A few more days until the end of school, yay!

And for all of you who are already out,

I hate you.

Just kidding! Love all you guys!

Anywho, thanks for coming back, and reading and all!

I think you all will like this chapter :)

Enjoy!

Of The Spark And Heart

Part 2

Chapter 70

Their journey was a funeral procession. If it could be called that. Cybertronians usually had no such thing.

With their white-beaten silence and coarse, unadulterated solemnity, one would imagine this to be the respectful vigil given for the fallen. If they were being true to themselves, it very well was that. It hurt to process speaking at a moment such as this. Burns lines the inside of their cycling systems when no marks could be found. It was all a matter of perspective. See two vehicles moving at breakneck speeds down a highway, a pair of jets screaming above, and shapes bounding along the edge of a darkened forest, and who is to know what the humans may think.

None bothered put up their holoforms. What reason was there, with passengers, though unconscious mostly, sitting in their empty, hollow insides while they raced for their lives? The enemy was far gone. Left behind, there was but a trail of infuriated, rapturous roars to attach to them. And no matter how hard the she-bot tried, she could not outrun the unbreakable tie connecting her to that foul beast of a being.

How could he be anything but the incarnate of the Devil itself? Deprived of energon and leaking sorrow behind her thick enough that she feared they could be followed, she knew not of anything but the darkness and pain and grief for these long, long weeks. Though, she hadn't known it had been this long. Not until her wheels breached the compound of her compatriots would she find out this fact.

For now, she wept silently, along with the rest of them, the road tearing her tires to pieces. If they ruptured now, she wasn't sure she would stop. Through Hell and fire, she would keep running on the bare rims if she must. Nothing could outshine the depravity of the halls, or the dull gleam attached to each scrutinizing glare as they judged her from their caves. They didn't know her. Not personally. With her arms held back then, it had been impossible for her to punch any of those weaseling cretins.

If she had the chance to wail away at them until she'd had her fill, would she do it? Would she fall to their level and ram every pent-up rage and fear she'd experienced into their prone forms? She wanted to say no. She wanted to be the heroic character of this endless saga and claim she'd lay but not a single digit on those helpless beings, bound at her peds. And yet, she was wise enough, and true enough to herself, to know that she wouldn't do that. There wasn't the strength in her yet to forgive. That would come much, much later, with their leader dead and their apologies spilling from their dirtied, split lip plates, while they groveled at her energon-stained silhouette.

That was what she wanted. She never said she was proud of it.

A hot, throbbing essence pulsed inside the space beside the exhaust. It whirred with the tremble of her frame as she moved over the pavement. It was not alive. Not anymore. The mech it belonged to was left on the Nemesis, without a say in how his parts were to be used henceforth. The heavy weightlessness in the dark container in her bracer ate away at her conscious. Guilt eroded the nodes there until but a vice encircled her chassis and a blank sheen covered her processor. There was no processing straight. Apparently, driving straight was out of the question as well.

Swiftly, she swerved her blurred form back into her own lane and out of the oncoming traffic. The vehicle supposed to be her Guardian, with three sleeping passengers in his cabin, rumbled alongside her, their armor hovering dangerously close. For humans. For them, it was simple as walking.

"Are you alright?" he murmured through the comlink on her dash. It was usually centered right between the handlebars, but the face of a sleeping human was pressed over it. The crossbow motorcycle she had taken on as her temporary alt mode had a canopy over it that made the resting sentient being appear as though she was riding along normally. The static of Solas' message, relayed in Cybertronian, vibrated her fleshy cheek. Fera wished they could talk through their bond. But that was gone. So was Punch.

Revving her engine, Fera's wheels wobbled. If she could shake her helm, she would. He received the meaning clear enough, however, Fera stated otherwise, "Fine."

It was obvious he wanted to say more, but their communication link remained quiet. Inside, Fera wanted him to talk on. It brought her processor off of less desirable topics. The thing seemed addicted to torturing her till insanity.

"I don't think you're telling the truth," Solas accused, lightly, without emotion other than genuine concern.

Fera could feel the quiver of her lip plates, wherever they were in this puzzle of reformation, where Solas had kissed her. They tingled in longing, wishing to feel the overwhelming presence of he again. They had been warm, his lip plates, and able to meld so perfectly to hers. It was difficult to imagine never feeling them before then.

"I didn't ask what you thought," she snapped, unmeaning to. Frustration bloomed where her spark would be, captured up in shattered bits in a hearty sparkcase, in a chamber far too large for comfort. She was cold. A shiver wracked her wind-stripped armor.

Then the regret sunk into her tired entity and a sigh escaped through. It was more hiss than vent, seeing as mere exhaust pipes made up the outer system of release. It wasn't his fault she was sick of the pity; the lies; the hurt. He'd been there to support her through it all, and the countless scratches and dings along his black and scarlet frame showed that. It had been him to stay with her this entire way.

Titanios, in all his towed state, a large chunk of the rear of his vehicle mode tangled out of shape, had only just begun gaining back her trust. He'd been there for what? The last instance. Who was to know if that had even been in his plans from the beginning. He could have been trying to save himself for all she knew. Solas' punch proved nothing. It still made her furious to see him, even if he had jumped out of a ship to save her. He'd betrayed them, and there would always be that tiny part of herself that could never completely forgive him.

"I'm sorry," she told her warrior. He was still driving next to her as the every vigilant protector he was. It made her plates warm to know he was there. He'd always be there. "I just..." A pause, one that wavered subtly in the open air. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Fera..."

"Solas, please...just..." she trailed off, words flowing weakly through her comlink. It was a hold in herself, leaking sentences barely well enough to be perceived. "Just leave me be." There was no holding it in now. A sorrowful moan overtook her, spilling out on the road around them. The image of Punch was there, attacking her senses with the echo of his screams; the taste of bitter energon on her glossa; the sight of his innards laid about on the cold table; the feel of his spark searing a hole through her bracer where she kept it safe.

Ever aspect of leaving him behind seemed wrong. It was all they could do to honor him by placing his spark in the mausoleum underneath the base in Washington. Where they were at currently, she hadn't the slightest clue. But Cameo had mentioned their trip only lasting this one day, and by the speeds they were traveling, she wouldn't doubt it. Every mile hurt worse. Every sliver of her spark was left in their wake, wanting to return to the frame frigid as the berth he lay upon.

The only reason she didn't ride into the forest where the Fabials ran and break down in shattered sobs was the human riding, ignorantly, and peacefully, under the canopy of her seat.

As a Prime, duty came before personal values. It was spark and all that was given to the Matrix of Leadership upon his inauguration. Nothing less than life was admissible for the protection of it. Until his limp, deadsparked body hung from the rim of the Sea of Rust and his plates were stripped until his chassis was ripped open would he stop fighting for it. Energon would be drained from him before his digits would dare part from it. His optics may remain open, stuck that way as his last struggles embedded in his fading consciousness reminded him that he died for a cause. The cause.

Primon had been the one to bring him into the worlds as a Prime. And upon his deathbed, the very same leader of the Thirteen would lead him into the Matrix. Until then, he would stay here, bearing sword and shield against the Decepticons to keep the Leadership Matrix, the Galvanizer, and it's Keeper from harm. Rethalia had known the risks in bonding with him, and still, she'd done it. As a Prime, she'd taken the same oath as he. If it meant saving all, they would sacrifice two.

At this moment, her optics locked with his, her own processor wandering as his did. Their servos curled into their palms, apart, but imagining intertwining digits in a shared bout of strength. It was needed. Galax was due for a report, and they would need that support when it eventually came.

As for now, they stood in the security office, flanked by Prowl and the twitching Red Alert. It was a common scene to find them here instead of in the field. They worked alongside their human compatriots, ordering around the humans when needed, and intervening when required. Bluestring was here from time to time as well, though he was an armory smith, since he had taken a liking to the computer and analytic sector. Neither needed say anything, and so, here they stayed, frozen except for Red Alert's nervous ticks, watching the viewing screen tracking the Fabials with optics strained from staring this long.

No word had come through the comlink system. All vital signs were up to acceptable standards by Ratchet's opinion, whom was leaning on the back wall, expression hidden in a curtain of shadow and the exhausted lack of recharge since finding out his patient was missing.

It should have been the Primes to speak first. However, though they didn't admit it, both where afraid to break the still. They were afraid it might finally snap Prowl, who's digits were clamped hard enough onto his arms to dent the armor there. Red Alert was always anxious, and would merely fritz if pushed past his limit.

Instead, it was a human to be brave. "Approaching signals, Prowl," he said over the control panel he stayed at. The lights were dimmed, all source of luminescence from the viewing screens or the small lamps allowing the humans to see the keys on their panels. Sometimes, Optimus was able to forget they had far less sensitive sight. "Request for permission to hail."

"Permission granted," Prowl intoned, falling into his usual stream of stoic behavior. He walked to the console, letting his arms hang while his sharp helm trained on the screen. His optics darted from side to side and took in an impossible amount of information, while also planning out battle strategies as he stood there.

The male at his station nodded, lifting the headset in his servos and placing it over his ears. A mic was brought before his lips, his fingers tapping away to gain a proper signal. "Confirmation of identity requested of group by code Alpha-two-six-niner, please respond and identify yourselves," he relayed through the link. After a moment of utter quiet, he lifted his eyes to the mech at the front of the room. Prowl turned his helm over his shoulderbolt and nodded him on. "Group inbound Alpha-two-six-niner, please resp-"

~Identification sequence four-eight-two-seven,~ a familiar fembot voice spoke through the speakers surrounding the room. All heads and helms picked up, and Optimus couldn't stop himself from grabbing his mate's digits this time. She returned the gesture in full. ~This is Cameo, leading Autobot sub-division contingent designated 'Fabials', inbound for entry into base Teletran Omega. We have multiple injuries sustained, Cybertronian and humanoid in nature, with possible tails. Please respond.~

"Message received, Cameo, we are scanning for possible tails, standby," the analyst relayed, adjusting his mic. His fingers fluttered in an incomprehensible pattern and his head darted across the screen. When the scans were made and nothing picked up alarm, the young male started again. "You are permitted for entry, Fabial Cameo. Please state condition and company."

~Cameo, Beta, Corra, Galax, Tettera, and Zincar of Fabial contingent,~ she began, flashing their signals bright for all to see on the screen. ~Decepticon refugees Bekos, Thunderblast, and Titanios, whom is required immediate medical attention upon entry.~ She paused, but did not cut communications. Rethalia squeezed Optimus' digits when he accidentally let his uncertainty float over their bond. ~And hostages Solas Kaon and Fera Lennox, received with minor injury as far as I am aware.~

The Primes froze as one in that news. They were alive! They were coming back! From the corner of his relieved optics, Optimus saw Prowl's faceplates go slack and his servos clench. Red Alert sagged, backing into the wall next to Ratchet. The medic himself slipped down onto his aft, weary, stunned features scrubbed by his servo. Optimus' own shoulderbolts sagged with the weight of relief. All that tension left in a rushing wave, escaping as though frightened from the room, and leaving but sighs of joy and bated cycles of disbelief. They'd been tricked too many times to be completely sure too quickly. Until they saw the fembot standing in front of them, they would not believe.

Rethalia leaned in towards her sparkmate, her spark uneasy by this sudden, unexpected news. "She didn't say anything about Punch," the fembot noted. She pulled away, features twisted in concern, her free servo laid gently on her mech's arm.

Optimus frowned, laden in abrupt sadness, knowing well enough that Cameo wasn't one to forget an important slip of information pass by like that. Something had gone terribly wrong, and the Prime was unable to hide that wisdom from his lover. Together they shared their grief, silently, waiting on the floor with their servos grasped and their optics hard. The others would know soon enough. It wasn't their right to tell them any sooner.

Red Alert made his move to tale his proper command, typing furiously at the command panel. His twitching had stopped, replaced by the fever of his flashing digits. Bright optics and faceplates alight in ghostly light darted from console to viewing screen and back. To humans, each window popping up would simply be a flash of shape before disappearing. And to Optimus even, Red Alert worked quite swiftly. It was his base reason for straying from the Protectobots to come to Earth and be Optimus' main analyst beside Prowl. But, that was another story for another time.

Men merely lounged as Red Alert worked. They were far too used to seeing their commanding officer at work, having been with him at least a good decacycle, or year, now. Nonetheless, one could definitely see the minor edge of awe gleaming within their tiny irises. The fresher additions to the base stared, open-mouthed, at the magic happening before them. In what would have taken them a good thirty clicks, Red Alert got done in one.

Into his communications device, Red Alert announced, "Scanning systems ready whenever you are Cameo. Please proceed to proper protocol sequence 'Centra', thank you."

~Request received.~ Cameo's group moved onward less than a mile from the entrance of the base. ~Preparing protocol 'Centra' now.~

Optimus, numb with his confliction of grief and relief, gestured his mate to move before he did. A single nod came from her blank faceplates while she walked past. It was amazing that they were able to hide their emotions away as they did. It should have fried their processors deciding if everything had been worth it in the end, losing Punch, but getting Fera and her Guardian back in return. Perhaps it wasn't fair to blame themselves for not keeping closer watch over the fembot. The mech Prime could see in the way Rethalia clenched her servos that she planned very well to correct that very mistake.

Could they have prevented this from happening? It was only right he place responsibility on himself, being overall commander of the Autobots stationed on Earth. And what more, he was commander of this small band of Autobots in the same building as he. How is it he was unable to predict that an unstable mech such as Solas Kaon may bring Fera Lennox with him to rescue Punch? Desperation was in them all. Solas Kaon should have been used to the helplessness, having been a gladiator not so long ago. What gave him reason to fathom his desperation above that of everyone else's?

As a warrior, he was expected to fight for the reason fitting to his belief of right over wrong. It was clear he'd been blinded then that bringing Fera along on his reckless mission to rescue Punch was unwise. There was an inkling of thought in Optimus' processor that maybe, it hadn't been the best to place Solas in charge of Fera that fateful kalon. She'd been in danger a thousand incidents over, however, this, putting her at risk like that, goes beyond those. Before, it had been mere accident. This was sheer idiocy.

Optimus and Rethalia moved through the halls as the stoic pair they always came to be in crisis. Their sparks thrummed in tune with their unease. One bout of the unnerving emotion cycled from one entity to the next, increasing when it circled back. This vicious cycle continued well into the term it took them to walk these endless halls. It felt a vorn had passed between the communications room and the main lobby.

Rethalia entered first, making her way toward the pocket of Autobots deemed Bumblebee, Arcee, and Mirage. The three were conversing quietly to themselves, mostly from Bee and the fembot rather than the mute Mirage. It was obvious he was uneasy with Cameo's return with the group he so foolishly allowed leave the premises. And yet, not all of it had been his fault. With talking to the mech, Optimus had come to find that Mirage was but a pawn in Titanios' plan. Solas and Fera had also been mere victims of trust.

The Prime had a foggy idea of why Titanios would betray the Autobot cause, only to return injured and without a certain company in tow. Perhaps he had wished to make solace with Arachnid and the faction he'd left behind. Nevertheless, it all had failed, whatever the ex-Decepticon had been planning. It was a brash, ignorant plight pulled by a mech already marked by fellow peers around him as suspicious. Allowing himself to threaten that reputation and mark his presence forevermore as untrustworthy within Autobot ranks took true courage. Optimus didn't know whether to respect the mech, or banish him from ranks hence and forevermore.

Optimus entered the lobby, experiencing the swift expanse of atmosphere around him, and a warm draft making his plates tingle from the lingers of outside that had been trapped by the front door. His helm swiveled as he took his time to study those station in wait within the four walls surrounding their bustled group. A messy hosh-posh of Cybertronians and humans conversed and mingled among the webbing of scaffolds and catwalks. Every Autobot was present, excusing Rainwing, Smokescreen, Bluestring, Hawktail, Thunderflare, and Wheeljack, whom were on a patrolling round along the perimeter of the island, but should be back before long.

Movement caught in Optimus' peripheral to his left on the scaffold leading to the offices in the higher levels of the base. It was strictly a human-designated area, as no Autobot above ten feet high had chance of exploring upwards. Whomever these five striding down the lengthy stairway could be, Optimus was unsure if he was willing to handle them as of this click. Instead he stared ahead into the closed door of the front entrance, anxiously anticipating their eminent rise. The creaks would shatter this room and companions would make their presence known as lively vortexes of solemnness. There would be a hearty mix of angst and happiness in this room this kalon.

Those five approaching from his flank continued until they came to the platform, where a single being peeled off and stepped to the rail. From the limit of his optics, Optimus knew. The smell of sweat and choking, obnoxious cologne stung his nasal receptors. Greased locks caught the light in a flash of blinding brightness. Meaty fingers grabbed the metal to ingrain an oily print along the surface.

"Optimus Prime, I'd like to speak with you for a moment," Secretary Ben Kepler requested in his tart, garbled voice. The fat along his neck was weighing on his throat, effecting his voice.

Optimus Prime, features deadpanned, turned his optics on the human this planet considered his equal in command. "Under what circumstances, may I inquire, Secretary?" he wondered, gaze traveling smoothly above the human to the four others station behind him. They were a familiar bunch, though, Optimus hadn't seen any of them since before Fera had been transferred into her frame. They were Director of CIA, Peter Solamen; Director of Homeland Security, Cole Halleway; Director of the National Reconnaissance Office, Minroe Caster; and Director of Technologies, Cameron Ferk. He had them all in file already, with facial and physical recognition.

Kepler shifted himself taller, favoring his right foot as he adjusted his tie. Maybe he had injured it recently. "It's about our government's concern revolving around your contingent, specifically of a more recent manner these past months," he explained, arms crossing. "We are uneasy with security measures taken during this war that I and my superiors may have no knowledge of."

The Prime listened, not truly interested in what the man had to say. Of course they had an issue with his Autobots. It was not a newer issue to hear of these blurry kalons. However, fatigued with a lack of recharge, and anxiously busy awaiting the arrival of a very essential Keeper, he hadn't the energy to preform up to his best. Rethalia may have been a more proper sentinel in his position for right now.

Fighting back his tiredness, Optimus said, "We are taking steps to insure complete, sound security within this compound. It is with confidence that I may provide you total conviction that this base is secure." A respectful nod tipped from the mech's helm when he forced himself to be formal. Strange. It usually came to him naturally. "Now if you will excuse me..."

It was true the mech wished to escape from the binds of responsibility eating away at him. Here he started, aiming to tread to his mate and her smiling comrades, but that wasn't happening. "Wait here a moment, Prime. I haven't finished with you yet."

Withholding his inner groan was difficult to do. However, Optimus managed, and he turned back to the awaiting humans. "Yes?" he asked, grinding his oral sheets into one another until he tasted sparks.

"Secretary Ferk had a few ideas of his own to improve security on base, along with communications data transfer and the rest of overall connections," Kepler told the Prime, moving aside to wave up the man in the middle of the four. He stepped up at command, a laptop folded in his hands. Optimus was already familiar with this man, if but more so than the rest. "He should be able to get this place locked down before anything else happens."

"Secretary Ferk has my respect," Optimus agreed, his tone showing no agitation for the respectful male. "However, I believe my comrade Red Alert is charged with head of our communications and technologies district." Secretary Ferk hesitated and looked to Kepler, slowly closing his laptop. The Secretary of Defense's jaw tightened, his small eyes flaring. "Your services are appreciated, however, unnecessary."

"Unnecessary?" Kepler snapped, hand clasping the rail. "Haven't you seen the events happening around us? The raid on the grid six months ago? The enemy is certainly capable of more than they let on, which leads me to believe that this center of operations is in require of improvement-"

"I agree to disagree, Secretary."

"Your opinion is of no use here, Prime. See to it you watch your men, and I watch over mine."

Optimus' optics became terse in rising frustration. This man did not quit. Was it determination that drove him? Or stupidity? "This branch of supervision is of my discretion, Secretary, as are the beings residing beneath this ceiling, and I have reason to appreciate it if you would refrain from disrespectfully breaching your grounds of order."

Secretary Kepler opened his pink lips again, however, a single soldier stepped up next to him. He was of tall stature, with striking green eyes and dusted blonde hair. A silvery scar traveled along the width of his neck, the ends poking out around the sides. From in front, one would never be able to see it there. Hands, worn from war, remained at his back. Words poured from his trained mouth and floated from the breadth of his stubbly chin. "Secretary, sir," he began, voice trailing with his own tiredness. The tiredness of a soldier. "Optimus Prime has a point. This base was presented in all right to the Autobot leader in terms of order for his operable contingent of armed forces, in his case, the Autobots, while Captain Robert Epps oversaw human operations-"

"Soldier!" Kepler barked.

"Sir?"

"Did I ask for your input?"

"No...sir, no you did not," Colonel James Marks responded, back straight and arms at his sides in the posture of attention. His mandible was held high, though the expression burning in his jade eyes was anything but collected.

"Then back to your post Colonel. I shall request your opinion when, and only when, I deem fit," Kepler snapped. His hand removed from the rail, pointing James back to his original position. "Remember I am your superior here, and insubordination such as yours is intolerable. I could have you working security duty for a senator's dog before you could even blink. Understood?"

With eyes dancing under the fire of the lights, James' throat expanded as he swallowed the words Optimus was certain he wanted to say. "Understood." A pause. "Sir." And he backed away, keeping his gaze trained forward and his hands rolled into fists. The Prime could very well hear the profanities spitting from that man's head toward the one standing not ten feet away.

It was only the loud alarm of which came from the front entrance that drug his cerulean optics away. The flash of red passed thrice around the perimeter of the room, basking all in a shade of shadows and crimson. All had fallen silent, leaving but the speakers to sing their song amid the gathered. Sentences died in the first round of warning. Murmurs seared into the processors and brains of the many, laced with the burn of apprehension, and the electric tingle of wait. The sheets of the door began to overlap into each other as it lifted. Cables scraped along the grained metal surface, leaving a hiss to bounce back through the walls and off the crests of the titans standing still as stone on the floor.

The lights were still dimmed, the alarm being the only source of luminescence besides the haunting glow filtering from the many blue optics collected. All were focused on the opening developing beneath the door. All awaited the fateful sight of a fellow peer, the tension causing a tensive knot to form in each frame. Where their sparks would beat, a hollow thud took each patterned thump. Vents stopped cycling. The air became frigid with the staleness of bated breath.

Then, light.

It streaked across the floor with avid intensity - cutting through the curtain of dark to pound the rear of the space with illuminance. Scaffolds gleamed their glossy, chipped indifference, the technology lining their rails reflecting rays of white. Tires marred the ground, bringing forth the first of arrivals to enter this place of sculptures. Except, they weren't tires at all, but steely talons, clicking along after the fall of absolute quiet when the alarms stopped.

A noble head dipped beneath the door, clearing the last of it as it finished lifting. Optics were alive in lime energy, searching, scouring for the sign of welcome. Where there should have been joy and fantastic celebration, there was merely further hesitance. They were all waiting for one. If she was here, then there would be room for happiness.

Cameo lead in her Fabial contingent, one by one, each heavy with the bodies of humans. Surprise was the first reaction to come to Optimus at the number of them, but then he recalled the Russian Scientists held hostage by Decepticon forces, and a wash of relief took him. So this suicide mission hadn't been as unsuccessful as originally believed. It seemed as though they broke through the stillness with their dismount from their mighty steeds. Cameo set down her passengers, laying on her tanks and assisting them from their position on her lengthy spinal support.

The brown and orange Fabial medic Zincar then came in, followed closely by his vibrantly hued comrade Galax. The serpent and phoenix set down their cargo and moved to make way for the rest of the group filing in. Beta, their weapons specialist, clad in simple brown, dropped off his humans as well beside his white and earth-colored mate Corra. Was the fembot with Firelight? Optimus' wires buzzed in concern for the orphaned youngling.

Last to come in was the Fabial Tactician Tettara, hauling a good three humans in her lycan form. They stumbled from her grasp, finding their human compatriots in the middle of the floor before breaking down. Some began to sob, clutching onto one another for strength. Others stood, staring, at all the giants surrounding him. Wide eyes, lit in wonder, scanned the ranks. No longer where these behemoths a myth. Optimus grinned down at the man watching him, causing the figure to stare like a human child.

That Prime's smile fell as more rumbled into existence and squeezed wherever they could find space. A familiar figure vibrated in after Tettara, painted azure blue, with scratches having scrubbed a lot of that away. His designation was Ultra Magnus, once City Commander on Iacon, and member of the Wrecker community for a term. Towed in behind him, where his loading system usually was for carrying fellow alternate modes or weapons or supplies, was the unmistakable armored assault vehicle painted in camouflage.

No matter the camouflage or not, this mech was not, and could not, hide. His presence was too well known now. It was impossible not to feel the overwhelming sense of betrayal, hatred, and merciless unforgiving permeating in the ranks around him. Optimus was awed at the power of it all. Autobots such as those on his sides never found this depth of loathing in their sparks for another. Titanios, it appeared, was their exception.

How dare he come back here?

What right does he have to be carried along?

Who would dare show their faceplates again after committing treason like that?

I trusted him.

It was all there, waiting to be said, yet never leaving the glossas of the gathered. They need not display these venomous statements. They were clear to mark Titanios' frame forever in acidic ink. It was his tattoo now. His branding and his bonded: Traitor.

Ultra Magnus moved the crippled Titanios over to the very perimeter of the space, by the wall to Optimus' farthest left. There was a large, abnormal twist in Titanios' armor, as if one of his limbs had been wrenched backwards. And it could very well have. Magnus' tires stopped and he detached from Titanios. Here, Autobots and humans alike shied away, stepping in reverse not simply to give the two room to reform themselves. Those glancing glares told them enough that that wasn't a mech they wanted to be around.

Then there were the two Decepticon refugees that Cameo had spoken of earlier. Their sleek, sleek forms entered with a pride near gagging to the mech Prime. They slid into the building, slower than the rest, with apprehension coating the glossy shine of their paint. Unlike their Autobot travelers, they transformed in the middle of the floor. Bold as it was, it was intelligent as well. They must have known that to reform by the walls, as the others had, would have raised suspicion and perhaps brought conflict. So there they stood, servo in servo, chins held high, while they awaited their turn.

Optimus didn't want to make that decision, but, for the sake of himself and Rethalia, whom was watching him carefully through both optic and spark, he knew it was up to him. "Hound, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker," the Prime called, the helms of the hailed flicking up. "Show Thunderblast and Bekos to the brig. Make sure their needs are met and that they are comfortable for questioning when I come." Three helms bowed and they shifted forward. Caution was evident in them, as was instinct by now, their servos raised. Bekos growled at Sunstreaker when the mech came behind them. The golden twin, known for his temper, snarled right back.

"Watch your distance, Autobot."

"Watch your glossa, 'Con."

They moved out, easily able to pass through the crowd when the members of it stepped aside. The five came near passing to Optimus, and with as kind of an expression as he could wear, Optimus dipped his helm respectfully to their Decepticon arrivals. "You shall be safe here," he assured, catching Bekos' uneasy optic. "You and your sparkmate," because he was certain that's what she was, "will have nothing to fear from myself or my comrades."

"Fear is not the word I would use," Bekos seared, his optics slitting distrustfully. "I came here to protect my family unit and keep them together. I do not plan on fighting beside you."

"Pity, and I was looking forward to brushing blades beside you," Sideswipe snipped, servos curling as he held back his irritation. The twins never did take well to Decepticons. They may act like ones every so often, however, call them a Decepticon, and they would leave a 'Bot lying unconscious on the floor or hanging off the side of a building...by his toelinks.

Optimus shot the red twin a warning glance. "Sideswipe," he said sharply, tone firm. With his leader's displeased look, the mech fell quiet, optics scalding the floor. Thankfully, Optimus didn't have to reiterate his order, as the twins and Hound moved their couple forward into the empty corridors on their way to the brig in the south wing.

A throaty roar echoed bluntly from the stark walls, the bodies occupying inside them doing nothing to obscure or break up the noise. It batted at Optimus' frame, tearing at his armor. Energon boiled in his lines. It was a familiar sound to hear, having known it for vorns upon vorns before ever even stepping ped on Earth those seventeen or so decacycles ago. It wobbled, ripping into the thickened atmosphere with jarring effect. Processors became wiped. Bodies ceased movement, especially one certain woman human, perched upon the shoulderbolt of Stratis.

Optimus set his sights on the entering, viciously sleek form of Solas Kaon. The black on him was blacker; it seemed his paint had been scorched. Silver, painful slashes crosshatched each visible inch of him. Dents clogged the length of his outer shell from tailpipe to headlights. The red stripe usually running along his sides were faded and warped out of line. Sparks fluttered out from between the fissures of his plates. A battered protoform peaked from underneath the abused covering, scratched, burned, and depleted of life. He seemed to sag on his tires when he came in, his trembling silhouette shaking from more than the fatigue of his drive.

Behind him arrived a slighter figure in black paint that rivaled Solas' own, a motorcycle, deemed a crossbow design. Vivid green highlights scored down the flanks, adding an energetic buzz to the scene of their arrival. More of the acidic-hued color detailed about the rest of the frame. They paused beside Solas, the canopy of their vehicular form lifting to admit another human into the building. It was merely one dark-skinned female, who staggered away with a coat wrapped tightly around her shoulders. A male sprinted from the bundle of fellow scientists and enveloped her in a crushing hug. They stood together for a good click, sobbing in relieved joy, before he led her away.

Solas released three of his own hostages, his doors slamming shut when they were clear. He then began his reformation sequence, followed exactly in tune by the motorcycle at his side. It was with unreadable emotion that Optimus watch the graceful transition of the two-wheeler from vehicle to Cybertronian.

When she stood, for her frame gave her away immediately as fembot, she came up to Solas' upper chassis. Her optics were an unmistakable shade of ruby, their glint catching on the tiniest of glimmers from the lights hanging above. They scoured the crowd, mercilessly running through a series of conflicting emotion while they found every set of faceplates surrounding their holder. A slighter thing, she was nothing short of fierce in appearance.

The Decepticon armor on her gave her streamlined shoulderbolts, which curved at the tips before touching her bicep. A sculpted helm swiped from the ends of the walls to her left, to her right. It was pattered in a layered concoction of onyx plates, hugging close to her cranial unit in a slick, lighter design. Leading down her chassis, one would see the swooping slope of her chassis into her pelvic armor. This led into the capes attached to either hipbolt, hanging down beside both clenched servos. Thin peds supported her with sharp intensity, the heelped held up on a stiletto Optimus was confused on how she could possibly stand on. Her toelinks were splayed while she shifted her weight on them.

If there was anything Optimus could use to describe the expression on her intense features, it would be anger. Or sadness. Or at some length, both.

Those optics were broken down, shuddering in unshed lubricant tears. However, her frame refused to betray such weakness, staying stalwart and strong beside the obviously exhausted mech. A Deception's design was specifically for strength and ferocity, not innocence and emotions beside anger. Slight tremors rocked her arms, making them blur at the edges. It was clear she was trying to hold it all in, and yet, when her helm bowed and her optics shuttered, the Prime was aware that that task would be impossible. Solas immediately grabbed the fembot, ducking his helm toward hers and whispering softly to her in Cybertronian.

It was very, truly, achingly certain that this unrecognized Decepticon was indeed their Keeper, Fera Lennox. Simply in another entity, Optimus couldn't blame his fellow Autobots from tensing up at her entry, or hovering their servos close to their subspaces or bracers in preparation to brandish their weapons. It was ingrained in them to act against the enemy. They were only doing what they had been trained to do. Only a few, such as Rethalia Prime, Sarah Lennox, the medics, Firestar, and of course Titanios and his arrived comrades had kept calm during the transition. The unsuspecting mother craned her neck to see Fera, unknowing that she was seeing her daughter, to watch the events before her.

Optimus wanted to speak out. His stunned frame was preventing him from coming forth to greet his comrades, leaving him speechless and unable to move. In his place Rethalia stepped forward, moving carefully to Fera's side and laying a servo on the fembot's shoulderbolt. The young one lifted her helm from Solas, saw Rethalia standing there, and flung her arms around Rethalia's neck. Optimus sensed his mate's surprise through their bond, however, she quickly dismissed that to return the comforting embrace while her Guardian watched them silently from nearby.

There was a sort of slap that came from seeing this event happen. It spurred Optimus to regain his composure and turn to the secretaries standing on the scaffold to his left. "I may ask you all to be dismissed as of this time. I shall speak with you all again, soon I may hope, however, as of this time I am unfortunately unable to assist you," he intoned, voice strained with stress. None of them appeared to notice, for beyond their startled wonder, each man besides Kepler nodded and took their leave, directed away by James. The stubborn Defense Secretary stood his ground, staring at the two hugging in the middle of the floor.

"What is the status of the hostage the Decepticons are still in possession of?" he boldly requested the mech standing at post next to the fembots. Scowling, Solas turned his fired gaze on to the man stationed on the scaffold. It was with wise decision that Optimus decided to stay silent at that look, as well as the motion of Titanios standing up behind the line of Autobots at the far front of the room.

Optimus leaned over to Inferno and Rodimus to his direct right. They were ordered to assist Titanios to his own spot in the brig as well, and they went off without a word. Optimus was aware that they were not the strongest of warriors among the Autobots, but that they were less irritated with Titanios and more willing to offer assistance to his wounded state rather than shove him mercilessly to the rear area of the base. They would be fine.

Solas placed a servo on his charge's new shoulderbolt and growled lowly. "Not now Kepler." His left optic was turning a shade of purple.

The Prime made it his duty instead to become involved in Solas' place, his tone far more formal than the agitated mech's. "Punch, our double agent, is deadsparked Secretary," he answered simply. It was without need that Solas and the others tell him. He was well knowing to the fact that the Autobot wasn't lagging behind his company and would arrive soon. He only hoped that it was without much suffering that the 'Bot joined with the Matrix.

Solas' helm averted, dipping down as Fera broke into another set of choked sobs. Rethalia held her near, shielding her from the outside worlds by her comforting touch. All around them, the shocked and grieved expressions of Punch's peers created a mural of sorrow. A few mechs whom had known Punch more deeply left to hide their moments of personal strife. Sarah was nowhere in the moment, as she was still seated on Mirage's stiff shoulderbolt, confused and conflicted on whether this was indeed her daughter and if to intervene or not. The spy stood stoic, one digit laid on Sarah's leg for support. Though the Prime was sure it was more for his own disheveled and grieved self rather than for her comfort.

Kepler snorted, catching all attention. "Finally, some reassuring news."

All operation stopped there. Helms, heavy, weary, awake, alive, and aware, swiveled to single out this sole essence bold enough to take place on the platform of the scaffold. A humming shock gripped them all. It was plain to the optic that a timid stillness had befallen them while the words took their time to sink in. Each being was different - took the comment of English at different speeds. A few may have translated it from English, to Cybertronian, to English again, as if to truly confirm he'd said it.

Optimus' frigid lip plates parted, stealing the silence with his stale words and withheld venting. "Excuse me?" he managed.

"Did they get any information?" Kepler inquired, coldly. "Our location? Data? Technology?"

Solas took this turn as his and stepped in front of his charge. Fera's faceplates were wide with unadulterated disbelief. Tears had frozen on her cheekplates. The fembot Prime holding her let her servos slip off Fera's arms, dropping to her sides. Her own features were crossed between offended and belligerent.

"No," Solas responded, curtly, without remorse, his servos balled into quivering fists. "They received nothing of value. Punch was able to purge his processor before they could breach it." Narrowing his optics, the mech must have figured that wasn't enough. He kept going, "I bet that makes you happy, doesn't it? You flesh-ridden, slimy-"

"Solas Kaon, at ease," Optimus cut in, a hint of a warning in his words. He wished to watch out for the mech, as speaking out against a government official as he was about to do could have gotten them all in marks with the American cabinet.

Kepler rolled his shoulders, pompous lips quirked. "Get a muzzle on your mutts Prime, there may be consequences for insubordination such as they exhibit. I've let it slide so far, but my leniency is running short."

Optimus took his own advice and cycled in air through his vents, willing his brawling sense of professionalism and righteousness to settle on the safest, quickest route. "Of course, Secretary," he grounded through locked oral sheets. And he didn't plan on changing a thing about his warriors in this man's absence.

"And what about that traitor of yours? Are you simply going to let him walk away?" Kepler went on, throwing a hand out where Titanios had been escorted away by Rodimus and Inferno. Optimus' optics darted from that location back to the man, features hard and frame unmoving.

"Titanios is in the brig now, as his punishment is in deliberation at the moment," he said briefly. Without warmth. Without welcome.

A bead of sweat trailed down Kepler's neck. "Take him out," the male stated, swiping away the liquid with a small fabric. "He knows too much, and if he can so easily turn his back on us all and lie as fluidly as he had, I am certainly questioning his loyalty."

"Loyalty..."

It was spoken from Fera's lip plates. They hung parted, barely, her optic ridges coming down over her optics as if the word was one she'd never heard of before. Optimus ignored it in favor of concentrating on the task at servo. Rethalia didn't approach him about it through their bond, so it must not have been a bigger ordeal.

"There is no discussion necessary," Kepler said as he tucked the fabric back into his pocket. "We were lucky with that hostage, however, I am sure we won't be another time-"

"Lucky?"

Now Optimus did turn his helm at the fembot. She was pushing away from Rethalia gently, stepping around Solas then with languid peds. Her faceplates were again bewildered, however, more in sense of rejection to believe than true misunderstanding. None stopped her while she took stand a few yards from her Guardian, not even he, with her servo pressed to the Stone situated prominently on her chassis.

"We were lucky?" she murmured. "Lucky...Punch is dead...and we are lucky..." Here, she was calm. Her optics were distant and her reactions late, however, she was calm.

Then the realization dawned on her visibly, and Optimus saw the pain screwing corks through her frame when she curled her digits into balls. Her words wavered, even after being spoken, traveling in an endless echo throughout. A shaking overtook her frame and Optimus found the hatred scorching through the paths of her energon lines. A certain tick captured her optic, perhaps a defect of the stress from her entrapment.

And without warning, her two, rabid optics settled on Kepler, and she leapt at him. Her servos were outstretched, keen digits open for ripping the mass of flesh standing at the rails. He fell back as both Guardian and Primes jerked into action. Optimus made his place in front of Kepler, hurrying to guard the hapless being before the crazed fembot could reach him. Solas captured Fera, his arms encircling her middle. Rethalia started at Fera, however stopped herself in noticing Solas' binds.

Fera struggled against Solas, shoving away at his arms and flailing her legs in defiance. "You don't know anything!" she screamed, her tone searing the metallic tinge in the air. It struck Optimus in his spark, and he turned rigid there, unknowing what other to do than keep vigilant. He was Kepler's last defense, and the Prime could not afford loss of life on his servos, nevertheless if that be Cybertronian or human.

Fera twisted, trying desperately to get free. "He's dead! Punch is dead! Dead! You piece of shit, he's dead! And we're lucky?!" she shouted. Solas was unable to hold her up any longer, so he set her back on her peds, his arms bulging while they struggled to keep her in place. Those feral optics of hers cut down Optimus' center as if he weren't there at all. "He gave up everything for us! For humans! For this planet!" There was no lack in fight as she lifted her servo again and snarled. "I'll rip your throat out, you ungrateful scum of the earth! Don't you get how much he gave up for you? He never even got to see the sun..." Here her voice dropped along with her arm. Her expression changed dramatically, all the fight leaving her at once. "Oh God, he never even saw the sun..."

Solas allowed his charge to be free when her frame lost all evidence of further strive to tear the man to pieces. Her sights hit the floor, her frame sagging. Life was sucked from her in the matter of an astrosecond. Defeated without binds, she sank to her kneebolts. Tears streamed once more over her faceplates, dribbling down her mandible and dripping off her chin to hit her folded legs. Optimus deflated when he observed the fembot sinking into herself, her servos pressing into her optics as an uncontrollable cry pierced the air. Sol fell to his own kneebolts, taking Fera up in his arms and rocking her back and forth. The sight was reassuring and saddening at the same time. They were broken. Oh so very broken.

"Secretary Kepler," Optimus murmured, turning himself around without a sign of forgiveness in his optics, "I believe you should leave."

A baffled man rose his head to see Optimus there. He appeared lost, as if this whole ordeal knocked his memories from his brain. This was a heightened breach of boundaries by the man, and the Prime would refuse to have a presence such as his in this base any longer. Not if absolutely necessary would Optimus ever again agree to meet with this being. Kepler was hindrance to them. Optimus made a note to himself to speak with President Wake on expelling this cretin from active service.

"I'd do what he asks, Secretary," another entity suggested. A swift turn of attentions led to the unmistakable form of General of the Armies, Wendall Hendricks. His collected form strode down the steps leading from the upper balconies, his strides full of purpose and certainty. When he stopped on a step, one foot higher than the other, his gaze narrowed. "It would be smart to make your way up where you're better suited and useful: behind a window."

"But-"

"Did I stutter?" His eyebrow raised. "I said, get your government ass up in the Hub before I pitch you in there myself. Last thing Wakes and I need is your badgering these soldiers when they obviously need space." Still, Kepler remained in place.

"Now!" Hendricks barked.

And leave he did, without a lasting glance over his shoulder at the fembot crying on the floor, or the mech holding her, the General, or the Primes Pit-bent on making sure his career no longer applied to this building ever again. 'Now' would be the single word that was Optimus' goodbye, and his final banish against this man.

I won't miss him, Rethalia said through their bond.

Optimus nodded.

Good riddance!

I've been wanting to get rid of that fragger forever! :)

Well now that he's out of he way, it's time that some real stuff happens :D

I hope you're all prepared to feel the feels!

See ya next week

*Chapter Inspiration: Not Alone: Linkin Park*