Welp... it's been five months and I am kind of sorry. I know it has been a long time, but my entire focus has been getting my pre-recs done for pharmacy. It's been difficult getting back into the sciences after five years of doing nothing but humanities. I have thrown my entire life into doing my best in this, because the pharmacy programs I want to get into are harder to get get into than becoming a doctor. They can take the very best, so I need to be the very best. Unfortunately, that means my fanfiction writing has slipped to the wayside. For that, I am guilty and sorry that I have left so many people hanging. I always intended to come back, but I never found the time. Everyone's continued support and interest in the story never let me forget that Where You and I Collide was here, waiting, and had a fanbase eager to read the next chapter.
I thought it only fitting that I post this chapter on the anniversary of Where You and I Collide. Hard to believe this has been going strong for four years. Perhaps by this time next year, the story will finally be finished? Maybe... maybe not.
I have had many questions about my version of Sunstreaker in this story, and since many of you only read this story without the wider context of the entire War Eternal series, hopefully this chapter will shed some light on him. And, if not, there's a bunch of action and stuff.
My greatest (and certainly belated) thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter: Optimus Bob, Gamemice, VyxenSkye, AllSeer, Moonwallker, Camfield, yamiishot, Nikkie2010, Faecat, kkcliffy, Autobot Chromia, Jazz935, renegadewriter8, Fianna9, cmdrtekk, mamabot, Bluebird Soaring, TheVastraNararda, TammyCat, CNightJoy, phoebe turner, Berylium, Slidslip, recognizer of unrecognizable, femme4jack, Lecidre, electro moonlight, Guest, evilbunny777, Guest, Gilded Orchid, Ano-Hitori-Chichi, MidnightOil245, FreeFlight-Flyvee, and Field Empathy. Thank you, one and all, for reviewing the last chapter. There are no words to convey how much I adore your enthusiasm and love for Where You and I Collide.
Hopefully you all have not given up hope on this story. If you are still all out there, feel free to review and remind me why I need to continue this story. =P
Chapter 48
Although sunny orns were common enough on Cybertron, warm orns were a bit more rare. The planet was too far from their sun for much warmth to reach them; warmth on Cybertron had come from the massive amount of mechanical activity taking place in all levels of the planet, from the core outward. Now there was silence in the core, and Cybertron slowly grew colder with the passing of each vorn.
Bots of the meteorological caste predicted that Cybertron would devolve further, from a wasteland to a frozen pit. Eventually, all activity would stop. All possible life would cease to exist. Even nigh-immortal machines were not infallible - even they needed warmth to stay online. Should the environs of the North and South Poles stretch across the planet, Cybertron would become their tomb. But that would not be for centuries to come, perhaps even millenia. Their tired old sun could possibly die out before then, taking Cybertron with it.
Either way, there was dark hope that the war would finally end when the last Cybertronian died.
Warmth was rare in the present orn, from the sun or otherwise. The presence of it was taken advantage of by even the most cold-sparked of bots, hoping for a chance to feel anything but the cold that was sinking into all of their sparks.
Who knew how many warm orns they had left?
Prowl watched from his seat in the sun as Mirage strolled regally through the open training yard. Two of the Master Spy's subordinates trailed after him. By the design of heavy all-terrain armour, one was a scout. The other a spy by the sleekness of his frame. Mirage's mouthplates were moving, obviously dictating something of importance. His subordinates recorded steadily, ignoring all else.
Yes, even the most cold-sparked bots came out when the sun shone.
With a roll of his optics at the ridiculous misuse of personnel, Prowl returned to his own work. There was more than enough work to keep him occupied for the time Jazz was out in the field, and amazingly enough, Prowl could do it without conscripting his subordinates to transcribe for him. And when the pressing list of nigh-endless duties to the Autobots shrank, Prowl had research to take up his time. Researching all he could about the Psi ex Machina, spark experimentation... anything that might give Jazz and him an edge toward figuring out what the pit Shockwave was doing.
The one advantage Prowl had in that arena was that Iacon base was built near enough to the remains of the Prime Plaza, the original seat of the Prime's power, that the underground archives were still accessible. It was down deep enough in the bowels of Cybertron to have been spared the worst of the war, most of its contents remaining undisturbed. The information housed within was invaluable to Prowl's cause, though he had yet to find the data pad, tome, or even scroll to give him the information he desperately needed.
At the moment, Prowl's work was more on the general side. The data pad he held displayed a rough draft report on the movements of known Decepticon-sympathizing Neutrals in the south. Neutrals they may be, but Iacon was no place for bots sympathetic to the Decepticon cause. It was possible they were giving aid to the enemy, offering intel on Autobot movements in exchange for immunity from Decepticon raid.
Prowl tapped the data pad absently on his knee, considering what possible recommendations he could make. His division had already compiled a list for him to review. One option was to send a small team out and herd the Neutrals out of Iacon territory, but Iacon itself was a huge territory and the amount of time and bots necessary to carry out a relocation expedition was too costly. Another option would be to send out Autobot emissaries to try and sway the Neutrals to the Autobot cause; a slightly more appealing option, but costly in its own way when factoring in the need for particular "bribes" to show the Neutrals that the Autobots were in earnest – energon, medical supplies, things that were in short supply as it was and could not be spared. As well, there was always the chance the Neutrals could end up two timing both factions.
Another option was to abduct several members of the group, interrogating them for information on the Decepticons. Their memories of the incident would, of course, be erased so as not to be traced back to the Autobots. The information they could be made to give up might very well prove invaluable.
Prowl would, of course, recommend himself as lead interrogator. The job, technically speaking, traditionally belonged to the Master Spy controlling the Intelligence & Espionage division, but there was something to be said for Mirage's techniques. They were efficient, but cold enough to freeze a bot before anything useful could be said. Prowl preferred to think that even in the moments when his emotional centre was off, he was never as cold as Mirage's glacial spark.
As if summoned by the thought of him, Mirage paused and looked back, meeting Prowl's optics for an instant.
Such coldness in those ice-coloured optics, a programmed disdain for all he saw.
Prowl's optic ridge went up, knowing perfectly well the Master Spy's excellent optics would have no trouble discerning his expression. He cast his optics upon the two trailing bots, both of whom were trying not to appear interested in the silent byplay between commander. Disapproval, Prowl's expression said clearly. Mirage turned his chin up, staring down at Prowl even from a distance: You are beneath me.
Without a word, Mirage turned away and continued on.
Prowl, likewise, dismissed his fellow commander and returned to more pressing matters.
In a large base like Iacon, the work never ceased, and Prowl preferred it that way. Tides of information constantly came in from all divisions, and Prowl took great pride in being among the first to review and delegate it to one of his tacticians for processing. Admittedly, with Smokescreen still on loan to Centaurie Tetrax, Prowl was inundated with more work than usual, but certainly not beyond what he could control. It was tedious, for sure, dealing with the daily nonsense of inventory and internal affairs, but, as with any kind of information, there were also advantages in being made aware of the internal workings of one's own base.
Hence Prowl's reasoning for being outside at this appointed time, at this specific location.
It had very little to do with the sunshine, and yet everything do with with another kind of sun.
Elita One unexpectedly took the seat next to him. No greeting, no warning. She was so smooth in the execution of the movement that Prowl hardly comprehended that she was there until her field resonance butted up against his, and her spark signature read loud and clear on his sensors. There was a determined light in her optics that gave away her explicit intent.
She was, no doubt, up to something.
"Elita One."
"Prowl."
They sat in silence for as long as Prowl could justifiably ignore her. He finished the most pressing of his general ideas, saving them to the data pad, and then disconnecting his interfacial cable from it. Finally, he tucked the pad away and faced the femme who sat so innocently next to him.
"To what do I owe this questionable honour?"
Elita One's answering smile was, if not entirely innocent, then quite beautiful. "Prowl, if I did not know any better, I would say that that was the closest you have ever been to being insubordinate towards me. I'm flattered."
Prowl studiously kept his faceplate neutral.
She leaned in, her optics unnerving in the way they seemed to see and know too much without saying anything at all. "Dare I say Jazz has been a good influence on you?"
A dark optic ridge winged up like a shot. "I hardly think insubordination is a desirable quality in a commander, let alone the Head Tactician."
"Ah, yes, but it makes you so much more interesting." She leaned back to a more comfortable distance, threading her fingers together as she sat pretty as a picture upon the bench. There was something unspeakably diabolical about a femme being so impossibly beautiful as well as so terrifyingly intelligent.
Prowl briefly thought of Jazz, then nearly let his expression slip.
"May I enquire as to why you are here?" Prowl asked, briefly casting his gaze about the yard to make sure his quarry was still within sights. Luckily, he was. A flash of gold at the far end of the yard, winking in and out of sight in between the passing of other bots. He turned his optics back to Elita. "There is plenty of sun to enjoy elsewhere on base, without you needing to be in the company of myself, least of all in the training yard."
"Trying to get rid of me so soon?" the femme wondered, that smile of hers widening another notch.
"Would it offend you if I was?"
"Not at all."
"Then, yes, I am trying to get rid of you." The frankness of the statement, bordering on pure rudeness, made an old behavioural subroutine – one that had been in his head since the orn he came online – buzz angrily. He tried not to wince.
Elita One patted his knee like she knew what kind of limitations he faced trying to toe the line of social acceptability. The little glitch looked like she was laughing at him. There were a few choice phrases he wished to offer her for her humour. For that thought, Prowl was awarded another buzz. He wondered if it would be worth it to go into his own head and rewrite a few lines of data in his core programming, just for the ability to be a little bit rude to a superior.
"I know why you want to get rid of me," Elia One said. "Just as I know the exact reason for why you are here, on this orn, at this exact joor. Both of us have been following the signs, watching as the fuse has gotten shorter with every passing orn." Elita One's smile faded. "You do not want me to be here to see what is about to happen."
"Yes."
"It is not going to be pretty, I know, but this is something I need to be here to witness. To help, if I can."
Prowl shifted uncomfortably, "Chromia would be better suited for this."
"I asked her not to be here."
"That was unwise."
Elita One levelled him with a measured look that, were he a lesser bot, would have had him reduced to a quivering mess. As it were, he was compelled to drop his gaze. The unguarded power in her stare was nearly a palpable force. The ground was a much less intimidating subject.
"Chromia is many things, but she is not what I need in this," said the femme, with a touch of sadness in her tone. "She is old. Her spark lives for battle and for the kill. There is no subtly left in her, except for what I ask of her as my second. It has long been her opinion that he should be put down to end his misery. Given the chance, she would deliver the blow." Her optics grew even sadder. "Given the chance, almost anyone on this base would deliver the killing blow."
Prowl once again glanced across the yard, seeing the first stirrings of unrest in the crowd. Bots were beginning to sense that something was terribly amiss. Optics were starting to roam, searching for the danger they inherently sensed. Frames were shifting on an uneasy tide, armour bristling. They felt the changing of energy in the air. Awareness flittered into the collective consciousness; danger lurked in the open and they must be wary.
A golden bomb, ticking silently, stood their midst.
Elita One could see the same as he could, and perhaps she could see more. She knew the issue on a far more intimate level. It was close to her spark, enough that pain showed in her optics when she was not careful enough to guard against it. She looked upon that single golden figure, alone even as he stood in a crowd, and regret filled her gaze. "I do not want to see him hurt more than he already suffers."
Prowl inclined his head stiffly. "You will not be the one to end his suffering, Elita One. No matter how much you wish it, he will not be helped by you."
"He still listens to me, at times...I know he hears me when I speak to him."
"But he does not bow to you as he once did. The apprentice you once knew is long dead." Prowl sighed. "The only thing in this universe that will end his suffering will be his death." The line of his jaw hardened, optics narrowing. "The Autobots do not, under regular circumstances, condone execution. But, in this instance, it would be a mercy to euthanize him."
She shuttered her optics, head bowed for a brief moment. "I cannot help but hold out hope that some orn..."
"He will not change," Prowl insisted brusquely. "If he has not shown the slightest interest in changing yet, then he is a lost cause."
On a sigh, the femme commander said, "Some would have said the same for you, Prowl."
He bucked under the insinuation. "I am different."
"No, you are not." Elita turned to him once more, her blue optics bright. "As much as we all like to think ourselves superior to the next bot, we are not." Her hand whipped out, gesturing sharply. "We are all exactly like him. We are all in pain. We are all suffering. He merely shows it more."
Prowl's optics narrowed. "He has an interesting way of showing it. A want for death, his or all those around him, does not connote suffering, Elita One. It indicates psychopathy."
"It is the only way he knows." Elita shook her head slowly, weighed down by so many regrets. "There was always a darkness in his spark. No light could cure him of it. He only fed it when he fought in the gladiatorial rings. When Megatron bombed his own rings..." Her voice trailed off. Slowly, her distant gaze travelled back to that lone golden figure. "He has never spoken to me about it, but I know he lost someone he cared deeply for. I think it broke him. It took away his will to live, took away what little light he had left in his spark. Now he's an empty shell, a poor little thing in pain."
"What happened in his past is none of my concern," Prowl replied, finding his own tone harsh by comparison. "The safety of the bots under my protection within this base is entirely my concern, and he threatens that safety with every moment he goes around unchecked. He is a ticking time bomb that we can never defuse completely, only wait for it to eventually go off. If I could bring myself to ask Jazz to end him, I would."
Elita's back went ramrod straight, her chin going up as she glared down her olfactory sensor. "You are too good a bot to do that."
"Which is why I am eternally grateful that Jazz is not."
Elita One's optics shuttered tight, her vents shuddering as she took in a deep drag of air to better fortify herself. "You do a disservice to your partner for insinuating such a thing. Jazz is a good bot."
"In his own way," Prowl conceded.
"Please," Elita One breathed, soft as a whisper, "Sunstreaker is still dear to me." She lifted her hands, peering down into her empty palms. "I still see him as my apprentice, the little bot who followed after me with such perfect joy in his spark. Please, do not kill him in front of me." The walls around her normally impenetrable mask were cracked. Prowl saw more of her internal workings than ever before. The hurt and the desperation, the vorns of weary longing to help someone who would never seek her help.
Prowl turned away, pushing to his feet so his back was to her. There were no words he could give her. No promises or comfort. No reassurances. What happened in the coming moments would not be something he could plan for. He would rather not make a promise he could not keep. Even his vaunted battle computer was unable to account for Sunstreaker's movements with one hundred percent accuracy.
In the back of his mind, his battle computer snapped alive – abruptly, acutely, awareness flooding into Prowl's consciousness. Information began scrolling in rapid succession down his vision. Whipping around, Prowl realized why. Time had finally run out. That slow burning fuse had finally burnt to its end.
Sunstreaker's tension had finally come to a head, whatever leash holding him back now eroded to mere threads. Even the smallest of catalysts would be enough to set him off now, with disastrous results. The sun could disappear behind a cloud, setting Sunstreaker off. The wind might blow wrong through his armour. Any little action to snap the tension wire.
For too long, since before Prowl and Jazz had ever returned from their mission down south, the tension in the ex-gladiator had been building. A volatile mixture of hatred and rage; a never-ending want for the the pain to end, acting like a spurring firewall surrounding a core of pure nothingness. Where life might have once existed, the essence that might have once been called Sunstreaker, was rotted away into an abyssal blackness too big for a living frame to contain. Slowly, orn by orn, he was consumed by it.
One of these orns, someone was going to grant Sunstreaker's wish for death.
It was, in fact, the tiniest detail in the training yard that flicked the switch on Sunstreaker's poorly contained temper.
Prowl could hear it even from across the training yard. A pair of bots practicing with each other, sparring, ignorant to all else. Loose gravel kicked up. The air whistled as once tiny particulate ached gracefully through the air. It trajectory, to Prowl's eyes, was impossibly well calculated. The right speed, the right angle... With preternatural accuracy, the stray particle of gravel struck home against Sunstreaker's arm.
He startled, jerking straight. His empty optics shot down, arm raising, turning, assessing. Blue gaze widening as realization set in.
A single long scratch streaked down his perfect paint.
Silence descended in the yard. Activity stopped in an instant. Bots sensitive to the changing tides of energy automatically searched for the exits, processors blaring that danger was eminent. Wide, wary optics focused upon the epicentre of tension. Sunstreaker stared in morbid fascination, as if he could not fully comprehend the damage now marring his perfect paint. A single chip in the beautiful shell that hid the monster beneath.
The plating beneath his optic twitched. Vents shuddered. Mouthplates moving silently.
For a single perfect moment in time, there was serenity.
Followed by a horrifying roar.
"Get out of the yard!" Sideswipe screamed, shoving his way through the wall of Autobots to get to his brother. The madness blossoming in the shine of his optics said he was being infected by his twin's insanity. A liability trying desperately to be an asset. It was only a matter of time before Sunstreaker overwhelmed Sideswipe, dragging them both down.
Prowl's head was abuzz with a sudden thousand thoughts, possibilities presenting themselves with every changing astrosecond. Movement flashed by his side, and irritation spurned him. "Elita One, stay out of there! It isn't safe!"
Whatever her reply was, the words were lost on the rising tide of pandaemonium.
Elita One rushed ahead, heedless to the chaos erupting around her. Like quicksilver, she slipped and contorted through the shifting masses of bots much larger than herself. Prowl caught a glimpse of her mouthplates; moving, screaming, impotently calling out to a bot who refused to hear her. The designation she called was swept away into the storm of noise rising in the training yard, a cacophony trapped by the high walls, falling over on itself, rising up again.
"Move!" Sideswipe howled. "Go! Get out of here!" He gasped, doubled over as fire rushed through his chest. "Sunny! Primus, Sunny, stop it!"
A minibot flew by, skidding across the rough ground. Minus an arm. His left shoulder was nothing but torn metal and wiring, pressurized energon spewing out in great arcs. The missing arm was clutched tight in Sunstreaker's fist, being used to batter the next Autobot to come within arm's reach. Anyone who got too close lost something- limbs or pieces of armour. It was by sheer luck alone that no one had lost their life yet.
Those few Autobots foolhardy enough to face a fully berserk Sunstreaker paid their price dearly. There was no mercy to be found in the monster, nor would there be remorse for the damages later. Sunstreaker took them on in any number of them, no fear to stop him, no conscience to temper his blows. His wild optics blazed red. Two bots down. Three bots. They were dropping faster than Prowl cared to count, sickened by the careless ease with which Sunstreaker ploughed through them.
The gladiatorial ring had honed Sunstreaker's ability to hurt others, kill them in the most horrible ways possible, but it was his madness, the untouchable psychopathy of a bot bent on death, that made him such an unstoppable force. A storm that refused to blow itself out; so long as Sunstreaker could move, so long as his spark beat, he would only wind himself up tighter. A perpetual whirlwind of rage fuelling rage.
This has to end, Prowl thought. It fell to him to do the honours.
He calmly stepped up to the top of the bench, high enough above the crowd to get a good look of the travesty playing out. With Sunstreaker as deep in a rage as he was, there was nothing anyone could do to stop him – short of killing him. With Elita One in the yard, struggling as she was to get to the centre of the tempest, it was unconscionable to even consider making Sunstreaker's death look like an accident.
Given that all traditional direct routes to ending Sunstreaker's latest rage were barred in his insanity, Prowl calculated a non-traditional route would be necessary. Using the 'backdoor', so to speak.
He charged his blaster, acid pellets at the ready. Sighting down the barrel, he had Sunstreaker's spark in the crosshairs. A tempting target...But no. He swung several degrees to the right, focusing on a flash of red. With the smallest jerk of his finger, he let fly several acid pellets. Each landed with perfect accuracy, Sideswipe shrieking as acid exploded against his frame, suddenly eating through his armour.
They were, each and all, nonfatal shots. The worse Sideswipe would suffer would be the need to replace the armour across his arm and leg on the left side. But it had been enough. The shock of the acid had done its trick, sending a shockwave through Sideswipe's spark into its connecting other half.
Sunstreaker jerked straight, optics focused for the first time since an insignificant piece of gravel touched him. The poor bot trapped in his clutches fell to the ground, curling into a protective ball.
Prowl leapt from his perch, racing across the yard, hoping to have given himself enough time.
Even now, the daze was wearing off. Sunstreaker's temporarily blue optics were hazing over again. The brief concern with which he had regarded his twin disappeared, even while Sideswipe continued to convulse on the ground.
"Sunstreaker!"
Arcs of hot blue lightning erupted from nearby. A shot of rose armour jolted into action, faster than Prowl could ever hope to be. Elita One was naught but a streak of lightning, lit up by the immense amount of energy she was generating. Whips of lightning shot out around the epicentre, from her chest, where her hand was pressed as if she meant to contain the power by that tiny gesture alone. The air around her warped, matter distorting, time suddenly having no meaning...
Sunstreaker saw her coming, claws flaring to rip the femme to ribbons.
Whether it was Elita One's cleverness or a small part of Sunstreaker's spark still alive enough to recognize her, his killing blow never landed. She slid beneath his defences, chest to chest with him, optics locked. Of the hand that she pressed so tightly to her chest, she raised only a finger. The tip glowed with the white-hot heat one might only find at the center of a quasar. Sunstreaker stood on the cusp of an attack, watching as that single pointed finger glided toward his spark.
Despite the roar of the energy, Prowl could hear Elita One's words to Sunstreaker.
"I'll make it stop, dearspark. It will only hurt for a moment, and then you can rest."
When her fingertip finally hit its mark, a silent shockwave pulsed through the yard. Bots were thrown from their feet. The blinding flash that followed imploded on itself, leaving afterimages burned into their vision.
Prowl thrust to the front of the crowd, unsurprised to see the sight that greeted him. Elita One was wavering, impressively still on her feet but not for very much longer. He was to her side in a sparkbeat, letting her use his arm for support. Her optics were dim, her spark signature wavering after so much of her personal energy had been used.
At their feet, Sunstreaker laid insensate to the world. Optics shuttered. Mouthplates parted slightly. One would never guess he had been on a rage-induced bender only astroseconds before.
"I can not believe you risked yourself like that," Prowl chastised to no effect.
Elita One ignored him as if he had said nothing. Her sad optics were on Sunstreaker. "Poor little thing."
It would be a long time before he came back online – a major consequence of absorbing Elita One's most potent weapon, her temporal distortion generator. A powerful weapon, and one she rarely ever used. The energy required for a single pulse was enough to drain her reserves, but with it she could freeze a small pocket of time. Or, as the case may be, freeze a single bot into a single moment in time. Effective, yes, but too risky for the user to ever use it on a whim.
"There," she breathed hoarsely, looking down at her apprentice as if he might simply be recharging. "Isn't that better?"
"For whom?" Prowl wondered dryly. All around him was evidence of Sunstreaker's latest fantastical break with reality. Armour and energon laid scattered in a macabre mosaic. Few were left unscathed by the incident. The intercom was blaring, Red Alert in his customary panic. Autobots from around base scrambling into the training yard to deal with this latest episode.
"This is better for everyone," she replied, letting her full weight rest against him weakly.
"I beg to differ."
"Now no one can be called a murderer," Elita One insisted.
Prowl turned to the nearest Autobots who looked the least hurt. "Take Sunstreaker to the brig, his usual cell. He won't be coming online for a while, but lock him in anyways." Movement in the periphery reminded him of the other half of the equation, the one Prowl had shot. "Sideswipe will need to be taken to the med bay as soon as possible."
"Yes, sir." Without delay, his orders were carried out.
Elita One had yet to take her gaze away from Sunstreaker, even as he was hefted between two bots. "He looks so peaceful now," she murmured sadly.
"Does he?" To Prowl, Sunstreaker looked no different unconscious than he did online. He still looked dead inside.
Perhaps Elita One could see something he did not.
A mere astrosecond later, Prowl turned to find himself optic to optic with the femme division's second in command. The look Chromia bent him could have melted steel. In absolute silence, the kind only kept when one was trying their best not to start screaming, she held out her arms for her commander to be handed over.
"Be my guest," Prowl bit out, handing over the Prime's sparkmate without hesitation.
"Honestly, Chromia," Elita One admonished, going peacefully into her second's awaiting arms. "There's no need for the theatrics."
The femme's watchful optics flared, and then narrowed. The sound of her jaw grinding could be heard.
"You should be more careful in the future, Elita One," Prowl warned. "Today you were lucky."
"I am far more than just an ornament to be coddled," Elita One replied, steel lining her voice. "Save your warnings for someone who needs them, Commander Prowl."
"You obviously need to hear them," Prowl pressed, ignoring as old programs buzzed. "You are not just the femme commander. You are also Optimus Prime's sparkmate. Should you be hurt, it would be a blow to the Prime, and thus a blow to us all. Be aware that your worth is far above any other bot's in this base, and the senselessness with which you flaunt that fact is astounding!"
"Sunstreaker would never hurt me like that."
He glared down at her. "There is no telling what Sunstreaker might do next time."
Elita's cool stare was piercing when she said, "Yes, I wonder what he might do next time, if we stopped treating him like an animal."
"Tell him to stop acting like one," Chromia sneered, latching onto her commander too tightly. She was not gentle as she dragged Elita One from the training yard, disabusing her for her foolishness every step of the way. She turned over her shoulder to regard Prowl with a glare. "You should have known better."
Prowl stared back evenly. "I did know better. It is your commander who lacks common sense."
Chromia curled her mouthplates in distaste. "I tell her that regularly, for as much good it does." She hefted Elita One up when the femme lagged. "And speaking of bots who lack common sense, you may want to go to the front gates. Your partner is just getting in." The look in her optics was sharp, mean humour glittering like diamond shards. "You may need to defuse that situation as well."