Well, isn't this just lovely?

Seems like someone's gonna have to make some stuff happen :D

Truthfully, I'm kind of bored and I may move it a bit faster from now on...

I'm getting impatient.

Again.

Of The Spark And Heart

Part 1

Chapter 31

The last ringing, agony-filled call stabbed through the air and reverberated back off the walls in an echoing array of blood-curdling sobs. A barrier of silver encased the pure torture taking place inside while the chill of the air matched that of the icy faces refusing to provide any relief. Indifferent scarlet gazes kept to the shadows as they watched the events before them. All there were mech except for the fembot standing still off in the corner and the one circling the table in the center of the room. She focused on that small form on the raised examining bench with avid closeness, not wasting a second on those around her as she once again made a round to the other side.

Hours before, that shape attached to the iron sheet had grown to create her own mental battle as she fought the welling cries racking her blood-covered body. All she knew was that pain, and the constant restrains of her arms and the feel of her own life slipping down her limbs and soaking into her hair and tattered clothing. There was a disturbing flush of icy fingers that crawled down her spine when she felt a new pulse of gore slipping across her skin and along with the piercing yet precise tares cutting delicately into her.

The lights above blinded her enough so she couldn't see who was doing this to her, but she could remember that last face and the voice as it drifted forth a question every so often. They seemed to never end, even when the teen's clothes hung stripped in red and her face appeared tinted a rusty-brown. Her chest heaved and she strained against her chains to arch her back off the table as another fiery wave scored her left arm. It all didn't cease for even a minute to let the girl catch her breath- to answer the questions or other.

Wet streaks beaded down the sides of her temple, dragging strips of this crimson substance to pool beneath her. A dull realization hit her that she may very well die where she laid, and that didn't bother her. Despite the disturbing, heart-pounding, stomach-churning dawn on her mind that her very last moments could be taken by a Decepticon, she felt the tempting release that was the hands of Death. Truly, she could think of nothing better than moving on from the shocking jolts sent up her arms; the black creature that lurked on the edges of her eyes; the crushing presence of Hope; the building responsibility set on her shoulders by her father; the secrets that seemed to live nowhere but the cloaked hearts of her supposed comrades.

"This could all end." Fera fell limp to the bed of cold metal, gasping for air like she had been nearly drowned, while her brow shined with the sweat gathered in the dirty filth. Her hair plastered to her face and fanned around her skull like a pillow of strawberry blonde. Hope flared out at her again and desperately attempted to shield herself from her screaming body. She could feel a warm liquid that she knew was not blood curling down her inner pant leg.

What could end? She yelled in silence. The voice had been near to her ear, barely coming above a whisper as it whisked over the arch of the thin skin. Another cough escaped her lips and she swallowed what saliva she could while her buzzing senses seemed to refuse to settle. Her pounding heart beat hard enough that she feared it may jump right out of her ribcage. She reached out to Hope even though her earlier ignoring of it and it clutched at her in a near fearful way. She too gripped at it like she never had before, using it as her pillar against the uneven grounds she stood on. She swayed with the air and swam in her smoky vision, her mind mixed reality with hallucination, and her pain melded into a numb familiarity.

"All we want," the voice picked up on her other side- or did it? She really couldn't tell anymore- whether something was up or down, left or right- she could very well be upside down for all she knew, "is information." a startling touch dragged from her arm, down her stomach, and over her leg to stall by her ankle. Her hurried eyes flicked blindly over the light and searched for the source of the voice. She could see the edge of a shadow, but nothing considerable to a telling feature or sign who was here beside her.

The only thing she did know, was that voice. The voice of the nameless fembot who had broken her from the hanging Hell she had been strung up by as a sort of helpless puppet. That voice had continued on when she was then slapped against this table and the excruciating fun had started. All they wanted was information. What harm was some tidbits of what she knew?

Fera growled and flashed her clenched teeth, squeezing her eyes shut before slowly opening them again. What was she coming to? This weakness wasn't her; it wasn't something that she knew and possessed in her heart. Her whole life had been built off of growing from the scars laid over her pale skin. Every lesson her mother had taught her -bless that woman's strength- had been to prepare her for the worst in life. She was taught to be loyal- to grow into a person she herself would be proud to know.

That shadowy mass of lies and dark promise leaned further over her and masked a corner of her view. All of the lights around her, both Hope's own and that of the incredible one above her, seemed to strike deep enough inside her that this new black figure was more nerve-racking than she cared to dwell on. Stubbornly, she sucked in a few more shudders of air before she felt another brush by her lower shin. "Tell me why it is your Autobot sentinels have taken such interests in you. That, my dear Fera, is all I wish for. Then you will simply be let free." she hissed temptingly.

Fera twitched when she heard her name leave the mouth of the 'Con and she glanced back at the fembot with hard, blue eyes. Being set 'free' may have a different meaning to a Decepticon than that of a human associated with the more humane side of the war. "Free..." she huffed a laugh that was more cough than a show of humor, "has a whole different definition...between us." the heavy sense of the fembot growing closer pressed against Fera with an invisible weight and she focused on keeping her roaring pulse in check than agitating the 'Con any more.

"True as that may be, I know where my ideals lie. I understand why I live how I do and the values I obtain in my strive for an end to this wretched war that destroyed not just my home, but my life." two sharp points curled to both sides of Fera's ankle, feather-light in touch, but threatening to break the skin with the fine tips. Fera released a long lung-full of air and she trained her eyes as best as she could on the silhouette hovering over her, trying to ignore the waves that distorted her sight.

"I did the right thing by joining them." she almost spat, lifting her head slightly before letting it drop again.

"Oh did you?"

"Yeah...you don't even know how to spell the word peace or kindness...let alone enforce it..."

"Rethink yourself. Are you any different than I, defending your beliefs as you do?"

"I-"

"Do we not share the same wish to finish the war and reserve order for our races?"

"Yes, but-"

"And have you care for those whom have perished from the agency of your so-called 'friends' while they deadsparked many over of their own kind?"

Fera instantly went quiet and she pressed her lips together. The fembot had a point. Through all the vicious, merciless, murderous faces Fera had seen of the opposing faction, she had a point. If she was to look past the evil virtues of the warriors who had attacked the 'Bots and excuse her own firsthand view, she knew that they were all the same. Of course, this was deep, deep down, but it was there. There was that wish for their home and the survival of their race. The AllSpark cube could have done that, but that was gone. The sliver could also have done that, but Epps had said it too was gone. All there was left was the shard.

Somehow, she knew there was more to the story than was being told, but she couldn't prove that feeling, and she feared she didn't want to. If the 'Bots held a secret they felt was for the better, than she would believe them and leave things be. Even if that secret was that the Decepticons were not so different from them after all.

But then there was still the offense she took at the boldness this fembot possessed when she said they were but the same. Them! Of all things. "I am nothing like you." the human wheezed, forcing her swollen hands closed when she felt the added pressure to her ankle. The Decepticon set a hand close to Fera's body and she came so close that Fera could have reached out and touched her face if her hand wasn't being held back.

"I'd beg to differ. Your spirit is commendable, but," an abrupt explosion of pain erupted in Fera's leg and she sucked in a sharp breath before releasing a scream and bowing against the tabletop, "breakable as the puny body at my disposal."

The shriek turned to breathless shock from the teen faded into a series of shaking, stuttering gulps for air while Fera fought to rein in the rising whine in her throat. So close was the fembot now- Fera could almost feel the touch of her face against her cheek. "Whether you cooperate with us or not, we shall figure out your importance to the Autobots. And if your corpse is included in that future for the sake of our cause, so be it."

Fera stared wide-eyed into the consuming whiteness of the light and let the overwhelming tears fall silently down her face.

Standing under the brash vividness of the lights was the recently arrived 'Bots, stalling in small groups around the middle of the perimeter of the tall, portable scaffolds sitting amidst the floor. Computers decorated the surfaces of each while humans hurried up and down the stairs and across the ground surrounding the peds of the towering figures occupying the room in wait. They were finally in Washington, gathered together in the roomy expanse of a concrete building. Around the frame of the room, large spans of glass stretched on to reveal the busy rooms beyond. Large, bulky military-grade vehicles slowly crept along the ground and stood in an idle positions while smaller drones and pilot-ready jets lined the spacious area.

Among these large allied peers was a pacing yellow scout, a tense fembot, a stoic yellow-green medic, a red warrior leant up against the wall with his arms crossed over his chassis, and a disturbingly quiet red and blue colored Peterbilt truck.

Their last comrade had excused himself when his female charge had begun to cause quite the scene, snapping at her Guardian with words that made even the fembot Prime flinch. The human couldn't be in her right mind at the moment, and more so when she received no answer for plans on rescuing her kidnaped creation. Every wire-curling, fire-tipped word she had spewed was true however. She had bitten remarks on how her daughter was sure to suffer, and spoken with a failed attempt of hiding her utter fear when mentioning the chance of never seeing the girl again.

Rethalia could feel the cold sadness leaking from her sparkmate through their bond, but she hadn't needed that attachment to see the defeat in his optics; the sag in his proud shoulderbolts; the break in the legendary hope in his spark. It was hard to look at him now and see that slowly corroding entity that was her sparkmate in their small circle. For a while, she stood with her faceplates averted and her arms crossed over her tank, latching onto her hipbolts with her digits digging into her armor. The dejected emotions rolling off him coursed in her own frame in turn, and forced her into a fit of her own anxiety. She didn't dare speak to anyone in fear that her voice may tremble and she would turn to her sparkmate to beg he may have some idea to retrieve their missing charge.

This all wasn't just a matter of a lost human whom they had grown close to over the passing Earth cycles, no. It was all connected to that small necklace that hung around her neck, pulsing with unbridled energy that was now in the unsuspecting control of the enemy. They had no clue what they had gotten into. But when they did...all Pit would break.

That's why it was to be the Autobots' job to get her back safely. Exactly how they were supposed to do that was the problem.

Rethalia darted a glance at the structure before them, thrumming with life as officials and other human personnel washed over the technologies there and relayed information between one another. To watch them work distracted her CPU from drowning in the sure failure her sparkmate was experiencing.

Optimus was an overwhelming figure, likewise, so were his emotions. When he felt a surge of feeling or sudden mood, Rethalia would become overridden by it. Over the vorns of being with him, she had learned to partially block that intensity and control her own reactions. However, with each and every past unsuccessful task carried out by the commanding mech seeming to creep back again and take hold of his processor, she was unable to completely dampen his influence. Thankfully, Liora was blissfully unaware of her mech creator's current drop of happiness, and she recharged peacefully in Rethalia's hold. Soon, she would wake and become bombarded by confusing sensations of regret and grief. The fembot Prime would do everything she could to make sure the abrupt new experience wasn't too harsh for her.

Noisy, aggravated claps of metal broke the silent fembot's daze and she snapped her cranial unit up to pinpoint the unexpected clamor. The officials once standing on the scaffold were now positioned with their backs straight and one of their two hands at their foreheads. Scanning the line of trained males, Rethalia finally was able to see the one responsible for the shatter of the norm about the room and its occupants. Sharply, she hissed under her vents and lowered her arms, brushing a feeling of clarifying irritation through her bond to Optimus so he would also be alert.

Secretary Kepler marched up the remaining stairs of the scaffold, gripping on the silver rails with enough force to cause the tiny veins in his hands to bulge. There was a hard expression to his fleshy face and a scorching edge to his step. This man was angry. And he wasn't afraid to show that fact.

"Prime! I have the president already breathing down my back about this civilian becoming involved with our operations, and a board of worldly reps demanding some explanation for the Decepticon attacks on the grid systems and communications waves." he made his way over to the center of the floor where he then faced the 'Bots and crossed his arms, his eyes a now stormy rise of aggravation. "Now, you'd better have a damned good excuse for letting them get ahold of our priority, otherwise I'll do nothing to stand between the cabinet and dealing with the hostiles their way."

Primus, it took some iron ball bearings to approach an agitated fembot like that.

Rethalia twisted her body towards the scaffold and didn't wait to see if her mate would transform or not to cast a deathly set of narrowed optics upon the human male. "If you would have been in our position Secretary- if you would have witnessed the unmistakable fear in her face, you wouldn't be seeing this topic so easily." she approached the scaffold and leaned down slightly on the man, "She is one of your race's own- a mere child amongst you, yet all you care to address her as is nothing but that of an inanimate object. A thing. She is in holds by the Decepticons, who have no seeming appreciation for your species, and you feel it necessary to raise your voice at us when she could be suffering?" Rethalia nearly swatted the man- but the feeling of hesitance in her sparkmate and her thorough training on Earth-based manners kept her from doing so.

The Secretary dropped his arms and glared back at her, taking a step forward to thrust his face in hers. "My country is in danger with her in their hands, so yes, I do care. Along with that, her security was vowed to be handled confidently by your leader. He assured her transport from said location here and where is she now?" Kepler demanded, jabbing his finger towards the floor. Rethalia's spark darkened in fury and she allow a low, strenuous vibration to rumble from her chassis. It was too deep to be detected by the human ear, but she knew the others would pick it up. They would know her rising anger and the pure shock she felt speaking with this aft of a human being. Optimus didn't respond to the noise, but she could feel him coming to attention through their connection.

There was a cautious prod at her comlink and she immediately ignored it. "What would you of had us do? She was taken in the Decepticon's alt mode, caught with no way out." Rethalia swept her arm out and then curled both her servos into fists. "If we had attempted to cripple him enough to get to her, she would most definitely have been injured in the process." Ratchet finally spoke up, catching Rethalia's optic. She straightened and looked behind her, finding the Autobot medic calmly walking towards her and the Secretary, his faceplates iron-cold and emotionless as a drone.

"You should not have allowed them to reach her in the first place." Kepler argued back. Rethalia drew in a long vent of air and she tried so hard not to release every pent-up emotion she held on the human before her. "That was an unpreventable outcome." she stated coldly. There seemed like no consideration in Kepler, especially since he had failed to make sure Fera's own mother was alright as well as Samuel Witwicky's family before seeing to his regular duties. Apparently his job was more to him than the wellbeing of another. Optimus still wouldn't speak up and his continued silence was putting a nervous edge in Rethalia's spark. Eventually, he would have to say something. But what if, maybe, this last loss had pushed him over the edge? She carefully thought out exactly what she was going to say, and when she had completed that, she parted her lip plates to speak.

"Este hombre es una locura total. Alguien le dispara antes de que él." Mirage's grumbled tone reached them all from his position back by the wall and the quick translation in Rethalia's processor had her raising a single optic ridge. It sent a little shock of humor through her, as well as a tinge of approval. She very well wished that she could allow the mech to do what he wanted to, but then again, where would that put them? They would be sent right off the face of the planet if they weren't attacked first. Kepler's own eyebrows lifted and a single soldier behind him held a knowing smirk on his face. "What did he just say? Was that a threat?" the Secretary inquired hotly.

Rethalia shook her helm, less angered now. How much she wanted to be capable of another language. She could understand any of the world, however she hadn't the ability to speak them. If she had that talent like Mirage possessed, she would use it full well. Secretary Kepler didn't seem to understand any of what the red mech had said, which was relieving. Her sparkmate on the other hand, didn't feel affected whatsoever. If anything, his melancholy state had increased and he offered no barrier for her to experience his mood. So he was just going to ignore the meeting? She was a Prime, but Optimus was far more skilled in speaking with the Earthlings than she ever was.

"No Secretary." yes, she corrected silently. She shot Mirage a sharp glance, but the message she sent through their comlink was far from such disapproval. Even though he had said it in another language, at least some 'Bot had stood against the government figure. "We are all frustrated at the moment. Fera Lennox is as much a priority to us as yourself, and we feel this abduction as-"

"Do not tell me what you feel Autobot, I want to hear a plan." Kepler interrupted. Rethalia's previous irritability returned and she burrowed her optic ridges deep to mirror the frown on her lip plates. "I need a scheme; something remotely close to an idea on just how we are supposed to get this civilian back." Rethalia bore her sky-blue optics on the Secretary and fought the fiery retort on her glossa. Had this human no sane sense? Though the Decepticons had been dealt with before, this particular situation was different from prior times.

Firstly, the already small Autobot faction was extremely divided over the greater country. Secondly, the Decepticons were nowhere to be found and held the ability to appear or disappear on their whim. Thirdly, once they had discovered where Fera was being hidden, they would have to somehow find a way to infiltrate the construct and safely escape with her and the team intact. Prowl was in for a lovely task. "We have none." she stated simply.

Kepler threw his hands in the air. He then turned before giving a huff and whipping back towards her. He had the gull to grow aggravated with her? "As of now, we know three things, right?" Kepler walked over to the rail, placed one hand on the metal bar, and then set the other on his hip. "One, we have no idea where the enemy is or where they could be. Two, they can show up whenever and wherever they want to, without any prediction possible beforehand. And three," he lifted the hand on his hip and gestured towards Rethalia, "we entrusted you with something that should have obviously been handled by government hand."

"We had no prior knowing of the Decepticons attacking-"

"And you never will! This is a war, and putting too much confidence in yourself will get someone killed. Right now, that someone could be Miss Lennox."

"I put a healthy belief in my soldiers Secretary. You are breaching on unnecessary grounds-"

"Believe me when I say I get the situation that we are facing. But I will not allow it to be used as an excuse for anything that would even look at my country the wrong way."

"And I do not plan on having a single excuse, but we need time. Our team needs to discuss our issue and complete a solid plan of action towards it."

"That's what you don't understand: we don't have time! That civilian is just a kid and she won't last a week against those cretins of your species. I see that your team is unable to handle given missions, so I will see it upon myself that this task is dealt with properly."

Rethalia drew back at this and she felt her spark jump. There was no way the humans would be able to deal with this on their own! The Decepticons were war-hardened mechs and fembots, thickened beyond the care of a small human life. Fera would maybe mean twice that of a regular soldier seeing as she was what she was. However, when they realized the importance she held, she would be worth enough for Arachnid to sacrifice one of her own warriors for. Possibly more. But with Autobot assistance, the humans would be able to accomplish things far faster and safer. "You can't do that Secretary! Fera Lennox is under Autobot discrimination, therefore it should be our situation to handle-"

"Not after what happened yesterday. Any further actions taken to save Miss Lennox will be done so by American military." Secretary Kepler stood taller, daring her to argue. Rethalia growled, verbally this time, and she nearly did speak up again before a thicker form leaned over the scaffold abruptly. "You are a fool!" Mirage spat, causing the Secretary to bend backwards marginally so as not to get too close to the red spy. "The Decepticons, they have no love for your kind! Fera is important to us, and we can't stand here and watch you fail getting her!"

Rethalia added her own narrowed optics to the mech's and she made sure her expression showed that she fully supported his claim. Secretary Kepler looked between them and he had to take a step back to see them better, as they had both now gotten close to the edge of the rails. "You obviously can't handle such important priorities as Miss Lennox's care," he retorted, "so we are going to take it in our own hands to make sure she is safe! Don't you realize that you can't keep watch over her like we can; that maybe we can take the hostiles on ourselves?"

"You are a damned fool, human." Mirage repeated with a rumble.

"She will never survive long enough for your men to locate the base and then figure a plan to retrieve her. Myself and my team have warred with them for thousands of your years, so I understand that we have a far better chance of finding her than you." Rethalia noted the faint pulse of the Secretary's vein on his neck and the tenseness in his shoulders and hands as he seemed to be fighting back a temper. The debate was building however, and it was just a matter of time before they all exploded. "True as that may be, we have overcome challenges set before us and we can do it again. Without your assistance." Rethalia scowled, "And how did that work the last time?"

The man's face darkened and he visibly grew angered by the comment. The decacycles after Optimus' revival and Rethalia's new status as Prime, she had come to learn that there was a time when the Autobots had been sent off the face of the planet in hopes that the Decepticons would leave with them. Of course, that trickery settled in and the Earth's leaders realized their mistakes almost too late. It was a miracle that the Autobot cause was able to defeat the Decepticons under the troubles they'd been faced with, and now the countries seemed more hesitant when the topic of excluding the alien allies out of orbit once again arose.

"That was a different time, one that we have grown from. We are American military officials: capable of far more than you give us credit for-"

"Your country is how old Secretary? The young in our culture would be twice that age before being upgraded into an older frame. My experiences with the Decepticons is far greater than yours will ever be, giving me reason to believe that-"

"I don't care Prime, it's high time we stop relying on outside forces to help us solve our problems! There will never be a time when we can thank you enough for saving us, but that was a different era. Things are changing, and with it, so are we."

"That has no meaning when in the face of an enemy far superior in technologies and intelligence! We have the abilities to demolish an entire city with a single electro-mass bomb and yet you still doubt the possible strengths of just one of our species!"

-An electro-mass bomb is a device which focuses the raw energy in the atoms that make up electric pulses, including that of the negative and positive charges required, and it holds them in a small container within the center. When the bomb goes off, the greatly compacted energy will explode outward with the speed and power of a tremendous discharge. The massive amounts of power behind this setoff have the abilities to collapse buildings, short out entire neural networks, overcharge a spark to produce a fatally stalled spark pulse, or a variety of other devastating effects. It was an illegal weapon of war, but because it was so powerful and so simple to make, skilled Cybertronians would sell them over the black market for an incredible profit. In short: it was literally lightning in a bottle.-

"Don't use that against me 'Bot, you know full well we could lock you up for even mentioning a threat like that." Kepler now grabbed both rails, leaning over them with his dark eyebrows furrowed and his features screwed up in anger. Rethalia could sense the worked up emotions of the human, but those only seemed to intensify her own. Kepler's warning struck deep with the fembot, who produced a look of shock for only an astrosecond before casting an ominous scowl of her own. If she were locked away in some human prison, she would be separated from her sparkmate and sparkling for decacycles.

As a fembot creator, this realization near sent her in a frenzied fit. Where did this human possess the authority to sent an Autobot ally to the brig? How dare he threaten to break her from her creation and sparkmate! A family unit to a Cybertronian was fiercely protected and valued, more so now since their occurrence was so very rare. And Rethalia was no different.

Unconsciously, she placed a protective servo over her abdominal slips and took a defensive stance against the man before her. If he was going to try and take her most precious creation away from her, then she'd make full sure she deadsparked first.

She could see Ratchet on the edge of her vision and Mirage on her other side. However, she paid them no attention, instead sending a silent challenge to whomever dared separate her from her family unit.

"You haven't the right." she snarled.

"Try me." Kepler retorted peevishly.

Rethalia's optics widened and then shot back into slits. It was taking all she had to not launch herself at this obviously insane human. Optimus offered her nothing but silence over their bond and the lack of emotion from her sparkmate was slowly driving her crazy.

"Should you really be locking up Autobots when we're here to help you guys?"

The newcomer caused everyone's cranial unit to snap up to find the source. A leisurely form, smaller in size but definitely mech, strode over towards the unfolding situation. His paint was a bright white color, with red and blue details stripped over his lean frame. Rethalia immediately recognized this mech, but that did not mean she was happy because he was here.

Smokescreen reached the scaffold holding Secretary Kepler and he leaned over, lifting a servo to actually poke the man. Kepler huffed and jumped back from Smokescreen, yanking on his clothing and the fabric around his neck to straighten them. Some of the human soldiers stifled chuckles. "It seems like you've got a problem with things you can't control."

Kepler made an odd sound and Rethalia straightened, watching the two carefully. "Of course we do! Anything that carries weapons into our atmosphere pose a possible risk to this country. We do whatever we can to-"

"Yeah, but how many times have we saved your fleshy aft and this planet already? And you still think we're going to blow you up?"

"We cannot trust what we don't understand."

"You will never understand us completely Secretary. And I will make grandly sure you do not understand our weapons technologies either." Rethalia jumped in, gaining a smirk from Smokescreen and a dark, piercing stare from Kepler. Turning back to he fembot, Secretary Kepler said, "What decision is that of yours to decide what is best for us? Maybe if we did know more about your said 'weapons technologies', then Miss Lennox wouldn't be in the hands of the enemy right now."

"And maybe you would be at war like your volatile nature as a human suggests."

"She's got a point." Smokescreen folded his arms under his chassis and he rested against the scaffold. Kepler groaned and the lines across his face deepened. "No, she doesn't. We are not a group of children Misses Prime, nor are we imbeciles. We know what we are dealing with and if a common dispute between countries come to war, than that's how it will have to be."

"No, it does not. Look at what we had done with our own use of the weapons we possess! If we were unable to safely practice warfare with our own technologies, how is it you believe-"

"Enough!"

The booming command cracked off the walls and slammed into each pair of audio receptors and ears in that room. Rethalia's spark jumped and her vents seized with the abrupt and unexpected order. The very air stopped dead around the group before the sound of furiously quick slams and bangs started up. Rethalia whipped around in time to see her sparkmate in mid transformation, the two pipes on his support hissing loudly with large puffs of smoke. His shape reformed and snapped to place, twisting and shaping again before he slammed a mostly whole ped on the floor and an equally as complete fist.

The concrete cracked under the strength of his strike. Only astroseconds into his transformation, Optimus was through and he was jumping to stand with a furious noise from his hydraulics. His optic ridges were buried low into his optics and his expression was full of ire. He stormed over to the scaffold, which barely surpassed his waist, and he doubled over it, landing a solid hammer of his closed servo atop the platform.

The temporary structure rattled at the sudden strike, and its thin limbs creaked and groaned in protest. Secretary Kepler was already backed up to the very edge of the opposite end of the structure, rearing his body back as far as he could without tipping. His small eyes were wide and the look on his flesh-covered face was that of fear. Rethalia herself felt the pure aggravation of her sparkmate; the ultimate frustration that was his sudden outburst. The intensity was shocking, and she immediately had to put up a dampening block to protect her and Liora from feeling its aftereffects.

She took a small step back from Optimus, her faceplates shifting from agitation to concern in a sparkbeat. Her servo pressed to her chassis and her free one covered over where Liora fitfully laid. She had never seen him so angry with the humans before; never seen him break his mask of calm to approach the Earthlings like now. The look on his features sent a discomforting sense over her.

Of course, she could never actually be afraid of him. She knew he wouldn't allow himself to hurt her or one of the humans, and if he would, he would abuse himself for millennium to come. It was the shock of seeing him so caught up in his self-blame that frightened her. He could hold onto battles and tragedies without losing his processor for vorns. The impressive resolve of his deeper consciousness confounded Rethalia at times, especially when he never became distant with the passing of his entire family unit. It was his creators, then his mentor, and finally his brother. One would most likely have deadsparked over it.

Yet...somehow, this was different. Though he appeared the same and sounded the same, he seemed...off; as if his entire view changed in some way. She had seen it in his quiet on that road and in the expression of cruel truth he had exposed to everyone. This was a vulnerable side of him that Rethalia had hoped never to find.

"I've heard enough." Optimus announced lowly, causing Kepler to flinch with the sharpness of the Autobot's tone. Rethalia relaxed back into a less worried state and she concentrated on her side of their bond. She reached for him, delving into the core of their joined existence so as to understand just what was transpiring in this mech's CPU. His electric-blue optics flicked in her direction before locking back on the Secretary. "My irrevocable failures have been taken into note of my warriors Secretary, there is no need for you to voice them again."

Rethalia's intakes hitched and she felt her spark skip a beat. Right there, right where she found her presence to be intertwined with her sparkmate's, was the reason. It was nothing but a numb, all-consuming, personal Pit of regret.

Regret had never before been in her mate's spark so broadly. It was encircling the usual brightness that was him, blending in with his blinding glory and rooting its disgusting claws into his innermost gridmap. Rethalia could see it in his posture; the way he stood and went so quickly from intense anger to saddened frustration. She reached out to him, and he embraced her tightly.

"Arguing will bring us no closer from retrieving Fera Lennox than we would be without a plan- which as of now, there is none." Optimus sighed. Rethalia looked over at Bumblebee, who had jumped forward and seemed about to speak. Optimus' raised servo stopped him however and the yellow Guardian sank back. Rethalia knitted her optic ridges at the small cyberling. Scratches littered his bright paint and the glass of nearly all his windows was missing. But he had refused medical treatment from Ratchet, instead staying in his vehicle form whenever he could throughout the entire ride to Washington. It was greatly disheartening to see the usually energetic mech so thoroughly uneasy as he had been.

"That's not a satisfactory comment Optimus. I expect you to have developed something before entering this premises." Secretary Kepler snapped. Rethalia visibly flinched. by some degree, they themselves knew there should have been some faint wisp of a plan by the time they entered that hangar door. Prowl would need something to work with instead of dealing with all of these seemingly insolvable problems from scratch. Optimus appeared affected as well, for he stood back and glanced back at her. "I know." he admitted, looking away.

Rethalia took this opportunity to back away and take place next to Ratchet, finding his further presence from the scaffold more appealing. Along with that, it felt like Optimus' sway on her spark was a fraction less overpowering. Crossing her arms, she felt her CPU clearing and the heavy burden on her consciousness becoming slightly lighter. Ratchet suddenly slipped a servo over her shoulderbolt and she jerked, tilting her cranial unit to the side. ~Secretary Kepler wasn't there. He can't understand what situation we were put through before she was taken.~ he assured softly, giving her a squeeze.

Rethalia vented a sigh and she dropped her faceplates, dragging her optics away as her sparkmate slowly deflated and continued his conversation with Kepler. ~I don't want to justify what happened with excuses Ratchet, it's not in my programming.~ she looked back up to see Smokescreen watching the exchange before him with an almost bored expression. He caught her gaze and nodded towards her, respectively acknowledging her.

~That is why you're one of our greatest warriors.~ Ratchet went on, patting her shoulderbolt. The medic's calmness suggested that his own episode of anger had faded and he was back to the tired, caring, and cranky CMO he'd always been. Rethalia rested her arm by wrapping it around her midsection and setting a servo atop his own. ~The best of us who remain.~ she paused, "I will keep his promise."

She looked behind her, catching Ratchet's curious optics, "Optimus made a vow that I intend to keep. In some way, somehow, Prowl's plan will include me. Fera has grown into someone I can respect and someone whom holds great importance to both our race, and Optimus' inner circle." her lip plates ghosted into a small grin when she saw the flicker of determination in Ratchet's expression. ~She is more than just the future of our race.~

"Alright, alright, I've heard all I need." Kepler's raised voice caused Rethalia to dart her faceplates towards the noise. He had thrown his hands into the air, apparently giving up on the situation. He then stalked after the steps, beginning down the silver structure. When he reached the ground, he turned back to them all, pointing up at Optimus. "I give you all a week. One. And if you haven't even come close to getting back the priority, I will be taking this in my own hands." he warned, pivoting on his heel and striding away.

For the first few clicks, everyone stood still and quiet. No one vented the air around them in a frozen state of shock. Rethalia felt Ratchet's servo latched onto her shoulderbolt and her own digits digging deeply into her protoform. A scorching fire was burning in her core, flooding through her in a silent inferno. Her own fury burned away at Optimus' cooler remorse, giving her a solid anchor when her processor threatened again and again to crash with both his and her own pains.

"Well isn't he lovely?" Smokescreen remarked, crossing his arms. Rethalia saw the disbelieving shake of his helm and his skeptical snort. No one laughed.

Optimus broke the still by giving a long, unsettling sigh of his vents. His entire frame seemed to shake, vibrating away the tenseness in his circuits. Unable to help herself any longer, Rethalia started forward and she reached up, encircling her arms around Optimus' neck. She hugged herself close to him, burying herself into the crook of his mandible. Optimus stumbled back a step at the force of her sudden grasp, but she never loosened a fraction in her hold. She felt herself falling apart; cooling and then heating once again before the realizations hit her and her solid sense brought up overly vivid imaginations.

Less than a nanoclick after she had grabbed him, Optimus had his own arms around her. He pressed her firmly to him, bowing his own cranial unit beside hers. She felt the suffocating black that was his feeling and the powerful waves from his spark. The said essence now beat against her chassis in a stunning display of strength, adding to the fluttering that was her own until they pounded into a similar rhythm. They didn't care that they were being watched or that their abrupt show of affection was more just a cover-up for the true confusion they felt. They'd never say it unless it was absolutely clear. But they just didn't know. They didn't know how to handle so much without that Prime's wisdom they shared, and they didn't know how to explicitly say to their desperate comrades that they had no plan. All they had now was hope that they could keep their masks and pray for a solution. When would that come? When would they be able to save one of, if not the, most important keys of their race?

Together, they stood, holding one another and keeping the other from breaking to pieces. They'd been through Pit and back together; through the horrible gruesome nature that was war. They had lost the divisions of caretakers and their sparkling clutches through mere orns together. They had suffered through separation from their other half and survived. And they had thrown aside the smothering hopelessness of war and created life. Together.

As one, they took in a small human whom had been placed with the incredible responsibility of an entire race, though she knew not of that fact. Hopefully -no matter the crippling knowledge that it probably wasn't true-, she would live long enough to come back to them and her surprisingly loyal Guardian. Primus knew how the mech was holding up since the abduction of his charge. Any 'Bot could clearly see that he had developed a strong sense of protectiveness over her since he had come to understand her true importance. Now that his pride and ability was in question, he was surely drowning in his signature anxiety. And Rethalia couldn't blame him- Fera was the first true task given to him as an Autobot. With his family unit gone, she was the true only being for him to fight for in this war.

"She'll be ok. I won't let them kill her." Rethalia whispered, shuttering her optics tightly closed. "She is our only hope to revitalize our race- to create some flicker of life for Cybertronians." her hold on her mate strained and he returned the gesture. "Fera has become more to us than a priority. She is hope for our race, yes, but she has the potential for so much more." his tone was pained, but hard with a deep, inner wisdom.

Rethalia hesitantly softened her vice grip on Optimus and she pulled back to see his faceplates. "Absolutely. It shocks me how much she has had impact over such a short time. Let's agree that whatever Prowl's plan may be, that we'll be included in it." she furrowed her optic ridges, daring him to argue, "Arachnid has gone too far in taking an innocent." Optimus offered no sign of disagreement in his steady gaze with hers.

The sound of an approaching figure drew both their attentions towards the source. Smokescreen stopped before them, a broad smile on his faceplates. "I guess the fembot contingent is back in business. I'll make sure Rainwing knows." Rethalia lowered from her toelinks, watching him with interested optics. Smokescreen raised his mandible in glee. "And Nightmare'll love to rip up some 'Con aft too." both the Autobot Cybertronians wordlessly settled on a mutual agreement: The Decepticons had gone one life too far.

"Hold still."

"Well it's difficult to do that when you're replacing every armory attachment on my frame."

"Despite that, I need you to be immobile for a breem longer."

"Ow! Hawktail, was that necessary?!"

"You're moving less now, aren't you?"

The disgruntled Autobot huffed and turned his helm away, grumbling to himself about things he knew would get him scorched again. He was speaking under his vents in a course Cybertronian accent; one that he picked up over the vorns he had spent upgrading in the gladiator sector of Kaon. Hawktail wouldn't recognize it, or understand it for that matter. He was an Apex class mech from the city-state of Simfur.

Only a few joors out of the care of a startled Wheeljack and Stratis -who was surprisingly good in the medical field-, Solas was released on a strict leave by the supposed 'temporary CMO' of the base. After his collapse, he recalled nothing but the room he'd been placed in afterwards, mimicking that of the one he awoke from his coma. Wheeljack had explained that he couldn't understand exactly what was wrong with Solas because he wasn't a professional medical officer. However, he was able to tell that Solas was lacking in recharge and energy, as well as suffering in his spark region. The exact place 'Jack didn't have enough experience to further look into.

As a result of his near sparkattack, Wheeljack had placed Solas on a watch schedule, which included a regular checkup, and had ordered him to go to Hawktail for a temporary protoform covering. In his processor, Wheeljack figured all that was ailing Solas was his vulnerable protoform being exposed to the alien atmosphere of Earth. Of course, this was only just a guess, but it was better than nothing.

Now, Solas held out his arm, wincing when the smith sliced off his old, nearly caved, attachment lock for his armor. It wasn't the act of removing it that hurt so much, just the feeling of his base wiring. For every Cybertronian fitted with armor, there was a thin set of wires that ran like mesh through the covering, connecting directly to their spinal relay; this allowed them to be fully aware of where the damage was and how severe it seemed. Usually, higher ranked mechs or fembots like Hawktail would have this top of the line luxury in their often custom-made frames. However, for those like Solas who had upgraded in the Mezzo class, he was lucky to acquire the sensory wiring placed in his armoring.

"Hold this." Hawktail stood taller and lifted a servo to Solas, who reached down to take it from the platform he stood on. Solas pulled his arm back, opening his digits to see what lay in his grasp. It was a metal bar, lined with a thick padding that dented whenever Solas poked it with his thumb digit. Confused, he looked back down at Hawktail, who had walked across the room and was fiddling around for a tool. "What is this?" the warrior asked, testing the weight of the object. Hawktail raised a servo, pointing behind him.

Solas glanced over his shoulderbolt and saw nothing but the wall, a few boxes, and a stray metal table. "That goes in your mouth. Afterwards, I want your servos on the wall and your peds planted firmly." the smith dropped the digit and continued to look for his missing tool. Solas dipped in his optic ridges and observed the object in his palm suspiciously. Satisfied that it wasn't some poisonous or lethal weapon, Solas opened his lip plates and placed the padded bar between his oral sheets.

With one last, questioning look at his peer, Solas turned away and carefully walked down the steps towards the back wall. He then spread his servos across the sleek surface and leaned on the balls of his peds. What exactly was the mech doing? Solas could hear him shuffling around and then the muffled thuds of his approaching steps.

Solas had -not recently- gained a particular reputation of being overly distrustful no matter if it were his comrade or enemy. There was also one he'd acquired of being a destructive, grumpy, jack-aft mech. But that was a different subject altogether.

He caught himself peeking over his shoulderbolt about a click or so after coming to stand where he was. Hawktail was quick to scold him, threatening that if he didn't keep forward that he was going to regret it. Though, Solas couldn't tell whether it would be the smith causing him pain, or his own actions resulting in unnecessary suffering. He silently agreed that it more than not was the latter.

"Now Solas, I'm going to remove your spinal attachments. But," he paused and Solas' body immediately tensed. He could feel the presence of something coming closer, and he fought the instinctive programming to swing around and protect himself, "whatever you do, don't spit out that pad."

Instantly on alert, Solas jerked, meaning to turn around and face this smith. If what he was about to do required so much beforehand warning, then it couldn't possibly be pleasant. This prediction was proved when, out of the blue, Solas felt searing, fiery licks of heat webbing across his spinal support like the lash of an electro-whip. His support arched and he cried out, biting so hard against the pad that he feared it may break under the pressure. His digits curled, scraping small slits into the silvery wall.

He heard a pop and then felt a blasting wave of heat soar across the stretch of his spinal support. The small plinking sound that hit a nanoclick later told Solas that he was one attachment down. Only seven more to go.

Why the smith was removing the clips in the first place was lost to Solas as he fought the urge to rip around and tear the microscorcher from Hawktail's servos. Surely, this procedure shouldn't cause so much discomfort? He felt another attachment crack and his mandible pressed harder against the pad. He knew there was a reason he was here. It was the only cause for him being in this unpleasant treatment.

Fera.

By allowing Hawktail to peel away his damaged clips and allow him to make complete new ones, the process of his armor would speed up. Despite the backwards sound of this fact, he went along with it. Hawktail was both older and had far more experience in armory smiting than Solas did, so he would trust the mech. By going through this and allowing Hawktail and Thunderflare to strip away all he had, then cover him, and take it all away again, Solas was a step closer to becoming the warrior he once was. He could retrieve his charge, the Stone of Primus, and the last shard of the AllSpark cube. All for just a little pain.

To take his processor off the current afflictions, Solas let himself draw back into the deeper reaches of his CPU into a certain spot where he was able to shut down his sensory circuits and grow numb. However, in doing this, he wouldn't be able to hear or see, so he was pretty much a step up from a walking pile of scrap. But here, he'd learned that he could reroute his memory files to play on a loop, giving him an endless series of moving images and replayed memories. But, this soothing replay of his most precious moments of his life cycle came with a threat of the darker moments he dreaded.

This particular one was of his earlier position as a soldier amongst the Decepticon faction.

Solas Kaon, a mere youngling compared to the elder mech warriors treading across the Decepticon-controlled city-state of Polyhex, was standing at attention near the mouth of one of the many bases across the face of the planet. It was a soaring, gleaming display of both art and structure- composed of an arched entryway and a great, vaulting ceiling that domed outwards towards the ominous airs. Those before it appeared like a spec amongst the ground; seeming like flecks from the dizzying heights of the towers. Sharp, knife-like tops roofed the main structure and its flanking peers. The piercing look of the coverings stabbed into the smoky, chemical-ridden skies of Cybertron. If one had an imaginative processor, they would almost think the billows of mist would fissure at the touch of the needles.

Solas looked over at his peer this shift and rolled his optics when he saw the young recruit yawn. Of course they would be tired. Their energy levels were low, and with Starscream not allowing any a proper recharge or seemingly nutritious cube of energon, none of the soldiers were prepared for anything remotely close to an attack. It was clear that they were seen as expendable. Nonetheless, Solas had grown used to the waning joors placed on his recharge. But with the lack of recovery time, his energy needs were inevitably increasing.

The black soldier suppressed the heavy feel of his optic slips and he shook his cranial unit once with a rough jerk. No, he wouldn't fall under here. The last one who had foolishly crossed Megatron's patience had supposedly been tossed into the care of a bored Shockwave and his torturous experiments. Welder, hadn't been his designation? Anyway, he was useless now. Most of his parts were currently being used by Cobalt- the medic now admitted to the Decepticon ranks because the soldiers and warriors were dropping faster than they were recovering.

A few warriors bearing the Decepticon emblem passed by Solas and moved on without a second look at him. He didn't mind the lack of acknowledgement- in fact, he preferred it. The silence of this kalon was rare and greatly welcomed, seeing as all they did these past orns was fight. One could actually enjoy the view of his planet under the dusky expanse of the stars and eerie glow of the tall, artificial lights that lined the face of Cybertron. Solas let his processor drift and he swayed in fatigue with each passing click. However, the sight of his higher-ranking official Starscream coming towards the center of the open pavilion stopped that immediately.

There was a line of maybe five Cybertronian mechs spread before him, their servos behind their spinal supports. Starscream's Seekers held their own weapons as they walked beside him. Curious optics strayed from their original path towards the line of approaching mechs, watching carefully as the group was led to the center of the open stretch of ground. Each mech had a Seeker, excluding Starscream, who instead stood back and set his fists on his hipbolts. His chassis was puffed out in an arrogant air and his faceplates twisted into a Cheshire grin.

In a high and greatly annoying voice, Starscream announced, "These criminals are being charged with treason of the fifth degree, against our High Lord Megatron, with no right of trial. By command of myself, Starscream, I order their sentence be public execution by firing squad." the skinny second in command backed away a few paces and watched as his peers forced each of their prisoners to their kneebolts.

Solas allowed his optics to widen with the sight. His spark beat harshly in his chassis as he witnessed the figures before him. The electro-staff in his servo shook slightly when Solas tightened his grip on it. All previous tiredness that Sol might have felt before simply washed away with the events happening.

He should speak out. It wasn't right to deprive a Cybertronian of trial, no matter their crime. The Prime was always the one to be the final judge on any major case, especially one concerning execution. Yet this one must have been decided by a meager moron. Cybertronian law stated that any and all, mech or fembot, would have right to a fair trial to decide the just punishment for their crime -or crimes-. This was mutiny!

Starscream's Seeker mechs each gave their demised targets their own last hit or kick before they drew back to withdraw their weapons. The prisoners themselves were reacting to this situation quite differently. One mech had his servos placed behind his helm with his faceplates inscrutable and hard in determination. A few others however, were in a panicked state, pleading and begging at their captors. No matter their earnest appeals, the mechs were one by one turned back around to face away.

Solas opened his lip plates, so scared of what he was about to see, yet too entranced to look away. He stood, frozen in place, by the steps of the headquarters, beside a peer who seemed disinterested in anything but recharging. His actions were none, but his spark screamed at him. His CPU was locked in a battle of its own, deciding whether speaking up was wise.

Not if he wished to be like the prisoners.

The frightened ones were taken out first. The deadly close-range shots of the plasma rifles destroyed each helm and exploded them in a fan of splayed energon and parts. Cranial matter flew seemingly in slow motion before hitting the ground and scattering around the body. The mech's arms would then fall limp and he would sway forward to fall onto what should have been his faceplates, his frame still. Each shot gained a flinch from Solas and a shocked intake of air from some of the younger of the Decepticon faction around him. Wails and horrified screeches arose from the waiting mechs as their peers' craniums sprayed raw gore over them.

Not long after the first shot had rang out, the last mech was put before a Seeker's rifle. His servos were firmly placed behind his helm and his lip plates quivered in unspoken terror. The look of his optics burned into Solas' processor and the feel of pure fear pulsed off of him. There was a hidden meaning behind that look, like as if he were seeing straight into Solas' gridmap. But, Sol's cranial unit snapped away as a sharp and distressed voice sounded. Their yell stalled the execution and almost everyone turned towards the noise.

A fembot, fairly young in appearance, was rushing across the stretch of ground as fast as she possibly could, her faceplates shining with slick tears. Her cries echoed across the dead silence of the gathered Decepticons and her hurried sprint gained the attention of the remaining prisoner. He dropped his servos and his optics widened in shock. Solas' spark dropped with the realization that these two knew one another. Their expressions said it all.

"Arsenis-?" the mech's surprised recognition was split to an abrupt end as his entire cranial unit burst into a cloud of parts and flowing azure energon. The fembot screamed and Solas stared as the decapitated mech's corpse fell to the ground. A pool of the precious life of the Cybertronians slowly crept across the surrounding area of the line of deceased mechs, coiling and seeping into the cracks of the planet as it stretched in a blanket of death beneath its victims. Energon sit splattered across the surface of the Seekers' armor and their guns, giving them a murderous look with the blue spotting their frames.

Arsenis threw herself onto the body of her dead comrade, folding herself over his spinal support and hiding her faceplates in his broad plating. Her kneebolts sunk deep in the puddle of her fallen peer while her bright purple coloring gained a new set of freckled, light-blue spots. Her sobs racked her lithe body and her shoulderbolts shook with her expelling grief. Solas gazed on at this scene, becoming cold with the sight of the fembot crying over her dear mech, and the slow truth setting in that this -whatever reason for- had just happened. And he'd done absolutely nothing against it.

Starscream came forward and roughly yanked Arsenis back to her peds, tearing her away from the still form on the ground despite her despaired yelp. He shook her once and brought her closer, silencing her with the venomously narrowed set of optics he produced. She silenced herself with a hiccup and Solas knitted his optic ridges. She was obviously suffering, so what had the Decepticon deputy have in processor for the young one? A job as a new soldier? Some service fembot? A worker for the smelting pits? A capsule for reproducing the next generation of Decepticons?

The second in command suddenly broke into a evil grin and lecherously studied the fembot he gripped in his clawed servo. Her sobbing had stopped, but Solas saw her tears as they beaded continuously down her slim cheekplates. He could see even from where he stood that she was shaking, trembling in small waves as she seemed trapped and petrified by the larger mech. When Starscream had finished his observation of the fembot, he snatched her closer and forced his body against her own in a public show of dominance. Solas jumped and nearly snapped his staff in half. The silver mech harshly pressed his faceplates to Arsenis', crushing their lip plates together. Solas' vents seized and he could only watch as the fembot beat against Starscream in a desperate but futile attempt at freeing herself from his prying grip and protruding kiss.

It was only a few nanoclicks before he pulled away, but when he did, he tossed Arsenis to a red, black, and blue Seeker mech. "Take Arsenis to my personal quarters. And Thundercracker?" the Seeker paused in reaching for the purple fembot, "She's mine. Don't even process using her for your own personal needs." Starscream smiled again and Arsenis cowered at the sight, collapsing into a heap of sobbing, sorrowful sadness. She crawled towards her mech again, but when her digits touched his armor, she was grabbed by Thundercracker, who threw her over his shoulderbolt.

Starscream didn't want a worker. Or a soldier. Or a creator. He wanted a personal lotta.

Solas felt his kneebolts weaken when he tore his optics from the frantic fembot and back to the lifeless figures let to rust on the ground. Starscream swung around and looked down at them himself, pulling up a corner of his lip plates in disgust. "Thrust and Ramjet, dispose of these traitorous bodies. Their beginning to cause a mess." Solas' mandible dropped.

"But where do we put 'em?" Ramjet, a black and rusty-red mech tapped the front of his ped at one of the bodies, as if they may rise up and attack him. Starscream threw up his servo, waving them off dismissively. "The smelting pits. They can be used for spare parts." the flier mech turned away and started for the side building of the main structure, not casting a single look behind him or wearing a flicker of regret. He seemed almost...proud.

Solas swallowed and snapped his mandible shut, swinging his view away so he wouldn't see the Seekers picking up those limp forms and tossing them in the distant pools of melted metals and ore. Was this some kind of example for the rest of Megatron's faction? Sol was horrified by the display his commanding officers had displayed, and he found he could barely contain the contents of his tanks. How did Starscream look so calm around the brutal killing? Had he really such a sick processor?

Solas shuttered his optics and found he couldn't displace the view of those mechs' optics as they each showed their own emotions: Fear, defiance, hopelessness, determination, and disbelief. And looking back on it now, he could recall that only one of those mechs had the all-so-hated Autobot-blue optics. The others had all been stark white. The black soldier opened his optic slips again and stared off into the space of his slowly dying planet.

The Decepticons had killed Neutrals.

Solas opened his optics and found himself standing straight up, his frame heavy with what he knew couldn't be fatigue. He felt a dull sense of hatred in his processor, and a distant regret that he hadn't done anything to help those who could've very well of been innocent beings. he'd just stood back and watched them die. One by one. Deadsparked. And Arsenis had been taken as a lotta to Starscream. Primus knew what could have happened to her.

Without a warning, a servo sat on his shoulderbolt, startling him. Solas jumped and looked to the holder, only to find Hawktail watching him carefully. "You're done. Although, I hope you'll tell me what exactly what happened to you?" his servo slipped off of Sol's shoulderbolt and he stepped back to start cleaning up around the workspace. "You weren't responsive for a joor." a concerned edge overtook his smooth features as he glanced back at the seemingly dazed mech. Solas brought up one corner of his lip plates in a sad half grin before he gazed down, lifting his arms to study the new silver plating there.

"Just dreaming." he stated simply.

Oh no, Fera has got it bad...

And our dear Solas Kaon?

Now you know why he's so protective and shielded people.

Oh, and he's been through worse. You'll see.

Stuff just got real.

*Chapter inspiration Chasing Pavement= Adele*