This chapter took a little while to write up, half because I was finishing up the prequel Dance With The Devil (not mandatory reading, but it explains some of Elita's pre-war backstory and hints at why Soundwave is interested in Airachnid's survival) and because I was busy with moving away and starting university very soon. But it's finished now at least, and I have an idea to stretch the story a little longer and weigh the odds more in the Autobots favour…

(Also to answer a question, I have no plans for Chromia to be showing up in this story)

xx

Even with the medic's warning, Dreadwing wasn't quite prepared for the flurry of sand that scraped against his faceplate as he stepped out from the safety of the Ground Bridge. Smokescreen wasn't hindered at all by the gritty lashes the wind threw up, storming ahead like he was diving into battle. Himself and Arcee had enough sense to stay back, even if it meant being near each other. Of all the Autobots he'd met that day, she was the hardest to measure... and therefore the most dangerous. For a femme who had to live with her archnemesis, knowing she was her leader's sparkmate, she looked astonishingly calm as she diligently scouted through the sand. Did Autobots just hide their anger better than Decepticons, or was she an exception? Whatever the case, Dreadwing kept a wide stretch of space between them both.

"I am surprised at how readily the Autobots have accepted my assistance," he said slowly, if only to fill the gusting silence and distract from Smokescreen's childish noises.

"I guess we're just desperate for the help," Arcee replied with a casual shrug, casting her optics around the barren dunes. "What do the keys look like again?"

"Gold metal, jagged like it has denta, with a thin handle. You will know what it is when we find it," Dreadwing answered, remembering the relics clearly as well as the greedy glint of Megatron's fangs as he held them.

"If we find it, more like..." Arcee scoffed as she kicked at a crest of sand, as if she hoped the key would be hiding underneath it, or more likely just because she needed to kick something. The force behind the sand flinging up in the air betrayed the storm beneath her smooth composure, the same one Dreadwing had been holding together ever since he left the Nemesis for the last time.

"May I ask a... personal question, Arcee?"

The femme glanced over her shoulder at the Seeker, confusion masking that anger more successfully than her forced peacefulness. "Go ahead, I guess."

"How do you stop yourself wanting to kill that who took another from you?"

The confusion cleared very quickly from Arcee's face, and she turned away with a sigh. "You mean, how do I hold back from tearing Airachnid's spark out?"
"I was referring to Starscream, but... I suppose the spider will do just as well," Dreadwing said, following behind Arcee as she seemed to wander aimlessly now with her helm pointed to the dusty ground.

"I guess... I just tell myself that killing her will send me to the same place she's heading to. And that place sure isn't the Allspark." A sound reasoning, but not one Dreadwing could use for himself. It seemed all Decepticons were fated for the Pit... though at least that meant he'd have an eternity for revenge against Starscream.

"I only wish to go wherever my brother now dwells," he intoned, hoping that Skyquake's spark managed to find rest somewhere even if his body still walked as one of Unicron's puppets. "Until then... I will finish whatever business I have left in this life."

If Arcee had anything to say to that, she kept it to herself. In fact she didn't speak again for another few long klicks, crouching in the sand and sifting her digits through the grains. "What was Airachnid like? In the Decepticons?"

It was the first time Dreadwing had heard her say the spider's name without a drop of venom. "...Practical," he answered, recalling stories he'd heard of Airachnid's duties rather than actual memories of her. In truth, he knew more about her as Elita than he did as Airachnid. "Her behavior was… typical for one forced under Megatron's command," he added.

"Optimus said you were the ones who got her off Archa Seven."

"A bounty hunter retrieved her," he corrected, also remembering how the spider seemed to regard everyone in Megatron's command room that day with a natural born hatred. "We just gave her something to do for the duration of the war."

Arcee scoffed again, rising from her knees and dusting off her palm against her knee. "And she did a great job, I'm sure..." Her low mutter didn't quite hide how her denta clamped tight together.

"You still hold a grudge against her?" Dreadwing asked.

"Same as the one you have against Starscream," she reasoned.

"Skyquake was taken from the one place he should have found peace," he said with a sad shake of his helm. "Your partner was killed in a time where death was common, and necessary."

That made Arcee stop cold in the gritty wind, winglets flared like twin warning signals as she glared at Dreadwing. "Tailgate's death was necessary?"

"From Airachnid's view, yes," Dreadwing said cooly, almost amused at such a small bot trying to stare him down when he'd survived disapproval from the likes of Megatron. "She had a duty to extract information. You had a duty to protect it. No one can fault another for following orders."

Arcee's winglets jolted, limp flutters as her glare eventually died away with her anger. "...That's very similar to what Optimus told me," she confessed quietly.

"The Prime has more wisdom than most Decepticons would care to admit," Dreadwing told her, not quite admitting whether or not he counted among them. And before Arcee could decide for herself, Smokescreen summoned them.

"Hey, guuuuuys?" The two bots followed his voice through the grainy mist, abruptly arriving in front of a structure like sandstones piled on top of each other, tapering to a sharp point at its apex. Smokescreen stood outside the entrance, a slab of darkness leading into the rubble. "I dunno about you but if I was gonna hide the key to my planet's survival somewhere, I think I'd put it in a fancy pyramid," he suggested, all too smug at being the one to find it.

"You're not one of the Thirteen though, Smokescreen," Arcee pointed out, but she smiled as she shoved the mech on the shoulder to move past him-

But Dreadwing's hand on her shoulder stopped her from going into the shadows. "Wait." His voice was low, a whisper as his senses strained in the crackling evening. His wings tilted and flicked against a blanket of electric currents filling the air, and his audios snapped with static. "I sense... something approaching."

It was a verdict that arrived just as Megatron did, not by Ground Bridge but by his own engines, tremors breaking under his peds as he slammed into the sand not far behind them. Dreadwing didn't wait for him to rise up before he shoved Arcee into the dark haven ahead.

"Go, Autobot! Hide in the-"

But she struggled out of his grip, forcing herself by his side. "Like frag I will! Optimus sent us all out to fight Megatron, so we-" She stopped herself as Smokescreen happily took her place and pelted past her, and she groaned as he retreated into the pyramid. "So I'm not going anywhere."

Dreadwing didn't have the time or will to argue with her. "Then stay out of my way," he grunted, pulling his sword free of its sheathe as he marched out to meet the mech he once followed. Shock was the only thing that stopped Megatron immediately opening fire, his cannon forgotten by his side as his narrow optics hardened like cold coals. His new servo, almost glowing in the low light with the ghost of a Prime around it, seemed more stiff from rage rather than neglect.

"Dreadwing... what would your brother say, if he was alive to see you betray your leader?" Megatron seemed so focused on his former SIC that he didn't note Arcee just behind him as she slipped away between the shrouds of sand- or maybe she was just an exceptional sneak. Either way, Dreadwing stubbornly levelled his optics on Megatron's to keep her hidden.

"He would thank me for no longer fighting for the cause that disturbed his slumber in the Allspark," he told Megatron through clenched denta. "And he would tear out your own spark, knowing how you treat your own kin."

Megatron huffed at the threat, letting his own sword slide out under his heavy cannon. "Sentiment befits you no better than an Autobot badge does. What did they promise you? Justice? The return of our home? You of all bots should know they can't give you that, even with the Keys." He stretched out his unarmed servo, the one stolen from the Primes, in an effort of amnesty. "End this foolish farce, Dreadwing, and I am willing to forgive this treachery. In return, Starscream will be yours to do as you wish with."

As much as he wanted to believe it, Dreadwing instantly recognised the false charisma, the habitual lies of the mech he'd agreed to follow so long ago. His denta formed a sharp grimacing barrier for his growls. "And why on Cybertron would I trust the word of a rapist and a sparkling killer?"

Of all the things to respond to such a hostile question with, Megatron chose to grin. "You had no issue with doing so before."

Either the reminder of his millennia-long complacency, the victorious glint of the warlord's fangs or the thought of Scorpia, the last scrap of innocence their kind had left, coming from such a vile spark, compelled Dreadwing to drive his blade through his chamber… only one thing stopped him from charging forth through the sand; another bot already doing so.

"Now, Arcee!" The femme's peds launched in a swirl of grit just as Dreadwing gave the command, carrying her through the air and bringing her blade down on Megatron's shoulder before he could turn around. The hard plating around his back deflected the brunt of the blow, but the tip found an armour seam to slice through that left his weaponised servo dangling uselessly from a stream of energon more purple than blue. Arcee rolled as she landed in front of Megatron, barely avoiding a savage and desperate swipe from the warlord as she retreated out of his reach, not quite fast enough to avoid an aching impact against her spinal strut. She'd done her part at least, now it was Dreadwing's turn to put him down while he was dazed.

"Not only did you let a grave defiler back into your trust… you became one yourself!" The Seeker became a razor whirlwind as he flared his wings and lunged with his sword over and over, blind with fury and grief as he took every flinching chance to strike Megatron. "Do you blame Unicron for it?" he bellowed. "Is his stain on your spark so great that you take no responsibility for what you've done?!"

Already scored with scars and dents, Megatron fell backwards as he tried to dodge a sweep from Dreadwing's blade, unable to aim his cannon or parry the blows. In one last attempt to save his spark he grabbed the edge of Dreadwing's sword with the Prime's hand before it could hit him. The edge should have carved through his palm, left him panting in agony as his claws fell off in a gush of energon… but Megatron managed to hold it off, fangs bared and ancient cables bulging as he fought against Dreadwing's force. It wasn't his own servo, so he couldn't feel pain from it even as it bled all over the sand. And it was much stronger than a mortal bot's limb, pushing against Dreadwing's rage with only the slightest effort.

"Who said... Unicron had anything to do with it?" Megatron grunted, pushing himself back upright and already winning the lethal battle of strength before he pulled the blade aside, leaving the Seeker open to a strike from his other limp servo. He had to move his whole body to swing it against Dreadwing's helm, but it dazed him enough that he toppled backwards and the roles were quickly switched, Megatron standing over his former soldier with a blood drenched blade.

"Of all the mechs to have a soft spark for a wretch like Airachnid... I'd have thought you were better than that," he said through a grunt like rusty gears grinding together in his vocaliser.

Dreadwing stared down his own sword turned against him, saw Arcee still lying limp not far away, and spat at Megatron's peds like Skyquake might have done to Starscream. "You never thought she was a wretch when you pined after her…"

Megatron's optics were too narrow and bright for their colour to be clear, a sickening glow of red or violet as he wrenched the sword back for the brutal final cleave-

"Yoo hoo, Megsy! Looking for this?" For the first time in the young mech's life, Smokescreen's obnoxiousness actually proved useful. He stood at the foot of the pyramid behind them, unmarked and unfazed as he waved a Phase Shifter-clad servo to Megatron, letting the young moonlight hit the golden metal of the Omega Key in his hand.

"...What? How... NO!" Megatron's anger took a while to catch up with his processor, just long enough for Dreadwing to kick against his codpiece and snatch his sword back as it fell from his energon-soaked hand. The Seeker didn't waste any more time on the warlord, throwing Arcee over his shoulder as he pelted towards Smokescreen.

Though the femme was in no state to run just yet, she was still conscious enough to work her comm unit. "Ratchet, get us a Ground Bridge ASAP!" And to the medic's credit there was a vortex ahead of them just a nanoklick later, all they had to do was reach it in one piece while Megatron tried to aim his cannon with just one servo. Wayward plasma blasts turned the sand around them to smoldering glass, almost hit the Bridge itself, but the Autobots were too far ahead for them to impact any further than just behind them.

Smokescreen seemed aware of this as he stopped just before the Bridge, either waiting for Dreadwing and Arcee to catch up or just wanting to gloat and enrage Megatron even more with another wave. "Bye bye!" He quickly realised his mistake when Megatron decided to pull his sword free of his servo and hurl it like a spear towards the Autobot, and if he didn't leap backwards in time just as the Bridge closed he might have ended up skewered, like the scrap of coloured paper that fluttered out of Dreadwing's subspace as he lunged towards the portal.

When Megatron went to retrieve his blade, calm only out of confusion, he only glanced once at the sparkling's torn drawing before crushing it in his claws and throwing it aside with a scowl.