Author's Note:

Thank you all my lovely watchers for being patient with me. Took two weeks off writing to catch up on schoolwork and college applications, and I'm STILL not done, but my brain was overwhelmed so I need a break and so relaxed myself with some writing. YAYZ! Extra long chapter!

"Clear."

Nightstalker jumped, Bulkhead's voice just a bit TOO loud for her sense of security for sneaking, but it didn't seem to bother the others.

"Clear," Arcee echoed, and Nightstalker dashed with them through the dark mines, infrared night vision leading the way.

Trailing close to Bumblebee, Nightstalker dashed along with them, for the most part watching the bots silence the Decepticons so quickly that Nightstalker didn't have a chance to do anything. In all honesty, Nightstalker had never done this kind of reconnaissance before—creeping and seizing and defending. Her only time out in the field was when she had been stupid enough to attack Optimus, and she really hadn't done anything useful. Nightstalker clenched her little machine gun tighter and followed the Autobots' lead, keeping as quiet as possible until they entered the main antechamber. Ducking behind a rock like the rest of the bots did, she heard Ratchet breathe, "By the All Spark . . ."

Nightstalker craned her head over, and she caught sight of all the Vehicons mulling about, so much security patrolling the area and the massive space bridge literally embedded into the wall of the underground cave. Her spark flipped in its chamber.

Here we go.

The bots were unspoken on what needed doing to seize the space bridge in the most efficient way, but Bumblebee—sensing how lost Nightstalker was—sent to her over her private link a message indicating the farthest Vehicon from them and the signal to advance.

Nightstalker nodded, spark pounding wildly in her chest. Putting her gun away, Nightstalker crouched as Bulkhead hefted up the drilling machine. She bounced on her toes.

This is it. This is it, this is it, you can handle this—go!

The instant the driller left Bulkhead's servos, Nightstalker leapt up and transformed, shooting across the room. She had reached the opposite side by the time the driller had crushed two Vehicons, and Nightstalker transformed back and landed on the Vehicon Bumblebee had designated to her. She shrieked momentarily when the Vehicon swung wildly at his assailant, and she tried to bring her blade down low enough to slit his throat, but she had to use all her strength to even stay on him. Gritting her dentures, Nightstalker struggled against him for a long moment before the Vehicon staggered all the way into the wall, squishing her wings and knocking her off.

Nightstalker squawked when the Vehicon leveled his gun at her, and she leapt to her feet, dodging quite effectively out of the way. Not thinking to switch weapons for the situation, Nightstalker rushed up and swung, but the Vehicon easily caught her attack and glared down at her.

Dear Primus those faceless masks are really freaky!

Before Nightstalker could fail anymore or the Vehicon could proceed, a blast caught him from the back. Nightstalker squealed again, ducking out of the way only to see that all the others were finished without a word and Cliffjumper's cannon smoking. The owner of that gun was chuckling.

"Nice try, but maybe next time."

Nightstalker blushed furiously and took his hand as he helped her up to the platform. In all honesty, she couldn't believe that this had worked! She swiftly reminded herself that it was HOLDING the perimeter that was going to be the difficult part, but it was still thrilling when Ratchet turned off the scrambler and ground bridged Jack in. And then, when he turned on the space bridge! Oh, Nightstalker had never seen a more glorious sight in her life! The power absolutely thrummed beneath her peds, roared in her audio receptors, and blinded her optics with crackling energies come to life. It reminded her of the stories of the Golden Age of Cybertron where it was said space bridges were in wide use. It gave her a hope for the future that maybe they could somehow bring Cybertron back to its former glory . . .

After a moment or two from the point Arcee and Jack bridged out, Bulkhead was the first to speak.

"This could be awhile."

Nightstalker was about to comment on that when immediately after, Breakdown's voice nearly made her jump out of her protoform.

"Space bridge control, do you read me?" Every helm snapped towards the computer. "Space bridge control, this is Breakdown. Your status report is overdue."

Every bot froze. Nightstalker shimmied closer to Bumblebee as Bulkhead muttered, "Scrap." He cleared his throat, intending to play Breakdown off, but Ratchet put a hand on his chassis.

"No! He'll recognize your voice!"

Bulkhead's brow pinched in irritation. "I can make it lower." When Ratchet failed to look impressed, he added questioningly, "Higher?"

Ratchet looked back to the computer warily. "He would recognize mine as well."

"Mine?" Cliffjumper supplied helpfully.

Nightstalker swatted him. "A human who had never met you would know your voice," she muttered just in time for Breakdown to come back with, "Come in, space bridge control!" They all looked back to Bumblebee, but the bot just gave a helpless shrug.

A thought slashed across Nightstalker's mind. What HAD Bumblebee sounded like before he lost his voice box?

Bumblebee gestured to Nightstalker, and her optics popped before she waved her hands. "No way! He knows my voice, and I'm a branded traitor."

"Don't make me come down there and dent some engine blocks."

"Somebody say something!" Fowler demanded impatiently. "Pronto!"

Ratchet's hand jumped to the controls. "Rafael, patch in Agent Fowler!"

There was a sputter. "What am I supposed to say?"

Nightstalker jumped to the computer and pressed the button, despite how Ratchet tried to wave her off. "I know him," Nightstalker said to Fowler quickly. "Just say something that sounds remotely smart, he won't know what you're talking about and buy it."

"You have ONE-NANOCYCLE to respond, or—"

"This is space bridge control," Agent Fowler started in hesitantly, and Nightstalker felt herself praying silently. "Situation normal."

The bots froze as Breakdown finally barked, "Normal? You sure about that."

"We were just—" a guilty breath punctuated his words, "calibrating the sub-systems and we, uh, had a surge. But it's fine now." A pause. "How are you?"

Nightstalker groaned quietly, pressing a servo to her forehead as she heard Cliffjumper trying not to bust out laughing behind her.

Clearly, the question took him off guard, because he stuttered a moment, "Eh, um . . . Never better! I know it's thankless down there. Keep up the good work, huh?"
"Will do. Control out."

Nightstalker felt part of her spark melt as everyone let out a tense breath. Breakdown really was a bit dim and rough around the edges, but he was a nice mech, and she would always vouch for him—no matter IF he was fun to pick on.

Cliffjumper was the first to bust out laughing. "I can't believe he actually bought it!" he crowed, slapping Bumblebee's shoulder.

Bulkhead gave a hearty laugh as well, grinning. "I knew that ol' lug nut was dumb, but this?" He chuckled harder, shaking his head.

Nightstalker rolled her eyes. "Oh, come ON, Bulkhead. Breakdown's always been nicer to the Vehicons than anyone should know. Turns out the rumors are true."

Bulkhead chortled. "I can't believe he's such a softie!"

Nightstalker poked her glossia out at him. "Oh, and you're not?"

A flush touched Bulkhead's cheeks at this, but Cliffjumper interrupted them all by flopping on the ground, lying on his back, and kicking a ped up on his knee. "All right," he said, and he grinned up at Nightstalker. "We're bound to be here a while, so tell us some more about Fli-Ni, Nights! I've been meaning to wheedle some more stories out of you!"

Ratchet whirled at him, sticking his hands on his hips. "Ah-ah-ah—are you crazy? Get up! We're supposed to be holding the perimeter, on alert for any Decepticon activity!"

Cliffjumper snorted and cast a servo out to a nearby dead Vehicon. "Right. I doubt that guy's getting up anytime soon. Ease up, Doc!" He leaned up and sat criss cross, arching a brow at Ratchet. "See? Better? I'm sitting up."

Ratchet growled shortly. "My name is not Doc! And if we're going to waste time telling stories, then you will do it STANDING up and watching for the enemy!"

Nightstalker put out a hand to help Cliffjumper to his feet, and as she did so, she said, "Ease up, Cliff. Ratchet's been under a lot of stress lately. I think we all have."

Cliffjumper's lips tipped up, and he chucked Nightstalker's chin gently. "You got it," he rumbled, and Nightstalker felt her spark melt again. Inwardly, she thanked the good Primus above that neither Cliffjumper nor Bulkhead carried their grudges anymore. In fact, the shock of her frag-buddying-up with Megatron seemed to have lessened some with all of the bots, though Arcee and Ratchet were still a little wary and hostile. It was for good reason. Nightstalker didn't blame them—that meant she had been extremely close to Megatron, and they were right to worry. She just hoped she could somehow prove something to them today to make them believe in her again. After all, the only thing she had proved so far was that she couldn't take down a Vehicon by herself.

*But, could you?* Bumblebee asked her. He gave an embarrassed coo and scratched the back of his helm. *I mean, could you tell us more about Fli-Ni?*

Nightstalker rocked back on her heels, contemplating what to say. "Sure," she told him as she paused to collect her thoughts. Against her will, her thoughts immediately turned to the unknown seeker that had planted the bomb and that ridiculous screeching voice that didn't match the voice print of any bot she had heard in her life. The bloodlust rose again, but she pushed it aside with a cold douse of logic—the mech could have died in the Kaon battle, or anytime over the space of the war. She might never avenge Fli-Ni. Then, she thought about Optimus. He knew. Well, he used to—as Orion, he didn't remember anything. Would he remember his time as Orion when he became Optimus again? But, technically, he was still the same bot . . .

"Well, for one," Nightstalker started, and a small smile instantly began to play around her lips, "when Fli-Ni sat on the ground, he sat crisscross, and he always bounced his knees when he did. In fact, he was almost moving at all times. If he was standing in place, he'd shuffle his feet. Or he'd tap his toes behind him. Or his wings would flutter. He did that a lot."

A laugh tinkled from Bumblebee. *You do that a lot* he told her.

Unconsciously, she began to do it. She blushed a little. "Yeah, I think we get it from Mom." At the thought, Nightstalker opened and closed her wings in thought. "Nightstalker was bigger than me. Well, not that much taller, but he was . . . bulkier. He had cool armor. It was really elegant, and I always wished I had armor like his. We think he got it from his dad since I look more like Mom did." Nightstalker tapped her fingers against the exposed protoform of her thighs. She laughed suddenly. "He was a glitch-case. Did you know one time when we flying above Kaon that he tried to do a trick and face planted into the ground?" Her ruminations were interrupted by Cliffjumper snorting a laugh, and Nightstalker grinned. "I know! I was freaking out when I landed next to him, but he got up just fine and you know what he says to me? 'Any landing you can walk away from is a good one.' I just about slapped him!"

Cliffjumper laughed heartily with Bumblebee and Bulkhead, and he winked. "Hey, sounds legit to me!"

Bumblebee laughed too. *I bet you were always worried about him!*

"You bet I was," Nightstalker agreed with a helpless shake of her head. "He ALWAYS said that. And he was so radical. His personality was so OUT THERE and just . . . powerful, and in your face. Dynamic. He says he got it from our mother, and I think he also got how much he talked from Mom, too."

Bumblebee's optics dilated happily. *I bet he and Cliffjumper would have gotten along*

Nightstalker grinned. "Please, he could get along with the Decepticon trying to kill him. He was so happy and fun I bet it would be hard for even RATCHET not to like him!"

That brought another round of laughter and a mildly disdained grunt from the medic who was unimpressed at their playful banter at such a stressful time.

Nightstalker stretched her wings yearning for flight and blotted out the need with thoughts of Fli-Ni. She peered at Cliffjumper and Bumblebee. "He was a combination of you two," she told them as she thought of Fli-Ni's dynamic personality. "Super cute and crazy as all get up—"

Cliffjumper interrupted by giving Bumblebee a flabbergasted look. "Bee, I can't believe she's calling you crazy!"

Bulkhead chuckled. "Please, Cliff, we ALL know who the crazy one is." This brought another round of laughter through everyone.

Nightstalker smiled. "Yeah, crazy as you, cute as Bumblebee, as eager as they get, but not QUITE as irritating as a certain red bot I know." She grinned at Cliffjumper's indignation, but before anything more could be said, a patch from Jack interrupted their raillery.

"We're being attacked by some giant . . . bot beetle!"

Everyone whipped to the computer. "An Insecticon!" Ratchet snarled.

Raf's bewildered voice echoed through the open line. "What are Decepticons doing on Cybertron?"

"A few remain," Ratchet told him tensely, "in stasis. Sentries, should the enemy return."

For a few tense moments, nothing was said until Arcee's tense voice snapped, "Go!"

Nightstalker's spark flopped. "Seriously?" Jack sputtered.

"Without Arcee?" Nurse Darby jumped in, concerned for her boy. "She's his guide!"

"No, Nurse Darby, Arcee is his BACKUP," Ratchet stressed. "The key card is his guide."

"Do it!" Arcee shouted.

Nightstalker found herself impressed by Nurse Darby's resilience when the mom said, "Listen to her, Jack. You've made it this far. Optimus is counting on you."

There was a hard beat of silence before Jack finally uttered, "Rodger that, Mom."

An echo of Nightstalker's thoughts assaulted her at the hardened steel in Jack's voice. Jackson Darbimus Prime. Becoming more and more realistic by the day, the hour, the minute . . .

Then, Nightstalker's spark twisted. An Insecticon. Nightstalker had seen some in early days as a Decepticon, and she was smaller than one of their legs. She knew Arcee was a formidable warrior, but even this seemed a stretch . . . she could only hope the femme managed.

Still, everyone waited tensely for the next minutes. Nightstalker felt her wings begin to flutter nervously, but finally, they heard Jack's voice say,

"Hey, everyone. I'm in."

Miko crowed in triumph, as did Cliffjumper with a loud whoop and punching the shoulders closest to him. Nightstalker grinned as she let out a worried breath, and she rubbed her sore shoulder as they waited for another minute. When they did, they heard Jack's breathless voice stammer, "This is . . . wow," and that was all the overwhelmed human could say to what wonders he was seeing.

Nightstalker briefly wondered about what Vector Sigma would look like, but for all her thoughts she couldn't think of something tangible. "Commencing download," Jack told them. "I think." Nightstalker felt her spark soar.

This was working!

Still, while Cliffjumper's voice filled her audio receptors for the next while, Nightstalker was barely aware of his pointless jabbering as he prattled on about getting Optimus back, and kicking Decepticon tailpipe, and Primus knew what else. All she could think of was how proud she was of Jack for being so brave, and she found a fond smile tipping up her faceplates. She could only imagine how June felt. Next thing she knew, Jack was speaking again.

"This is taking a while."

"Of course it is," Ratchet said to him. "We are talking about the collective wisdom of the Primes."

Nightstalker nearly jumped out of her protoform when Jack yelped in shock. Pushing her way past Cliffjumper—who was in her way again—Nightstalker felt her spark clench at several grunts and shouts from the youth.

"What is it, Jack?" Ratchet asked him, tense back the only thing that alerted them to his stress.

"Scraplets!"

A groan rumbled through Bulkhead's chassis. "Why did it have to be scraplets!"

Ratchet's optics dilated. "If they chew through Vector Sigma before the Matrix fully reloads—"

Interrupting Ratchet's dark premonition was the sound of a ground bridge and the chilling words, "So, Vector Sigma IS more than legend!"

Nightstalker gasped audibly and whirled to see Megatron prowl through his ground bridge. She shrank behind Cliffjumper with wide optics as each of the Autobots took offensive stances, narrowing optics at the unfazed Decepticon leader.

He'll take us on five to one? Four, minus me, I doubt I'll be that much help. She took in a sharp in cycle. Of course he will. He won't let anyone or anything stand in his way.

"You Autobots have gone to impressive lengths to recover your leader." He barely spared her a glance, and Nightstalker felt her gut twist. This was a battlefield. He wouldn't show mercy to even her. "Be assured, I shall never underestimate you again."

Nightstalker felt herself shiver at the cold growl in his voice—he was furious. And that anger was going to give him strength in battle. She knew determination was going to be on the Autobot side, but when it came to Megatron's blind fury, he was nearly unstoppable.

"Now, I assume the one called Arcee will be stepping through that portal with the reloaded Matrix of Leadership in hand."

His sinister gaze grazed over the open space bridge, and Nightstalker automatically followed the bots as they took offensive positions in front of the portal. Nightstalker's rapidly percolating mind tried to think positively—Megatron didn't know Jack was with Arcee. He had to be thinking that Arcee had the Matrix and not Jack.

"We hold the space bridge at all costs!"

The Autobots moved out, attacking, but Nightstalker stood rooted to the spot. Oh Primus—she tried to get her body to function, but she couldn't formulate a thought when Megatron snarled at them, taking a few bullets that pinged off before intercepting the first one to him, Bulkhead. Against all odds, Bulkhead was picked up and tossed like a rag doll. Nightstalker shrieked, dodging the hulking green body that flew past her and towards the space bridge.

She suddenly snapped into motion. Megatron easily grabbed Ratchet by the face, and the red and white bot was flung across the room. Bumblebee skirted around the outside, but Megatron bore down on him too and threw him in the same manner. Cliffjumper and Nightstalker converged on him at about the same time, Cliffjumper throwing a furious punch to Megatron's gut, but Megatron did the same, sending the courageous bot soaring into the far wall. Nightstalker shouted as loud as she could to bolster her reckless attack, and she jumped, intending to sink her blade into Megatron.

Quick as lightning, Megatron's servo snapped out and grabbed her in the air.

Nightstalker gasped, and his hand crunched around her tiny waist so tightly that she almost couldn't take an in cycle. In her shock, Nightstalker dropped her weapon, and the instant she did, she figuratively heard Cliffjumper berating her in her mind. Megatron's red optics glared at her, and she squeaked before slamming her claws into his arm. The Decepticon leader didn't flinch when her fingers penetrated through his armor, but he did hiss when she began to pour hot lava into the wiring in his arms. He snarled, and his servo clenched tighter around her—Nightstalker cried out, pulling against his vice-like grip that began to crush her waist. Even though she was certain he could squeeze her in half and grind her to pulp beneath his heel, Nightstalker glared back at him as best as she could, digging her claws deeper and deeper into his leading arm. She felt her claws snagging on the wiring. If she could just disable his leading arm—!

However, a body slammed into Megatron's arm, making her pop from his grip. Nightstalker plopped on her aft and cried out when Megatron slammed Ratchet to the ground, slinging him off as he tumbled over the medic and back to his feet. With a mighty swing of his arm, Megatron threw Ratchet into the oncoming Bumblebee, and Bulkhead ran up.

"You're going down, Bucket Head!"

Nightstalker staggered up to her feet, snatching up her blade again as Bulkhead and Megatron scrapped, but as she saw Bulkhead easily thrown aside yet again and Megatron's superior blade, she knew there was no chance she could do anything with her little trinket. Ratchet tried again, but Megatron knocked aside his blades like child play before backhanding the medical bot so hard it temporarily knocked him out cold.

Nightstalker swallowed, inwardly shaking with terror, but outwardly let her electrical whips unravel from her arms. As Bumblebee and Cliffjumper double teamed Megatron to temporarily distract him from killing Ratchet, Nightstalker caught her breath and ran up, ignoring how her mind screamed at her not to do this. Instead, as Bumblebee was thrown over her head and Cliffjumper knocked aside, she jumped with a yell and lashed out her whips.

The high voltage made Megatron arch and roar in pain, and Nightstalker backed out of range of his sword before whipping the electricity across his leading shoulder. He snarled, and before the next lash could make purchase, Megatron's servo whipped out and grabbed the tips of her whips, ignoring the way it electrocuted him. Nightstalker's optics popped wide, and her terrified gaze met Cliffjumper's alarmed one as they both realized the same thing.

You never taught me how to get free.

Nightstalker felt her peds leave the floor, the world capsize and whirl, and then, pain erupted along every inch of her body. Nightstalker cried out when she was slung through the air again and the unforgiving ground smashed into her. Megatron whipped her around, and she felt herself slam into someone, metal on metal crashing, and she heard Bumblebee's squeal. The world ricocheted once more before there was a flash of red, a crash, and black.

"Come, Arcee. So that I might end the lineage of the Primes for all time."

Orion wasn't sure why he was doing this, only that somewhere inside him, he knew it was right. Perhaps that was what lent him the strength of bravado that became reality as he mustered up his best growl.

"I cannot allow that to happen, Megatron."

Megatron whirled, startled that he was there, but the discovery that he had been armed kept him from being a helpless prisoner. No doubt, Orion had POWERFUL weapons, so it helped even if his aim was shaky.

"And why should you care, Orion Pax?" Megatron spat at him, and the venom in his voice made Orion's spark clench. "You are no Prime!" This was not his friend from so long ago. Somehow, the years had corrupted his friend, and it pained his spark in its core. Perhaps he should have realized this when Megatronus had shortened his name, taken on a different persona than he knew . . .

Instead, Orion turned his optics downward as he formulated his response. "That may be true . . . or yet another deception." How blind could he have been to the truth! It proclaimed itself from the very entity of their name, and he had swallowed that lie as well! "But this I do know. My sympathies lie with the Autobots. And you," he drew the swords he had discovered, one sadly broken, "are not one of us."

He knew this fact with every vibe of his being. Nothing the Decepticons had shown or done was righteous, and he couldn't stand for it, no matter what little he could. His optics darted to five decimated Autobots at the side; one he noticed immediately was dark and beautiful, a tiny femme, and he wondered at her. How did one so small think she could take on Megatron? The yellow mech with the cracked door wings looked barely out of his youngling years! How could they allow someone as young as himself into battle? One mech was terribly overweight, and the other smaller than the average soldier, outmatched by sheer size. Ratchet was face flat among them.

Even so, he found his central processor bewildered at this mismatched band that he was supposed to be the leader of. He did not know any of them save for Ratchet, and yet they risked life and limb for him? Orion thought back to when he first awoke in that strange cavern. The green one—he had called him Optimus then with familiarity. The blue femme—she had been furious that something had happened to him; what had happened? Where was she now? And when he had looked at the yellow bot . . . something had moved his spark then, and he had ignored it, ignored those big pleading optics that had been so distraught. His mismatched place on the NEMESIS and the Decepticons so hateful and walking on eggshells around him. Again, he had been blind to the truth. They were AFRAID of him. He, a mere librarian! Of course he should have determined that he was more than that!

Orion cast his optics back to Ratchet. No, Ratchet had been a medic even before the war. He could not have led the Autobot resistance. No, the Autobots had to have had the greatest of warriors to lead them, someone of righteous spark and flawless thinking.

And that great mech was me?

He could not believe it, but all he had heard pointed to that. He could only think that perhaps he was more than simply meets the eye, something even he could not see yet. Blinding holding on to this faith, Orion gave a yell to bolster his courage and rushed Megatron.

However, as he secretly expected, Megatron easily blocked his attack, and then, jabbed his knuckles into his gut. Orion gasped, gagging a little as bile rose in his throat at the powerful blow to his stomach. He sank over Megatron until the war leader dumped him on the ground.

"You're spark may be in the right place, Orion," and he felt a cruel blow slam against his back, sending him from his knees to flat on the floor, "but you have much to learn before you can hope to ever again stand your ground against me!"

Orion trembled in shock and pain, and his transformed his hands and pressed his palms to the ground. It was a foolish move to stand against Megatron, crowning gladiator of all gladiators, but he couldn't help himself. It felt so RIGHT, burning up his circuits, and he knew he couldn't let Megatron get away with his villainy.

"A moment, sadly, that will never come."

Orion craned his head back up to look Megatron in the optics, searching for the last remnants of his friend Megatronus from so long ago, but all he could see was the blind fury, the sickening triumph of Megatron. Inwardly, Orion quaked in fear at the point of the blade in his face, but outwardly he didn't falter, setting his jaw and glaring defiantly into the face of death.

If I must perish here, so be it. I know I am right, and I will not allow him the pleasure of seeing me fall in fear of him.

A rev of an engine roared over the sound of the open space bridge. Orion's optics popped as he caught sight of a femme a mere instant before she slammed into Megatron so forcefully that her tiny size took him halfway across the room with a guttural roar, her face the picture of sheer determination and rage.

Orion's spark skipped. She was the other femme he led? The passion that lent her strength was real—she fought for him like she would fight for a loved one. Family. His optics darted to the others unconscious on the floor, and his spark surged.

Somehow, he had protected them all this time. He didn't know how, or why he of all bots was made a Prime, and he couldn't begin to fathom how to handle an important position such as that, but—

He heard it. Soft, tiny steps unlike any he had ever heard before. Turning, Orion's optics met a tiny being in a strange shell, but his eyes were reverent and determined—he knew Orion too, somehow, someway. When he held up the Key to Vector, Orion didn't wonder how such a small life form had come to hold such an ancient artifact or why he was choosing him to yet again become Prime; all questions left Orion's processor except one.

"Are you . . . certain I am worthy?"

Orion quaked on the inside. He? A Prime? Was this a burden he was willing to take? But blaster fire and snarls and cries of battle raged on behind him. Such a tiny femme compared to Megatron . . . He couldn't fathom her defeating the great gladiator when even three ultimate gladiators at a time couldn't take him down.

One thing he could take comfort in was the tiny life form's words, when he said, "You have no idea."

There was no hesitation, no doubt in his voice. He was so certain he didn't even flinch in the face of the danger just behind him. Trembling in awe at what was happening, the transition began to happen almost without Orion's say. His chest plates opened, and he felt the beam of power, of wisdom, of leadership pour into him.

New information assaulted him. He froze as the wisdom of the Primes began to take up his memory banks like an assaulting tidal wave, something he could no longer escape from. He found himself riveted in reverence as he was brought back to his early years as a Prime, walking through his life, filling in the gaps. He amazed himself and cursed himself, exulted in victory and grieved in defeat, grew delighted over new soldiers—new friends—and then harshly spark-broken when they were lost as quick as he gained them. He pained in nostalgia for Cybertron and bemoaned their loss of it, and he missed friends he had not seen for years—Jazz, Ironhide, Prowl, the whole lot of them.

Yet, through it all, his belief that Megatron's ways were wrong were reinforced. He witnessed the mech's atrocities and exactly how corrupted he had become. He mourned the loss of his friend, but grew new determination to save his home planet and those still living. The exodus to Earth—the abundance of energon that finally gave him hope for their dying planet. The joy of meeting their three human allies, and then—wait . . . the black femme . . .

No . . . No! Orion bucked wildly, suddenly realizing what was happening.

I will not lose myself in this! No! I don't want this!

The great Prime he was become shushed him and tried to placate him, but Orion fought, trying to push away the beam of Vector Sigma without any luck.

This is not what I want! Please, don't! Give it to someone else!

But the Prime inside him knew this was the only way it could happen. The deed was already done—he could not undo the past. He had to accept this. Without this, Megatron's tyranny had already won.

Orion cried out on the inside, already feeling his fingertips tingle with the urge to touch her. Again Orion and Prime met in a harsh battle of wills as the Prime berated Orion for something so base while Orion yearned for something more.

This cannot be my destiny. Pointless, perpetual conflict . . . Why? Why me? Why can't I have something more, someone to share myself with? Why must I forego all attachments?

Immediately, the Prime let him feel the agony of sorrows from comrades lost before, and while Orion grieved, he still lamented his loss of character, of freedom, being forced into a leadership role he wasn't sure he was ready to handle.

True leaders are born from brokenness . . .

The Vector Sigma key finished reloading.

Why . . . Why?

His fingers took the key, optics hardening in determination as he realized the full weight of his duty.

Why . . .

The Prime had won.

He shifted around, immediately catching the death blow Megatron had in store for him. Optimus glared up at the Decepticon leader.

"Megatron . . ."

His battle mask clamped into place.

Megatron recoiled in horror.

His servo fisted.

"BEGONE!"

As Optimus began to beat into Megatron for the thousandth of thousand times, Optimus quickly took in his surroundings. What? A space bridge? Decepticons? They were supposed to be in the core of the Earth! Giving Megatron a swift uppercut that sent the mech flying and crashing to the ground, momentarily glitching, he was even MORE surprised to see all his wounded bots gathering behind him, guns leveled, optics determined, unwavering. Only Nightstalker remained unconscious, carried by Cliffjumper.

"Ratchet," Optimus asked, astounded to see even his medic out in the field, "how did we arrive here?"

The medic's mouth plates tipped up into a relieved smile. "Long story, old friend."

As Megatron began to climb up onto the platform again, growling so darkly the sound nearly seeped into the air, a ground bridge blasted open next to them. "It's ours!" Arcee proclaimed, the sound of triumph sinking into her voice.

Optimus still wasn't sure of everything going on, but he knew they couldn't stay here—his soldiers were wounded, and so was he. His gut was smarting something awful. Besides that, he somehow got the impression that all of this had been for him. He did the only thing he could.

"Autobots," he ordered, "fall back!"

Megatron began to run directly towards them as Arcee snatched up Jack and into the ground bridge. Cliffjumper followed with the unconscious Nightstalker and Ratchet on his tail.

"This time," Bulkhead taunted the Decepticon leader, "he's coming with us!"

As Bumblebee and Bulkhead dashed through the bridge, Optimus's mind reeled.

This time? I went with Decepticons?

He couldn't fathom it. Instead, Optimus took his bots' lead and followed them into the ground bridge, optics pinned to a furious, horribly irate—and possibly hurt—Megatron's optics as he gave a few last defensive shots as the bridge closed behind him.

What has happened?

It was the beeping she heard first.

Nightstalker stirred from a groggy sleep, registering this steady beeping that drew her from stasis. It was unusual for an alarm, and she couldn't understand why there wasn't a ruckus. As her systems recalibrated and updated, it suddenly occurred to Nightstalker exactly what it was—

A spark beat.

Then, as she groaned in uncomfortable pain, like a dull ache that was going to plague her for the next few days, Nightstalker realized belatedly it was HER spark beat. She shifted, about to get up when a hand pressed against her.

"Easy," she heard Ratchet say. "I'm not letting you out of my sights yet."

She opened her optics, blinking several times as her optics recalibrated the fuzzy picture clearer. She squinted a little. "Ratchet?"

He snorted. "Good to see your processor still functions." As he said so, he scanned her.

Her spark kicked into overdrive. "Wait—and Optimus?"

Ratchet's optics finally softened with immeasurable relief and peace. "Where he belongs," the medic murmured.

With that, the medic took careful inspection of her, and Nightstalker then realized what he was going to be working on—she could see the imprint of Megatron's hand crushed into her waist and that was what was paining her.

"Any wires cinching?" Ratchet asked.

Nightstalker shook her head. "No. My in cycles are a bit weird though." In cycles were not necessary, but it helped regulate the flow of energon and keep their bodies from overheating.

Ratchet gave a thoughtful hum, and he turned from her momentarily to reach for his tools. "And . . . your processor?"

Nightstalker blinked in surprise. "My central processor?"

Ratchet gave a hum, and with shock, Nightstalker looked at his computer screens to see him comparing two different scans of her to each other. Both seemed identical from where she was laying . . . "Yes," Ratchet said. "Your central processor. Is there anything . . . bothering you? Are there any other medical records of yours I need to know?"

"I-I—What?" Blindsided by Ratchet suddenly digging for information, Nightstalker stammered, "No. Why? What's the matter? Is something wrong with me?"

Ratchet's hands stilled on the computer. He dropped his servos. "Not that I know of." He paused. Suddenly turning around, Ratchet faced her and asked bluntly, "Nightstalker, did Megatron ever hurt you while interfacing?"

Her optics popped. She popped into a sitting position, and a searing blush covered her cheeks. "N-No! Of course not!"

"Then has he ever raped you?"

Shock spilled through her. "Wh—What? N-No, no he hasn't."

Ratchet gave a perturbed rumble before pinching his brow. He looked back up at her. "Let me rephrase that. Has he ever taken you against your will?"

Nightstalker blinked up at Ratchet. "I—I—No, I-I don't think so—"

"Nightstalker, did you ever not want to interface with him and he forced you to?" Ratchet's blue optics were serious, and it took Nightstalker a minute or two to realize that he was checking on her wellbeing further than he needed to—he cared. "Say, when you were younger. When you first started to interface with him. Was it of your free will?"

Nightstalker paused, dropping her helm in thought as she thought of her first interface with Megatron. She had been so nervous that he wanted to interface with her that it could have been considered fear. Was it her free will? A sudden epiphany overcame Nightstalker as she thought about that first night.

No. No, it wasn't of her free will. She had merely gone because he was leader of the Decepticons and she knew she COULDN'T say no to him. Primus, she had even asked if it was rape! And what had he said?

Not if you are willing.

Primus, what a deceptive twist of his words. Finally she muttered to Ratchet, "W-Well . . . I suppose not . . ."

"Then it was rape, Nightstalker."

She looked up at Ratchet. "Ratchet, no, don't talk like that, I—"

"If you did not enter the act willingly, Nightstalker," Ratchet interrupted, "then it was rape."

"But I did go to him willingly!" she burst, incredulous at the thought that the night had been nothing but rape. It hadn't felt like it!

Ratchet frowned and squatted across from her. "Nightstalker . . . Then tell me this: WHY did you go to him?"

"I—What?" Blinking, Nightstalker backtracked over the night again. Shame suddenly filled her, and she turned her helm down, stammering, "I—I . . . Because he was leader of the Decepticons. I . . . couldn't say no . . ."

Ratchet nodded gently. "Rape is rape," he said quietly. "Whether he forcefully committed this act by brutality or by rank."

Nightstalker took a sharp in cycle, shaking her head. She had even drunk the high grade he gave her, and it had scattered her thoughts to the wind. She gave a weak laugh, admitting, "And I just went along with it. I didn't think for once that I shouldn't be doing it."

Ratchet reached up a hand, wiping her tears with his fingers. "Easy, Nightstalker," he murmured. "I just thought you should know."

She gave one sarcastic, pained laugh. "Why, so I know how stupid I was?"

"No, so you know when you are being taken advantage of and that you can stop it."

Fanning her wings slowly, Nightstalker grabbed Ratchet's hand and held it close to her chest, a few last tears trickling down. "Thanks, Ratchet," she said to him.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, and after a moment, finally was able to mutter, "Well . . . I-I'm just doing my job."

With a little laugh, Nightstalker jumped up and threw her arms around his waist, causing the CMO to jump sky high before freezing. "Right," she said with a watery tease. "You're a medic, not a psychologist."

Nightstalker buried her face into his chassis, whispering, "Thanks, Ratchet. We're square?"

After a moment, she felt his hand rest against the back of her helm.

"Yes. Square."

Author's Note:

Hey, if you haven't yet realize I have/or read Nightstalker and Megatron's first interface, it's on my profile, called "Gone"

WARNING! That piece is very heavy smut graphic, so if you don't like, don't read! ;) Thanks for all the lovely reviews, I've got 91 on here now, maybe it'll hit 100 with this chapter! ^^