripped themselves free from his vocalizer.

Darkness swallowed him whole, and he knew no more.

Nighstar's pedes landed on the spinal strut of the mech who had just thrown his twin, sending force rippling through his enemy's structure. The black twin's blades slipped into chinks in the Decepticon's heavy armor, but encountered additional, unexpected protection.

With a speed that seemed impossible, the silver frame beneath him twisted, and a pale, massive servo flung him to the floor. He rolled, splashing through his twin's warm, wet energon where it pooled on the floor, and coming to a jerking halt in a crouch, facing his twin's attacker.

Lord Megatron returned his murderous gaze with a calculating glare, the Decepticon's posture deceptively relaxed and at ease. Nightstar could only guess at the coiled tension beneath the scarred silver plating, and the skill within those enormous servos.

A single, white digit pointed lazily at Daystar's body where it lay, behind Nightstar's crouching form. "I'm sorry, was that yours?" A deep, rasping voice grated in the dark twin's audials, but Nightstar did not let the mockery affect him.

To Nightstar, most emotions were ultimately lacking; they didn't hold enough meaning in them to portray anything of value - not as efficiently as other methods did. Anger was fleeting and confusing to his processors, so it was discarded as inefficient. Fear did nothing to further his survival since his own logic was advanced enough to provide him with a great liking of self-preservation. Fear was unneeded, and so was also cast away. Sorrow had no point; grieving was for his own benefit, not for whatever he was grieving for, and he didn't think the experience helped him much in the end. Sorrow too was abandoned. But love…he didn't understand love well enough to feel comfortable forsaking its use. He didn't even know if one could use love, so great was his ignorance. Anger could be used, but was inefficient; fear was also used, but ultimately redundant; sorrow was a waste of energy. But love…

Love was what tied him to his twin; a sort of love he felt was necessary to their continued existence. It was not warm, like the love some mechs and femmes shared, or so he had been told. It wasn't very pleasant, though Blackjack had explained that love usually was. It was simply there; a painful throb when Daystar was wounded, a swell of pride when his brother brought them success, each feeling carefully controlled - as carefully as he controlled every other part of his being. Daystar was petty, and childish, but Nightstar knew that without his twin, life itself would be empty for him. It was the defining key of his existence, and he could not understand why he felt no resentment toward it.

So when the Decepticon asked him if Daystar was his, Nightstar refused again to feel any anger, fear, or sorrow. Instead, he took a defensive stance, and waited for his opponent's first move. Daystar was his, and no bot touched what was his. Daystar had always been his to watch, and his to love; his to provoke when he felt the desire to do so, and HIS to feel at his every waking moment and every second before he recharged - and even within the swell and fall of slumber. Anything that attempted to sever him from what was his would very swiftly after find itself in an extremely…unpleasant state. His love for his twin, strange as it was, drove him to this conclusion, and he allowed it to.

When he didn't answer, Lord Megatron continued, taking a languid step forward. "Listen to me, soldier." The scarlet optics, half-lidded in a display of careless disregard, burned with an intensity that gave the lie to the Decepticon's charade. "You have very few options left to you. Let me offer a solution."

Nightstar blinked, but did not reply. The red gaze narrowed, and Megatron began his proposal.

"You obviously care for that craven creature," He indicated Daystar's prone form with a tilt of his massive helm, but did not break eye-contact. "And though I wonder at the strength of your passion, I do understand its compelling nature.

"I will give you the opportunity to surrender. Then you may both live."

"I hardly think he's going to agree with you, Decepticon." A new voice cut into the one-sided conversation, its owner emerging from a cloud of smoke.

The squad commander of the Coalition soldiers was formidable, in both name and appearance. His designation was Killjoy, if Nightstar recalled correctly, and it fit the rust-red shuttlemech far better than Nightstar's own title did him. Killjoy was massive, as most shuttlemechs were prone to be; jagged and thin in all the places he could be. His helm was more like a crown of metal horns, each bent and curving back like some sort of explosion frozen mid-burst. His optics were yellow, as all neutrals' were, and his face-plates were smooth and white. Killjoy's frame was an odd mix of the skeletal and the bulky; huge shoulder-mounts perched on a jutting chassis that tapered into a ridiculously thin waist, for example.

And yet, despite his awkward shape, the shuttlemech was by far one of the most proficient Coalition soldiers in the entirety of the ranks.

His stride was even and powerful, and the blazing hate in his gaze, directed into the Decepticon Lord's own, was nothing short of volcanic. When he spoke again, his fair, tenor tone pronounced the incongruity evident in every other part of him. "The mech serves his sire, and only his sire. But you, with your traitorous rabble and disastrous leadership, would hardly understand the concept of loyalty, would you?" It was heavy with mockery.

Megatron sneered, his attention momentarily snagged by this new annoyance. Nightstar shifted silently backward, toward the center of the rec room and his bleeding twin.

"Ah, Killjoy. I see you have found yourself a new cause to promote."

The mech's lip curled. "I have found my true calling, even though the barbarism of it repulses me. We cannot all be what we want to be, Megatron; not while our homeworld burns. If you had seen this in the beginning, the innocents you butchered would have been spared-"

The ring of metal on metal was deafening; Megatron had struck the first blow, slamming a clenched fist into the shuttlemech's faceplates with unbelievable speed. Not waiting to see if his enemy recovered or not, the gladiator slung his enemy's arm over his own shoulder and heaved, sending both rolling in a painful cascade of weight and limbs to the floor.

They writhed and grappled there, until the red shuttle came out above Megatron, straddling the gladiator's middle. Dazed and disoriented, the big mech's attempts to beat Megatron's face into the floor flew far off their target, slamming like individual freight trains into the Decepticon's chassis. Megatron oofed, optics flickering and servos twitching, before responding in kind, snarling like a beast and ramming a vicious uppercut under Killjoy's chin. Killjoy's optics fizzled out.

The Coalition mech fell backward with a sound like a collapsing building, limbs and joints groaning.

Megatron scrambled gracelessly to his feet, reflexively dodging a stray blaster shot and returning fire without looking. The wail of another Coalition soldier as the Decepticon leader's shot hit it's mark set a smirk on the warlord's lips. Megatron turned back to the center of the battle, searching for his previous quarry-

-Only to stop dead at the scene before him.

He was not the only one to see the sight. A hush fell quickly. All battles ceased. Prowl and Jazz, only a few mech's lengths to Megatron's right, were frozen mid-flip, Prowl's helpful hand shaking violently where it clasped Jazz's aft, previously assisting the saboteur into the air. Jazz's legs quivered with the strain of keeping them upright, but his visor was captivated by the sight which had rendered them all so numb.

On dark blue knees, directly at Ionicon's feet, Optimus Prime knelt, his back facing the dark, battered seeker. The Autobot leader's heavy red shoulders were hunched and his head was bowed, massive arms curled tightly around his chassis. The Autobot's whole frame trembled.

Drip…drip…drip…

Blue stained the floor; the surrounding mechs watched, captivated, as a thick pool of energon seeped out around the Prime, soiling his gleaming plaiting, running in thick streams down his back and dripping down to the floor in a grisly display. The Prime's vivid, ocean-blue optics flickered, pale silver lips parting beneath them in a pained, soundless gasp. It was a painfully honest expression; so strange to see, since the Prime's face-mask lay in its own puddle of energon several meters to the Prime's left.

Megatron's blood red optics were glued to the trembling silver lips. The gladiator's frame was so tense and still that cracks appeared in the knuckles of his already battered servos. Similarly, every mech in the vicinity seemed frozen - even Ionicon, who stood behind the Prime. The dark seeker watched his shuddering adversary with an unreadable expression, his own severed wing held stiffly away from him, dripping with the Prime's energon. It had obviously been ripped from his back during the course of the battle, as the sparking, jagged joint suggested.

All watched, stupefied, and tried to make sense of what they were seeing.

As they stared, the Prime's arms gave a slight shift. A small, silver faceplate peaked out from the protective embrace. Bumblebee's soft, questioning churr sent shivers through the mechs closest to the scene. It was confused, fearful, and so…unknowing. A silver digit crept out as well, and poked the Prime's rigid faceplates. Optimus shuddered violently, optics closing, and the spell that had held them all immobile was broken.

Jazz and Prowl leapt forward, Megatron one nanoklik behind them. The Decepticon heard Ironhide's roar of rage, thunderous and deafening, as well as the humming charge of Soundwave's sonic cannon preparing to unleash its fury.

But they all skidded to an ungainly stop once more as Nightstar slipped, eellike, behind the Prime in one fluid motion, his blade hissing as it kissed against the Autobot's throat. Black claws curled around a glossy red shoulder plate, and Optimus gasped as his frame was hauled roughly back until his spinal strut ground against Nightstar's chassis.

The dark twin's expression was blank, but his amber optics glowed like twin flames at Megatron. Dark lips parted, and a hoarse, ugly voice warbled out; weak and high-pitched.

"I'm sorry," He purred. "Was this yours?" Behind him, Ionicon shifted, eyeing his darkly colored prodigy with a measuring look. He did not intervene. Nightstar continued. "Listen to me, Decepticon." He hissed in brutal mockery of Megatron's own words. "You have very few options left to you. Let me offer a…solution.

"You obviously care for this craven creature," The blade rasped against Optimus vocalizer. The Prime gasped, optics flickering, his arms closing more securely around the sparkling in his arms. The surrounding Autobots and Decepticons twitched forward. Nightstar smirked, still meeting Megatron's gaze directly and specifically. "And though I wonder at the strength of your passion, I do understand its compelling nature. I will give you the opportunity to surrender. Then you may all live."

Killjoy's slurred objection rang into the following silence. "What? You swore to us-!"

Ionicon raised a single servo, amber optics glowing brightly. "You will get your prize…eventually." He soothed. His gaze was directed behind Megatron, and, warily, the Decepticon cast a glance in that direction.

A blue and yellow praxian held the bleeding form of Daystar close, a blaster pressing against the unconscious twin's helm. Smokescreen, if Megatron was remembering correctly. The mech's blue optics were ablaze with fury, but when he spoke his voice was calm and cool. "That's right, scumbags. Hand us over the Prime and the sparkling, and we'll retreat."

Ironhide's frame rattled in protest, but Jazz's hand pressed warningly against the weapons specialist's arm. Megatron frowned.

He opened a comm, confident that Soundwave was directing the communications as he had been during the battle. He wasn't mistaken.

"Are you certain?" He asked, and noted Smokescreen's jerk of surprise, meeting the bright blue gaze that flicked toward him.

"There isn't any other option. Prowl's made the call."

"This situation is not stable enough for the limited abilities of any mech's battle computer."

"He isn't using one right now."

Megatron's frown lessened, and he felt his respect for the black and white autobot grow. "I have no other alternatives." He admitted grudgingly.

"Niether did Soundwave. He suggests-"

But Ionicon was speaking once more, and they cut the comm in unison.

"As you say." The neutral addressed Smokescreen cooly, and nodded to the dark twin. Nightstar withdrew his weapon immediately from the Prime's neck, and Optimus slumped forward as the neutral twin swiftly retreated. Megatron crossed the distance in two lengthy strides, catching Optimus' weight and hefting him with a grunt to his shoulder. Optimus' energon slicked the Autobot's plating, making the task difficult, but it wasn't long until the Autobot leader lay, securely wedged and supported by Megatron's arms, slung along the Decepticon's angular shoulders. One arm and one leg dangled on either side of Megatron's hips, and he clasped the remaining limbs firmly to his chassis to keep the Prime's balance stable.

He trusted Soundwave to watch for any signs of double-cross as he withdrew, allowing Jazz to slip close and extricate a loudly protesting Bumblebee from Optimus' plating, which the little one had been clinging to desperately. The sparkling's cries rang loudly as the Autobots and Decepticons carefully withdrew, but Killjoy's protests swiftly drowned out anything else.

"How can you let them be? Are you fools?" The shuttlemech roared, towering over an unfazed Ionicon, who did not so much as glance at him. "How is that scrapheap-" He thrust a blunt digit at Daystar's battered body, which Nightstar was carefully tending to with the help of Ionicon's remaining soldiers. "-Worth losing a chance to kill the Prime and the whelp!? How can you make such a trade?!"

The last of the Autobot and Decepticon mech's backs vanished from view through the rec room doors, and Ionicon's optics finally graced his rust-red lackey with a disdainful glare. "We would never have overcome them, not with our losses as they are and the death of their leader and precious sparkling fueling their rage and strength. We would have been defeated by their vengeance, even if every single one of them had died to do it. Better to wait until we can rout them soundly, rather than incite a wrath we cannot defend against."

In the shadows of the rec room, a certain starry-colored mech leaned casually against the wall, ignoring the labors of his comrades with cool disdain. He bared his denta in an ill-humored grimace, amber visor dimming angrily, oblivious to the strange looks he received.

The sparkling had fled straight into the arms of the most capable mech to defend him, dodging through battling mechs and blasting explosions; overcoming all odds and screaming his way into the Prime's surprised hold. Of course, Ionicon had seen his chance. The Prime had barely managed to turn his chassis away and bare his back, protecting the tiny burden in his arms, before the dark seeker had struck his blow. It had been impressive, but somewhat disappointing.

The shapeshifter snorted. Of course, the sparkling's escape would be laid on him, despite the fact that the little brat had used cheap tricks and slipped easily through ventilation ducts that he hadn't even known had existed. Whoever had taught the brat how to use such methods was going to die a very painful death, if he could manage it. Until then, however, his orders were to wait, and to hunt. They were still short a set of twins.

Before him, on the floor, Daystar's body spasmed. The whelp's twin, Nightstar, shuddered, and the femme twin, Jade, placed a comforting hand on the recalcitrant mech's shoulder.

The shapeshifter glanced at Daystar's body, wondering what had elicited such openly emotional interaction between twin sets. He blinked at the gore that met his gaze.

Huh. They might be short two sets of twins, if they didn't get a proper medic soon.

"Makeshift!" Ionicon's voice rang out, cold and murderous - unusual, for the usually calm and collected maniac.

The shapeshifter sighed, and let his helm fall lower. With a reluctant step, he began to make his way over to the battered black seeker, offering a half-hearted sneer.

At the Decepticon medbay...

Warmth. It surrounded him, cushioning his aching body with delightful comfort; seeping into his internals and soothing parts of himself he hadn't even known were damaged. Thundercracker tried to enjoy the sensation of listless floating as long as he could, not at all eager to leave his pleasant bubble of heat. Voices chattered somewhere distant; one was familiar, and the other wasn't. He didn't mind their noise; the sound was lulling, like deeply pitched music. He could even distinguish words.

"-think he's waking up…" The familiar voice murmured.

The stranger whistled. "Pit, you guys really caught some slag, didn't you?"

A snort of disdain. "Slag? Slag? My mech, we caught some fragging shit is what we caught."

A pause. "Mech, I'll be honest. I don't have a clue what 'shit' means."

"Oh. Really?"

"Truly."

"Means organic excretion from the aft area."

The room practically stank of disbelief. The unfamiliar voice sounded equal parts disgusted and skeptical. "You're kidding."

"Not so. Learned it on a backwater organic planet called Earth. The inhabitants are a really creative bunch."

Thundercracker snorted, unable to refrain from speaking. "You only think they're creative because they had the foresight to lead Starscream into a flock of geese."

Metal scraped as the other mechs noticed he was conscious and reacted accordingly.

"T.C! You're awake!" Something clanged its way to his side, and digits brushed against his chassis, seemingly checking his welds. As if Hook's work was ever anything but perfect, but Skywarp had always been a worry wort when it came to his trinemates' injuries.

Thundercracker chuckled, but did not open his optics. He wanted to savor the sleepy sensation that was swiftly leaving him, the warmth replaced by cold steel against his back and heated digits inspecting his wounds. "Stop pawing me, you goof." He muttered, slapping halfheartedly at the servo that had delved into the wiring in his side. Skywarp's pout was all but audible.

"But you were asleep for ages!"

The stranger's voice piped up once more, and Thundercracker started. He'd almost forgotten its existence. "'Asleep'?"

"Recharging." Skywarp explained, sounding as though he weren't really giving much thought to his words. Thundercracker smirked, imagining the purple seeker as he tried to evaluate the patches and welds from a distance so that Thundercracker wouldn't notice.

The blue seeker opened his optics, looking past Skywarp and towards the place where he had heard the voice, a smile on his lips.

The other mech was in the shadows at the other end of the medbey, and he wasn't alone. Beside him sat another form, silent and sullen, cold yellow optics narrowed at Thundercracker. The first mech was a bit more friendly looking, a smile glinting from the shadows that hid his frame from view, gaze narrowed with curiosity. They were both wearing stasis cuffs, but he could distinguish nothing of their frames.

Thundercracker was a bit surprised to see imprisoned neutrals in their medbay, but knew it would be highly injudicious to ask them outright what they were doing here. Neutrals were a touchy lot, as he had learned during his time as an officer of the law under Prowl's management.

Instead, he tried a different tactic. "And you are?" He asked politely.

The first mech, the cheery one, became even cheerier at his notice. The white grin spread wider, like a slash in the shadows. "Sideswipe." He answered, and the golden gaze flicked lightly in his sullen companion's direction. "And this is Sunstreaker."

Well, that was nice. Or it would be, if he'd ever heard the names before and known of the mechs to whom they belonged. Thundercracker nodded, and turned his gaze to Skywarp.

His trinemate's features were clean and smooth; Hook had done good work. Skywarp's vivid, scarlet gaze burned into him with a pleasant intensity, the silver lips below tightened in a slight frown. Thundercracker wondered at the somber look; usually Skywarp was all smiles when he woke. Then the purple seeker spoke.

"T.C, what happened to Starscream?"

Thundercracker froze. He could hear the screeching grate of his own systems as they locked up, but he barely felt it. Skywarp's curious, somewhat worried gaze filled his vision; he saw nothing beyond those wide, glowing orbs.

"T.C…?"

"Looks like he might glitch." Sideswipe's voice remarked casually.

"Shut up!"

"Just saying; you might want to get out of the blast radius."

"You're not helping!" Purple hands on his shoulders, shaking him till he rattled. "Thunder? Thundercracker? What the frag happened that you can't tell me!?"

"Why're you so special again?"

"I'm his fucking trinemate, asshole!" The teleporter's voice was equal parts venomous and panicked.

"…His what? And what did you call me?"

Skywarp ignored Sideswipe; Thundercracker felt the other seeker shake him more violently. "Thunder, what's going-?!"

"He's dead."

The silence that fell was rigid; tense and shocked. The clink of a digit falling limply onto a metal surface was deafening, bolstered by the lack of sound from other sources.

Then, Skywarp's voice came. "What?" Thundercracker had been expecting the shock, and even the tremulous quaver of complete disorientation. What he hadn't been expecting was the fury that seeped into Skywarp's scarlet gaze; the rage that seethed, icy cold and painfully sharp, just beneath the glowing, glistening glass of his trinemate's optics. "Thundercracker." The teleporter's white fangs, delicate and evenly spaced, bit his full name out as a scraplet might bite a section of metal from a dead bot's plating. It was a rare thing when Skywarp used his entire designation, but never before had he said it with such anger.

Jolting, Thundercracker realized his mistake. "No - he's not dead, not really, but - well, it isn't - you see - it - it's not him!" He started in a rambling mutter, but ended in a shriek that rattled a few tools that lay on a nearby berth. He was panting, looking desperately into Skywarp's furious stare, searching for some kind of understanding that he knew he wouldn't - couldn't - find. Skywarp had never known; neither Thundercracker nor Starscream had ever seen fit to inform him that the air commander was an invented program. It hadn't seemed…necessary…

Or maybe he had simply dreaded the reaction his trinemate would have.

Whatever reaction Skywarp might have had to hearing that the mech he had believed was his trine leader was another mech's creation, it could not have been as bad as the look Skywarp was giving him now.

"Explain." The purple flier said - or he would have, if the red alert klaxons had not, at that exact moment, blared to full and deafening life.

"Well, looks like someone's home." Sideswipe's voice chirped from the shadows at the other end of the medbay.

Author's End Note: Yes...I know. Very little in here aside from action and plot moving along. That's mainly the reason why this was so dang hard to write; it's not yet at the point where I can actually reveal anything yet! Don't worry though, from here on out things will be picking up and you'll get to know several things:

1) What the heck happened the night of Bumblebee's birth (from First Aid's point of view),

2) Backstory for the twins,

3) The reason why Thundercracker has been an emotional train-wreck for the past couple chapters.

At the beginning of the chapter, you may have noticed that the section where Bumblebee is running is practically verbatim from a previous chapter. That was intended. :) It's meant to draw a parallel between his happy times as a carefree sparkling and his time now, hunted by Makeshift in his own home, covered in Gears'...stuff. :p Just so you know it wasn't laziness or anything.

Again, thanks SO MUCH to those who've supported this story. Here's to you *raises headache medicine bottle in a toast*.

Please review and let me know how you're liking it! Gives me more of an idea of whether I should speed things up or slow them down. If you have any notes or comments on ANYTHING in the story (i.e. writing style, plot, characters, etc.) please don't hesitate to write me, whether in a review or in a PM.

Until next time!