Another week, another chapter :D

Had a few tests this week in school, so that was exciting...

I never knew that shooting a cannonball would require the fragging quadratic equation...

Anywho,

I do believe that the plot is thickening a bit!

a little drama here, a dash of action there, add some romance into the mix...

And you have OTSH :)

Thank you all for coming back, and I hope to here from you all!

Enjoy!

Of The Spark And Heart

Part 2

Chapter 56

The pure stupidity behind basically each action performed by this mech was becoming near ridiculous. Stabbed, slashed, burned, beaten, and brutalized, the Guardian had gained the proper title as the most reckless of them all. Even now as he sit, floating through a senseless nothing, he fought. Perhaps it was reckless of him - reckless that he would still continue though there wasn't a thing left fighting for. What point was there returning to a world that held nothing for him but the reckless persecution of hope?

He'd felt her slip away. It would have happened eventually, he knew, for it was inevitable. But she didn't go peacefully, as he'd prayed she may some time, far later in her life where she hadn't the motivation in her to hold on. Instead she'd been ripped from him, so suddenly. To imagine it sent a piercing stake through his spark more agonizing than anything before. He hadn't considered growing close to the girl. At one point he'd actually dreaded her presence. It caused him only trouble and danger, which he had specifically tried avoiding upon entering this war. And apparently sanity had not been a quality of that female, for on multiple occasions, she'd thrown caution to the wind and dived into danger far beyond her ability to control, resulting in him having to save her. Mostly from things she herself caused.

However things had changed. This female had turned into an attachment of himself. Literally. There was no escaping her following that event.

Over the months they grew closer. First a friend, then a sister. And before he would have laughed at the absolute, delusional idea of it all. Things proved to be different as of late, and he sadly failed to realize as much until it was too late. The guilt was eating away at him. Once again, he was losing a sister. What did that make that now, three?

He felt as though he'd been run through with a searing, white-hot lance. Not only had his external wounds gained in intensity, but those he bore internally caught up with him as well. His limbs screamed with heat, his helm pounding along with each beat of his spark. His chassis was crawling with sparks. It was harder to vent properly with such mugginess clogging his systems. Thoughts scrambled and energon roared in his audios. There was a ringing in his left audio that drove him insane. Even his spinal support hadn't been spared.

The blast had taken its toll. He knew that wires were snapped or seriously burned simply from turning his sensory receptors online. A scan revealed far deeper damage in fuzzy, crackled quality. Ratchet would have his helm on a stick.

But that had to of been the least of his worries at this moment. He could hear voices as he fought down his own cries building in his throat. He held his glossa between his oral sheets while he tuned in best he could. Memory files appeared disorganized at the moment, so there was no referencing there for answers of his whereabouts.

"The is no reason to be upset as you are," a feminine voice -in Cybertronian standards- picked up to his immediate left. It was nearby, making him slightly nervous when he didn't immediately recognize it. Was he captured? Instantly his fighting protocols onlined, warming in case he needed them.

"Upset? I'm way past upset," another, mechly tone snapped back. "I'm furious." Though his volume was hushed, there was a burning along its edge for whisper shouting. The fembot sighed.

"Unrightfully so," she insisted.

"It was reckless and idiotic, and shall bring us but reprimand from Optimus Prime," the mech proclaimed.

"Do not think of that now, all was may be thankful for is that we all survived." There was something about them that was familiar...

Ah, that was right. Rodimus and Stratis, two of the Autobots Solas had traveled with to Yonkers, New York in search of the energy spike Greenlight and Wheeljack had picked up. The last moment Solas had seen them had been where Stratis was beneath him, shielded against the explosion of the ship. Rodimus had been in the corner of his vision, dropping to the ground with his servos covering his helm. But where was Bumblebee, Ratchet, and Mirage? What of Punch, the pilot of the ship? Concern crawled along the lines of his energon.

"By the width of our olfactory sensor!" Rodimus' comment was so sharp that Sol winced. His drifting processor came into better focus as he used the echos of it as an anchor. Shifting, he curled his digits and toe links to test them out -and make sure they were still there at all-.

"Shush, he's waking," Stratis hissed, causing her mech counterpart to fall silent. Solas tilted his helm from side to side, daring to crack open his optic slips. The brightness assaulted them and caused him to grimace, as it only added to his cranialache. They then widened to stare up into the grey, ashen sky where he battled with himself on whether this was reality or simply another glitch-induced memory loop. The sheet of opaque smoke was only interrupted by the scraggly fingers of the naked trees, their limbs like famine creatures reaching up in prayer.

Solas lifted and arm with some difficulty, squinting against the endless clouds to shield his sights from most the blaring light. "What...what happened?" he croaked, his vocal capacitor still recovering from whatever event had come prior to his unwanted recharge.

Stratis leaned over into his line of view from where she sat next to him. When he attempted to sit up, she helped him with servos careful to avoid any of his injuries. "Arachnid set bombs in the ship. They exploded and knocked you unconscious," she explained in at a lower volume than she'd addressed Rodimus with. Solas began to sit up and grabbed his midsection as it tensed sorely. He could feel Stratis' supportive touch settled on his shoulderbolt as she patiently waited for him to regain himself. Solas could see Rodimus standing not too far away, his arms crossed and his expression far from happy.

"The others..." Sol turned his optics upon Stratis again, "are they...hurt?" he wondered concernedly. Stratis grinned and shook her helm.

"Only a few minor injuries were taken, most of them your own. We are otherwise venting and well," she reported. Solas mentally sighed in relief as the tensity lifted from his chassis. One less thing to worry about.

"I wouldn't say well..." Rodimus muttered, rolling his optics skyward. Stratis shot him a venomous glare.

"The point is," she moved on to turn her faceplates back to Solas, "that we are alive."

"What about Punch? And the Galvanizer?"

Stratis' grin fell and she gained a more serious expression on her lithe features. The gears of her mandible tightened, the expression of her faceplates becoming more like the Stratis every other Autobot knew. "The Decepticons required the Galvanizer," she relayed sullenly. Solas felt his tanks get punched from inside of him. His spark dropped into his peds, the feeling of utter, cold defeat welling as a revolting wave against his very being. His helm fell back to hit the tree trunk he sat against. Frag.

"Who is Punch?" Stratis wondered, bringing Solas from the personal pit he was about to fall into.

"An Autobot double agent. He worked in my unit during the earlier vorns of my recruitment before I became Prime," Rodimus answered, walking closer. His optics studied Sol deeply, to where the former gladiator felt they saw through him. Perhaps that was one of the traits of a Prime, or a former, he supposed. The golden and red warrior released his arms and squatted in front of Sol. "He was piloting the ship?"

Solas nodded, willing himself to sit straighter despite the discomfort it caused him. "Yes, did you find him?"

At first there was silence. Neither Stratis nor Rodimus seemed to of had the audacity to respond. Both simultaneously turned their gazes away from the prying one of Sol's. The Guardian searched them both for answers, and soon enough he could come up with his own conclusions. Nonetheless, he wished to hear it for himself. Once that was out of the way, they could move on to accepting that fact.

Rodimus' vents eventually rattled with an age far surpassing that of his. "There was no one else to be accounted for, Solas. They must have gotten him too." his voice was stricken with regret. And it was when he put the information out into the open that made it real.

The Guardian stared off, disbelieving his comrade for a moment. Punch's weight against Sol's shoulderbolt was so real as he sat here that he reached up to lightly grasp the armor, believing he would find a living, warm body hung over his. It was odd to think that this mech, that had been here seemingly clicks before, was already so far away. His shock turned to morbidity.

"He should be safe for the time being," Rodimus offered, looking between the mech and fembot with a hopeless attempt at easing the mood. "He is able to revert to Counterpunch and escape to us quite easily. Or at least he should be."

"Frag..." Solas buried his faceplates into his servo, the one wrapped around his abdominal slips biting into his protoform. "This is all my fault."

Stratis squeezed Sol's shoulderbolt and gave it a small shake. "Don't blame yourself, Solas. That was a decision none of us could have made. It was admirable of you that you may do something that I, or any other, maybe unable to bring ourselves to do."

"By having a fellow Autobot captured and possibly supplemental cargo be obtained by the Decepticons?" Solas snorted into his digits. Rodimus frowned deeply when Solas looked back up at them, his optics guarded. Disappointment was clear in the fiery mech's gaze, however there was something deeper there that had been since Solas had seen the mech return with Fera from the Decepticon base. It was something he should have gained as Prime. Just as Optimus had.

The former Prime stood and walked away, maybe to find Bee and the others. Whatever it was he was doing, Solas knew it would take his processor away from things. The mech deserved it, having to deal with the events that had passed him. Solas' life cycle had been rough, he knew. But having to become a Prime, if but for less than a vorn, would strip the processor of everything that made him who he was now. The wisdom of millenia worth of Primes was crammed into a single processor, though the Secondary Matrix of Leadership no longer housed itself in his chamber. He had to of doubted everything he'd ever known at some point.

"We will get the Galvanizer back," Stratis murmured softly, bringing Sol from his revere. "Under my own power if need be, we will get it back. For now, we must leave here. The state police are on there way."

And in the distance, sirens cut through the winter day stillness.

The drive to Washington was quiet. Sullenly so. In fact not a single word had been spoken between the Autobots on their stoic trip returning from their latest skirmish. Not even comlinks buzzed with voices. There was only silence.

Chromia's body had been carried inside the trailer Rodimus had been intelligent and intuitive enough to bring along with them to transport the cargo. The 'Bots circled protectively around their group's leader, making well sure to prevent future intervention. Ratchet soared ahead of them the entire way, his sirens alight, parting the crowds of the vehicular automobiles that appeared so much more suspiciously than they had before. Police cruisers were watched closely as they passed. A few even tried pulling over the hasty group, only to have their radios intercepted and an order come to them to turn around.

A grim procession moved through the paved trails leading to the base. The wind surrounding them seemed to still; the light appeared to dim. Their melancholy was felt before they came near to the entrance. Their comrades, including their leading Prime, stepped into the fields with features hard in a hopeless determination. Rethalia Prime stood before them all to meet her arriving peers and offer a supportive word. However the shades they carried with them in their trails halted the energon pumping through her already scarred spark.

Her lip plates fell in the recognition building across the gathered. Whatever wistful thoughts or possibilities floating about before setting her optics upon her obviously discouraged brethren disappeared instantly. A weight caused her shoulderbolts to sag. Knots churned her tanks uncomfortably.

Each Autobot seemed accounted for. Rodimus was leading them, with Ratchet to his left, Stratis to his right, and Mirage, Bumblebee, and Solas Kaon following. Though they bore not a sight of lightness to their filing movement, Rethalia clung onto whatever scrap of hope she had left within her. After all, had that not been what had kept her sanity in this never-ending war?

Ratchet and Stratis reformed. Bumblebee and Mirage followed suit. Solas and Rodimus were the only two mechs left still in alternate form. Anticipation spurred most to hold their vents. Humans who now paced into the silvery day of winter, bundled in layers upon layers of fluff, dare not release a breath. Clouds of misty white that had filtered from each vent or fleshy nose stopped entirely while they awaited their final mechs to join them in bipedal shape. Those who already had kept their helms tipped forward while they walked towards their awaiting group. Perhaps in shame or concentration of their steps, Rethalia could not be for certain.

It put her on edge to await the news of her peers' journey. Whether it had been successful or not was yet to be decided. By the way Stratis' mask was drawn over her faceplates and Bumblebee's unwillingness to look into any one being's optics or eyes spoke volumes. It screamed actually.

Solas finally reformed into his Cybertronian silhouette and stood by Rodimus' side. Rethalia had experienced the story of Rodimus keeping Fera safe from the Decepticon stronghold while they returned and of Solas sending his gratification to the mech because of it. However she hadn't recalled seeing the two socializing much afterward. To see Solas standing so close, almost protectively so, beside Rodimus' trailer was unsettling. And when Rodimus transformed only to pat Sol on the shoulderbolt and they a solemn, knowing glance between them worsened this feeling.

While Rodimus dug through his trailer, Solas met optics with Rethalia across the field. She nodded in his way and gestured him forward. Easily enough he complied to her request and met with her as Rodimus withdrew from the confines of his trailer.

"What happened?" Rethalia Prime questioned gently as she searched Solas' features. The mech was watching her coldly, with optics that had drifted off to places far beyond her comprehension. They were emptier somehow. A slight fear overcame her when she thought about his slowly deteriorating bond with Fera Lennox. Had it snapped completely?

"Nothing worth discussing privately," he responded blandly. His voice was loud enough for those nearby to hear, causing some heads and helms to turn. Rethalia frowned as the warrior and assessed him.

Scratches lined almost every visible inch of his armoring and protoform. Dents covered his chassis and the protectors of his shoulderbolts, and it made him appear as a planet dotted with craters. Deeper scores down his front were charred and uneven around the edges, as if melted straight through. A single, lengthier laceration stretched from his right shoulderbolt to the bottom left of his chassis plating. One of the windows of his alt was shattered, the other cracked. Painful-looking welts could be found on his faceplates beneath his optic and on his cheekplate. And yet, through it all, he didn't seem the least bit concerned by any of it.

"I beg to differ," Rethalia murmured, subconsciously reaching up and brushing over the depression of his cheekplate. "It appears as though it was quite the experience."

Solas didn't pull away from her, but his optics did harden. His sights snapped away across her shoulderbolt and she followed his direction. Bumblebee and Mirage had returned to those in the crowd, talking with their comrades quietly. Mirage was exchanging events with Epps while Bee spoke with Colonel James Marks before being nearly tackled by Arcee.

"If not now, then at a later time perhaps?" Rethalia inquired as she switched back to Sol. He nodded subtly and twisted himself around to see Rodimus stepping across the barren white meadow of snow. In his arms, a strange object cloaked in mesh blanketing.

After leaving Cybertron, Rethalia hadn't seen this material used. The mesh of Earth was different from that of Cyberton's, and so this could not be of Earthly decent. That would make this the cargo. Surely, it had to be.

Rethalia met with Rodimus before he could integrate into the rest of the base' gathered. Her features were questioning - the way she moved around the limp shape in Rodimus' servos gushed curiosity. When he did not stop her, she pinched the mesh at one end of the object and began to pull back.

"Rethalia, wait-" Rodimus' warning had come too late.

Rethalia had seen what she had, and now that she had, she could never unsee it. She dropped the mesh with a sharp intake of air through her vents. Shock and sorrow swirled thick through her processor when the image burned into her memory files. Her spark began its feral mission to escape the prison of her chamber. Any lubricant on her glossa was now gone, replaced with the dryness of the Sea of Rust. Her servos came up to cover her horrified lip plates.

No, it couldn't be.

She should have predicted this. After all, this being's sparkmate lie beneath her peds in the caverns this very moment. It shouldn't have surprised her this much to come faceplates to faceplates with her. But it still stalled her spark for a beat. Liora poked at their bond when she felt her Tia become so disturbed. Mime was too far away to get answers from, and that made the youngling uneasy.

"That body...she's...it's-"

"Not right now," Rodimus interrupted. His faceplates were stern, his tone warning. Though he did not say so outright, Rethalia received his message. "Ratchet wishes to speak with yourself, Solas, and I inside. Grieving can be spared for a later time."

"Rodimus, Rethalia, everyone is heading inside!" Epps called from across the field. "You should get in before you all freeze!" Rethalia tore herself away from Rodimus to find the human male standing by the entrance of the base. Arcee and Bumblebee could be seen trailing a pair of humans as the last creatures entering inside.

"We should follow them," Rodimus insisted softly, nudging his leader. Rethalia nodded numbly, unable to speak when her optics caught sight of the mesh blanket still covering Rodimus' arms. She gulped with some effort and proceeded to follow behind the former Prime as he started for the base, Chromia's body swaying slightly in his grasp.

"It's a miracle you haven't deadsparked yet, you senseless vexpa."

"And it is so lovely to see you as well, dear Ratchet."

The medic glared at the mech he attended to on the berth. The microscorcher he held came dangerously close to one of the warrior's energon lines, and Sol shifted his arm away to avoid it. Ratchet snatched it back however, getting to work on the damaged plating. The armoring that had covered Sol's chassis was littered on either side of him. Thunderflare had been tasked with repairing it alongside his mentor, Hawktail.

"You enjoy seeing my processor fritz," Ratchet snapped, making Sol smirk. Although the mech dreaded hearing one of the CMO's strenuous lectures about his upkeep, it did humor him from time to time to fluster Ratchet. It was a practice that on multiple occasions had earned him the same punishment given to the twins: a wrench to the helm. However now didn't appear quite the time to fool around, seeing as his comrades were gathered in wait to hear what Ratchet had to tell them. But Solas couldn't help himself; it gave him a sense of comfort after so much grief.

"Not nearly as much as having you scorch my protoform," Solas quipped. Ratchet huffed and tipped his servo slightly to the left. Solas yelped when the flame it his protoform, charring a small spot.

Ratchet gave an accomplished smile while he worked. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Ignoring the pain in his bracer, Solas rolled his optics and allowed Ratchet to examine his chassis. Where the blast had scorched him across the plating, a faint line marred his silver frame. It was an easier fix to accomplish, however it could have been much, much worse if the heat had breached the layer. Solas knew from experience what both physical and psychological injuries a wound such as that wrought.

"Tell me again why is it I am being blessed with a pampering by you?" Solas questioned lightly, settling his servos in his lap. Ratchet squinted at a section of Sol's chassis and did a quick scan of it, straightening as he gaze down on the small screen on his bracer.

"It won't be a pampering if you frag me off, mech," Ratchet warned, stealing a glance upwards at Sol before returning to his arm. Solas' mandible hung open and looked to Rethalia Prime, gesturing at the medic. She merely shook her cranial unit from side to side, the hint of a grin playing on her lip plates.

"Savagery," Solas commented while Ratchet grabbed Sol's helm and twisted it to see each side. "Utter savagery."

"Stupidity," Ratchet sniped back, releasing Sol. "Utter stupidity."

Rethalia came forward and set a servo on Solas' shoulderbolt to stop him from speaking again. Ratchet backed away, grumbling to himself as he walked to his desk by the back. Rodimus and the recently arrived Sarah Lennox watched him go. Sarah was seated beside Rodimus on another berth across from Solas' with her arms crossed and her ankles locked. She didn't seem particularly humored by the bickering pair of mechs, or the fact that she had been dragged away from her daughter's side to see it.

Solas' grin dropped upon seeing the human seated beside his golden and red peer. There was a certain emptiness in her gaze that unsettled him when he met it. The woman had seemed to age immensely throughout this time beside her daughter, though in human standards she was still considered young. Dark circles cradled her lackluster hazel eyes, while the paleness of her skin nearly matched that of the snow laid outside the building walls. Whatever strength Solas had envisioned and envied in her had dwindled to a smoldering flame. It appeared the longer Fera's eyes remain closed, the more Sarah's hope failed.

"Enough waiting," Rethalia said, removing herself from Solas' side to walk into the center of the room. "Ratchet, I believe now would be best if we had this discussion you wished of us now."

Ratchet looked up from his desk and nodded towards Hawktail and Thunderflare, dismissing them. When they had gone, only his optics flicked up to lock on Rethalia. "It concerns Fera Lennox," he stated flatly. Sarah winced and grabbed her upper arms, shrinking into herself. Concerned, Solas stood from his berth and scooped up the human from Rodimus' side, bringing her close to his chassis. He was shocked to feel her shivering in intense cold, her skin dressed in an icy chill.

Over Fera's injury these past weeks, Sarah had broken down numerous times. Solas had always been there of course, if only to offer whatever support he could. He was not a creator, so anything he did offer he knew would never be enough. Sarah did not struggle from him nor deny his warmth. Her eyes hung low and threatened to close. How long had it been since she had slept?

"What of her?" Solas voiced for them both, frowning harshly when he picked up his faceplates. Rethalia saw the mech holding Sarah and her optics darkened in grief. Solas hid most of Sarah from view with his servo, protecting her from the outside, cruel world and its incessant pity.

Ratchet let loose a rattling vent, his optics closing for a moment. "Before any of you automatically refuse my suggestion, I ask that you hear what it is I have to say," he observed each 'Bot in turn, straying on Sol and Sarah the longest. The Guardian hesitantly nodded. Was it a mistake he agreed to this before he knew of its terms? Too late now.

"The Galvanizer was evidently our target of concern, as you all must know," Ratchet began. Rethalia visibly stiffened at this, catching Solas' optic. He turned to the Prime with a questioning expression. To see her frame so stiff and her features soaked with various clashing emotions put him on edge. It was never a good sign to see her react so strongly to something. "You know of it I'm assuming, Rethalia?" the medic singled out his Prime without missing a beat.

The shock of her faceplates left, replaced with practiced neutrality. A single dip of her crest was all that was needed to tell their story. This loss had impacted them far worse than Solas had originally predicted. Because of this realization, his sorrow of losing the Galvanizer increased exponentially. He couldn't withhold the shudder of his shoulderbolts when the temperature of the room dropped along with his pounding spark.

"I have. But I do not see its importance at this specific instance," she was hinting something beneath her voice. It directed at someone or something, and Solas grew agitated at the possibility it could be him she hinted at. Light in his optics danced about as he switched between his leader and the medic.

"Please, tell us its story," Ratchet requested, opening a servo towards Solas and the others. Again, Rethalia paused.

"The Galvanizer..." she trailed off, her tone low and unsure. If she, a Prime, was discouraged by a simple story, than what stopped Solas from becoming so as well? Could this be the reason Ratchet wished for but the minimal number of Autobots present? Sol's processor turned to Sarah, who was now sound asleep in his arms. He dare not wake her, instead pacing back to his berth where he set her down and covered her body with a thermal blanket folded on a nearby toolcart.

"It is an ancient wonder of Cybertron," Rethalia went on as Solas took his place leaning on the berth beside the resting Sarah. She did not speak up against the human, and made the courtesy of speaking in their natural language, which at a certain decibel was inaudible to human ears. "An artifact that holds within it a significant power that, when wielded, can grant immense capabilities at unfathomable levels."

"Which the Decepticons now have in possession," Solas growled. A part of him blamed himself entirely for this mess. And the more he went over the events passed them in constant looping, the more he knew that not merely a part of himself was guilty. He knew for a fact that this was all his fault.

Rethalia studied him with calm optics. Which, should have been laced with worry and ambient panic. But that wasn't Rethalia Prime. No, this was the Autobot who was sparkmates with the infamous Optimus Prime. This fembot had led contingents upon contingents of Autobot warriors as Elita One. Many who fell saw her faceplates pass by her upon their dying moments. This was the fembot who had stared Megatron in the optic and spat in his faceplates. This fembot was the one who had been held captive for almost a vorn, refusing to speak a word through torture and cruel punishment under Starscream. So no, she wouldn't panic.

"Beside that, it is a Tool perhaps dating previous to that of Cybertron itself," she went on. "One of thirteen to be created as the Tools of Life predating our kind upon the planet, it is transcribed in Covenant of Primus that it was the initial creator for our race's earliest generations."

"Why thirteen?" Rodimus inquired, folding a leg before him while the other hung over the berth ledge. "Has that any reference to the Original Thirteen perhaps?"

Rethalia nodded. "Exactly."

Solas' features screwed in concentration, his gaze falling to the floor as his processor attempting placing two and two together. "They each bore these Tools which they then manipulated in the molding of our world's beginning?" he questioned. There was too little to work with now to possibly make a sensible assumption. As such, Solas tried listening in on what Rethalia had to say instead of losing himself in the grip of his already weary CPU.

"According to legend," Rethalia agreed. She swept her servos before her, grabbing a compad laying nearby. Plugging in the tip of her digit, she was successfully able to upload herself to the device. The bulb at the top of it flashed and then let loose a magnificent, holographic model representation of the Galvanizer. Though Solas was certain Rethalia hadn't been with them in New York, he was surprised at how exact it appeared. The shape rotated on its staff, revealing all sides as it leisurely circled. Solas stared at it intently, memorizing every piece as though his life cycle depended on it.

"Each of the Original Thirteen acquired control of such devices resembling the Galvanizer in competence. Although equal in power, none conducted skill resembling another," Rethalia explained. The shape in the hologram shifted, warping to a larger screen where thirteen impressive implements of the Primes took place. "Solus Prime," Solas huffed at the mention of the fembot Prime, of which he gained his name from, "carried with her the Forge. It represented creation and proceeded in assisting her in molding the basic elements making up Cybertron, as well as shaping the first generation of Cybertronians."

A single fembot form materialized beside a large hammer to the lower middle of the two rows. The Tool was taller than her, with a head wide enough to stretch across her chassis.

"Prima, who bared the Matrix of Leadership following Primon, and who possessed the Star Saber, which carved out Seas of Cybertron and granted light to its dark surface." Another, mechly figure appeared holding an enormous sword next to Solus Prime. "It is in debate if Prima was fembot or mech, seeing as gender was not yet introduced in the Original ranks. As such, we move on to Onyx Prime, who carried with him the Infinite Combinortoric. This granted each Cybertronian the gift of reformation, thus letting us find alternate modes." A darker silhouette stood third in line in the top row.

"Amalgamous Prime, known often as the Trickster, who wielded the Void Triton and bestowed Cybertronian kind its will of curiosity and bravery," Rethalia continued, swiping the image on the hologram to show a lithe mech with swooping horn-like protrusions from his helm and a glowing object attached to his bracer. "Alpha Trion, giver of Knowledge and holder of the Quill. He instilled a connection between past and future, insuring each of our actions resulted in reaction thus by will of Primus himself."

Upon hearing the mech's name, Solas shuttered his optics and stared at the form standing with a thick glove over his servo. It was strange seeing the mech standing beside the Original Thirteen, seeing as he was more recently the Archivist of the Iacon Hall of Records and Optimus Prime's mentor for some time. Was he truly so old?

"Quintus Prime, who had the Ember Stone, and gave us the gift of imagination and determination. And Liege Maximo, who created darkness with his Liegian Darts and became the first bringer of the night," she went on. Two figures, tall and lean, appeared next to a small, glowing orb and towering, three-pronged Tool. "Micronus Prime, with his Chimera Stone, made the race of Minicons. Alchemist Prime, holding the Lenses, co-founded the first civilizations alongside Prima, Solus Prime, and Alchemist Prime." Two more Cybertronians appeared next to their Tools.

"Nexus Prime, with his Enigma of Combination, who began the combiner race of Cybertronians and which created Rarified Energon, the basis material for all Cybertronian life. Megatronus Prime held his Chaos Edge and Requiem Blaster, which granted us the evil every scale needs to be balanced," Rethalia said coldly. It was true that Megatron himself had been designated after the Original Thirteen, considered The Fallen, and that that mech had aligned himself with Unicron shortly after murdering his sole sister, Solus Prime. He was not a preferred topic to discuss, especially following the events in Egypt decacycles earlier concerning Optimus Prime.

"And lastly, Vector Prime," Solas' spark stopped right there and then, "the barer of the Galvanizer and Blades of Time, as protector of Time and Space. He was the one responsible for coaxing sparks from with the Matrix to settle in frames Solus Prime had created for them, as well as molding the fabric of space-time itself to his brethren's various needs."

"His Tool was the sole source that brought each of us into being," Ratchet added, rising from his seat. "Or so told in legend."

"Legend is simply reality in age," Rethalia reasoned, closing off the hologram before her as Vector Prime took his place next to the Galvanizer. Solas hadn't the best opportunity to see the mech and he jerked when the image was cut off before he could get a proper read. He forced himself to hold back the protests on his glossa for the sake of progressing the conversation.

Rodimus was watching the two in silence, his expression unreadable. It made Solas uncomfortable to be so out of touch with things, as Ratchet, Rethalia, and Rodimus apparently were. Rethalia he understood, seeing as she was a Prime. Ratchet and Rodimus however, he had no clue what to surmise for them. Had they any clue of Vector Prime and his connection? Could they maybe explain the logic behind Vector coming to Solas in vision and the mech's tie to Fera?

Solas was tempted to ask. But something stopped him. A deeper forced kept him planted to the spot. A stirring, burning fear trapped him where he stood and wrung the heat from his spark. Fera's life had been in Solas' servos and he had failed to protect her. What right did he have now to try fixing what he'd broken? He would only worsen things further. But still, he found the thought of leaving Fera completely to the others incredibly wanton.

"What has this to do with Fera?" Rodimus cut into Solas' thoughts with a righteous inquiry. Sol tipped his helm up to gauge the Prime and CMO's reactions. Rethalia in turn directed her attention to Ratchet. She too, along with them all, seemed to be asking the same question.

"If we are to retrieve the Galvanizer, I feel I have a plan for its usage," Ratchet responded evenly. "You see, the Galvanizer was not simply a Tool, as the others were. It needed a said 'Keeper' to be activated."

Suddenly, it made sense. Solas nearly fell to the floor in his stupor, his processor on the verge of a fritz. All this time, the speculations of Fera's importance, and the position she played in this saga made sense. In his vision, Vector Prime had told Solas that Fera was a Keeper. Exactly what that was, Solas didn't know. What he did comprehend however was the fact that Fera's role in Cybertronian culture had just become far more complicated.

Before Ratchet even said it, Solas knew it was true. And with the medic's words, Solas' prediction became stark truth.

"The Stone of Primus is a piece of Vector Prime's spark, which he sacrificed in order to power the Galvanizer and create Cybertronian civilization." His tone was dark and hard with tiredness. No one appeared surprised at this news, which could only be explained by Solas' vision, Rethalia and Rodimus being a current and former Prime, and Ratchet an elder 'Bot with vorns stacked up in studying Cybertronian history and myth.

"The Decepticons have the Galvanizer," Rodimus reiterated softly.

"And we have the key," Solas finished, his optics locked on Rethalia.

Now would have been a good time for one of her or her mate's famous speeches. Anything to get their hopes up and sparks alight. However all they got was the solemn gleam of the optics only a Prime in the center of war could carry.

"If we collect the Galvanizer from the Decepticons, I feel we may have the perfect solution to winning this war once and for all," Ratchet said, walking on until he stood next to Rodimus' berth, closing off the group's circle. "This artifact is capable of a great many things."

"Like revitalizing the deadsparked?" Rodimus offered.

"Or returning the living to normalcy."

This comment was aimed straight for Solas, who straightened upon hearing it. Ratchet's optics bore into that of Solas' narrowed ones. There was something here Solas was missing - a subject that would bring the mech to his kneebolts.

"What are you suggesting?" Solas demanded.

"Solas, what if I told you we could transfer Fera's body into Cybertronian form?"

"I would say you are a gratuitous, deranged cretin who apparently thrives on seeing me burn," Solas snapped viciously. Such impossible feats shouldn't have been mentioned to the ailing mech, especially when they were made to look so hopeful. Solas didn't think he could take many more failed promises when it came to Fera's recovery. She was a delicate subject, certainly now more than ever when her Guardian came to realize her ever increasing importance. This could never be possible, and the sheer boldness of Ratchet to suggest so made Solas' tanks churn. It was too glorious a vision; it could never happen...

Could it?

Ratchet paused in the warrior's insult, appearing surprised for but a split sparkbeat before returning his features to a stoic front. "If my assumptions are correct, then we very well may be able to move Fera's consciousness from one body to the next. In a more complicated version of revamping of course, but it may be possible."

"Say this hypothesis of yours is stable," Rodimus ventured before Solas could speak. "How could it be achieved?"

"A shard..." Ratchet halted for a moment, looking to Solas' faceplates for some permission to continue. When the Guardian did nothing, he went on. "A shard of Solas' spark was planted inside Fera's heart during his revival some quartexes ago via the Stone. I am assuming it can be the vessel capable of transferring Fera from her human body to a Cybertronian protoform."

"I am not sure about this Ratchet, I do not want to take unnecessary risks," Solas piped in, interrupted Rodimus in whatever the stunned mech was to say.
Ratchet frowned at Solas and crossed his arms determinedly.

"No chance that she may survive is unnecessary Solas."

"What chance do we have this may work?" Rethalia asked next, drawing Ratchet's focus.

"Though we as Cybertronians are of inorganic materials, our sparks are of complete opposite. They are pure energy, imprinted with our very gridmap and everything that makes us, us," he explained gesturing to himself. "This energy is in turn extracted by the Galvanizer in our purest form, when we were still one with the AllSpark Matrix. Those who were pulled from it, such as Rodimus and Hound, have their energy placed inside their sparkling frames, with their individual gridmaps already installed." Solas started at this statement and looked to where Rodimus was sitting. The mech had been an AllSpark sparkling? And Hound as well?

"When we revamp a frame, as in upgrading per say, this gridmap changes, if but slightly, to accommodate for our new shell." Ratchet patted Rodimus' spinal support and squeezed his shoulderbolt.

Ratchet turned to Solas. "Your spark split byway of the Stone of Primus, correct?" Solas nodded. "Since your energy was an adaptable one, it's abilities to change to its surrounding area allowed it to develop to fit Fera's particular body repertoire. However, she is still not Cybertronian, and thus is incapable of sustaining such specific energy. It was coded with her personal biographical signature, altering the development process the spark fragment contains in regeneration."

"You're saying this thing in Fera Lennox...it was trying to become a part of her?" Rethalia wondered.

"Basically, yes."

"And so it mutated from being apart of him," Rethalia gestured to Solas, "to being apart of her?"

"Correct."

"What does this mean Ratchet?"

Solas could tell the medic was delving deeper into his thesis. By the way he answered each question so naturally, Solas guessed the mech had been developing this theory since their drive back from New York.

"The fragment has turned into a piece of her body," Ratchet announced, lifting open servos. "Itself and her have adapted to one another that she now depends on the very thing killing her. It has acted as a sort of...parasite, sucking in her memories, her senses, her experiences; everything has absorbed into the fragment."

"Like a sponge," Solas surmised. Ratchet nodded.

"Yes. You see, my theory is that if the Galvanizer can successfully revamp the spark fragment from Fera's body into a new frame, she can live as one of us. And since it is imprinted with her every being essentially, it may very well simply move her on from one form, to the next."

"You say it as if it is an easy process," Rodimus murmured.

Ignoring the words that sent a stake of anxiety through his spark, Solas unwound his arms and stepped up closer to Ratchet. The distance he put between himself and Sarah helped to better clear his thoughts.

"And what if it doesn't work?" Solas challenged lowly. "To my understanding, the spark within her is but a fraction of my own. How are we certain it will not fail us and kill her as a result?"

"And that is...the worst case scenario for our human comrade." Ratchet's helm sullenly lowered. "The spark is small in our standards, yes, but it is regenerating. It seems to be feeding off of the energy from the Stone of Primus, thus growing it at a faster pace than if we were to simply heal ourselves. I am able to put it on a support system until it can independently handle itself."

"Where are you to find the materials for her protoform?" Rethalia asked, laying a quizzical servo on Ratchet's arm. "Are you going to tear this place apart?"

"No Rethalia, I would never do that. However, there is a different path we have before us. Though I doubt most will approve of the initial idea of it..." his voice silence with the drop in the room.

The quiet was so sudden, and so dense that it was almost tangible. A hot energon blade may have cut through it. The shock was enough to curb the conversation in a less desirable direction. Darkness gripped Solas' spark as it sank lower into the soles of his peds. The liquid in his tanks threatened to purge.

"You can't mean..." he couldn't even finish his own sentence.

Ratchet did not nod. He did not shutter his optics and he did not vent. It was as if his anticipation was growing from his own lack of words. There was a chance he was measuring the reactions of his peers before he did clear any confusions. In doing this he would certainly find a majority of them gushing with disbelief.

"Yes Solas Kaon, I do. Soulsearcher and Lero would want this. They are going to help us keep Fera alive," Ratchet proclaimed.

The truth was too horrid and too unfair for Solas to digest properly. The two Autobots whom had fallen during his time here on Earth were going to be stripped down for the sake of Fera's continuance. Half of himself agreed fully to the plan and wished to start on it right away. The other half of himself, the side that remained stubbornly loyal to his Cybertronian roots, reared from the thought of performing such an act of cannibalism.

It was trading two lives for one, which hardly seemed just. Soulsearcher had perished protecting Firelight, her sister's own sparkling. The little one was now being raised by Ultra Magnus in Saint Louis, but the fact of the matter was that she deadsparked never having known Fera in the first place. Lero was the same, having fallen for the Autobot cause. Even though he might have known Fera, it still did not sit right within him. Fera wouldn't want this.

Or how was he supposed to know? She couldn't be helpful at the moment, by way of their strained bond or otherwise.

"I shall...go retrieve the frames for you so that you may begin as soon as possible," Rethalia relayed softly in their quiet. She had reverted to her English protocols, perhaps her processor shorting a bit in the immense news so suddenly thrown at her.

Rodimus stood, his faceplates still and his movements stiff. "I shall go with you," he offered. She did not respond, but continued for the door with labored steps.

Solas collected the sleeping Sarah Lennox in his servos and began after his comrades, set on placing the human in her quarters and staying as far away from this room as he could until the deed had been done. It was bound to be a gruesome and emotionally draining task, one that Solas Kaon did not wish to be present for.

"Solas? May I speak with you for a moment?" Ratchet called at his spinal support. Solas sighed and stopped, causing Rodimus and Rethalia to turn. Solas lifted Sarah up to deposit her in Rodimus' more than capable grasp, and ordered him to take the female to the human barracks.

The last thing Solas desired at the moment was to stay back and speak further with Ratchet. The mech was about to do some very taboo things. But in respect he lingered, facing the CMO with dazed optics.

"How do you feel about this procedure?" the mech questioned, catching Solas off guard.

The warrior opened and closed his lip plates a few times, fighting for the right words to say. Finally he let go of a long, quivering vent. "How am I supposed to feel, Ratchet? Overjoyed? Excited?"

"Well, if you were, I would suggest you to get to a therapist as soon as possible," there was a ghostly grin picking at Ratchet's lip plates.

Solas couldn't help but smirk as well, finding this Ratchet's persona, unlike the brute, tough-loving one of his Medical Officer side, far more reassuring. No amount of wrenches to the helm or scorches to the protoform could deter the fact that Ratchet was one of, if not the, longest comrades Solas had come to meet. Ever since his first orn, appearing out of the rubble of Kaon, Ratchet had been there as a good, if not sometimes cranky, friend. He listened and never judged.

But then his fears returned, and Solas' grin dropped out of existence, his flaming happiness smothered. "Is this going to work? Will Fera make it through this?" he questioned, never really expecting a great response.

Any hint of Ratchet's former humor faded as well, his calm, observant optics trailing every detail of Solas' faceplates. "Of course."

"But what if they don't? What are the consequences?" the medic's diligence was contagious to Solas, and it put his spark a little more at ease. But then there was the issue of that still present voice in the back of his processor, whispering venomous nothings into his audios.

"Solas, there are some things you cannot control. The result of this surgery is one of them."

"I asked you a question Ratchet," Solas said firmly. No more relenting. Solas was set on getting answers. And if not from Ratchet, some other 'Bot would cooperate.

Ratchet was keen on his pauses. It made Solas nervous that the mech was finding a way to refuse him, but when he did eventually speak, it was nothing much better than if he had declined.

"This process could bring her out of her coma, or..."

"Or...?" Solas prompted.

"It could overwhelm her body, killing her." The answer was short and blunt. Oftentimes, Solas preferred things that way. This was not one of those times.
Gathering himself before he could fall into utter despondence, Solas braced himself to find the truth.

"Then why try?"

Perhaps the way Ratchet knitted his optic ridges now was out of concern for the warrior's wellbeing. This news didn't help Solas' inner turmoil and chaos, but it did quell his thirst for knowledge over this perplexing event.

"In the state she is in now, she will never wake," Ratchet sighed mournfully. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Sarah, but you are connected to her in ways even her mother could never understand, and so I felt you should know. The Galvanizer is probably her only chance. She could stay like this, forever in a comatose state, or be hooked up to a machine and possibly awake to a life paralyzed and blind."

This was not a good situation. "This is a paradox. Whether she is to live or not, as a human she shall lose."

"A Catch-22, I believe the humans call it."

"A Catch-22," Solas agreed.

And so it was told amongst many that warned of betrayal. Treason moved about on the glossas of the many, dancing through the wind that followed a black and blue figure. In their steps was terror, which had honed itself greatly in the presence of their former peers. In fact these many whom passed his designation about in suspicious animadversion held position in his views as literal comrades. Upon Cybertron they had gained his friendship and worked alongside him. Now they laid heavy gazes on his slumped figure, doubting the authenticity of the emblem bored onto his chassis.

Shadows passed along his peds and grabbed for him, dragging him further into the shell of himself. Glowing red orbs bobbed in the darkness of the halls, ever watching. Each thump of his spark echoed in the barren space loud as the ship thrumming around him. The Nemesis hissed as he passed along its bowls and toward its head.

Those flanking him kept firm grasps on his arms, keeping them behind him with strength barely considered violent. However it remained enough to shackle his limbs. For, as long as he'd rested, his frame was languid. It refused cooperation, thus letting him stumble and trip in his journey to the command center. Those guiding him kept their patience, something far unusual for their kind, and helped him along though he threatened collapse.

A single fembot stood at the latter of the hall, positioned beside the thick door of the center. Her arms were crossed and her optics were tilted in inky black. Under the crest of her helm the pair of glowing crimson slits stalled on the cargo carried between Knockout and Ramjet. As she leant against the wall, the appendages of her spinal support bowing and flashing menacing in the low light, she appraised the mech as though he were a good at a the markets in Iacon.
Seeing Arachnid, one of -if not the- most dangerous fembots on the face of Cybertron relaxing beside the entryway put pure ice in the mech's lines. He started and dug the heels of his peds into the floor, trying desperately trying not come any closer. His already wide optics stretched until they began to tick anxiously. Arms locking, he attempted holding back the two at his sides. It was no use, as his neglected frame was steadily waning in strength, and so all he could manage was a pitiful wiggle of his arms and legs.

Arachnid smirked, unwinding her arms over her chassis and lifting up her clawed servo into the milky light above her. Each sharpened digits gleamed with the image of the horrified mech struggling to escape her.

"It isn't I you should be weary of," she rumbled in grave pleasure, sweeping her servo next to her to motion at the now open doors.

Ramjet and Knockout pushed onward into the room, practically dragging their Decepticon peer between them. Arachnid hissed at the smaller form, making him jump. Her laughter rang clear in his audios even as the doors closed behind them. A sort of reassurance settled in the weaker mech's tanks when a barrier formed between them. Yet beside that, as soon as his helm slowly lifted, his optics locked on something far, far worse than anything Arachnid could concoct.
The gargantuan mech rising from his throne lifted his faceplates, a ghastly smile curling his daunting features.

"Welcome, Counterpunch, back to your rightful home," this demonic beast greeted, opening his arms wide.

Counterpunch felt his faceplates fall, his spark picking up pace until he felt it may run itself out. Fear swelled inside of his chassis when he saw this incarnate of darkness grinning at him, sharpened oral sheets shining a murderous ray. Energon pounded against the walls of his cranial unit in an undying mantra of denial. Utter darkness beyond that of the galaxy itself wafted from the figure clad in raging silver. Pulsing, septic humming distorted the air around the seams of his armor as if an overwhelming power within him fought to escape. Every heaving cycle of his massive chassis radiated corruption. Counterpunch swore he was to have a sparkattack.

Ramjet and Knockout moved from his sides, leaving him to fall clumsily to his kneebolts. The Autobot double agent sat on his heelpeds, watching in true panic as his lasting frames of defense left him to the influence of the ghoulish mech. To make matters worse, this red-sighted monster proceeded to step mockingly slow down the stairs towards Counterpunch.

"It has fallen to my understanding that your presence on board the Dealer was not such an unsuccessful one?" his voice made Counterpunch want to flee and hide, never to recharge again. It was layered with voices upon voices, emitting a resounding tone that didn't belong to him.

"I...i-it, the s-ship...it-" Counterpunch couldn't bring himself to speak properly. The approach of whom he assumed to be some mutated form of Megatron brought with it a stifling increase of mass on Counterpunch's vents. He fought to cycle properly, his digits stabbing deep into the floor and scoring marks into its surface.

The New Megatron chuckled a laugh malicious enough to crash Counterpunch's processor right then and there. "Lagging from our trip, aren't we?" he teased, stopping merely a yard from where Counterpunch knelt.

"Have I right to be?" Counterpunch choked, trying desperately to regain himself and his character. Punch was the cautious, stoic side of himself. Counterpunch was supposed to be the fire. It was difficult to manage in his stunned state. He forced his faceplates to contort to a semi-scowling state. It only gave him an amused snarl from his adjacent leader.

"Of course, of course. You brought us the Galvanizer, had you not?" New Megatron supplied somewhat softer. "Any of my warriors having succeeded in such wondrous achievement shall be in my favor."

"Relieved, my Lord. Truly your generosity is most humble," Counterpunch said, slightly more steady. He climbed to his peds to properly face the Decepticon leader. He had not expected to be slammed into the wall.

Megatron gave no warning as he snatched Counterpunch by the throat and thrust him into the wall behind him. Shock and alarm hit him hard when his processor registered the instant pain. His spinal relay cried out along with him, making him arch outward. Useless arms dangled and flailed, pulling or scratching at Megatron's arm to free himself. He felt the pressure building on his jugular, causing his optics to bulge.

"Had I order you to rise, mech?" Megatron spat, making Counterpunch flinched. The agent did his best to shake his helm, his red optics flickering dangerously between red and a lighter purple.

"No, of course not, Lord Megatron-"

"I am Galvatron!" Megatron, or should he say Galvatron, roared, nearly blasting out Counterpunch's audios then and there with his gravelly, sharp words.

Counterpunch strained for freedom, wriggling as best as he could to get himself out of the possessed grasp of this spawn of Pit.

"Forgive me, Lord Galvatron," Counterpunch uttered. His captor took pity on him and let him fall to the floor once again. Stressed sputters wracked the double agent's body as he grabbed his jugular. Rattled loose, the mech pushed his peds against the ground, flushing him up to the wall as he cupped his neck. What strength that mech had. With a single squeeze of his servo, Counterpunch could have been deadsparked on the cold, unforgiving floor.

Galvatron had retreated a few paces away, his broad spinal support aiming towards the mech he'd attacked. In the path of the light flooding from the monitors lining the wraparound screens, Galvatron's shadow stretched across the platform and completely shrouded Counterpunch. The mounts upon his shoulderbolts added a devious claw to the crown of his already intimidating height.

"Because you acquired the Galvanizer, your mistake is pardoned," Galvatron thundered. "However, you are to be surveyed by your peers, in observation of your...loyalties." Galvatron turned to face Counterpunch with his side, his servos clenched behind his spinal support. His optics were cruel. "Your presence aboard the Dealer alongside the Autobot fembot cretin designated Chromia is questionable-"

"I merely wished to bring her as my prisoner, for I am loyal only to you, Galvatron," Counterpunch insisted while he picked himself up and held himself right by only his kneebolt.

Galvatron lunged, his servo splayed. "Do not interrupt me, you insect!" he bellowed. Counterpunch instantly fell silent, bowing his helm wisely in respect. Galvatron did not strike, but he stayed where he was, hovering close to Counterpunch with his dagger-like digits displayed in warning. "Accept my lenient proposal, or suffer the consequences."

Counterpunch dipped his cranial unit. He dare not anger the mech more, if but to preserve his own life. He fought to rein in the distress wringing his recovering spark. He'd lasted this long as a double agent, and had survived the destruction of his own processor through the vorns of his conflicting personae. Punch was clawing for a chance to return to the Autobots and find Optimus Prime, as he and Chromia had traveled so far to accomplish. However the other half of himself, Counterpunch, who he wore now, remained vigilant in staying in Decepticon form and collecting as much information as he could.

Which side of himself would win in the end?

"You are dismissed," Galvatron huffed, waving the mech off with a servo. Counterpunch bowed and stood, trying to control his steps enough so not to appear as if he were running away. True, he wished to escape this prison as soon as possible, but that provided no reason for him to develop the reputation of a coward. It had taken him this long to build one that inscribed respect in his name. To ruin that now would mean throwing away vorns of work.

When he left the command center and the doors hissed shut behind him, he paused and gave a shuddering sigh. Relief caused his frame to relax, the feeling of darkness surrounding Galvatron leaving Counterpunch's prone form. He shivered as the last of it slunk as a clammy vapor from his vents.

A chuckle hit his audios and Counterpunch jerked, snapping his helm to the side to see Arachnid still in her spot, standing sentinel by the door. The ridiculing smile stretching her thin lip plates was enough to make Counterpunch glare and give a low growl. Arachnid removed herself from her spot and stepped before Counterpunch, throwing her arms wide and bowing lowly, cheekily, before him. She then laughed and walked away, strutting down the hall tauntingly.

"Welcome back, Counterpunch."

Looks like our new friend is in a pickle,

Maybe staying with a loony Galvatron isn't the best plan.

And what about Fera?

I've tortured that poor girl so much...

but I'll keep it up for a little while longer :D

Let's see where this goes!

*Chapter Inspiration: Bad Guy= 3OH!3*