"I love the cold!"

Said no one ever -_-

Sure the snow's pretty,

Until it gets in your shoes and soaks your socks.

Besides my personal winter whining,

Thanks everyone for coming again, or if you're just getting here,

Welcome! :D

I hope I can hook you guys for a little while longer before you get bored on me :)

Patience is virtue.

Enjoy!

Of The Spark And Heart

Part 2

Chapter 54

"You see, in the Beginning, thirteen of my kind were created and placed upon this new world of which Primus so graciously granted us, with nothing but ourselves and the land beneath our peds as solace."

It sunk deep into her, this power, swimming and soaking in her presence. It orbited her aura in avid contentment. Where she moved, it did as well. There was no escaping it now, for it latched onto her, clawing its way around her with gnashing jowls. Hurriedly it attached itself, drowning her with suffocating influences too large for this minuscule world. And yet it stayed. It almost depended on her very survival, for it trailed her every movement as her personal shadow. It grew while she withered. As if she fed it. As if it were her own personal parasite.

Fera felt herself floating; loose and numb to whatever held her before. She was free now, more so than ever, when all she knew previously had been gone. Perhaps she should have been frightened at this, seeing as everything and anything had been all she'd known for so long since the Beginning. The Voice, along with its components, had been a lie fortified with the stark desperation she'd developed for a sense of peace - of belonging. She'd vied for such a feeling, knowing that with it, there would no longer be fear. Pain would leave her forever, never to again return with anything such as anxiety, or sadness, or anger, or doubt, or death. It would all leave when she became whole. Not until the Collapse had she finally taken her own route from the Voice.

She had a body now, marbled and pale and naked, but there nonetheless. It was hers. It was something she could, and did, solidly believe or depend on when she felt her consciousness slipping. The chaotic peace she favored was so lividly wonderful here. All this time, as she had become prisoner to nothingness and terrified of the form of which she didn't have, she'd never known or imagined that all her suffering could end if she was in corporeal form. This boundary of which held her essence in check gave her such security...she often times found herself wondering why she hadn't thought of doing this before. It hadn't the freedom of the mist, but it was complete.

The Voice. It was here. It had remained, loyal as it ever was, cherishing her languidness while she found another part of herself that it could never have helped her find. In this body, the Voice hadn't influence over her as it had before. It too had been kept from reaching her essence, as the worlds had, when this barrier of flesh had seemingly created from the air itself. It was always nearby, though she no longer needed it, with its loving gaze trailing her movement and warming her frigid slumber. She found herself glad for this fact that it failed to almost crush her every time it approached. For now it remained solely as her only grip on the worlds which had become so unstable and confusing.

Flashes of herself came in random intervals throughout her experience, floating amongst the white. They were brief - a mere gasp of recollection before being scattered to the stellar cosmos again. Though it grieved her to be unable to hold onto these fleeting moments of herself, she held back her sadness in sake of this lovely peace. It was her safe haven now, and she wanted it to remain that way for eternity over. These anchors of an older life pierced her soul mercilessly with images of before there was where, or what, she knew now. If she waited long enough, keeping her calm in the turbulent winds, that grief would pass and so would its memory, leaving her to the mercy of the drift again.

Everything and anything was a face, she knew that now. It was nothing more than a bed for which she could lay upon in her need of rest. It could be replaced by the floor, or the walls, or the ceiling even if she so wished. The Voice offered her what she needed, but rarely what she asked. So, it too seemed an unreasonable attachment to her entity while she floated. The Voice would stay here no matter if it was necessary or not, for without it, she would have no consciousness for company. Her body had been cursed in its creation with the consciousness and emotions, thus saw fit that there be one celestial guardian that she may refer to in her times of boredom. At this time, they told a story of unfamiliarity with her, one which too sounded unnecessary so far. But again, as Fera had come to realize, Nothing here was for a reason. As it always would be.

"And as such, we were assigned a single task in gratitude for his gift to us: to bring a part of ourselves into creation of this budding utopia," the Voice would go on, fond of these obscure memories. In moments such as this, Fera felt almost envious of her company, for they had the ability to keep their memories, when she could not. She merely had the cubes, which bared but snippets of a life she felt wasn't hers. "Not only had we received a world for our dedications to our Creator, but talents as well. Each of us, the Original Thirteen, provided a specific piece to the grandeur of the developing Cybertron. I, with the control of time and space, while my brothers and sister took it into themselves to bring forth other attributes, such as creation, destruction, knowledge, and so henceforth."

"Why are you telling me this?" Fera's eyes opened, revealing such vibrant color that the darkness exploded and shrunk away from them. They pulsed with unbridled energy, rivaling even the worlds revolving around her in brilliance. Her now free, unrestricted body wound around, towards what she figured as the center of Voice. It was everywhere around her, and yet she felt as though this point was of the most significant central point. The Voice ignored her inquiry and moved on, apart of themselves shifting and sending ripples along the marbled surface of Fera's conscious as the only evidence they had been there.

They stopped and Fera's eyes flickered a fiery cobalt ice while she tracked her peer with practiced ease. "Solus Prime, my sole sister, as well as the inspiration for your Guardian's designation, was the holder of Creation," they went on with a mighty, noble rumble. "She, along with myself and our siblings, acknowledged our duty as the Providers of the planet on which we had stood, and thus sacrificed a sliver of our sparks for the existence of our Tools Of Life. It was a part of ourselves that we would forevermore yearn for, however that surrender of our very beings was necessary for Cybertron's creation. They are considered artifact now, and many no longer exist. However, Solus Prime constructed Tools, along with one of her own, of which many refer to as the Forge."

"And you? What had you offered to this creation?" Fera asked offhandedly, moving forward to reach out and touch Voice without such fear as it held before. Without this body, Fera had existed in constant uncertainty towards the Voice's contact. She now longed for it, curious as to find what it was this being felt like beneath the tips of her fleshy digits. The Voice shifted again however, mere inches from her outstretched hand.

"I myself fabricated the Galvanizer. Both of these Tools of Life, the Forge and my Galvanizer, were meant as the base creators for life on the planet, and had successfully served as much. She created, and I provided. Alchemist Prime and Micronus Prime assisted us of course during this process. And so it was here that the first few beginnings of the Cybertronian existence in this universe started."

A feeling of pure energy abruptly focused at a single point on Fera's chest. It sizzled to life and swarmed with buzzing, hyper light brighter than that of even Fera's own. Incomparable flags of radiating warmth ran along the lengths of her body, racing along the lines of her nerves with liquid lightning before stopping right at the hollow of her throat. When she reached up, she felt a warm, living creation attached around her neck by a thin metal chain. Its sharp faces and deep, void-like core circling inside beat ever so often, light pounding very much similar to a pulse. Immediately, and without needing being told, she knew what this object was.

"Each Stone of Primus, as we ironically named our missing halves, powered our Tools. Through time, we developed the Cybertronian race, as uniform creators looking over our creations, always watching, but rarely intervening. We needn't have reason to except subtly guild this expanding colony while they learned and grew in their own ways," the Voice accounted softly, its words gentle. Fera almost caught herself envisioning this said beginning of Cybertron, finding that the Voice's overwhelming power could still breach her flesh when it drew such confounding tales. So it was impossible for her to miss the cold plummet of contentment in the Voice when it spoke again. "It was evidently clear to each of us however, as civilization continued, that we were never to become equal to our followers. Instead, we were destined to rule over them as said prophets between their mortality and Primus' will. We entitled ourselves as 'Primes' and took it upon ourselves to enlighten and serve our progeny. We were seen as gods walking among them. We were idolized. Some, more than others, however I was never one for the spotlight, as you could say."

"You are a Prime," Fera breathed, ignorant to her wavering grip on this reality. Optimus' image arose in her mind, and she lightly swept it deeper inside her core, locking it away for safety if his memory were to fail her, as all her previous ones had. It was a single, whole memory in this universe of folly. Tricks and lies tainted these walls. Even the company she so desired beside her, bore a title of trickery at the speak of its name.

Again Voice came within distance, ever tantalizingly near for her to go for. She tried, and failed contact, and so became frustrated with the never ending cycle of events. It ceased to come to a close, this silly game. Why had it so mockingly avoided her every try? Why would it slide near, only to dart away at the slightest twitch of her fingers? Voice quivered and materialized into barely any general shape, taking that of a figure close in height to her own. As it spoke, it gained a more seeable set of features. Or what could be considered as such anyways.

"They strayed more and more as time waned," the Voice murmured, so close now that Fera could feel its words on her neck. Nonetheless, she stayed still, determined to keep her dignity rather than chase this spirit. "And we hadn't been stricken with wonder, as most we knew would eventually. While our brethren slowly departed, it remained those that continued in our steps that we chose as our heirs would carry our future mantle. In my seeming 'demise', as I can never truly be killed, I was transferred into a mechanism that dwelled within the core of the Iacon Hall of Records, deemed 'Vector Sigma'." now they retained a body of metallic, white, violet, and golden armored plates, with silver layers shining as frozen liquid that gleamed in the lowest of lights serving as a sort of 'skin', and other various materials making up their exposed inner parts in a symphony of ingenious harmony.

Since their glow masked any chance of completely gaining a sense of what it was the Voice appeared as, Fera struggled to understand their sculpted face, swooping cheeks, and deep-set, intensely white eyes. With this more physical arrangement, the Voice's influence would dramatically decline. It cleared Fera's mind, leaving her curiosity to roar as crashing waves in her ears in place of the dwindling pressure. The Voice's very presence was humming with life, lightened by the thrumming vibrations they emitted. She came near as she dared, unwilling to yet lose this opportunity of seeing her comrade truly for the first time.

"I would remain in this state until this secondly developed quota of mine was again destroyed in the Second Great War, which as you know, continues to this day."

"How did the Stone come to me?" she wondered, entranced by the constant changing color of this ancient Prime's eyes. They went from white to blue, blue to green, green to purple, and purple to red. Then it all began again.

"It traveled here, along with the other artifacts thrust heavenward by Alpha Trion and our Autobot brethren amongst the stars to keep protected from our more lost creations. It had nothing to do with genetic coding or biological anomalies that it came to you though, my Wanderer." Suddenly, the whiteness in Fera's mind grew into a mixing artwork of purples, navy, and specks of gold. Immense expanses of space and flowing smoke leisurely swirled or moved about as gorgeous and breathtaking views. Outer space reveled in its beauty when it revealed to her the clouds of gold and the shining, blinding stars of red, yellow, and pearl.

Fera's attention went from the Prime to her vision of space. Floating, stranded without a hold on solidity, she felt as though she were truly there. Her breathing left her in her amazement at the walls of stars endlessly decorating the glassy skies.

"But why me?" she murmured in awe.

"Because I chose you," the Prime whispered at her ear. When Fera turned, illuminated softly by the luminescence of the distant galaxies and yellow star, she found the Prime standing where he had been before, never having of moved.

"I have been watching you for some time now Fera, and your predecessors as well," he claimed. The Prime instead moved forward to place a gentle hand on her upper arm. Fera trembled in the raw power radiating from this being small touch. A new world shone in his eyes, telling of a metal planet, ravaged and bleeding, with thirteen various comets launching from its surface. They traveled far and wide, randomly picking direction to come to. It so happened that one chose the same direction as Earth's coordinates.

The Prime retreated slightly. "For some time I have known it would come down to you and your decision," he spoke not what this decision was, but he allowed no time for Fera to question it. "One that would tip the balance and grant the power to one side of our spawn that only you could understand and see clearly enough to chose between. Optimus Prime has carried on our legacy and shall continue it, however you, though not even Cybertronian, have been given one of our greatest tasks to accomplish."

"What...is my task?"

"Peace," they responded quietly, smiling. "Peace for all our progeny and the chance for new beginnings on the planet Earth. Your task, and solitary mission, is for to ensure this peace becomes through use of my Tool," he said, gesturing at the Stone at Fera's neck. Unconsciously, she reached for it and took it in her grasp as if it were nothing short of precious. And as of now, it was.

"Take my name and use it as plea to activate it and bring down this one lasting malice toward my descendants. It may only be of use once in its greatest hour, though I am aware you wish to bring forth those few progeny of ours from within the Matrix."

Fera shook her head, its insides cramming and wailing with the amount of information being given to her at one time. This task was a wide one, and one she was unsure she could handle. Where was she to start? To act?

"I will allow them return, so long as this Tool of Provision may be marked as the end of the Tool of Destruction. It is now your time, use it wisely."

"But I-"

"Use it, Wanderer."

"I do not even know your name," she breathed. Fear built within her, as she realized her time with this incredible entity was drawing to a close. She felt it in her very bones, and relented it ever so much. She need the Voice, drawing her on and urging she live past a forever nothing. But now he was to leave her behind, and to something with far more questions and holes than answers.

"I am Vector Prime," he told her simply, a voice so sad and noble it broke Fera's core further than it already was. She nodded and held back her tears, instead reaching with her hand faced outward. Vector Prime did the same, laying his metallic fingers on her own so their digits matched and their palms press flat against each other. Her smile was strong, as was his. She knew he was aware that she was to grieve his departure, and yet, she knew it was for the better.

Vector Prime was not her own to control, but for the sake of Time and Space. He would certainly be missed throughout Fera's time. There was no instance for goodbye, nor did Fera believe she could handle it if there may have been chance to. Outspoken words of departure would set everything into permanent place. They could not express the mass emotion she felt at this instance. With a single dip of the head, he said everything that was needed for her to accept.

And then he was gone.

Sharp, soaring shadows attacked the blacktop, itself covered in a morose shade of grey. Puddles decorated the surface every so often, framed with the remnants of slush that had once been a beautiful blanket of virgin, white glory. Chilled drafts carried along stark iron gates, those running alongside the slick pavement, and stole the warmth and life of the dreary winter's day with each whisk of its icy snares. Damp clouds floated heavily in the skies, pregnant with frozen flakes of liquid and refusing to allow the sun a glimpse of freedom to spread its rays.

Roars echoed in the hills, which became dotted in patterns of distant buildings tall enough to breach the wall of ominous fog settling upon those below. The air itself seemed tinted in melancholy and lethargic gloom. Figures could be seen in the smoke if one was not sharp. It was difficult to stay alert in the overhanging dim, as it placed a distance in the consciousness that muddled the senses to the point of distraction or fatigue. Currently, this was the most dangerous of the seasons these beings flashing below the deathly grey had yet to of experienced.

Their treads of these nine or sum vehicular creatures raced along at still psychotic speeds in the condition of this volley of snow and treacherous sheets of glass-like ice. Each split the fog as a flying knife, however the hollow they left flooded back inward before their peers may follow behind them. To the species of the planet, they would appear to be mere blurs on the wind. Though, they considered these speeds quite leisured compared to their usual traveling.

Distinctively, they appeared luxurious and appealing to the beholder against this specific area's otherwise woodland character. Guttural snarls of engines tamed with living reins both startled and amazed, as each body of the passing smudges of color remain highly valued, if the appearance of frames slick as the ice they nearly glided upon were appealed high enough.

Leading these marvelous beauties of technology was a Ferrari Spyder, black as onyx, slitting through the buffeting, ice chip-filled winds as if they ceased to be a bother at all. They appeared to be the leader, as they constantly stayed ahead of the tight formation. With every action they made, a rippling reaction would settle upon those following.

Trailing behind appeared a bulkier Mitsubishi J59, equipped with a quite impressive looking cannon mounted on its back shoulder. In its seat was a middle-aged soldier, with a green cap and a tanned face. A content smile was plastered permanently on the holoform no matter if its host was upset or not.

On its side, a loyal golden Camaro with black racing strips swerved playfully along in the contours of the mush, making patterns as it went sliding along with its comrades. Its wheels squealed along, slipping and then recovering within the same sparkbeat. Clumps of brown, dirtied ice had stuck to its frame, however it paid that fact no mind while it played. Cheerful chirps escaped it ever so often, placing a lighter feel on the atmosphere surrounding the cars. At one moment it shook in laughter, the cab bouncing on its wheels happily.

Tucked in the rear of these vehicles, a lithe Ferrari 485 Italia shot as a crimson blaze against the colorless shade of the snows as a streak of high-speeding blood. Underneath its hood was a being as dangerous as its surface appeared. It was an interesting thing, as it looked to be the calmer of the gathered vehicles.

To the rear left of it rolled a boxy, vivid yellow-green Hummer H2O ambulance, fully equipped with flashing lights so to aid his peers in moving along at a smoother pace. They needed whatever time they could possibly manage. As if the roads were not empty enough as it was from the small blizzard, any stray vehicles crawled aside in just enough time to not be sidelined by these demons of the streets.

And at the rear of the group, taring at his back bumper would be a throaty Boss 302 Mustang, raven paint shining along with the lines of scarlet along his body. In these speeds, those stripes appeared almost as wings on his flanks. An angry and almost intimidating air surrounded him wherever he may travel, causing most to unconsciously bow a wide arch around him when they passed, humans included.

A striking Charger SRT8 painted in shades of yellows, orange, and red rumbled after. This model maybe outdated, however, in the time of its holder's arrival, the make had been fairly recent. It was the brightest, yet melancholy figure to of graced their ranks. He had not said a word, comlink or otherwise, and stayed valiantly at the end of the group despite being deemed the leader of the mission.

~You would figure Optimus might have sent others with us to make up for Sides and Sunny,~ Bumblebee commented casually over their comlink system as he snapped his tires to the side, spraying Hound with partially melted snow.

The green Guardian gave a graveled laugh and jerked his aft, sending even more slush flying with his wider, heavier tires. Bee was covered in water and ice, his wipers acting furiously to rid the windshield of debris. When he kicked more at Hound, the truck expertly avoided the onslaught, thus reversing the move and covering Bee once more in winter smutch. And unfortunately, Ratchet was in the line of fire, having been driving a good five feet away.

~You would figure a fully upgraded mech would know how to control himself on a mission,~ the medic retorted back hotly, quickly starting up his windshield wipers as the holographic driver in his cabin frowned deeply. ~It is no wonder Optimus brought Prowl with him to Russia instead of you.~

~I can handle myself just fine around humans!~ the scout claimed in offense. ~Prowl will fritz when he gets into a congressional meeting with a hundred or so political humans.~

~When had you ever been in a congressional meeting, youngling?~ Hound chuckled.

~Plenty of times! Sam and I always went to them.~

~You're not helping yourself, Bee,~ Solas Kaon input, causing most the others to laugh softly. Bumblebee huffed and skidded his back tires, aiming for Sol, but instead hitting Mirage. The Ferrari hissed and jolted from side to side roughly. Already sheets of small flakes covered his frame as the incredibly cold water froze over in his speed.

~Primus Bee, watch where you fling that slag,~ he growled in indignation. The spy revved his engines to remove the excess fluid turning to ice in his grill.

~Sorry, Mirage...~ Bee murmured, his vehicle mode crawling away from the Ferrari in case the mech decided to get violent. Of course he wouldn't however, that wasn't how Mirage was. But, there had been a serious ware on every 'Bot's processor, meaning the most sane could have snapped in the shutter of an optic at any moment.

The fierce automobile leading them at the head of the travelers honked loudly in an attempt to gain the attention of her comrades, piercing the veil of fog and causing the others to go silent.

~Bumblebee, cease your playing. This is a serious mission for us all and it is imperative that we remain alert,~ she scolded, slowing her speed ever so slightly. The Camaro did the same, maybe feeling a sense of shame. His light attitude faded, as did his drawing in the snows as they drove. Solas held himself back from experiencing a slight sadness from his lack of designing any longer.

~And everyone else, I cannot stress enough the fact that we must keep our communication to a bare minimum, for the frequency can be detected,~ the comlink went dead faster than the snow fell from Ratchet's windshield. ~It is paramount we reach the checkpoint before our adversaries and retrieve the target.~

~And if we fail?~ Rodimus challenged, speaking up for the first time since the mission had began. All words failed to pass through the comlink and every being on the road turned their attentions to the Spyder gliding in an almost ghostly fashion across the blacktop.

Stratis did not answer.

Solas took it upon himself to entertain his processor while this silence stretched between them. It was far too dangerous to allow himself to drift, in fear he would think on darker, lesser desirable things. Instead, he focused on the task before them.

Traveling to this point put them far past the halfway mark required in their journey, which was approximately two hundred and forty-six miles from Roosevelt Island in Washington to Yonkers, New York in total. The area of interest was located close to civilization, just off the coast of the Hudson river. It was an extremely complicated mission for them to overcome, seeing as their disguise to the human populace remained in highest priority. The Decepticons however would not attempt to hide themselves quite as determinedly.

Thus was one more reason to have the Autobots arrive before their enemy did.

And so perhaps having Sideswipe and Sunstreaker stay behind in Washington may have been a beneficial choice, seeing as they were moving at quite a speed to reach their destination. They were making well time, seeing as their four-hour trek had now turned into less than two. Those twins would have shred rubber, leaving any and all in the dust in their wake. The only reason they could have been chosen to come was because of their impressive teamwork skills.

"Deal with them."

Stark quiet gripped the area with such a vice hold that not a 'Bot dare vent. Not even the humans, who had all suddenly instinctively shifted away from the enraged mech, made a single noise. A lone male soldier in the doorway took one look at the intense group and backed right back out of the room, an unsigned document clutched in his hands.

Two twins, golden and crimson, sit dented, scratched, and badly beaten on the unforgiving floor before the peds of their mighty leader. If Solas hadn't been a witness and punisher himself, he would have been convinced these two were attacked by Decepticons. Crossing his arms, he stood menacingly behind his prisoners with his left optics still doused severely in red. Heat boiled off his frame in distorting waves though bitter, biting winter wind howled from the open lobby gate.

Optimus seemed to get over his shock faster than any other being, and so he shifted forward, leaning down to observe the two concernedly. Solas almost growled at the show of sympathy for the hellions.

"What happened to them?" the Prime inquired, lifting his helm to Sol with genuine confusion marring his blue gaze. The Guardian snarled, tightening his grip on his arms so not to lash out at the twins. Again.

"They were fighting," he answered heatedly in their natural language. "For a mere trinket, they nearly killed each other, and destroyed the depositor."
Optimus' optics widened at the mention of the machine's demise, and suddenly his worried, gentle gaze turned hard and icy. He rose, tall and straight again beside his equally as cold mate.

This mech was not one to frequently become the commander he was so expected to be. A harshness in him lacked with most, if not all, conversations between himself and his comrades. However, it some occasions, as it seemed now, the time of his amiable behavior was placed aside in the sake of duty. He turned his suddenly authoritative optics on those still seated in front of him.

"Explain yourselves," he commanded evenly.

Both twins visibly flinched, neither able to discourage the piercing gaze their leader set upon them. When angered, Optimus was formidable. He was indeed frightening, his optics a blazing flame of azure blue, his pipes vomiting smoke, and his naturally gentle features hard as the alloy of his armor. That forn of himself was officially saved for the battlefield. However, on occasions such as this, there were exceptions. The humans seemed alarmed as they saw a mech, who they thought of as a 'gentle giant', turn censorious.

Rethalia walked up beside her mate to add to his glaring, which increased the feelings of tensity tenfold. Her optics, unlike said mate's, were more telling of her rank as co-commander. They were orbs of pure nobility, marked with the glistening sign of rising irritation. They made any spark tremble when they flashed in battle, and as she set them on the mechs now on their kneebolts, they turned rigid. She was not going to help them now.

"Our nannia..." Sunstreaker piped up finally, bravely speaking for himself and his brother. "She made me a trinket long ago during our early younglinghood..."

Those stationed in the room were now at full attention, settling burning pairs of optics and eyes on the embarrassed twins. Humans leaned over the rails, craning their necks expectantly. One dipped next to a peer beside them, whispering in their ear questioningly. Epps frowned in displeasure deep as Optimus, having been here well long enough to know when one of the 'Bots was in trouble. Bumblebee seemed curious as a cyberling naturally was, standing straight to better watch the events before him with wide, anxious optics.

Mirage didn't appear interested in much of it, his vague attention masked by the way he paid more interest in the blades of his bracers than the drama unfolding mid-floor. Stratis, of course, remained vigilantly unreadable.

"Sunstreaker got it out to clean and I wanted to see it, since she never made me one," Sideswipe continued with his brother, nudging his shoulderbolt. The golden mech nodded and pressed his lip plates into a line, bowing underneath the crushing weight of his leaders' optics still boring into his prone frame. Solas rose a corner of his lip plate, nearly growling at them as they looked increasingly uncomfortable. It served them right.

Solas' spark was still pounding from his skirmish with the two perched at his peds. For a split nanoclick he considered kicking them both in the helm, as Ratchet had yet failed to strike them both with a wrench. Though, from looking at the medic, he wasn't far from it. However he stopped himself as Hound stepped up, placing a servo on his arm and practically forcibly dragging him back a few yards.

"Ya need ta cool yerself Sol, yer smokin' at thuh audios," he murmured. Solas huffed and tightened his arms around his chassis, unable to help but scowl with his dark mood.

Sideswipe shifted to get on his peds, Sunstreaker following behind. "Long story short, I accidentally broke it," the red twin said pointedly, looking to his sibling as he spoke. Sunstreaker grumbled unintelligibly and Solas nearly dropped him then and there.

Hound took this chance to dig his surprisingly strong, blunt digits into Solas' armor and literally drag him around toward the door of the room. Solas was helpless to appose, finding his shorter and much stockier comrade shockingly strong enough to, with a flick of his wrist, fling Sol before the door in the way of the merciless, gusting wind.

"Now I'm not lettin' ya leave this spot till you've cooled tha' helm ah yers."

Solas' mandible dropped, mostly stunned that such a calm mech would result to hauling a comrade where he wanted him. Though Solas grew irritated faster than a spark could beat, his silver faceplates twisting and the scars on his lip plate and cheekplate curling, he could not deny that the intense chill of the breeze helped to clear his processor.

"We fought," Sunstreaker admitted, bringing Sol's attention back.

"Badly," Sideswipe added in.

This seemed an understatement from the extent of their wounds inflicted on one another. These brothers were vicious, even to their own iron and energon. Ratchet could be seen off in the corner, steaming in his own right, staring down the two he would have to be fixing soon because of their pestering squabbling. That would not be a fun task for any 'Bot. Solas could see in now, the twins sitting on a berth, covered in temp plating, being beaten senseless by an irate CMO. The thought picked up his attitude a bit.

"And the depositor was of among the entrails of your belligerence?" Optimus questioned coolly. The brothers nodded in unison.

"You two are to assist Greenlight and Wheeljack in fixing the machine," the Prime abruptly decided, astonishing all who understood Cybertronian. Solas' anger and resentment brutally dropped, leaving him numb and in awe. The others, including the twins, stared at their Primes. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe appeared to of visibly sagged at the order.

"But the mission-"

"Will be carried out by the remaining recovery team" he interrupted the red mech. Sideswipe ducked under Optimus' hard words, and his brother looked off to the ground, his expression frustrated.

"What about the Decepticons?" Sideswipe insisted, apparently daring enough as to further question his commanding officer. "They can't handle an entire patrol by themselves."

"Well perhaps wisdom of this fact prior to your mutilation of one another may have helped your situation," Rethalia said before her mate could respond.
Solas couldn't have said anything better himself. His processor twitched with the energy of his fading anger, his processes stabilizing. He caught himself drifting off from the conversation, finding other things that grabbed his distant attention.

This distraction brought him to the condition of his spark, which was pulsing in a raw, black hole. Deep within him the bond remain idle, ever still, and ever so unresponsive. Swiftly he snapped himself away from it, almost painfully, if only to slap reality back into his conscious.

Who was he to judge the twins on their ability to travel to New York when he himself was deteriorating by the click?

A rough wind collided into him from behind and sent a wave of cold straight down to his protoform. Energon turned to ice and instead of having his armor near melting from his frame, Solas found himself shivering against the frigidness. His unprotected systems had grown accustomed to the far warmer climate of Earth and weren't especially prepared anymore for the striking lower temperatures it could release as well.

"I'm assigning you both to patrol indefinitely. Until the depositor is repaired, there is to be not a ped off this base, compute?" Optimus prompted, his arms now crossed. Rethalia nodded, her features venomous.

"And I myself will see to it that you follow these orders as Optimus is absent," she promised. "Greenlight and Wheeljack shall report to me, overseeing that you spend at least four joors each Earth day to fix what you have broken."

"Four?!" Sideswipe blurted. Rethalia's optics narrowed in warning. Sunstreaker nudged his sibling, effectively muting the mech before he got them into further trouble.

"Seems abou' tahm these young'uns got disciplined. Ah dun know abou' you Sol, but ah think tha mission'll be faster without 'em," Hound commented from next to Sol. The Guardian flinched, missing the presence of his comrade. The green scout huffed and waved a servo, his chuckling thick and laden with his Earth-born accent.

His attention turned to Mirage. "Ah guess it's up ta us ta see to tha 'Cons now, huh amigo?"

Mirage snorted, flipping his blades back into his bracers. "It will be harder, without them," he noted, slinging his arms over his waist as he leaned further back against the wall. Hound laughed again, more confidently. His volume grabbed the attention of nearly everyone around him.

"Pit, it'll be fun!"

And Solas had been so caught up with his own peers' actions that he hadn't taken the care to notice what the humans around them may have been thinking. Hound so far was the only one to of been speaking English, excluding Mirage, and by the looks on each of their fleshy faces, they were hopelessly lost. Epps even appeared helpless, his dark features screwed up as he stared openly at his much larger allies.

"Did I...miss something?"

~Solas Kaon!~

The frame of the Mustang jolted, swerving violently on the slick roads. He nearly rammed into oncoming traffic, barely scrapping by on his quick instincts. The sound of a loud horn blared in his audios before just as quickly dying off into the far distance.

The mech who had called him, the agitated CMO Ratchet, was driving beside him. At some point Solas must have fallen behind in formation, for he lost his place as the middle of the group to moving to take the aft. The chartreuse-colored vehicle speeding next to him jerked as well when he had jumped, almost hitting the cliff face when he dodged. His holodriver flickered and went into a default mode in his slight panic.

~I have been you for a near breem, what has you distracted as you are?~ the medic demanded irritably.

Where was that thumping coming from?

~Nothing, Ratchet. Nothing,~ the crimson and black mech assured as he settled himself more calmly on the designated path. There it was again.

It was a deep, hollow sound. It didn't hurt, and in fact, he couldn't feel a thing. It only pounded at certain times, such as when Solas turned his wheels ever so much... There it was!

Growing annoyed, Solas dropped his thoughts and started up his a personal maintenance scan to check for the source of the disturbance. For a click he figured it to only be his overly stressed processor playing crude jokes on him. However, the more he heard the nuisance, the more it bothered him.

As a sudden possibility came up to him his pulse stopped and he scrambled for his electrovascular system. His spark appeared fine, and the report was clean. Nonetheless something didn't feel right...

~Could it be the obstruction in your aft that is bothering you?~ Ratchet inquired, shattering Solas' concentration.

The mech's engine roared, his wheels squealing as he hit a specially slippery patch. ~Obstruction...?~ his voice trailed through the comlink, quieting as the information sunk in. Suddenly he knew. ~Frag!~

Ratchet's holodriver looked out his window, staring at Solas emotionlessly as they drove side by side. ~Solas-?~

~Fera's violin,~ Solas droned simply, the dawning realization making him sink low on his wheels. ~I had retrieved it for Sarah, however I figure I must have forgotten about it before we left base.~

~You are aware that you cannot reform with such a device,~ the medic stated in his all too familiar, know-it-all way.

Solas felt his spark detach with the words of the mech. They were true, meaning Solas would be trapped in his alternate form until the violin was removed. Either that, or destroy it when he transformed. No matter what however, he wouldn't abandon it. It didn't seem right to simply leave it behind.

~I know...~ his frame rattled with a weary sigh. ~But I will have to make do.~ There wasn't any chance he was leaving this instrument behind. The songs Fera had played on the object crossed his memory core, caressing his audios though there wasn't a body playing it. Each note picked up clarity the longer they sounded, digging deep into his bond to the point of pain. Nonetheless he continued the tune. It was almost a pleasant pain. A softer song, one from his scarred spark, drifted gently in to play with Fera's own. A spark song.

~I would think quickly Solas...~ Ratchet warned, dimming Solas' confused and awestruck musings for a moment. A large shadow passed over the group. ~We're here.~

Flashes of color raced by. Into the covering of darkness they sailed, and further into territory which was treacherous to them, though they seemed not to realize so. It was a shame to see whom were believed as intelligent creatures so easily falling prey to what awaited them. Such ignorance. It was sad.

The speed of these vehicles ruffled the treeline and caused the thick limbs to sway. Tufts of snow fell and silently plopped onto the hard, cold surface. Movement ducked away from the frozen liquid, hissing quietly in distaste. A disgusting planet this was, certainly, joining those insignificant pests who dwelled on it. As soon as this ball of rock was in proper control, as it soon would be, certain things, major things, would be changed.

Two bright, incredibly red orbs came into view from the yawning expanse of blackness underneath the shade of these trees. They shifted and narrowed, following; observing; watching. They seemed so out of place in an area of such greenery. And once again a breeze attacked their spot, exposing a lean, ashen grey body.

~They are coming.~

No, it's not another Fabial, I promise you that :)

How 'bout our poor Fera, though?

How is she ever going to get out of this?!

You'll just have to see ;)

By the way, I think I am officially obsessed with my computer.

I probably check this thing probably ten times a day and write on it for at least an hour.

But I love this story, and I love you guys!

Can't help it! :D

*Chapter Inspiration: Ready Aim Fire=Imagine Dragons*