This picks up directly after Prime: Beast Saga chapter 29, in case anyone is wondering

The party the children had decided to throw for Cheetor had been rather abruptly derailed, but in the end no one could bring themselves to be terribly upset about it. Arcee, the Autobot from the children's home dimension and a semi-legendary figure on their own Cybertron, knelt in the middle of their courtyard with the Junior Maximals wrapped tightly in her arms. They hadn't moved for several minutes now.

Airazor met Lio's optics and found the same conflict there: the Autobots and the Junior Maximals were clearly a family, and for a family to be torn apart for so long was certainly a tragedy. But now that the Autobots had found the children, would they just take them away? Would it be as if they'd never been Maximals at all? Airazor knew that Alpha Trion was supposed to be adding the trio's memories to their Maximalverse counterparts that he was keeping in stasis, and that eventually the stasis-locked children would be released into their home dimension to take their counterparts' place. But how would they know when Alpha Trion would see fit to free the vanished three? And would they have different personalities than the Jack, Miko, and Raf she had come to know?

Airazor was forced to admit that she wasn't ready to let go yet, and she doubted she was the only one.

The greyish Maximal who had arrived with Arcee extricated himself from the group hug and grinned. "Hey Miko, wanna see something cool?" he rasped, still trying to bring his emotions under control.

Miko wiped her eyes and nodded. In response, "Snarl" shifted down into the shape of a massive wolf. He shook himself all over and turned to the girl.

"But wait," he joked, "There's more!"

It took a little more concentration this time, but if he thought of it as picking a different file to run in his processor, it was a little easier to go from Maximal body to original body. When the last of his plating clicked into place, Wheeljack stretched and grinned. "Ta-da!"

There was silence for approximately three seconds, and then the courtyard burst into a flurry of excitement.

"Whoa!" Jack exclaimed, "What was that? What did you do?!"

"You have four modes?" Raf squawked, "Is that even possible?!"

"It is rare - or, it is now, I am not certain about your world - Lio remarked. "But yes, it is possible. It would seem that your friend here is a Four-Changer. I'd thought that practice died out after the emotional instability of Six-Changers."

Wheeljack jumped a little at the Optimus lookalike's reverberating voice, then made a face. "Six bodies? Yikes, that's just excessive. This is more like me plus an alter ego."

He crouched again to tousle each of the kids' hair. "By the way, you three, while we're stuck here you can't call me Wheeljack."

"What?" Miko demanded, "Why not?"

"Because," Arcee eased her grip and allowed the girl to climb over to Wheeljack's hand. "That's a noticeably Autobot name. We don't want Galvatron or his crew to discover that any of us made it back over here."
Razorback nodded knowingly. "Considering what happened to ya the last time he got wind of your existence, I'd say that was wise," he growled.

Wheeljack nodded. "Right. So when you go home tonight-" he poked Miko's nose carefully, "I'll drive ya, but after that I need to be Snarl until we get home. Got it?"

Miko pushed his hand away and made a face. "Yeah yeah, I got it. Gonna be hard to get used to though."

"Tell me about it!" Wheeljack chuckled.

Across the courtyard, Stampy frowned. "Wait, you'll drive her home? But Miko Bridges home!"

"I haven't seen this kid in over five months. We're driving," Wheeljack answered, a trifle sharply.

Cheetor opened his mouth to pitch in, but Miko held up a hand to forestall his argument. "It's okay guys, we'll just leave a little earlier. Jackie knows where I live."

For a moment Cheetor seemed a little crestfallen, but he shrugged it off quickly. "Oh, er, okay. Watch out for human drivers though. And your big brother. What's he going to think?"

Wheeljack blinked. "Miko is an only child." he said slowly, "What older brother?"

The Maximals looked at him strangely, but Arcee turned questioning optics to Jack.

"This is an alternate timeline," the boy said quietly. "Some things are very different. Miko lives with her biological family here, not a host family, and she has an older brother."

He noticed that Wheeljack's audial fins pinned back almost like an angry canine's at the mention of Miko's host parents, but decided the Wrecker would explain on his own time if he intended.

"Raf's family….eh, they haven't changed too much, have they Raf?"

The little boy shook his head, glasses clicking against Arcee's armor. "Nuh-uh. Except they eat health food and do yoga now, so eso es irritante, but otherwise it's the same."

"And," Rattrap butted in, "Jack's ma don't know about us. Not like the nurse lady back in your world do. And she don't work on humans here, she works on animals - though, y'know, if worst came ta worst and she did find out about us…"

Lio sent the demolition expert a hard look.

"What? I'm just sayin' dat having a vet on our side wouldn't be the worst thing in the world!" Rattrap raised his hands and smirked.

"So June doesn't know about us," Arcee sighed. "Right. I've worked with that before." She glanced down at her partner. "I remember how that was on you, Jack. How're you holding up?"

Jack grimaced comically and flapped his hand in a so-so gesture. "It was a lot easier to avoid suspicion when she was the only adult around, I'll put it that way." he grumbled.

Arcee and Wheeljack exchanged interested glances. "June's dating?" Arcee exclaimed.

Miko settled more comfortably in Wheeljack's hand and shook her head. "Not quite. First off, there's this old guy - Mr. Whitefeather - who kind of acts like resident grandpa. Then there's-"

"Thanks, Miko," Jack hurriedly interrupted, "I'll discuss that with Arcee later."

The remainder of the afternoon was spent attempting to draw the Autobots into the games set up in the courtyard - Wheeljack was more receptive to the idea than Arcee, quickly getting involved in a game of Praxus Fold 'Em with Lio Convoy and Razorback - and though the overall environment was a touch more subdued than before, the party went on.

"So." Wheeljack shifted, glancing over the tops of his cards. "I've been burned by this before, which is why I'm getting it out now: how's chain of command gonna work around here, especially when it comes to the kids?"

Lio retracted his face mask and the Wrecker was struck by the difference between his face and Prime's. Where time had shored up a lifetime of pain and sorrow behind a gentle, but often distant, facade in Optimus, Lio's face was young. He had seen war and death, and Wheeljack was betting that he'd lost some good buddies, but there was an optimism behind his eyes, and something more of a friendly curiosity. Wheeljack doubted the "pseudo-Prime", as he'd heard Fowler call him, was much older than Bulkhead or himself, and he wondered if Optimus had ever looked this, well, for lack of a better word innocent.

Lio Convoy shifted slightly under Wheeljack's scrutiny and laid down a card. "Optimus Prime left messages here during his time in this dimension," he said calmly, and Wheeljack was caught off-guard by a very Primelike voice coupled with a very un-Primelike action. "In one such message, he placed the Junior Maximals - forgive me, I speak of Jack, Miko, and Raf - under my authority until he could come to reclaim them himself. In loco parentis, you might say." Lio shrugged. "While they are on base, they answer firstly to me. But I would not attempt to give you commands, either of you. I suspect it would be akin to an Aquatronian marine attempting to give an Animatronian airforce member orders."

Wheeljack grunted in reply, and stared down at his own cards. Granted, it wasn't too different from home, but he wasn't sure how he felt about complete strangers being able to give Miko orders. He buried himself in the game and tried to concentrate on learning the faces and mannerisms of the beings around him. These were the Cybertronians who had kept the kids alive for nearly a year: he figured he at least owed them the benefit of the doubt.

When the sun began to sink, casting deep shadows into the courtyard, Miko scooted over to tap Wheeljack's armor. "Hey, if I wanna make it home before curfew, we need to roll out now," she said sheepishly. "My dad will freak if I'm late."

"They worry about you, huh?" Wheeljack stood and allowed Break to show them to the main entrance of the base.

"Eh." Miko waved her hand. "More like my bozo older brother has done so many reckless things that if I'm out late Mom worries that he's dragged me into street racing or something." She rolled her eyes for emphasis.

Once they stepped out into the rapidly cooling air, Miko hollered a goodbye into the doorway while Wheeljack transformed, then she slipped into his interior with a long sigh. For a few minutes, they drove in silence, simply comforted by each other's presence. Miko breathed in the smell of steel and energon and leaned back into the grey leather seats.

"Primus, I missed this," she mumbled. The seat belt tightened marginally in an affectionate gesture, and Miko smiled. "So my host parents are probably freaking out," she said lightly, guessing. "I mean, I don't contact my actual parents too regularly, so long periods of silence wouldn't bother them too much. I was able to call them on Children's Day, at least."

Wheeljack's engine rumbled ominously as he pulled onto the highway, and Miko frowned. "Second time, Jackie. What's up with the 'tude, dude?"

A long sigh gusted out of the radio. "Look, kid, I don't know how to even say this. It's messed up." He shifted lanes and sped up. "Your host parents have been totally incommunicado. No questions, no missing persons reports, nothing. I don't know if they're just really gullible and bought Fowler's story, or if-" he cut himself off.

"Or if they just don't care," Miko finished in a croak. She pulled her knees to her chest, stomach working itself into little, cold knots. "Probably a mix of both, if we're being honest. I scare them."

"You're fifteen. A little girl!" Wheeljack snarled, "Shouldn't humans be frantic if an international student your age just vanishes?"

"Yeah, well." Miko picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. "People don't do a lot of things they should." She wasn't sure if she was more hurt by this obvious expression of what the host family thought her value was, or if she was more relieved that there would likely be no questions asked when she returned to her home dimension. Either way, there was a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach now.

Realizing his anger was affecting his passenger, Wheeljack slowed his pace and pulled onto her street. "Hey, hey kiddo, it's gonna be okay. We're gonna get the radiation we need to get home, and get you back to Bulk. But until then, I'll be Bulkhead as much as I can, for as long as we're here. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Miko answered softly, and leaned her head against the window as he slowed to a stop. "You might have to arm-wrestle Polar Claw and Cheetor for designated Miko Wrangler duties, but I wouldn't mind a little Wrecker backup around here." Her fingers brushed Wheeljack's door as she stepped out onto the driveway. "Goodnight, Jackie," she whispered, and her eyes shone with moisture again. "I love you."

The Wrecker was taken aback for a moment at the sudden declaration. When he managed to react, Wheeljack's voice was suspiciously creaky as he answered, "I love you too, Lil' Wrecker," hoping he sounded tough.

Wheeljack waited until the door opened and a woman he assumed was meant to be Miko's mother greeted her with hands on hips, asking about homework and where she had been. The Autobot eased back out of sight before the woman had time to look up.

Jack had remained at the party a little longer, taking care to introduce Arcee to each of the Maximals she had not met before. Airazor had seemed a bit tense, but was overall welcoming. When Apache and Polar Claw arrived, the old medic positively beamed as he bustled over to take both of Arcee's hands in his own.

"Welcome, welcome and thrice welcome, lass," he could barely keep from chuckling. "I must say, your young'uns have missed you something fierce! How long d'ye intend to be staying?"

"Ah…" Arcee sputtered a moment, a little disoriented by all the new faces. "O-only as long as it takes to open another Rift Bridge. We need to get the kids home as soon as possible before Raf's parents demand June's arrest."

"What?!" Jack's head whipped around.

Arcee winced. She hadn't meant it to come out like that. The Autobot knelt again to place a hand on Jack's shoulder, and another on Raf's.

"Raf's mother has been skeptical of Agent Fowler's cover stories from the get-go. Mr. Esquivel will probably buy the Witness Protection angle for about three more weeks before he starts wondering why the government won't let him see his own son. But since Jack hasn't been in school for months either, and Raf and Jack are almost always together…" she let the sentence hang.

Raf looked sick. "I know my mama. One time she thought a teacher was discriminating against Beto because we're Latino, and she sent caustic emails to him and his boss for days. I mean, she was right, the teacher was racist, but still. I'm guessing Mrs. Darby has been getting some hate mail."

Arcee nodded grimly. "She's moved into the base full-time right now. Fowler barely averted a crisis when Mrs. Esquivel tried to go to the papers."

Jack began to pace, breathing hard and running his hands through his hair. "I can't believe I didn't think about things like this. Oh man, oh man, okay, my mom can not get arrested. Fowler won't let that happen, right?"

Lio knelt beside him. "Calm yourself, Jack. Breathe," he advised gently, "There's nothing you can do on this side of the Rift and panicking will help no one."

Arcee blew out an exvent. "If worst comes to worst, Optimus will arrange for the base to be viewed as a Cybertronian embassy and refuse to extradite June, but I don't think it'll go that far before we can get you home."

The mood thoroughly dimmed, the Maximals exchanged glances, beginning to feel a little guilty about how long they'd kept the children.

"Didn't Ratchet send my video message?" Raf asked suddenly, "I had it on file for just in case I didn't get back in a few days."

"He did, Raf," Arcee reassured him. "That's the only reason your dad and siblings bought the cover story. But your mom is still skeptical."

"Of course she is," Raf muttered, "She never believes me. Not even in this world."

Stampy made a face and crouched to ruffle the small boy's hair. "Ah, sorry chico. You never told us that."

Raf shrugged. "It never came up."

Break happened to glance at a chronometer on his internal HUD, and twitched. "Er...Jack? Don't your parents get home from work soon?"

"Ah scrap!" Jack darted across the courtyard and grabbed his backpack. "I haven't done half the homework!"

"Parents?! Plural?!" Arcee stared. "Your dad came back?"

"Long story, I'll explain on the way," Jack muttered and slung the techno-pack on, buckling it. "Hey Apache, is the helmet upgrade working yet?"

The mandrill smiled despite the seriousness of the moment. "Give it a try, youngster."

The techno-pack worked as designed and, upon sensing the proximity of the Cybertronians, expanded outward to layer flexible metal plating around the boy's torso, extending upward to form a functional, if utilitarian, motorcycle helmet. There was a small HUD in the right corner of the helmet's visor monitoring life signs and armor integrity, but it blinked out after a moment.

"Still working on the bugs, the HUD doesn't last long. Battery life, I'll fix it later," Apache apologized. "What's important is that the helmet will protect you from most impact damage associated with vehicle accidents. Anything higher-impact than that, I can't guarantee I'm afraid."

Jack hastily assured him that it was more than satisfactory and turned to Arcee. "Ready, Partner?" he asked, and swallowed hard to try to disperse the lump in his throat.

For the most part they drove in silence, simply clinging to the fact that each other was there and real and not going away. A piece of Jack's heart seemed to have settled back into a gap he'd been trying to ignore, and the world seemed just a little safer now. After a while, Arcee softly explained what had been happening in their home reality, about the arrival of Jazz, and about the mutation of Breakdown and Airachnid and their crew.

"It's...Jack, she looked right at me and almost didn't seem to understand who I was - or who I was to her anyway. Whatever Shokaract did to her, she'll never be the same and…" Arcee trailed off, confused. "Jack, I think I pity her. I will never, never forgive her for what she's done, but-"

"But whatever happened to her you wouldn't wish on anyone?" Jack guessed. Arcee felt the human shudder on her back. "For you to feel like that, it had to have been pretty bad."

"It was," Arcee answered. "All the same, she's here, in this universe. The sooner we get you out of here the better. And the sooner we warn whoever is going to be looking after your counterpart, the better."

Following this grim declaration, it was Jack's turn to fill Arcee in on what she had missed. He began with his seventeenth birthday - "Your mom was heartbroken that she missed it" - and the return of John Darby, moved on through the visions of the black lion he and Cheetor had been having, and spoke of the battles he and Miko had taken part in. Arcee was not pleased to hear that the children were taking such an active role on the battlefield, but eventually acknowledged that it was only a matter of time before something similar happened in their world.

Arcee was relieved that Jack's house had not changed much. She slowed and coasted up the driveway and let the boy swing off to open the garage door.

"I kept your corner clean, Arcee," he said bashfully, "Just out of habit. I should be able to get a tarp in there for when it gets cold."

The Autobot was about to transform when the sound of a motor warned her to stay in disguise. A slightly battered sedan pulled up into the driveway. It wasn't June's car, so Arcee was on the alert, just in case it was an enemy. The door popped open almost before the engine had shut off and a lanky figure in a suit and tie unfolded himself from the seat. There were shadows under his eyes and a heavy bag meant to carry laptop computers slung over his shoulder.

John Darby, I presume, Arcee thought. He did bear a slight resemblance to Jack, but she could tell now that her partner got most of his looks from his mother. The only thing this man seemed to share with Jack was his nose and his height, and perhaps the color of his hair, though it was hard to tell with the sun setting. The man she assumed was Jack's father (sort of) stopped dead in his tracks. He cast a critical eye over the bike, then at the boy who stood frozen in the open doorway of the garage, then back at the bike.

"Jack," he said slowly, "What is this?"

"M-my motorcycle?" Jack stammered. John's brow contracted and he moved towards the garage.

"What? No no no no no. You don't have a motorcycle, you have a bicycle. And this is clearly not a bicycle, therefore it is clearly not yours."

Jack swallowed hard. This was nothing like when he'd had to explain Arcee's presence to his mother, almost two years ago.

"Yes," he said in a slightly nervous voice, "it is. This is my bike. Just got it home today." Please don't ask me anything else! He added silently, but his hopes were in vain.

John glowered at his son. "Is that why you weren't paying attention in class?" he demanded, "You were planning to go behind my back and your mother's back to buy a motorcycle? Where did you even get the money? I know you've been mixing up your shifts at K.O. Burger."

Jack flinched, but took a deep breath. He couldn't back down on this, he needed Arcee here. "I didn't steal it, if that's what you mean," he said flatly. "And I'm more than capable of driving safely. I'm responsible enough."

"Are you though?" John asked. He crossed his arms and leaned his weight back on his heels, staring sternly down. "I mean, you sure didn't feel the need to tell your mom or me that you were going to buy a motorcycle! You barely have a driver's license! Now we have to add motorcycle insurance to our policy? Well guess what, buster, that's not coming out of your mom's paycheck."

"We go hunting, Dad!" the boy burst out, "You'll trust me with a gun and not a motorcycle?!" Jack crossed his own arms to match John's posture. "But you have a point about insurance. I hadn't considered having to add it to your plan. If it's a question of payments, then take my paycheck to cover it. Two weeks' pay should cover the yearly cost."

John Darby had to admit a grudging sense of admiration that the boy had already done the math regarding insurance payments, but something about the previous statement sounded off. I hadn't considered having to add it to your plan. He'd sounded as if he was used to insurance under a different policy-holder, someone other than John Chogan Darby. That did not sit well with the man, nor did the almost belligerent look in Jack's eyes. He'd been remarkably fortunate, he knew, to have only encountered a little initial hostility after being gone for two years, but in the back of his mind he'd wondered when the other shoe was going to drop. He just hadn't anticipated it being today.

"You are too young for a motorcycle." He tried to sound firm and commanding, squaring his shoulders. He was dismayed to see Jack mimic his posture and meet his gaze in a clear, though still mostly respectful, challenge.

"I'm old enough to drive the car on days when it rains," he pointed out. "I can't be riding a ten-speed forever."

"Just let it go Jack!" John exclaimed, and as he took another step forward, he could've sworn that the motorcycle's engine gave a little rumble, as though it weren't turned off all the way. "You don't even like motorcycles! What happened to saving up for a truck, huh?"

Jack's bewildered expression sent a chill down his spine. It used to be that saving up to buy a truck was all his son ever talked about, even when they were only able to "talk" through their bi-weekly emails. He'd been absolutely determined that his first car would be a truck, and a dream like that didn't just vanish overnight because someone offered you a bike.

Before he could stop himself, he muttered, "I go away for a little while, and come home to a changeling!"

The instant it left his mouth, he regretted it. It was the one thing he thought the most about Jack, and the one thing he'd never, ever wanted to say aloud. He gripped the second eagle carving in his pocket and prayed that the boy hadn't heard him, but it was too late.

Jack's sharp intake of breath felt like a knife in John's heart, and he winced when he caught the expression on his son's face. Guilt, shame, fear. He didn't understand why those particular emotions had risen to the surface, but he never wanted to see them in his boy's eyes again.

"I-" Jack seemed like he was trying to steel his nerves to say something. "I'm sorry, I'm not-"

He stopped short and looked down, tension radiating from every muscle. John felt a heaviness in his chest and blew out a shaky breath.

"Jack, son, I…I didn't mean that."

"Yes you did," Jack answered, barely audible. "And you're...you're right. I'm not the son you left behind."

John looked down, ashamed. "I know."

"You know?" Jack's head whipped up, eyes wide. Was his secret out already?

The man did not meet his gaze, but sighed heavily. "I never had the right to expect anything different. The trip was never supposed to take that long, we both know it, but still. Two years. I was gone two years on my little odyssey and left my Telemachus to defend his mother as if it was perfectly normal." With a bitter laugh, John ran a hand over his face. "I'm a lousy dad, Jack. You had to grow up while I was gone, I guess."

It wasn't a lie. He was pretty sure that this was part of what was going on. It was just that he still could not shake the feeling that something was wrong about this picture. Something else that still needed to come to light.

"You're not a lousy dad," Jack argued softly, and stopped to discreetly wipe his eyes. "Or, if you are, I wouldn't know because," he swallowed hard, "Because you're the only John Darby I've ever known."

With a soft cry, John reached out and pulled the teenager close. "Geez, that was sappy, kid," he rasped. "But I appreciate it." He ruffled Jack's hair, then released him.

"I, ah, y'know what? Let's tell your mom I bought the bike," he suggested after clearing his throat. "It is a nice bike. We'll say it was an apology for missing your sixteenth birthday. And your fifteenth birthday. And two Christmases." He paused to examine the blue motorcycle. "As long as you don't go racing."

"Oh heck no," Jack was quick to assure him, "Not ever."

Satisfied with this, John nodded and moved to unlock the door. "Okay. Uh, you get that bike squared away, and I'll start dinner before your mom gets home." For a moment, he could ignore the icy coil of dread in his stomach, warning him that something was still very out of place. There were still too many things different about the boy to keep ignoring, but John was beginning to wonder: did he really want to know the truth?

Jack didn't relax until the door was shut, then he let out a gusty sigh that seemed to deflate him entirely. "What do you know," he muttered, "My first father-son lecture."

Arcee hummed sympathetically and rolled up next to him. "Not if you count the talk you and Bee had with Optimus after you went street racing," she said helpfully. "But I know what you mean. That was...weird."

She settled into the corner and noted with a thrill of emotion that Jack had dragged an old mattress into the alcove behind the toolboxes, just like at home. With John in the house, she wouldn't risk transforming just yet, but she eased up onto the mattress all the same. Jack rolled down the garage door, leaving them in near total darkness. He sighed and sank down onto the mattress beside his partner, leaning back against her.

"I missed this," he whispered.

"So did I."

Maximalverse: the Darksyde

Galvatron leaned back in his throne, the very picture of barbaric self-assurance. The last of Archadis's new arrivals stood before him now, trying to convince him that he would be a valuable asset to the Predacons. Already there was something about this Shokaract that displeased Galvatron. He was too confident in himself, and did not approach the dragon with even a fraction of the humility that Killer Punch had showed. It was as if he believed that he was too valuable to kill.

He spoke at length of his great scientific advances - paltry in comparison to the technology of this world, but certainly pushing interesting boundaries - and how useful he'd been to Megatron of all mechs. This, at least, seemed to fit what Archadis had mentioned during the rather long interrogation session he'd put the bounty hunter through. Then the crablike mech began to weave some story about the infamous Shockwave using him for lab experiments and forcing him to torment and operate on the Arachnacon femme, the one in Killer Punch's team, and Galvatron's optics darkened.

He had expressed entirely too much pride in his earlier accomplishments for this sudden expression of humble contrition to be genuine. Galvatron suspected he was more Tarantulas than Elephorca here, an instigator and not a victim. He had work enough keeping Tarantulas from experimenting on his troops as anything other than dramatic punishments. He did not need a second mad scientist. As intriguing as his experiments with angolmois were, if Shokaract intended to stay, he would learn his place quickly.

"Do you take me for a fool, Shokaract?" he purred, "Or are you perhaps accustomed to all your lies being believed without question?"

The fact of the matter was that Shokaract had expected to be believed. He had used his emotionless Shockwave inflections, thought logically, and behaved according to previous successes. What, exactly, was this Galvatron seeing that he did not?

Galvatron leaned his chin upon his fist and his optics glittered harshly. "If there is one thing I always know, it is a lie. Your experiments on the nature of animalistic forms on old-order Cybertronians were progressive for your time, but as you can see, it's all rather a moot point now." He waved his other hand lazily as he spoke. "And while I do see potential applications for your work on the substance known as angolmois, I am….concerned...that you do not understand your place on this vessel."

Given that Shokaract's emotions were more intact than Shockwave's, the scientist felt the beginnings of fear worming their way into his processor as Galvatron stood and began to move towards him, and an idle bit of his neural net wondered if this was what it was like to be Starscream.

"I do not tolerate liars on my ship, Shokaract. If you doubt this, ask Starscream sometime why he has so many scars. I also will not tolerate the misuse of my soldiers. I hold them in line, scientist, and they fear me, but they also respect me. And do you know why? It is because while they know that failure and mutiny meet harsh punishments, I show regard for their well-being. Any experiment upon anyone wearing my brand that is not undertaken at my express command is forbidden. You are not to augment, modify, mutate or reprogram any Predacon without my say-so."

The Predacon loomed over Shokaract and leaned down to hiss, "And in case you were not certain, that does include the Terrorcons. Yes, you claim you were an unwilling party to the femme's torment, but let us err on the side of caution nonetheless: you are not to touch her or her comrades. Am I clear, Shokaract?"

Well this meeting certainly wasn't going according to Shokaract's plans. He'd been caught by surprise and was now scrambling to keep up with a warlord who was several steps ahead of him. Obviously, it would not do to challenge this particular Predacon. There was something about him that struck Shokaract as being more dangerous than Megatron, and not simply because of his massive size. He nodded once in understanding.

Galvatron leaned closer and tapped two servos to his audial receptors. "I didn't hear you, Shokaract."

Shokaract lowered his helm, silently cursing the indignity of it. "You make yourself transparently clear, my lord."

"I suspected as much." Galvatron straightened and returned to his throne. He leaned back, wings flared comfortably out to the sides, and snapped his servos once.

"Soundwave."

As if by magic, the small mech appeared out of the shadows. "Sir?"

Galvatron leaned over in a manner that was almost conspiratorial and murmured to his spy, "Escort the scientist out, and have him branded. Then return to me, I have work for you."

"Yes, my lord!" Soundwave said eagerly, pleased that the presence of the new arrivals had not dimmed his usefulness to Galvatron.

Shokaract knew an insult when he experienced one. When the batlike mech had him taken to a small clinic and branded with the Predacon seal in an offhand, almost dismissive fashion, he knew that it was deliberate. The scorching burn on his arm was no welcoming ceremony, as with the Terrorcons, but rather a statement that he belonged to the Predacons now and he would obey Galvatron or suffer the consequences. Given the number of highly loyal soldiers under Galvatron's command, as compared with Megatron's forces, Shokaract suspected that this warlord was very capable of backing up his threats.

"Tomorrow," said Soundwave as a cooling energon pack was handed to him to ease the burn, "Lord Galvatron wishes you to report to Tarantulas and give him your research for review. Don't worry: he probably won't turn you into a lab-scraplet."

Seething, Shokaract left the clinic and resolved to find his own way to the temporary quarters that would be provided. The corridor he had intended to use proved to be full of Predacons he did not know, and preferring a moment's peace, Shokaract opted to cut through one of the hangars instead.

Halfway across the wide, empty space he found a large, sleek spacecraft. Someone had carefully written Abominus across the prow in sweeping, Old Altihex calligraphy. The reminder of the combiner that he had never been able to control as Shockwave only added to his fury, and Shokaract found himself desperately grasping at the calm he would have possessed in his other body. Scampering across the top of the craft were two of the Terrorcons and once more the scientist felt a flash of anger. Every single one of them owed his form as a Terrorcon to him and to his experiments with the angolmois! They should have been more grateful to him!

Saberback was teasing Crazybolt about the color of magnetic paint he'd chosen for the hull, and Crazybolt was not-so-covertly flicking said paint at the larger mech's back whenever it was turned. Within moments, a full-fledged paint war had begun and there was more of the crimson shade on the two mechs than there was on the hull.

A familiar face appeared at one of the viewports, scowling viciously. "Would you two short-circuits knock it off?" Blackarachnid growled, "I can't hear myself think!"

"What?" Saberback sounded smug, "KP told us to paint the ship, so we're painting it!"

The femme's optics narrowed. "I don't care. You're making enough racket to wake Unicron! And by the way, if you don't get your stuff out of my room in two cycles, I'm setting it on fire."

"Can Ah help?!" Lazorbeak's excited voice called out from another part of the ship.

Saberback and Crazybolt, in the meantime, looked scandalized.

"What?!" Crazybolt scrambled down to stare into the viewport. "Who said that was your room?"

"I did, wanna make something of it?" the femme taunted. "If you'd wanted a different room, you should've paid attention when we all called dibs, now shouldn't you?"

Abruptly, her smirk vanished as her optics refocused on the copper and aquamarine figure standing on the hangar floor. She had noticed Shokaract. In seconds, Crazybolt had climbed further down the hull to block Blackarachnid from Shokaract's sight, and Saberback had turned to face him with a poisonous look. Killer Punch exited the ship moments later and stood there, arms crossed, quietly daring the scientist to make a move.

Once settled into their new quarters, Fractyl had finally had a chance to run a medical scan over everyone. He discovered that, as Blackarachnid had suspected, there had been a virus in her pre-frontal cortex that had tampered with her memories, and it had been set off remotely. As parts of the coding were damaged beyond repair, there was no way to retrieve the memories that had been destroyed, leaving them to wonder just why anyone would plant a virus in Blackarachnid's neural net, and what they were trying to hide. To the minds of the Terrorcons, Shokaract was by far the most likely suspect. They had no motive they could think of for why he would do it, but they knew he could. For all they knew, he'd done it out of spite, or just to prove that he was as smart as Shockwave.

Killer Punch faced Shokaract with his helm tipped back, looking down at him. "You need something, Eyeballs?" he asked rudely.

Shokaract took note of the ex-Decepticon's belligerent tone and hostile posture and allowed himself to think more logically. As much as the Shokaract side of him would have secretly liked to show these ingrates that he was still superior to them in every way, the Shockwave side of him had to concede that they had numbers and, in the cases of Fractyl and Saberback, youth on their side. It was not a statistically advantageous situation. Deciding that an altercation was not worth the effort, Shokaract simply shot them a disgusted look and carried on in silence.

"I kind of hate that guy," Saberback said candidly, watching him leave.

"I kind of do too," Crazybolt admitted.

"No kind of," Blackarachnid snorted from the viewport, "Kind of is for weaklings. Just straight up hate the mech, it's easier." Then, with hands on hips, "Now for the last time: get your scrapping stuff out of my room!"

Primeverse: somewhere near Andromeda

It was cold on the asteroid, though no more so than the rest of space. Still, it was enough that the two Autobots in the powered-down ship were shivering a little. Their sparks were enough to keep internal systems from shutting down, but neither could be said to be comfortable at the moment. The mech rose to power up one of the consoles, checking the systemwide status of the craft.

"Stop, we're on emergency power as it is," the femme said sharply, "We don't have enough energon to check your messages."

"I wasn't checking my messages!" her companion flicked his wings up high for a moment in annoyance, then let them fall again to a position that used less energon. "I was tapping into the satellite feeds of the nearest inhabited world, faint though the signal be."

Chromia twitched slightly from her huddled position. "Silverbolt, I swear to the Allspark, if you make me sit through a staticy, half-signaled Bones marathon again, I swear I'll kill you." The warrior shuddered and made a retching noise. "All the things I never wanted to know about how organic bodies work."

Silverbolt let out a low chuckled and powered down the screen before returning to sit beside Chromia.

"Actually, I was going to try to scan their airwaves for news of anything that sounds Cybertronian, but a Bones marathon sounds nice too. Or perhaps X-Files."

"Definitely the second one," Chromia agreed, "That show is hilarious. Especially because it probably wasn't meant to be."

They lapsed into silence briefly, trying to distract themselves from the empty cold that seemed to leech their energy. They'd been trapped in the stolen shuttle since the day the undead had begun to rise on Cybertron, heading for a Space Bridge that had opened in the sky. When the Bridge had detonated when they were part of the way through, Silverbolt and Chromia had been thrown across the universe and had ended up somewhere near the Andromeda galaxy. Now they were stranded on an asteroid careening rather aimlessly through space in the direction of the nearest inhabited world: Earth.

"Well, offhand this isn't the worst situation I've ever been in," Silverbolt said at last, "But it's high on my list of undesirable turns of events."

"Oh quit whining," Chromia returned in an attempt at good humor, "We'll pass the sun eventually."

Silverbolt hummed, but it was a noncommittal sound. "Even with our rations cut down to half," he said softly, "I don't know if we have enough energon to land the ship safely on the next inhabited world. And even if we do land on Earth intact, there's no reason to believe the ancient energon stockpiles are still there."

"Regular ray of sunshine, aren't you?" Chromia elbowed him, but her thoughts were as morose as his.

Silverbolt probably thought she hadn't noticed that he'd only pretended to take his ration that cycle, slipping it into her pile instead. Out of courtesy, she hadn't said anything at the time, but now his optics were starting to flicker. Silverbolt was dangerously low on power and they weren't close enough to Earth to fire up the engines.

"Gotta say, I never really pictured going out like this," she mused, a touch fatalistic now, "Thought for sure I'd go out in a blaze of glory, side by side with Ironhide or Arcee. This...this is just embarrassing."

"Mm." Silverbolt heaved himself upright, staggering just a little when lack of energon caught up with him. "Well, we have a few more cycles, at least. What do you say? X-Files marathon before we hit the Well?"

The powerful femme laughed dryly and shook her helm. "Why not, 'Bolt? Why not."

She pulled herself up next to the flyer and flicked on the operating systems. After a brief boot-up, it began scanning for signals. Very soon, it picked up something that was neither X-Files nor any other human program.

"Hey!" a rough voice shouted cheerfully, "You two wanna sit up there til yer pipes freeze over, or do ya wanna come down here and kick some Decepticon tailpipe?"

Chromia gripped the console with both hands, not caring that she was practically hollering into the screen. "Jazz! Is that you?!"

"Naw, femme, it's Omega Supreme. Who d'ya think it is?" the saboteur sounded supremely amused.

"We thought no one was picking up our distress call!" Silverbolt replied, though his words were a little slurred with energy deprivation.

Jazz made a disapproving sound upon hearing the condition they were in. "You two don't sound too hot," he said, almost scoldingly, "Tell ya what: get as far as the upper atmosphere, and we'll Bridge ya down to the base."

"Base? There's more of us on Earth?"

"Mech, ya kiddin' me? We got Team Prime down here!" Jazz boasted. Then his tone grew grim. "Gotta say though, it ain't much better down here than it might be up there. Only fair to warn ya: Megatron's on this planet. We're talkin' the real Megatron now and boy does he have it out for the natives!" The normally cheerful Autobot sighed, sending a crackly of static over the line. "To tell ya the truth, ma mechs, we ain't much of an army down here. More like the resistance. Just lost a handful of good Bots to some dimensional weirdness."

"Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey?" Chromia suggested helpfully.

"Do not start with me, 'Mia," Jazz groaned. "The Autobots ain't doin' too hot right now. Either of ya feel like startin' a fight?"

Chromia and Silverbolt looked at each other a moment, gauging each other's reactions. Wordlessly, they reached a consensus and Chromia darted into the cockpit, booting up all systems.

"Aye, Jazz," Silverbolt confirmed, "Tell Optimus we're on our way."

"And tell Megatron," Chromia added with a fearsome grin, "Let's tango."

To be continued...