Mmph. Is that my frame creaking? I'm getting old.

Chromia? Thank Primus.

Firestar?

Correct, Fearless Leader.

What, no sarcastic verbal hoohah?

Ah, I don't feel like it.

What happened? I feel fragged….

….You tell me. You look like you barely escaped a pit full of Scraplets.

…Your imagination is sick.

Whatever. Regardless, I found it was your processor. It was acting up again.

Again? But my headbrace is on-

-Doesn't ensure protection from damage. And the malfunction came from within. I think you might be having seizures.

I don't trust your opinion too much, 'Star.

Why? Because I'm an academic washout? You flatter me, Captain of the Quintessa.

Not that.

I know. I was third in my class at Protihex before I got kicked out, so stick it.

Seizures? I'm an Autobot gunslinger inflicted with seizures. That's not going to be a help on the battlefield. Ugh, Primus hates me.

Only while your processor is repairing itself. The seizures, I mean.

Where are we?

On the Quintessa. We've successfully managed to egress Cybertronian airspace with no trouble.

That quick? And you dragged me in?

On these very painful heel struts, ma'am.

Fantastic job! And don't call me ma'am. Makes me feel as aged as old Kup.

Whatever you say….ma'am.

I will hit you.

Oh, good to see you're up and running, Chromia.

Thanks, Lancer. Help me get up, Firestar.

I was right. You're old.

*clang*

Ouch.

I gave you every warning. Now, quick question: Is it just you and me, and the Cousins, on the Quintessa?

About that-

-Mia? MIA! You're online!

Moonracer? What're you d-?-oof!

Thank Primus you're okay thank Primus you're okay I was so worried-

-What are you doing on the ship?

Helping you with your mission, 'Mia.

My mission? You left Cybertron?

Elita was my friend, too. C'mon, 'Mia. She was friend to all of us, so we owe it to her-

-You need to get off.

…Wh-what?

Can't explain. Just-Lancer! Prepare an escape pod back to Cyberton.

'Mia. 'MIA! Could you please tell us all what's happening?

What does it look like, Moonie? I'm sending you back. You need to be back on Cyberton.

Chromia-

-Quiet, Firestar. To you, Moonracer: there, not here.

What—why? Why not? Because it's dangerous? I ca-wha-this is-I'm a slagging sharpshooter, 'Mia! I can handle a little danger! I can handle living in the same space with five femmes for a very long time! I've done it on Cybertron. It will NOT be a problem here! And, believe me, I've got nothing to return to on that planet! Nothing's waiting for me there! NOTHING!

Moonracer-

-Stop shaking me!

-Then listen! You've got a future on Cybertron. Okay? There's no prison demanding you back in chains, no sanitorium crazy for you to be back in a padded cell, no laboratories wanting you back on an operating table, nothing like that. You can survive and contribute to the Autobot cause. Help end this war. Not throw it all away on a mission that could take the rest of our solar cycles!

I thought you said Elita was online!

She is! And I'm finding her!

And I'm helping you find her!

You should preserve your relationships with the bots you've got right now. The bots within a servo's reach.

What's that supposed to mean? You gave up Ironhide!

I-oh, Primus, my head-

-I don't have anyone like that on Cybertron! Not anymore.

Are you certain?

…You never talk like this, 'Mia. Is there something I should know?

You're answering my question with a question. That'll just raise more questions.

….'Mia, please. Is there something I need to know?

There is someone. Waiting for you on Cybertron. A whole lot of bots are, really, but this one in particular. Waiting for you. Waiting to apologize.

I'm done with Power-

-Not Powerglide. Your-Primus, agh, I'm seeing stars-your friend, that scientist…..Perceptor.

…What about him? He's….he's in no position to apologize. He's in no state to do anything, really. He's been hurt. Because of me.

No. Not you.

Do you even know exactly what happened between us, 'Mia? I found out. He did….something horrible…but instead of trying to understand, you know what I did? I hurt his feelings, and he, in turn, probably hurt himself! …..IT WAS ALL MY FAULT! If I hadn't said-

-ME.

-all those-wait….what?

Me….it was me, Moonracer.

…I don't under-

I WAS THE ONE THAT DID THAT TO HIM.

Did what?

….

Did what, 'Mia?

…..

….

The silent treatment's not going to work, 'Mia!

….

Moonracer?

What?

That's not the silent treatment.

….it's not?

Greenlight!

Yes, Lieutentant?...

I think she's having a seizure!...

What?...

Just get your things!...

'Mia? Tell me!

….Easy now….

Tell me what happened!

…we need to take her headbrace off…

Chromia! Talk to me!

Moonracer, stop! Get off!

I need to know!

Don't shake her!

CHROMIA, WHAT DID YOU DO?

Roundabout

or

A story of a queenly warrior, her trustworthy lieutenant, the travelers of a stolen warship, and coming home.

{After the discovery of Optimus Prime's crew on Gaea, thirty kliks before the landing of the Quintessa}

[Cybertronian airspace]


Against a backdrop of dark space in the Quintessa's largest window, Chromia's cobalt blue finish gleams and gives her an ethereal aura, like Beta Magnus, the femme Magnus before Powered Convoy. With one servo resting on the gun at her piston, she surveys the surface of Cybertron with calm optics.

Cybertron. Our home. All five of us.

She appears so noble, but my spark aches for her. After a thousand stellar cycles, we are no closer to finding Elita-1 than we were when we left. So why are we returning?

"Well, for one, we need more supplies. We'll have to smuggle them from somewhere", she said to me one solar cycle.

"Second of all, if what we've picked up on several frequencies is true, Sentinel is now a Prime, and I want to know how the frag that happened. Third, if those frequencies are trustworthy, then Optimus is also online and back on Cybertron. And I have many questions for him."

"What do you intend to do?", I had asked in my usual sarcastic manner. "Bind Optimus to a chair and shock him with an energon prod until he breaks? Don't you smile at me like that, you crazed gunslinger….."

I had reason to worry. Chromia would probably do that. She would have no problem doing so.

She kicked Moonracer in the stabilizing servo once for nearly shooting somebot in the landing pad.

Punched Ironhide in the faceplates the first time he flirted with her.

Yanked Elita-1 by her kibble when the yellow femme told her she was dating Sentinel.

"No chairs, 'Star, I promise. The energon prod, however…"

I hold up a servo. "Stop it, 'Mia. No. We don't need to give the Autobots any more reason to throw you back in Trypticon. You are still Moonracer's mentor. And our leader. Act as such. Please. For all our sakes."

Her faceplates slip into a more somber look. I know that look. It is her serious look, the look of a trigger-happy femme molded by nearly a thousand stellar cycles of leadership and sparkache, of learning her lessons the hard way and being an example to the four of us. It is a look that says, "Worry not, I will not intentionally get any of you in trouble, and I will be Chromia Minor for all our sakes."

A clatter of light landing pads snap me out of my thoughts. Moonracer.

She runs into the main entrance chamber, her trademark sniper at her back. She stands at attention.

"One klik 'till landing, Captain", the minty-green femme declares.

One klik, and we'll set landing pad in a familiar place we haven't seen in a thousand stellar cycles. One klik, and we'll be reunited with the bots we left behind. One klik, and all our questions will be answered.

So I hope.

"I'll contact Cybertron Command, Chromia", I offer, setting my heel struts down.

"Don't bother. I already have. We'll be intercepted by a group of Autotroopers led by-", and here she let a wide smile grace her faceplates, "-Ironhide."

It's good to see her smile again. And if all goes well…..

Well…..

The last klik goes by in a blur. Moonracer and Lancer check the fuel, temperature, and pressure levels of the Quintessa. Greenlight prepares touchdown procedures. Chromia grabs hold of the ship's controls.

"Brace yourselves!" My final warning before I increase the magnetic field in the floors, trapping all five of us in place. Glad to be sitting down this time, I begin the countdown.

"Landing in 10…9…8….7….6…5….4…..3….2…1…..!"

The impact of our ship hitting the landing strip would've thrown us back enough to shatter the titanium-strong glass of the windows. Everyone shakes around a bit.

Except Chromia. With the most concentrated look I've ever seen on her faceplates, she simply rocks with the vibes of the landing and drives the ship to a gradual stop. She leans her entire frame on the controls after locking the ship and turning it offline.

Then she looks over at Moonracer, to her right, to my left.

"Admit it. Your old mentor ain't too bad as a pilot, hmm?"

And she laughs.

At first, I look at the Cousins and raise an optic ridge. The last time our fearless captain tried to pilot the ship, we nearly crashed and offlined on Archa Seven.

Then Moonracer smiles and giggles in response.

The sound is a reliving one. Considering how they were the first two hundred stellar cycles of our mission, and the moments that followed, and the hard lessons they learned from each other, to hear them laugh is like a box of sweet, sweet energon drops. Small and short-lived and seemingly insignificant, but it made all the difference.

And so, as the Quintessa fills with relieved sighs and laughter, I allow myself a chuckle and turn down the magnetic field.

"No. But I'll know who to blame if there's a large scratch on the surface of Iacon's docks."

The two femmes check their guns, then look at the rest of us.

"We're home, ladies. Who knows how long we'll be here, or when we go off on our mission again. Enjoy your time here, have a cube of high-grade, who knows? We deserve it after being off this planet for a thousand stellar cycles. Now-"

"OPEN THIS HATCH! COME OUT OF THE SHIP WITH YOUR SERVOS UP!"

The shuffling of what sounds like dozens of Autotroopers, and the loud, rude clanging on the side of the ship causes Moonracer to jump a little, causes Lancer to squeak, and causes Greenlight to close her optics tightly. Our captain's faceplates go from joyous to glowering in less than a nanoklik. Her servo immediately flies to her rifle, also strapped to her back.

"The frag-?"

"NOW! WE'LL GIVE YOU ONE KLIK TO COME OUT PEACEFULLY!"

"What's going on?" Moonracer's voice, though strong and level, coats a deep confusion and fear.

Greenlight's optics holoform calls our attention momentarily. In the pale light of her optic-holographs, we see Chromia's arrest about three orbital cycles before we last left Cybertron.

"They can't be here for you. That was so long ago. And you're innocent!", our sharpshooter practically shouts. Her mentor hushes her with a digit to her vocal labi.

This cannot be happening. In one move, I rip my battle chain-axe off my back, stride to the hatch controls, and crank the entrance open.

"What are you doing, Lieutentant?", Greenlight whispers.

"Prepare for battle, girls. Especially you, Chromia. Time to hone your improvisation skills", I mutter as the hatch creaks open.

"And if we offline because of my horrible improvisation skills, Firestar, I blame you."

"That sounds fair", I counter as the hatch opens and the sounds of my teammates setting our weapons smatter my audio receptors. I expect battle cries. The cacophony of rifles being aimed at us. The five of us fighting to the death.

What happens: Our leader lowering her rifle.

Because, standing before us, is the last thing any of us expect.

Sentinel Minor. With Elite Guard chevrons to his Autobot insignia.

"Where's Ironhide, you planet-chined jerk? Mainframe said he'd be the one to come welcome us."

"First of all, that insubordinate underling refused to be the one to arrest you, you escaped convict. And second of all, that's Sentinel Magnus to you and your deserter teammates. You, Chromia of Iacon, are wanted for hoarding of dangerous vagrants in an evicted structure, assault of about twenty Autotroopers, escaping Trypticon Prison before sentence was complete, and deserting battle during times of war. Firestar of Kalis, Moonracer of Tarn, Greenlight of Crystal City, and Lancer of Kalis; the four of you are wanted for cavorting with a dangerous armed convict, as well as deserting battle during times of war. I'm going to have to arrest you all."

A stunned silence follows this. A smug smile creeps onto his faceplates.

A strangled scream belts from Chromia's vocal receptor. I dare not look to clearly see her expression. Because the reason for her raw and unbridled reaction is clear.

We've returned home empty-servoed, without Elita-1.

We've returned to our home planet that considers us deserters.

We've returned to a Cyberton overseen by Sentinel, one of the most selfish, egoistical, hypocritical, shady, paranoid, basically screwed-up fraggers, and certainly not in the right state of mind to be leader over any Autobot, much less all the Autobot cause.

In essence….

We're being welcomed to the Pit.

Primus help us.