Of The Spark And Heart

by Scarlet Nightmare

"You got hurt because of me. That was stupid! You could have gotten killed!" she exclaimed, now looking up at Sol's eyes. He shrugged and let his arm down, bringing her back before him. "The role of a Guardian is that we protect what we are assigned to guard, with our lives if necessary. That's what I was doing. And I would gladly do it again." he stated simply.

76. Chapter 76: War

Ok everyone!

This is officially the longest chapter of OTSH ever!

Be prepared, things are gonna move a little fast :D

Everything has lead up to this - the final arc of OTSH!

A few more chapters to go...

Let's hope I don't cry on the way there :)

Enjoy!

---

Of The Spark And Heart

Part 2

Chapter 76

For eons, the inhabitants of Cybertron one simple way. They believed in what they did for the countless vorns it took for them to encounter the world-shattering fact that they were not alone. After that, things never truly were the same. However, the one thing that stayed was the stubborn refusal of commitment. Cybertronians were vast, and colorful creatures. To remain that way, they made it taboo to align one's self with another of alien origin. Their species would remain pure.

Therefore, of course, it was inevitable that with such a large culture of rebellious or straightforward upbringing would treat their descendants the same as well. Diverse and strict cultures arose. One such was those that believed that one should devote his or her self to Primus and his whim. Another believed in arranged bonding, for various happenstance. Others would go so far as to believe a fembot should be with a mech, and all same-frame beings were utterly inferior.

So it went without saying that when Ratchet caught his apprentice kissing the traitorous piece of scrap that had kidnapped Fera and gotten one of his comrades killed...he was less than pleased.

His naturally protective nature caved in his processor, throwing the mech into a blind rage. His angered steps brought him forward to the pair, where Titanios was sitting on the berth while holding Cloudsong to him, their lip plates locked and optics closed. A trained servo meant for gentle prodding and sensitive operations seized Cloudsong by the thin arm and wrenched her away from the ex-Decepticon. With a squeak she ended up behind him, her optics startled and her frame tense.

Titanios was off the berth in the matter of a nanosecond. The posture of a warrior protecting his charge was in the way he growled. Until he recognized Ratchet standing there, and not the enemy he believed it to be, his stance remained wide and expression snarling. The medic had to say that for a brief sparkbeat, he was actually intimidated. Who couldn't be, with a mech twice their size, standing in a ruffled aggravation before them?

Titanios immediately wound down when he noticed Ratchet's infuriated glare lancing through him. Cloudsong was still in his grasp, his servo on her bracer, holding firm almost to the sense of causing her pain. He released her and barred that arm across her, if merely to shield her from this...beast.

See, Ratchet had ethics he'd learned from upgrading in a Mezzo-class home. The truths of his life cycle were that traitors could never be forgiven completely; his only friends were the ones he could hand a blaster to, put to his helm, and trust they wouldn't pull the trigger; and that if he believed in something, he better stick to it until the bitter end, or else his name be shamed. None of these pertained to Titanios.

Confused, the mech's optics darted from Cloudsong to the CMO. "Ratchet, what ar-"

In a moment of, shall he say it, unprofessionalism, Ratchet balled up his right fist and clocked the mech as hard as he could in the mandible.

Titanios stumbled back a few steps into the wall. A large mech such as him shouldn't have been that effected by that kind of hit. But with the surprise of it, as well as his recovering frame from a recent surgery -by the very servo that had punched him no less-, he couldn't seem to keep his balance as well. Standing there, Titanios looked up at Ratchet in shock of all things, and lifted a servo to hold his mandible. A dent was already there, caving in a tiny section of his faceplates. It would pop out within the joor.

However, Ratchet's inner distress would last quite a bit longer than that. His shoulderbolts were hunched, the plates of his worn and war-ravaged armor twitching. Pulses of pain came from the servo he'd attacked his...patient with, but it was an easy-to-ignore sort of thing. He continued to stare menacingly at the mech he'd hit, merciless faceplates shadowed by his chiseled optic ridges.

Cloudsong yanked away from Ratchet, hurrying to Titanios' side. "Ratchet, what is wrong with you!?" she exclaimed, raising her servo to Titanios' faceplates. Neither the mechs turned to her, as both were trained on each other.

Ratchet came forward again and grabbed Cloudsong, easing her back though she struggled to stay next to Titanios. "You will stay behind me," he barked harshly, making her wince. Cloudsong drew her arms up to her chassis, a twist of uncertainty clouding her innocent faceplates. What could she have been processing? Of all the mechs on base, she chose this one?

Though Ratchet couldn't say he didn't see it coming. Back before Fera had become Cybertronian the pair had been spending an awful amount of time together. Ratchet had let it pass his concern because it frankly didn't appear that serious. It was a fling, he'd decided. Here he realized that the 'fling' was a bit more involved than that. And he didn't like it.

"How dare you touch her?" the medic hissed, his optics narrowing. He stepped up a pace or two at Titanios and the mech stood off the wall. Ratchet growled lowly in warning, barely able to contain himself at this point. To have the mech touch his pure, harmless apprentice, who couldn't have hurt a single being in the worlds, made his energon boil. His wires curled and his plates tingled. A taste of bile crept onto his glossa, mixing with the sensation of sparks from his grinding oral sheets.

Cloudsong touched his arm, but Ratchet shrugged her off. "Please," she begged, trying to reach for him. "Leave him alone, he's a good mech!"

Ratchet whirled around, half comprehending what he heard come out of the fembot's lip plates. "A good mech?" he repeated, faceplates crumpled in disbelief. He stabbed a digit in the mech's direction. "That mech is a traitor, Cloudsong. He placed trust in our sparks only to rip it to shreds by handing Fera over to the Decepticons. You want to defend a mech whom would aim a barrel to my helm?"

"He wouldn't do that!" she argued. This side of the fembot was way out of line for herself. She was usually the shy, stuttering cyberling from Praxus that Rethalia had taken care of early on before becoming the medical apprentice Ratchet mentored. Where was the glitter of joy in her optics when she thought of helping others, or pleasing her teacher? Where was the calm serenity she displayed when she went about patching wounds and fixing armor?

All Ratchet could see now were tears.

"How do you know?" Ratchet urged, softer this time. He truly wanted her to see what he was seeing. This mech was dangerous, and she needed to understand that, no matter how difficult it was to accept. "He has betrayed two factions merely to deal a plan that he concocted in secrecy, because he knew for a fact it would endanger this war's last remaining hope of an end. He has murdered friends and comrades of ours on the battlefield. And, he has given no second thought of leaving you behind when he acted out those planes that he so greatly felt the need to see through. Why can't you see that he is no saint?"

Cloudsong shook her helm, tucking her chin to her chassis and wiping at the tears in her optics with rough swipes of her servos. When she peered back at Ratchet, his spark deflated. "We've killed Decepticons Ratchet - the Autobots have. We've acted foolishly in the moment out of desperation. We've carried out failures that we believed so greatly in prior to. We are no saints," she murmured, lightly stepping around her mentor. Ratchet followed her with his optics, but said nothing.

Cloudsong, cheekplates still damp, came to Titanios and grinned at him. She then laid her digits on his mandible where the dent was and brushed at the injury. Titanios leaned into her touch, optics closing and vents humming in pleasure. Although the gesture made Ratchet want to smack away her servo, he stood still. A sort of respect kept him rooted there, mostly for the fembot's sign of rebellion. She'd never dared defy him before. It sort of reminded him of his younger self, vorns and vorns ago when he had denounced his creators' path of politics and became a medic.

Titanios set a servo on Cloudsong's and put the other around the small of her spinal support. His grin was plain to see, and for some reason, made Ratchet want to hit himself. Every movement of Titanios' was of the greatest carefulness, as if he were afraid to break the fragile thing in his grasp. An expression of mutual affection was in their gazes, and Ratchet clenched his servos.

"Is he so different from us?" the fembot questioned, lifting herself onto her toelinks to press a kiss to Titanios' dent. "Does he not have a spark and a conscious and the ability of regret?" She turned her helm to find Ratchet standing there still as stone. Her smile was a means of peace - the treaty between an old mech and his old ways. If Moonracer were here, she would have hit Ratchet beside the helm for what he'd done. He suddenly felt guilty.

Were they so different, he and this mech? Was Titanios not a brash and young mech, ready to take the risks that would lead him to a path of wiser intent in the war? Optimus had once been very similar not long ago. And look at what he'd become.

Ratchet frowned and crossed his arms. Before he could say a word, Titanios cut in. "What I did was unforgivable," he entered hurriedly. "I knew what the risks were; and not merely of physical extent. I knew you all would cease to trust me completely again. But," he paused, stepping out of Cloudsong's grasp and moving in Ratchet's direction until they were a few feet apart, "that wouldn't matter to me so long as I helped the cause she believed in." He jerked his helm at Cloudsong and she locked her servos before her.

A drop in temperature let Ratchet know that the remnants of his anger were fading off. He trusted his apprentice with his life cycle. If her belief in something was strong enough that she was willing to sacrifice the companionship of the Autobot's trust, then he felt no reason to be her enemy. The fembot was smart. It was rare to legendary when she made a mistake. As his features broke into the weathered state they were before he'd entered the room, he looked to Titanios again.

The mech had his servo outstretched. It hovered in the air between them, waiting to build the bridge that would secure their contract. For a moment, Ratchet stayed still, not sure himself if this was the smartest thing to be doing. Then again...he wasn't really known for being smart. Being a medic was all about meaning to be swift, and willing to jump in without hesitance.

He extended his arm, the greenish hue flashing in the light from the bulbs above them, and clapped his arm to the mech's. Their servos wrapped tight around their forearms, digits secured by their elbowjoints. With a yank, Ratchet pulled Titanios down to his level. Their faceplates were close enough that their crests almost touched. Ratchet could feel the depression of space from the miniature gully he'd made in Titanios' faceplates.

"If you make me regret this," Ratchet vented, too low for Cloudsong to hear, "I will ruin you. Compute?"

Titanios' helm bobbed, optics coursing in a pride-inducing fit of fear. Ratchet released him then, allowing him to back away to the safety of his fembot's side. When they kissed -an incredibly bold thing for Cloudsong to do, but was surely for the sake of flaunting her win- he allowed it. After the first few nanoclicks however, he intervened. Planting his servos between them, he pushed Titanios to the berth he'd been sitting on earlier and told Cloudsong to stay back.

"Don't push it," the medic muttered.

He went to work grabbing his things, placing them aside Titanios neatly and in the order they would be used. The sharper tools were closer to Ratchet, in case Titanios decided he wished to break their pact a bit early. He then went on to opening the various latches on his patient's armor to expose his internal working. It was a sight to see, that mech. He merely sat there when Ratchet opened him up, not moving a byte, and keeping his servos politely at his sides.

He appeared completely at ease, with himself vulnerable like he was. Absolute fascination peaked in Ratchet's processor when he saw it: the naked trust in Titanios. Though the medic had just punched him not a bream before, he was remaining still and behaved enough that he could have been a model patient. What had he to lose now, Ratchet assumed he was processing. All Ratchet could do was help him. He would gain nothing by murdering a medic, especially in front of Cloudsong. Smart.

Cloudsong appeared to his right, going on to prep things to hand to Ratchet when he needed them. A distant thought passed him that he was glad he didn't bring Vanessa here. The female would never had understood the seemingly bipolar switch Ratchet had taken in the span of ten human minutes. His digits opened when Cloudsong gave him a wrenching switch, and that vision passed him. The three of them fell into a practiced sense of contentment.

Then, an abrupt rocking of the building violently shattered their peace.

Cloudsong called out, dropping the tool in her servo and falling back a couple of steps. Ratchet jerked, fighting to keep his balance, as he had less than expected that burst of energy to slam into him as it did. While he fell away, a great, hulking mass of camo-painted mech leapt from the berth and scooped Cloudsong into his arms. Together they fell to the floor, where Titanios put Cloudsong in the middle of his crossed legs and bowed over her, arms encircling her slim frame. The fembot very well disappeared within the bulk of her partner.

The shaking came to a halt just as fast as it had come. It only lasted a few nanoseconds, however, in those few moments, Ratchet couldn't say he'd reacted as a trained soldier should have. Titanios had managed to completely encase Cloudsong in his protective shell of armor, ensuring her safety with the threat of his own. Ratchet stood in a recovered stance, staring at the mech he'd punched as he slowly revealed the bundle of light blue in his grasp.

Cloudsong emerged and threw her arms around Titanios. Her trembles were visible even from where Ratchet was standing.

"What...in Primus' name...?" she whispered, voice shaken. Her terrified words slapped Ratchet out of his stupor, bringing him into the mirror of reality. While Titanios tended to Cloudsong, the medic rushed from the room, leaving them behind. Perhaps this was his show of trust between them. Leaving Cloudsong was a total act against his judgment, but it was necessary.

He pressed a digit to his comlink device as he hurried down the halls toward the source of the shaking. That had not been a simple Earthquake. It came from the building itself. The alarms weren't going off, and in fact, they were dark enough that they appeared turned off altogether. Was it an electro-mass bomb? Could the Decepticons have breached the base?

Quicker now, his steps took him through the halls, his comlink fighting to breach the barrage of static meeting it. A sort of signal interference must have erupted from whatever had occurred. It only made him break into a steady jog. What he was looking for, or where he was going, he did not know. The only sense of direction he had was of the flow of Cybertronian frames appearing and disappearing at the end of the corridor.

Ringing rolls of his steps pealed from the walls around him, mixing in with the storm of rumbling from his comrades' own hurried, collected movement. They ran every which way, trying desperately to tame the panic of the humans and curb the attention of the human soldiers where it was needed.

Ratchet came to a halt at the end of the hall, where he became witness to the chaos there. The shaking had happened not a bream ago, yet the activity ensuing was that of a battle having been waged for a joor. Humans with rifles scurried about, carrying away those who managed to get injured in the accident or collaborating with fellow soldiers or Autobots on what to do. Mirage was with Captain Epps, ordering around the subordinates with the authority only the dark-skinned male and his Italian-speaking companion could muster against the wave of combatants.

Firestar was picking up scaffolds that had fallen over, letting the humans trapped under escape with no obvious injuries accounted for at first sight. Her sparkmate Inferno was busy dowsing a fire that had sprung up from a machine that had toppled over, spilling its heat onto a pile of paper that was now but a mountain of ash. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were holding the door open to let the humans evacuate in their after-shock safety procedures. Bluestring had his arms full of computers, taking them outside at the request of Secretary Ferk. Terra Shelby was aiding a few of the wounded outside, with Vanessa at her side the entire way.

Other Cybertronian profiles came into view, however, Ratchet wasted no more time lingering where he wasn't needed. Instead, he returned to scouring the halls for answers. While he dodged the running forms of organic life around his peds, Jolt came down the way, features twisted in worry. The mech was never known for being particularly collected in situations such as these. It was no surprise that he would be nervous now. Ratchet dodged humans as if it were his job, nearly stepping on a few, and accidentally bumping others.

When he'd come to the central complex of the building, he swung his helm from hallway to hallway as means to decide which route to take. The east wing was flooded with humans, meaning that barely any Cybertronians would be to speak with. The south wing was more promising. Those Autobots that weren't scattered amongst the others were there, passing by Optimus and his mate on their way out of the building. They took to their alt modes mostly, as it was easier to maneuver through the humans that way.

Ratchet approached them, faceplates and frame tense. "You felt that, didn't you?" he demanded of his commander. He spoke in Cybertronian to keep from alarming the civilians and soldiers. But he was not blind to the stark grimness on his Prime's faceplates. Rethalia was no better. And it was their stoic nature and mute communication that Ratchet found must frustrating. They knew something that none of their comrades did, yet they were dawdling here as if this were merely an earthquake.

Rethalia urged along a stray human female whom had clipboards clung to her chest, her glasses falling down her nose. The fembot gently corrected the lenses with a precision no mech could possess and sent the woman off with a kind smile.

"Of course we did," she said, standing straight again. "No Autobot or human was immune to the influence of it."

Ratchet opened his servos, optic ridges burrowing into his blue orbs. "What was it? Where did it come from?"

Optimus shook his helm, stepping away from the door to allow a scaffold to pass through. Hawktail was pulling it, bringing several humans with him on top of it. When he passed, he nodded to the Primes, who both respectfully returned the gesture. "We do not know," he admitted when the armory smith was out of range. "Prowl was the last to see the security footage before it cut out. He is currently in the mausoleum."

That had to be it.

Ratchet turned on his heelped and darted down the west wing. Behind him he could hear the voices of Optimus and Rethalia calling his designation. He ignored them for the sake of concentration. If he lost his focus, then the meager collection of remaining humans walking these halls would definitely be smeared beneath his ped. Then there would be that problem to deal with.

The CMO arrived at the correct elevator that would bring him to the lowest level. When he pressed the button, he couldn't help jamming it a few times in hopes it would bring the rig up faster. It wouldn't, but it made him feel better by doing it.

He could hear the creaking of the gears and the rusty snap of the cables as they brought up the lift from the deep underground cavern. A presence closed in fast to his right from the corner of Ratchet's vision, and he snapped his helm to the side to see what it was. The distraction of the newcomer kept him from noticing the flicker of blue electricity that arched from the keypad in front of him.

None other than Solas Kaon was barreling down the way, brutally ignoring the caution of stepping on humans, though there were near none to watch out for. His steps were too used to dancing around a certain human charge that the sensitivity in his peds was high enough that he didn't even have to process stepping around them. It simply happened.

Solas stopped next to Ratchet, glancing between the medic and the elevator with his chassis heaving. His optics were brighter than usual, if but a bit muggy. Ratchet narrowed his optics, leaning in to see them better. The warrior averted his sights, determinedly sticking to the elevator now.

"Have you been consuming high-grade?" the medic accused in Cybertronian, vaguely surprised at the Guardian. He'd never thought Sol as the drinker type.

Solas sighed through his vents, then began bouncing on his peds and rolling his shoulderbolts, as if getting ready for a match in the gladiatorial arena. Ratchet guessed that old habits died hard. Although, the mech was more energetic than usual - specifically since returning from the Nemesis. He'd even gotten his sarcasm back apparently.

"Hello to you too, Ratchet," Solas replied in their native language, watching the doors with avid intensity.

"Stop bouncing, you're making me nervous," the medic snapped, beginning to jab at the keys again. He began mumbling to himself over things that could have been considered blaspheming to Primus, and made Unicron smile.

A snort left Solas and Ratchet growled. At him, or the keypad, he was unsure. "If you break that before we get in, I will strangle you," Solas returned, batting Ratchet's servo away. The medic groaned and lifted his servos, digits spread like claws on either side of his helm.

"For fragging sake, this is taking too long!"

"Ratchet I will punch you, I swear to the Matrix-"

"Do you want me to cut out your optics and weld them to your aft?" Ratchet sniped, aiming a digit at Sol's faceplates. "Because I will!"

At this, the doors to the elevator opened, cutting off any further conversation between them. Before Ratchet could even turn around, Solas was there, launching his way through them when they hadn't completely opened yet. Ratchet blew off the shove with a shake of his helm, and stepped in beside the bothered mech.

"Why are you still here?" Ratchet questioned, looking to Solas as the doors edged shut. Their iron prison was nothing more but mesh and sheets of iron. It was no surprise when it swayed dangerously as the two boarded in together. One more good-sized mech, and Ratchet was certain the thing would have fallen into the depths of the shaft. It was a mystery as to how the thing hadn't broken yet.

Solas had quit bouncing, but he was now playing with his digits, faceplates turned down to the floor. Something was bothering him. "I needed to see what had caused the blast," he intoned, never lifting his optics. "Prowl contacted Stratis about what had happened and so I came here as fast as I could."

"Stratis' comlink came through?" Ratchet inquired, optic ridges knitting together. "How? The signal interference didn't allow my own to pass. How did she...?"

"I don't know," Solas stated firmly, picking up his faceplates to aim them at the door. His mandible was set, the gears visibly clenching. "There must be an area where the interference is weaker. I'm no Prowl or Bluestring, so I can't honestly tell you."

They fell into the kind of quiet that came from the loathing of words. It made Ratchet sick to try figuring what to say next, when he knew that his hard work would result in a circle. Thus the shaking and rattle of the elevator became their conversation. They spoke of their weary wires and jagged cables, their metallic fibers beginning to unwind. They joked about their pulleys, in desperate need of oiling and replacement. They yelled over the issue of the weight they were forced to carry every kalon, when they got not a single thanks in return for their work.

Ratchet lifted his helm, wandering optics glued to the cracks between the panels in the ceiling. Behind the light of the swinging bulb, he could see the slow crawling of the concrete walls as they turned to dirt, then to grayish-blue cave stone. Their ride scraped its bare walls against the rough surface of the shaft, creating an excruciating symphony of screeches and grinding.

The medic grinned beside himself, caught in the memory of the moments he'd left on the surface. He wondered what Titanios and his apprentice were doing now that he was gone. The smile he'd had left immediately.

While they rode, he realized the danger he and Solas were going through, traveling underground after and earthquake. Correction: not an earthquake. "Do you know where I was before I came here?" Ratchet murmured, his words soft enough to cut through the noise of the elevator and capture Sol's attention. He could see the warrior from the edge of his peripheral turning his optics at his words. "I walked into Titanios' quarters. You know who was there?" He paused, turning his gaze to meet Solas'. "Cloudsong. He was kissing her."

Solas' expression went from confused to a slack form of disbelief. His lip plates fell open and his optics widened. The elevator jolted as it came to the end of its journey, and of their discussion apparently. For when it ceased movement, Solas was no longer concerned with the actions of a mech he still considered a traitor. Instead, his full features were captured in the shuttle of the doors as they hissed and split apart.

Light flooded inward from the cavern, covering them in a blinding sheen of white. It was a shocking change from the dimness of the elevator, and their optics suffered from it. Ratchet stared ahead until his optics had adjusted well enough to actually see where he was going. Solas apparently hadn't the time to worry about his own wellbeing. It was clear when he made a move to leave, for the momentarily blinded medic could feel the abrupt jump of the elevator as a certain heavy passenger bolted from inside. Ratchet stood for a good few sparkbeats before following.

As a medic, Ratchet was prepared for most anything. He'd seen war in its most brutal and ugly state. He'd seen cities torn, their towers gutted or burned to ash. Great, magnificent structures turned into a pyre of lives. The feel of energon running in thick rivers down the streets could never be forgotten or deleted or purged. Screams of younglings as they or their creators were beaten and murdered was no easy file to avoid either. There were many of them he couldn't help. Eventually, through a lot of scarring, he'd come to accept that fact. The wars had prepared him for many things in his life cycle.

But nothing could have prepared him for this.

The first thing he saw when he entered were the berths of fallen comrades, lain to rest beneath the crust of the Earth. Strange marks were scorched to each table, and every cloth was full of symbols and characters that were definitely Cybertronian in manner, but ones he was incapable of reading. Smoke climbed in tendrils through the air, brushing the walls of the cave in disturbing shows of careful exposure. Toward the end, three berths were snapped clean in half, their bodies gone from atop them. Lightning, blue as the optics witnessing them, shot in all directions and crawled along the stretches of iron with bouncing vigor. Three cloths, burnt to a crisp, were laid in a pile in front of the berths.

The next thing he saw was the shifting of frames to his left. His audios ringing with the beating of his spark, Ratchet turned his awed gaze from the berths to the sight of Solas' location. The mech was hurrying toward a form on the floor. They were definitely fembot, though they were somewhat larger than the average of frames. Their figure was slumped against the wall, helm resting limply on their shoulderbolt. One leg was hoisted up while the other laid flat. In their servo, still flashing with bouts of electrified arches, was the Galvanizer.

Too late, Ratchet recognized the faceplates. It was frightening to know who they were - that they were changed this drastically. Her painting was no longer the color he'd painted it, but a dazzling white and gold. Her faceplates were the same, but older some how, as if touched by the digit of time itself. A noble form of stoniness chiseled them into that of a warrior's mighty profile. It was not the her that her comrades had come to know, however, it was still her. If anything, she appeared more Cybertronian now. A commander even. Her added length and obvious, propagated strength was enough to throw off any. Solas was no stranger to his charge, so it wasn't too disconcerting that he would recognize her before Ratchet could. Yet something was off.

When a spit of blue lightning sparkled across her chassis, he knew. His servo stretched for Solas and his lip plates parted as the mech dropped to a kneebolt to touch his comrade.

"Solas, wait-!"

With a truly astonishing display of power, Solas was thrown backwards off his peds. He flew through the air a few yards before slamming into the floor. The mech slid across the rock until he was a meter from Ratchet's position. There his helm rocked and his frame moaned with him, his expression broke from recoil. Ratchet rushed toward his downed peer and leaned over him to get a quick visual of his injuries. Solas shuttered his optics a few times before looking up at the medic, his sights clearing of their debilitated mugginess. "What...in fragging Pit...?"

He leaned on his elbowjoint, a servo coming up to rub his helm. Twitches of blue sparked from his digits, and Ratchet stood straighter to avoid contact. "She's live," he stated. "Electrically charged with the Stone's energy."

Solas grumbled under his vents and rolled to his peds, getting on one kneebolt and resting an arm on the other. "You could have told me that earlier," he bit snappishly, sending Ratchet a fierce glare over his shoulderbolt.

"I tried," Ratchet retorted just as spitefully. No mech could beat that medic in the category of crankiness. That form of irritation had been taken in leaps by him vorns ago. "You didn't let me finish."

As a pair, the two mechs returned for Fera. Ratchet got lower, studying the unconscious fembot and judging if it was safe to touch her. Solas remained a little further away, perhaps in fear of getting shocked again. Ratchet's optics narrowed as he carefully scanned her frame. From crest to toelinks, he couldn't manage to get in. A presence was blocking him from breaching her systems. What it was exactly, he had a sneaking suspicion it was the Stone of Primus preventing him from reaching her. The output it exhibited must have been bigger than expected.

"Can you help her?" Solas demanded. His edgy nature was making things more frustrating for Ratchet. He would have appreciated it incredibly if the mech would shut the frag up.

Ratchet reached into his subspace and grabbed a wad of mesh from within. It was a coarser bundle, meant to handle profuse leaks or injuries. It would have to work for now. With Solas' hawking optics following his every move, Ratchet placed the covering over Fera, and watched the fizzle and popping of sparks. "That should stifle and absorb some of the recharge," he explained, shifting away. "For now I would keep your distance. For your own safety."

He stood on his peds and kept his optics on Fera's monumentally altered frame. This was yet another change for her. The colors suited her nature though, being of a fiery golden and white color rather than white, green, and black. Armor was thick on her, made for the bolster of a warrior, but thin enough for a fembot to preform their swift and acrobatic moves in. Her helm was sloped, with the angles cut at startling drops. Her crest was shorter than before, but cut more gracefully into the whole of her cranial unit. The rest of her was a masterpiece of craft, the layers of her intricate frame being the work of, well, a being far beyond Hawktail's skill.

"Who could have done this?" he wondered partly to Solas, bending over to dislodge the Stone of Primus from the Galvanizer. It stung his digits to touch it, and the heat from it was uncomfortable, but at least it had resettled itself better. He lifted it up over the breadth of Fera's chassis, to the pocket where the Stone was sure to be housed. It clicked into place perfectly.

Solas wasn't saying anything. His quietness was odd, and it made Ratchet unsure. He turned his faceplates to the mech as he raised himself up to his full height again. Solas was standing too still, his frame too stiff to be comfortable. His optics were spread open enough that they could have fallen out. Confused, Ratchet twisted himself around to see what was bothering the statuesque warrior.

If the glyphs burnt all over the cave walls weren't what caught Ratchet's attention, it was the figures arising from various spots within the main chamber. The sight of them made his spark drop into the floor hard enough to drive into the core of the planet and make his processor explode internally. His vents stopped cycling entirely. Whatever thoughts he was still having were too busy praying to Primus and whatever other entity watched from the cosmos above.

Black rumbled in from the grip of the shadows. The width of it was big enough to span from one berth to another. A massive chassis heaved in air, when air was not supposed to be taken in. Twin cannons mounted on shoulderbolts, giving them a height that almost touched the top of the entryway that would take Ratchet to where the Galvanizer had originally been chained up. Bulk was on top of bulk here, though it was a tad on the leaner side. Optics that had seen blaster fire more than the their own reflection flashed in brilliant blue. Scars were gone. No longer did they protrude from every visible space of the legendary armor, puckering in joints and limiting mobility.

Beside them, another deadly form arose in the practiced struggle of an attempt and failure at rousing from unconsciousness. A dusky blue captured them, as if their paint was shivering with the blanket of the moon's embrace. Protoform shone from under the curved and arrow-thin armor that hugged their figure in an unashamed flaunt. A blaster rested on their hipbolt, lovingly brandished for all to see or challenge.

From behind a berth another, silver, arrival came to. Even in the strive for awareness, they were smooth as liquid mercury. Previously puzzled and angled armor plates captured the glow of light in a new roundness. A streamlined essence came from it, being a truly beautiful series of low air-resistant sheets of alloy. Swooping capes of ivory color were on their arms Ratchet noticed. It rippled hypnotically while they lifted an arm to place a servo on their helm. Their free servo absently brushed along the welding scar that should have been on their midsection. While they sat there, dazed, Ratchet stared. It was all he could do.

Then, the unmistakable warriors Chromia and Ironhide realized they were seeing reality again. They arose with articulate slowness, their gazes locked, and movements mimicking their partner's exactly. In that instant, Ratchet was witnessing a miracle. Or a glitched memory file. He could be certain what it was to be honest.

In a moment of fear for this scene of impossibility, the medic's servo raised next to him and grabbed on to Solas' shoulderbolt. His digits wrapped hard around whatever armor he could get them on. In turn Solas' servo held onto Ratchet's bracer. Neither could be at fault for blaming this deafening instance of shock on getting mildly tazered by touching Fera. It was surely enough to fry their processors for a while, right?

Then Chromia and Ironhide smiled.

As they moved, Ratchet couldn't bring himself to do it too. Solas stayed unnaturally still. Each mech remained where they were at in terror of shattering this mutual fit of glitched imagery. Was it possible for them to both be seeing the same file? Were one of them transmitting a sympathizer signal, thus sharing their futile hopes?

The answer was no. Yet it was still hard to attain the ability to think that this was happening. Ironhide was standing from the rocks of the mausoleum, entrapped by the vision of his mate. Chromia was situated frozen as Solas was, trapped in the hold of her mate's optics. Could they be real? Was all of this real?

Chromia gave them no term to decide. With the quickness of a blade, she leapt forward into a stunning run and collided with Ironhide where he stood. Her arms were around his neck, her helm tucked next to his. Her legs wrapped around his middle, crossing at the anklestruts. The impact was so grand that Ironhide stumbled backwards with the brunt of it. Though he was recovered within a sparkbeat, for his arms encircled his beloved before he'd even given himself the chance to fall back. They became a twist of blue and black where they stood, intertwined closely enough that Ratchet had difficulty determining where one began and one ended.

Jazz on the other servo was focused on other things. While he stood, still unaware of Ratchet and Solas watching him do so, he found something of interest. His optics snapped immediately brighter and his plates jumped to attention. When Ratchet followed his gaze, Prowl could be seen entering from a cavern on the far wall. Still having not noticed Jazz's presence, the saboteur was able to sprint toward the analyst without detection. Prowl's optics were downcast, and could not lift fast enough to see Jazz closing the space between them. The silver Autobot flew through the air, tackling Prowl to the floor in a storm of laughter and sparks.

"Prowler!" he exclaimed in pure happiness. His arms were around the shocked mech, too tight to be dislodged. Ratchet would have been amused if he wasn't about to crash here and now beside Fera. It seemed that Prowl hadn't been expecting anything of this caliber either, for his reaction was simply lying still on the ground, arms raised, and optics trained on faceplates he'd known for millennium.

Jazz gathered himself onto his servos and kneebolts, positioned over the one beneath him with a smile on his faceplates so wide it should have hurt. Prowl continued to stare.

Chromia and Ironhide were a different matter. They were still connected, even at this point, with the only thing changing being their very passionate kiss. It officially sealed their reunion, if their embrace wasn't enough. Blue electricity of a different kind wrapped over each other, spanning from their chassis outward. They explored each other again and again, probably refreshing old spots and experiencing new ones. They were different now physically, but they were still the groping, blaster-happy, insane, brash, reckless, idiotic, feisty, kind, gentle, loyal, honorable, brave, and loving 'Bots that Ratchet remembered them to be. A tear rolled down his faceplates.

"Prowl, aren't ya happy to see meh?" Jazz questioned, his voice reverberating across the cave. Ratchet had to keep himself from breaking down there. Those echoes of his thick, accented words were too real. They made a piece in Ratchet click. That piece was the acceptance that this, right here, was happening. It wasn't a glitched memory file. It wasn't a ploy from The Fallen. Jazz was there, smiling down at Prowl and giving not a single frag that he had just...

They had all just come back from death.

Prowl, bless the mech, was possibly having another one of his glitches. From the severity of his staring, and the subtle twitch of his left optic, Ratchet was prepared to force a manual shutdown if necessary. But he didn't strike out or begin yelling in a furious craze. There was no taring at his plates or bashing his fist against the side of his helm. His vents hummed on as they usually did, and his limbs laid motionless as they would if he was recharging.

He simply raised a servo, impossibly slow, up to Jazz's faceplates. The edges of his digits were shaking quite badly. When he paused, servo barely up to height with Jazz's chin, the mech grabbed his servo and placed it against his cheekplate. "I'm here Prowler," he murmured in the same comforting tone he used when consoling a fellow war-torn 'Bot. "I'm really here."

Prowl's helm shook from side to side and he sat up, forcing Jazz to rest on his heelpeds. The analyst was still touching the cheekplate that had been cold not a bream before. He appeared confused. And afraid. And shocked. A few among them would call that being hopeful. Whatever it was, the mech was feeling it in crashing waves, if his expression was anything to go by. The peace of the silent cave was interrupted by a single, whispered word, which rang louder than if any had screamed it.

"J-Jazz...?"

At this, a ping cut into the moment, causing all entities present to immediately look to the elevator doors. From within it, two flustered figures escaped. The mech of them took three steps into the cave and stopped dead. His lip plates hung open with the words he was going to say, but was stripped of the privilege to. The fembot traveling with him was not far behind, and when she stepped through, it was not Jazz she saw first, as her mate had, but Chromia and Ironhide. The couple was now separated, allotting Chromia the opportunity to find her once commander and sister-in-arms standing staring at her.

Chromia broke from Ironhide's mighty grip and stepped once forward, servos lifting to her chassis. They remained there, solid and unmoving, for an indescribable about of time. Neither Jazz nor Chromia made the first move, as both were probably too lost in their own processors from the fact of being alive again to figure out how to 'break the ice', as the humans said. Rethalia lifting her ped up, and setting it down again, broke all of the ice that could have made a glacier.

"Chromia..." she vented, her vocal tone strained with emotion.

"Jazz...?" Optimus murmured with her. His helm lifted when Jazz stood, and the Prime's moving optics caught the second mech whom had deadsparked under his command, and had been one of his closest comrades in life. "Iron...hide?"

Chromia stole through the air, blazing past the berth that had held her and streaming as a blue streak to Rethalia. There they embraced, hard and true, both fembots encircling the other's neck in a suffocating squeeze. Laughter rang with wet tears, mixing and mingling between the nonexistent space between them as a curtain of unsteady joy. The pure excitement within them was making both their frames shake. And when Rethalia moved her helm back to see Chromia's faceplates, her servos framing the fierce profile, her laughter was choked and her movements were jerky in drunken relief. Chromia held onto Rethalia's servos, and allowed her foreplate to touch hers in a show of affection.

Optimus was a whole other business. It was Jazz who moved first, leaping from the lap of Prowl and bounding up to envelope his leader around the middle. "Prime!" he shouted, grin relapsing in overwhelmed happiness. "Primus, did I miss ya!"

Optimus did not shy from the touch, however, it did take him a moment longer than his sparkmate to dare believe what he was seeing. Ironhide stomped up to the two in his leisured, empowered way, his own gruff smile showing on younger, more energized faceplates. Optimus finally managed to lift his own servos, placing them on Jazz's spinal support while he watched Ironhide, dumbfounded.

With a snort, the salty warrior put a fist on his hipbolt and cocked his helm in greeting. "Would ya stop lookin' at me as if I were one of the Thirteen?" he said. Those where the first words Optimus would get to hear from his previously dead comrade. Dead. For Primus sake, he was dead! "I don't appreciate tha starin'. Might as well ha-"

Ironhide couldn't say whatever it was he wanted to. Optimus was already there, having dragged Jazz with him, to envelope Ironhide in a clapping hug that threatened the line of malicious from friendly. Jazz darted from the middle of their collected frames, apparently not interested in being crushed. When he stepped away, he became another witness to the beautiful reunion that was a mech of ancient age hugging the desperate and worn frame he'd pretty much raised from sparklinghood. To Optimus, Ironhide was more his dolanno than any.

Jazz went back to Prowl, and helped the mech up. When they were optic to optic again, Prowl grabbed both Jazz's servos and refused to let go. Jazz smiled once more, sweeter, and patiently waited for what his brother had to say.

"You..." Prowl stopped, and a spark shot from his helm. "You were gone, Jazz. I felt you. You were deadsparked..."

"Do I look deadspark ta you, Prowler?" Jazz murmured, lifting a servo to hold to Prowl's cheekplate. "I came back fer ya. I was dead an' now I'm not. You're mah brother, Prowl. I couldn't leave ya here, all alone, with Megatron still prancin' his aft about our new home."

That arrogance was showing itself again. Ratchet wouldn't have had the mech any other way, and so, he couldn't stop the elation breaking the wall of his shock. He leaned into a jog, catching the brothers as they pulled one another close. The CMO was there to steal Jazz away as soon as he resurfaced. It felt almost too good to be holding a once deceased peer. Nonetheless, Jazz was here, alive, because of Fera. Because of the Galvanizer. No matter what, she had caused that miracle.

Leaving Jazz behind was hard to do, but it was alleviated immediately by the opportunity to hug the sparkmates he'd felt would be the end of him. He'd never thought for a sparkbeat he'd be seeing them again. But when Ironhide's burly grip smothered Ratchet, he let loose a string of laughs. They were graveled with misuse, yet, the sensation never felt better.

"If only Bee were here," Jazz mentioned as Ratchet pulled away from Chromia, "we'd have tha whole, original crew." His helm snapped to Ratchet, suddenly blanketed in worry. "He's still kickin', right? If anybot's messed with 'im, I'll tear 'em limb from limb!"

Ratchet tried avoiding the thoughts of irony in Jazz's threat.

"Bumblebee is alive and well," Optimus explained, his chassis deflating with the expelling of a sigh. When he turned his cranial unit, something maybe having caught his optic, he finally found Solas and Fera situated by the wall. "I cannot say I am so confident that our comrade is in a similar state... Ratchet?"

The medic stepped forward, coming to Solas' side. Sol was already squatted down, gently touching the side of Fera's helm. It was odd to try getting used to a change this large of a scale. He did not bat Solas' servo away, half fearing of the rebuke he would get from doing so, and let the mech risk getting shocked again. "It's Fera," Ratchet commented, turning his side to the group of Autobots standing not too far away. "She is alright as far as visible physicality can omit. It is her internal condition I am unable to measure. The output of the Stone of Primus is keeping me from scanning her."

Ironhide shoved to the front of the group, his wide faceplates scrunched in confusion. "Fera?" he repeated, gaze moving to the still form against the wall. "Fera Lennox? That fembot is Will's kid?"

Ratchet nodded. He was wise to step back when Ironhide strode in wide lengths toward the body on the floor. At her side, he dropped low. His servos hovered, hesitant to touch her. Their largeness dwarfed her own, even now, and when he grabbed the closest one, it disappeared in his blunt digits. Hope swirled in his optics, interesting as that was to Ratchet. It took him a good click of watching the mech in his gentle movements for him to recall that Fera was but a child when Ironhide was with her family unit. Her male creator had worked closely with Ironhide. In fact, it was the Stone of Primus she bore that had been her creator's decacycles ago - and Ironhide's before that. They were connected in ways Ratchet could never fathom.

"Fera?" Ironhide spoke, grisly voice reaching to the fembot in practiced tensity. Chromia stayed back from her sparkmate, her arm wrapped around Rethalia's. She knew that this was a moment for her mate and his former charge alone. It was not her place to interrupt. Neither was it Ratchet's or Solas. Thank Primus the black and red Guardian respected that.

Solas shook his helm, scooting closer to Ironhide and bumping his shoulderbolt. "How did you know her?" he said carefully. He was shadowed by the monstrosity that was the mech beside him. Had the mech gotten taller? Their similarly black armor created a sort of blob of moving Cybertronians, all in a single entity, and connected through the bonds that were formed with them.

Ironhide tossed an arm around Solas' shoulderbolts and squeezed them tightly. It was a modest show of intimacy for them, as Solas definitely held Ironhide high in regards. After all, it had been the mech and his mate that found Solas in the alleyways of Kaon, his left optic wrecked and the beaten frames of Decepticons lain around his peds.

"She was a friend ah mine, way back when she was a younglin'," Ironhide rumbled fondly. "Will sparked 'er with Sarah, and I couldn't help mahself from getting ah little...attached to 'er." The smile that came over him was an expression that Ratchet had the rare honor of seeing. The other incidents that it came were a number that Ratchet could count off on his digits. "She became tha sparklin' Chromia and I never had."

Chromia herself laughed, and used this comment to stand behind Ironhide, her servos on his shoulderbolts. "I haven't agreed to that position yet of course, but where am I to object? He'd had the pleasure of knowing and raising her without me," she said, turning her optics down on Fera. "I guess I have a bit of time to make up for that absence now." She and Solas met gazes and she reached over, scuffling a servo over his helm in a friendly gesture. "By Primus mech, you look the same...Have you been watching over her while Ironhide and I were out?"

Solas paused at that word, and Ratchet shifted uncomfortably. The subject of deadsparking was a heavy one, and it didn't settle well with the medic. It especially didn't when Chromia and her mate spoke of it so freely.

"Yes...I have," he agreed, ducking from Chromia's servo.

The corners of her lip plates lifted and she folded her arms across the back of Ironhide's neck. "'Hide, it looks like our mech's found a little fembot while we were gone," she teased.

Ironhide chuckled, and collected Fera into his arms without a seeming care of the tiny pricks of leftover electricity stretching from her frame to his. "He chose her out of all of tha pretty ones on Cybertron too..." he added, cradling the precious Keeper in his more-than-capable arms. "You sure can chose 'em. I'm shocked she hasn't kicked your helm off your neck yet, the bite this one's got."

All conversation ceased when the audible sound of a groan shouldered its way into notice. It spawned from Fera, and all in audience unconsciously bowed froward in anticipation of another sound - any sound. This scene was similar to that of the first removal of a sparkling from it's nannia's holding capsule. Every mech and fembot was waiting for that cry that would mean their health. These beings merely wanted a break in her optic slips to tell them of her state. They got it in a way they weren't expecting.

Two optics, at first appearing to be whiter than the purest form of white. Ratchet couldn't distinguish really what hue they were, for there was no description able to name them. That, and she moved too fast for them to comprehend what was happening.

A Cybertronian's comprehension has notably faster than that of a human's. Even the specially trained, best of the best human soldiers couldn't compete. From dodging blaster fire, to acting on instincts in the matter of survival, Cybertronians were peak performers. That was the question that lay in Ratchet's processor, as to why they couldn't jump away swiftly enough to skirt the staff of a certain legendary Tool that came sweeping around. It caught Ironhide in the mandible, sending him and Chromia backwards. Ratchet had the end of it rammed into his midsection, throwing him clear off his standing.

Solas was a bit more lucky. He managed to roll out of the way as the Tool was swung in his direction. The wielder of it took her stand, her legs parted wide and firm, with both servos on the Galvanizer.

Ratchet coughed a few times and struggled to recover. He could feel at least two of his vents dented inward. Sticking his digits under them, he managed to pop them outward in a sickening snap. They would right themselves later. He was more concerned with the likes of Ironhide, whom was on his aft now, stunned faceplates aimed for his attacker. His servo held his mandible, which probably should have been dislocated. Otherwise, he and his mate were unharmed.

Solas was the main focus of Fera though, for he was still standing. She held the head of the Galvanizer in his direction, crazed optics flirting with colors of indescribable shade. Her lip plates were parted with empty threats. The look on her faceplates was definitely that of deranged fear. She was seeing something that wasn't there. It surely wasn't Solas she saw.

The Guardian had his servos up in a placating gesture. From behind him, Ratchet saw Optimus holding back his mate, and Jazz standing in awe beside Prowl.

"I'll kill you!" Fera shouted at Solas, though her processor was obviously somewhere else. "You took everything from me, you relentless bastard, and I intend on returning the favor!"

Solas didn't say anything in return, but his features twisted, perplexed. Ratchet was genuinely worried for the mech, though he dared not move. From his experience, he knew it was best to handle mentally shattered patients with caution and care. While she was distracted, this was best the moment he took a stand.

The medic gathered himself onto his peds, watching Fera the entire time. There was no telling what she could do. A minute twitch of the digits could snap her. Her vents were huffing large gulps of air as her instinctual programming kicked in. In her optics, every mech and fembot around her was an enemy. And a trapped fembot was not a business Ratchet wished to delve into.

Solas, the insane mech he was, stepped forward. He instantly stilled when Fera growled, jerking the Galvanizer at him. The crown of it glowed menacingly, ready to spill generation's worth of energy on him. "I don't know what you're talking about Fera," Solas told her calmly, his optics going from Tool to fembot. "It's me - it's Sol. You know who I am."

"Megatronus, you will go to Pit for what you've done!" the fembot shrieked, obviously deaf to her Guardian's pleas.

"I am Solas Kaon!" Solas responded. "I am no Megatronus-"

"You defiled our Creator's name when you joined with the Unmaker, Megatronus," Fera snarled, optics narrowing into dangerous slits. "How could you murder our brother?! I told you! I warned you of Unicron's tricks! But you didn't listen! You NEVER listen!"

At that, she charged at Solas. The mech, not ever having handled a situation like this, stood in conflicted amazement. Ratchet wanted to call out, however everything happened so quickly that he couldn't get the name past his throat.

A blur of gold and white, followed by a bellowing cry of anguish went straight for Solas. This was not the Fera they knew. It was not her in control, nor was it her that held the Galvanizer. A serious thing had occurred in this room. And no 'Bot would ever know of it except her.

Ironhide tackled Fera mid-run, sending them both skidding across the floor. He had the fembot entrapped in a cocoon of black armor, where she would never have been able to escape. Ironhide was on his spinal support, having flipped over to avoid crushing the frame he held. She was still against his chassis. As Ironhide pulled his arms away, Ratchet saw the unconscious slack in her frame. She was gone again.

"Ratchet!"

It was Optimus' voice, booming off the walls in the cold sort of way that tire pounded against the pavement. Ratchet had to force himself away from the demanding sight of Solas and Ironhide trying to rouse Fera online and obey his commanding officer's hail. Optimus waved the CMO over and he complied, hurrying where he was needed. Rethalia passed him on his way, surely going over to help Ironhide and Sol.

Ratchet stood in front of Optimus and the mech's hard gaze flickered from the sight he'd left to the medic. "What happened to her?" he wondered, a hint of concern in his tone. Always the worried one.

Ratchet shook his helm, his servos clenching. "I'm not certain," he admitted. "When Solas and I arrived, she was already unconscious. I stifled the charge of the Stone with grade-A mesh when Jazz and the others came online. I was not...aware as...to..." Ratchet trailed off ever the more when he caught Optimus' optics drifting toward the walls around them. His features fell, cutting off all previous trains of conversation. Beyond his annoyance, Ratchet followed his leader's gaze. The glyphs he'd seen earlier.

Optimus started for them, nearing a few strands of the marks that were at his height. He lifted a servo, brushing over them with a tender touch. It reminded Ratchet briefly of the way Orian Pax had been, when he'd wandered along the shelves of the Hall of Records on Cybertron. A wall came up here, and Ratchet knew of its presence. It was the thing that came between he and the Prime - of which wedged that impossible gap through their bind of friendship. When he became Prime, Optimus was delivered to a world Ratchet could never understand. It came with being a comrade to him. It was frustrating, and it hurt sometimes. But he dealt with it as a mech should.

"I...couldn't read it," Ratchet piped in, trying to find a way into the forbidden lands of the Primes. Optimus' servo stopped where it was on the glyphs, his faceplates turning into a storm of different emotions. "Optimus...?"

Realization dawned on the mech and he took his arm back as if it were burned. Ratchet stepped up, unknowing what to do, but wait for an answer. Optimus knew what these were. "It is...the language of the Primes," he murmured, barely audible above the howling of energon pounding in Ratchet's audios. "I have not seen it since the orns of Cybertron."

"What does it say?" Ratchet urged, ever the impatient old mech he was.

Optimus jerked back, lip plates parted. Without warning or explanation, he ripped away from the wall. "Rethalia-"

Ratchet spun when the mech didn't finish. What he found was Prowl, standing in a complete, empty room.

---

Solas had left with Ironhide and the others in the elevator when the mech had carried Fera away. Sol was absolutely stuck on his refusal to leave her side. Chromia and Rethalia were also there, after somehow managing to squeeze in with the gargantuan bulk of both the mechs already in there. Jazz was climbing the shaft above them.

He'd said it was because the elevator was moving too slow. Stupid mech.

For a brief nanoclick, Sol considered following after him, because that statement was one-hundred percent only thing holding him back was the cargo Ironhide carried. Fera's helm was resting on the mech's bracer, limp to lay sideways while he held her. The rest of her lengthened stature was across his chassis, her legs slung over his other arm. It made Sol nervous to see her unconscious for the millionth instance over.

All the events leading up to this situation they stood in had been odd ones. First of all, Solas was standing next to a long-dead comrade that shouldn't have been here at all. Or his sparkmate actually. But they were. Solas had to send them looks every so often to make sure they were still there.

Secondly, he was able to tell who Fera was immediately at seeing her, though her frame was an oblivion in difference from its previous form. He'd felt that pull in his spark that he couldn't explain. It only came with her. A song was in the character of that string that connected them, and he located her through that.

And finally, when she had awoken, she'd attacked him. Not only that, but she'd mistaken him for the traitorous Original Thirteen Prime, The Fallen; otherwise known as Megatronus.

Why?

"Solas..."

Her voice made him jump hard enough that he made the elevator sway. Ironhide flinched at the ominous motion, though, didn't linger long on it when he found the one in his arms coming online. Solas was there to linger by her helm. After a few shuffles to maneuver where she could see him, Rethalia ended up where he'd been standing, and Chromia was now pinned to the wall. The fembot was not too happy about that.

"I'm here," Sol said, grasping Fera's servo as she lifted it to touch him. "Are you alright?"

Her optics were narrowed as they tried clamoring past the blindness her shutdown had caused. Shuttering them, the colors that had been swirling in her sights before were gone. They were a striking blue, as they'd once been. It was reassuring to see, and Solas allowed himself to sigh.

Fera's digits weakly tightened on his. "Yeah..." she croaked. The tightness there caused her to hack violently, her frame doubling over. Solas could but stand and watch it happen with the rest of their small group, as he was no medic. Why didn't they bring Ratchet with them? Where were they even going? Ironhide's grip on her increased in a show of protectiveness.

"Fera-"

"Solas, we need to get out of here," the fembot interrupted, reaching for him again. When she pulled on him, Ironhide was forced to let her go, or risk dropping her. He eased her onto her peds, where she then clung close to Solas. The Guardian held onto her so she wouldn't fall, his faceplates beside her helm. Fera's servos quivered against him, surely holding on with all they had. "We need to leave, it isn't safe."

Suddenly her servos were on his collar armor, keeping their faceplates a vent's distance apart. From this distance, Sol could taste the terror wafting from her. "Tell Optimus and Rethalia, we need to leave now, or else something bad is going to happen!" she begged, optics wide and bright. "Tell them!"

"Woah,woah, woah there sparky, what's tha issue?"

Jazz had appeared from nowhere to poke his helm down from the ceiling of the elevator. He hung there, careless to the worlds. For how long he'd been there, Solas was unsure.

Fera's helm whipped up, letting her see the mech situated in the open panels. He grinned down at her in his charming way and waved. Dazed, she backed up into Ironhide. The mech's servos sat on her shoulderbolts to steady her. At that, she gasped and swiveled her helm in a strain to see whom was in contact with her. Ironhide's faceplates were not known for their friendly disposition. They were the features of a killer; a warrior; a weapon-hungry veteran. Fera didn't seem fazed by them.

"It...worked?" she vented.

Solas brought a digit to her chin and tugged her faceplates back around. "No time for that," he commented. "What were you talking about?"

The doors of the elevator opened when her lip plates did. The ding became her voice. Meaningless words became trampled when Solas was shoved into the main hall. Without an explanation, he could but assist Fera in walking outside the cramped cage of rust and iron. Ironhide was swift to scoop Fera back into his arms and start down the halls, even, as Solas was completely certain, he had no knowing the mapping of. Chromia followed after him with steps laced in arrogance and fire. The blaster on her hipbolt battered against her thigh subtly.

Rethalia set a servo on Solas' spinal support when she and Jazz came out as the last passengers. Solas didn't know what to say to the Prime. It wasn't her place to try understanding what he was feeling. And he knew she knew that. The most disturbing things about a Prime was their sensitivity to everything around them. They felt anything within the confines of the universe, from the shift of matter itself to the explosion of a star. But comprehending the feelings of a fellow Cybertronian or human? Impossible.

Solas walked in Ironhide's steps, directing him from behind on where to go. There was not a single spark or soul in the base, for all were still evacuated outside. Tire marks marred the surface of the concrete floors, signaling that all life, Cybertronian in nature, had left the premises as well. Sol wondered what a sight it would be, to find hundreds of humans, surrounded by countless luxury vehicles. Surely they would all be spread out, patrolling the grounds. It was a safety rule in evacuation, where half would stay and half would go, to minimize the chance of being noticed.

Ironhide abruptly changed course, carrying Fera into a side space in the south wing. It was close to the main chamber, meaning Ironhide was bound to catch sight of it when he moved past. Solas hurried after them, as he and Rethalia had been left behind while the newly revived did their exploring. They disappeared into the room, Fera still with them. Solas made it in shortly after to find Ironhide seated with Fera in his lap. Chromia was standing by a machine, studying it with a lost expression. Jazz was there to save the kalon however, and swooped in to show her how the device worked.

Solas was able to tell that this was one of the energon depositories on base. While he stood there, Chromia managed to fill a cube with energon and walk it over to Ironhide. He took it and readjusted Fera against his arm. He then tilted the cube against her lip plates to try getting her to ingest the liquid.

"Wait!" Sol called, halting all motion in the room. "I don't know if that is safe to do."

Fera's servos were on the cube, ready to take the energon with ignorance. It was apparent she neither could be completely sure what the substance would do to her. High-grade straight from the depositor was stressful on a normal Cybertronian's systems. He wasn't sure now would be a good moment for her to try some. Without a medic here, his confidence was little to none.

"In small doses, the high-grade is harmless," Rethalia spoke up, entering discreetly from outside. "However, I do believe it is unwise for us to threaten her safety at the moment, risking it."

Ironhide shrugged and took the cube from Fera. "Alright then, it's for me. I could drain Iacon!" In a single motion, he slung back the cube and emptied it with a single go. Solas would have been impressed. That was, if Ironhide didn't spit the stuff out immediately after. Fera cringed from the spray, tucking herself against Ironhide's chassis. Chromia jumped out of the line of fire. Jazz simply opened the shield from his subspace, protecting himself from the spray.

"Ack!" the black mech choked. As he began coughing, Solas came forward to take Fera away. Free of his cargo, Ironhide doubled over. The cube was slammed into the space on the metallic couch he sat on, shattering it. "What is this rotten excuse of-?"

"Artificial energon," Rethalia intercepted. "It is what we consume to preserve the raw material."

Ironhide sniffed his servo, where a bit of energon was left. He snorted and crinkled his noseplate in distaste. And Ironhide was the heaviest drinker of the Autobots. Besides Jazz, that was. For him not to like it, then the stuff must have been rancid. Solas never was bothered by it. Then again, he'd never tasted high-grade before Earth anyway. What had he to compare it to?

"The energon back in Tarn is tenfold the high-grade of this slag-ridden slime!" Ironhide claimed, setting a fist on his kneebolt. "You expect me and Chromia to refuel with that slag?"

Rethalia stepped to him, bending over. "Do you know where you are right now? Are you sensually aware?" she questioned seriously. It was clear she was searching for a form of delirious behavior, as Fera had exhibited earlier. Ironhide's engines revved and he stood, stretching his limbs. With a pop and a roll of his neck, he sighed in contentment.

"'Course I'm aware, Rethalia," he stated, putting a servo on his hipbolt. "We're in the Washington D.C base in the United States." When Rethalia said nothing, he sighed. "Planet Earth, third planet in tha solar system, Milky way galaxy, third lightyear from Cybertron, fifteenth nova. Are ya fritzed?"

Rethalia's optics ridges knitted and she crossed her arms. It wasn't long that she had to wait for the inevitable breakdown that she was no doubt looking for. Ironhide was left in silence to his statement for about a click. After that had passed, his optics widened, and his arms dropped.

"We're in Washington...where is Sentinel?" he demanded, suddenly serious.

Solas immediately stepped back, having known the mech far too long to not see where that tone was headed. Rethalia unwound her arms, lifting her servos, and glanced back at Chromia. The fembot second-in-command was newer to Earth, and so anything Ironhide said from this point would be alien as the species dominating this world.

Ironhide aimed his gaze down, angrily dipping his faceplates to level with Rethalia's. "Where is that two-timing...son. Of. A. GLITCH?!" he roared.

The volume of his voice could have thrown Rethalia off her peds from the power of it alone. Any other mech or fembot would have ran off by now. Ironhide wasn't a mech one wished to irritate.

Rethalia remained firm in her position. Because of that, Ironhide pivoted on his heelped from her and began for the door in search of an enemy that wasn't there. Solas moved to the side, willing to let the mech pass for Fera's sake. Though, Ironhide didn't pass. He wasn't given the chance.

Optimus Prime was there, as he always was when he was needed. His servos were upon Ironhide's shoulderbolts before he'd even stepped into the room completely. The infuriated mech bowed low to get a better leverage on his taller comrade. Optimus was no stranger to brute matches though, as he planted his wide peds strong and tucked his helm close. Ironhide, the massive mech he was, managed to push hard enough against the Prime that he slid in reverse. Sparks danced and squeals came from the armor-on-stone contact of his peds.

If Ironhide got out in the state he was in, there would be Pit to pay. The destruction was plain to envision in Sol's processor, and Optimus was sure to understand it too. "Ironhide!" he grounded out from behind clenched oral sheets. "Stand down!"

"Get outta of my way, Prime!" the warrior snapped back, renewing his path onward. Optimus strained to hold him back, the hydraulics in his arms and legs hissing.

Solas could only hand off Fera to Rethalia and bolt through the door. There, he wrapped his arms around Ironhide's middle. Automatically his gears shifted into place, preparing him for the heavy load he was about to handle. Struts clicked and pressure bracers swelled. With his combined hold on Ironhide alongside Optimus, they managed to shoved him into sliding back into the room. Which, Sol had to mention, did not make the mech pleased.

"You're in Washington, Ironhide!" Solas yelled. Where was Chromia?! Wasn't she the one responsible for calming her sparkmate?! "Sentinel isn't here!"

"Where is he?!" Ironhide yelled, oblivious to Solas' words. "Where is he? I'm gonna tear out his beating spark and shove it up his tailpipe-!"

"I killed him!"

Those three words were all it took.

Solas almost fell onto his faceplates when Ironhide paused. All the anger seemed to melt away, along with his will to push his leader and fellow 'Bot further into the hall. It was impossible to tell the level of destruction Ironhide could have caused like that. When he was in those zones of unreachable rage, few could breach the curtain.

Ironhide broke away from Solas and Optimus, stumbling back. Chromia was there to grab him. "What?"

Optimus' faceplates hardened into the mask all his followers recalled all too well. His vents were blowing out rapid streams of air. The pipes on his spinal support purged a cloud of exhaust into the air.

"I...killed Sentinel, Ironhide. I killed him."

The sheer pain in his voice struck a chord with Solas. Long ago, he'd heard stories of Alpha Trion and Sentinel Prime raising Orian Pax on Cybertron alongside Megatronus. The mech hadn't any creators to recall of, as they were presumed deadsparked by all whom knew the story. Sentinel and Alpha had been all the mech had left when Megatron betrayed him. To have to kill a lasting member of your family unit must have been devastating for the Prime. Solas had never considered the emotional ties that strummed Optimus when he aimed the barrel of a blaster at Megatron's spark.

Ironhide shook his helm, optics wide. They were filled in horror - the kind that made mechs ashamed. And Ironhide was ashamed.

He lifted a servo, rubbing the back of his neck, and wrapped an arm around Chromia. "Prime, I..." Nothing came out right after he said that. Ironhide wasn't a mech that apologized. He was clumsy at it. Which showed now. He may have been a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, but in a political or scholarly environment, Ironhide was more willing to shoot himself than suffer the embarrassment. "I'd forgotten what he meant to ya... Optimus, I'm sorry..."

"There's nothing to apologize for," Optimus responded. "You were in your right. Sentinel betrayed us...he deserved no less fate." Was that their Prime speaking? Could Optimus bring himself to be so blunt against the mention of his deadsparked companion, and former Autobot leader? Sentinel had turned against his brethren, yes, however, he'd still once been Optimus' family. Then again, the war could change anyone.

Against the fatal tensity that bound them all, Solas could taste a burning tingle. A thread tied them in a shared state of grieving. None had known the previous Autobot leader better than Optimus had. Perhaps Megatron was close long ago to Sentinel, and thus used those lasting emotions to forge the contract between him and Sentinel. It wasn't in any of their right to try pretending they related to Optimus. Though, it was hard for Solas not to try, as he had been betrayed a many great times in his life cycle too.

Was that all what this war was now? Whomever had the greater power would steal away the members of their sworn enemy and turn them against former friends? It was sick, was what it was. And still, Sol was well aware that it was happening far too often. Megatron had become drowned with the lust for control, and had gone insane with having to wait eons for it. That thirst could make any mech desperate. Solas didn't know Megatron when he'd been sane. Apparently he'd been quite the knowledgeable figure to be around. Once being Optimus' Protectorate, the stories went that Megatron was a wise processor and a kind servo. Those stories pretty soon became dubbed as fiction. It was impossible to see that side of a being whom had slaughtered millions.

Heavy venting shattered the momentary, and unannounced, moment of silence. It was not Sol's own, for his were calmer. The others were even as well, meaning that there was another among them.

Sure enough, at the entryway, grabbing the frame of the door with both servos, Red Alert sagged. His chassis lifted and fell in mighty widths. The emergency lights on his shoulderbolts flickered in ruby, their wail silenced. But what caught the optic most, was the azure energon splattered across Red Alert's front.

Now the mech wasn't known to be level-helmed in high-stress situations. Nonetheless when it involved violence. But to see him, struck with fear at an extent where his vents were wheezing, made Solas' energon run frigid.

"Optimus Prime! Rethalia!" he shouted, bustling inward and collapsing against the mech Prime. Optimus caught him, and helped the mech up on his peds. Red Alert grabbed Optimus' chassis plating hastily. "It's the Decepticons! It's them! They-"

All in company stumbled as the building shuddered violently. Silt fell from the ceiling, and a deep moan came from the bowls of the base when its metallic walls warped. In the distant halls, Solas heard the snap of a support beam. The Cybertronians lifted their faceplates to the ceiling, staring up into unseen dangers.

The Decepticons? They were here?

"How did they find us?!" Solas bellowed, his programming unconsciously sending him to Rethalia. He took Fera from the fembot, and shifted her close to his chassis. Fera herself clutched to his armor, optics sweeping the roof.

Another blast shook the structure. There was no doubting that they were under attack now. Together, Fera and Solas shivered. Memories entered the forefront of his processor of the times when he'd held Fera back in Saint Louis as missiles bombed the building around them. Their fear was ranged differently, since she was no longer human. But his was from the sinking remembrance that there were human and Cybertronian lives out in the open. Was it their presence that had attracted the Decepticons? They could be getting shot at out there, sending comrades to the Matrix, and the humans to whatever afterlife their religious views depicted.

Optimus ushered everyone out through the door, leaving behind a space that was sputtering in darkness. The lights overhelm were dotting in and out, the bulbs or lamps swinging in threat to fall from their meager cables. Solas ducked under the arch of a scaffold, the metal webbing scraping against his armor. Plenty more were left along the way he ran, forcing he charge through the line of them, or attempt bowing around each. Ironhide was there next to him, aiding to shove whichever ones he could reach.

Fera ducked against Solas' chassis, her whimpers reaching him through the menacing pounding of blaster fire against the walls. Solas wanted to comfort her, but he had nothing to say and no time to say it. All he could do was stop at an intersection of the halls, whip his helm from side to side for a sparkbeat, and then dart to the left. Optimus' steps thundered along with Ironhide's, mimicking the assault on the base around them.

The group had made it past a narrow corridor that would bring them to the main lobby when the ground jolted from underneath Sol. The mech cried out and staggered forward, almost losing his balance. Surrounding him, cracks shot up the walls, and chips of concrete rained from above. A lamp fell, crashing in a shower of sparks nearby. Fera gasped, optics wide, and cowered against him.

Without warning, an echoing snap tore through the dust-laden air. Sol's helm turned upward, catching the sight of a beam hanging precariously from the ceiling. When it broke free, an enormous slab of roof soared toward him and the group. Solas stepped back once and prepared himself to make a run for it.

As he was in the act of doing it, Ironhide charged past, right beneath the falling debris. A crash of metal followed the earth-shuddering collapse of concrete, spinning up clouds of debilitating dust. Solas shook his helm and gazed through the foggy substance, desperately searching for his comrade.

"Ironhide!" he shouted, finding the shape of a black mass in the storm of grey.

"Stay back!" came the strained reply. The dust filtered out of view, revealing Ironhide behind it. He was holding back the slab of roof, struts screeching out and arms bulging. They continuously shifted in attempts to redistribute the incredible weight on them. "You all need to go! Now!"

"But-"

Chromia stole him by the arm and ran the way they had come. "He will be fine Solas," she barked, following behind Rethalia and Optimus. "We need to get out of here before the entire building collapses!"

Jazz turned before them all, going stride for stride with Prowl as they skirted the corner. Walls caved inward in a crumpled heap wherever the group sprinted off to. The never-ending barrage of quaking sent a zing through his spark. His spark was beating in his audios, and his lines were thrumming with the concentration of stress in them. Each frame was covered in dust already, taking the gleam from them. Red Alert's flashing emergency lights were helpful in letting everyone know where to follow.

In the chaos, Solas managed to glance down at Fera. She was staring up at him with optics that hadn't lost their shine yet. They were beacons in the flurry of pandemonium. Her lip plates, parted with speech he could not hear, trembled slightly. But it was her optics that he couldn't part sights with. He'd stared at them closed for so long that he was afraid to see them that way again.

It was fitting that they would be the last thing he saw before he was hit in the back of the neck, sending him into a universe of black.

---

Fera hacked, mostly from the dust in her crippled vents. However, it could have been the phenomenal pain shooting through her arm that made her double over. When she tried touching it, there was no arm to be felt.

The instant her digits met with the slickness of her energon, pouring from the stump of her shoulderbolt, she wanted to scream. She was situated on top of the rubble of the building that had fallen around her and her comrades, and she still did not know where they were at, or if they were ok.

The presence of Solus Prime breached her as the cry began to bubble in Fera. The fembot was left on her kneebolts, leant forward, her lip plates open in a soundless scream. The pain was blinding. It made her nauseous to a level that she wanted to purge against the cracked stone.

When Solas was there though, she made all of that move to the back of Fera's thoughts. The rear of her CPU was full of the premature sorrow of fallen friends and the horror of seeing her own life fluids leaving her. Solus took their place, forcing Fera into a better calmness. She was thankful for the aid in the agony, but, she didn't know what she could do with the position she was in, pain or none.

Crackling fire soared through the air in the form of burning plasma from the muzzles of blasters various Cybertronians were aiming at one another. She didn't know from which side it was coming from, nonetheless, that made it no more less frightening. It turned into a hum in her audios, and caused her armor to heat dangerously. Solus whispered things that Fera couldn't quite make out that well. Images circulated through her, bending her processor around striking visions of fantastical warriors and the curdling call of victory. The fembot Prime was urging Fera to stop it all, before it became like the wars she had seen through Cybertron's history. How?

Fera lifted her foreplate from touching the ground, allowing herself to see the extent of the battle. Clusters of Autobots were waging fights with close-combat partners, sending ringing punches to faceplates and stabbing holes through sparks. Fliers took to the skies, chasing tails of smoke and twirling skillfully as they shot at those below them. Anything was made into a form of cover, from the trees, to slabs of rubble from the building. No Decepticon warrior that Fera recalled could be made out in the throng of fighting, which meant these were all sparkless, emotionless drones and soldiers.

"Fera!"

Her name captured her immediate attention. When she looked toward the source of it, Solas Kaon was seen, standing atop the mound that had once been the safe haven they shared. Relief washed through her, though Solus warned of her of the dangers around her. How could she forget?

"Solas! Solas, I'm over here!" she cried into the ashy cover of the day.

"Are you alright?" he inquired, scrambling down the hill toward her. "I haven't been able to locate your mother. Cameo is looking for her now, however we've found-"

Light turned to acidic, scorching heat as a plasma blast struck Solas in the shoulderbolt. Giving a bellow of pain, the mech fell back. Another blast hit him in the torso, sending him clear over the mound from whence he'd came. He disappeared behind, Fera's cries following after.

"Solas!" she screamed, struggling to get to her peds.

A swift presence threw their shadow across her, enveloping her in a shroud of merciless, suffocating black. Fera stopped venting and went totally still, hoping and praying that who was behind her wasn't whom she believed it to be. Solus dribbled along Fera's energon, trying to get some form of control over the petrified fembot, however, using the Galvanizer must have drained her, and so her attempts were futile.

"Was it all worth it?"

Fera flipped onto her aft. The first thing she saw was the exhaust rising from the nose of the cannon on his bracer. The second thing was his empty, dead optics; those optics that had bore into her very being while he tortured her, using her Guardian as bait by beating him senseless until he was an inch from death. Those were the optics of a mech that had nearly broken her.

"Galvatron," she whispered.

"Pleasantries, my dear," he rumbled, the velvety thickness of the smoke rolling from beneath his armored plates. "I appreciate them. However," he began, helm cocking to the side, "was it all worth it? Losing your arm? Or your precious Guardian? Is your ignorance worth losing the entirety of your race?"

"You're insane," was all Fera could force out.

A chuckle left him, low and evil. It ground against Fera's audios, sending shivers down her spinal relay. "Am I? Merely a being wishing to achieve the likes of his utmost goal, is a crime?" he demanded. "Have I the benefit of your doubt in myself that I may simply wish to become the greatest?"

"You killed millions of your own people..." she said, swallowing. "You murdered my father."

"What would you do for your dream?"

Fera lost all her fear at those words. That was all he had to justify it all? The murders? The mass genocide?

The brash and quite stupid fury hit Fera's processor, and she leapt forward onto her peds toward Galvatron. Her servos were stretched, ready to tare out the ghastly optics of his twisted faceplates. "I'll kill you!" she yelled.

Galvatron had her by the throat before she could even get close to his faceplates. Slowly, he lifted her off her peds to leave her dangling mid-air. Her servos clamped around his wrist, the tips of her digits stabbing into the armor there to try getting her free. He didn't notice - and if he did, he didn't show it.

"Shame you are injured, this new shade of yourself is quite pleasing to the optic," he seared, pulling her uncomfortably close. Those optics she hated so much raked over her frame from crest to toelinks. "Energon covering your armor; lust for my helm on your blade in your optics; that crazed swell in your strides as you see me..." His smile was cruel. "You shall make a fine Queen of Chaos."

"Get. Fragged."

Galvatron laughed, helm falling back. He thrust her around, grabbing her from behind and pinning her arm to her front with a single one of his. His other pressed to side, his servo grabbing hold of her chin. "Do you see the wonderful chaos you have created?" he whispered in her audio, forcing her to see the scene of her friends falling one by one to the brutality of meaningless violence. Human bodies littered here and there, with scarlet blood pooling on their clothes. The unlucky ones.

Fera shuttered her optics, and she could feel Solus rearing from the touch of Galvatron. There was something utterly wrong about him - and the Prime was well aware of whom this being was. Truly. "LOOK AT IT!" Galvatron roared without warning. Fera jerked, but opened her optics. A tear spilled from her optic. "Now you see what I do, hm? There's a certain beauty in those flames that dance upon the burning rubble of your home. What about those bodies? The humans? One of them could have been you. It should have been you. But you decided to be brave." He leaned in more, until his lip plates were brushing against her helm."You took part in this. You let this happen. You became a Keeper. You. Killed. Your. Father."

"No!" Fera screamed in agony, her spark breaking. "No, no, no! Let me go!"

Galvatron held on tighter, muffling her struggles. "He's gone because of you, isn't he?" he sneered. "You killed him. You let him die. You could have saved him, only if you knew how to back then. He could have been alive now. They all could have been. And you know this is all true, deep within your subconscious, the truth comes forth." He snarled against her. "You let them die-"

"LET ME GO!"

In the moment, Solus attacked Fera's frame, flooding it urgently with the power she'd had left and allowing Fera the ability to rip her lasting arm free. Fera snatched the Stone of Primus from its place on her collar and lifted it. In a foul slash, she tore open the armor of Galvatron's bracer.

Galvatron screamed out at the attack as a spray of sickly green energon fanned out from the boiling wound she'd made. He immediately dropped Fera and she bolted, running through the rubble of the building to get away. When she looked back, Galvatron was standing with his optics boring into her, his oral sheets bared and his arm cradled in his servo. The armor she had cut was glowing orange at the edges, their bubbling, glowing sight proving nothing but effective pain.

"You wretched fembot!" he called at her, stomping forward. "I will tare out your spark with my bare servos!"

Fera choked back a sob and turned tail. She struggled up the hill, trying to locate her Guardian. If she could find him, maybe everything would be ok... She found him in quite a different way than she'd hoped.

The mech jumped over her, from seemingly nowhere, and launched himself into the frame of the hated enemy. Galvatron flew back a good yard, Solas strapped to his front. When they struck the ground, Sol toppled away from the mech. He rolled to his peds and, with a savage and wild gleam in his optics, sprinted toward Fera.

"We have to leave!" he told her. Fera nodded numbly, unable to help glancing at the gaping wounds in Solas' shoulderbolt and chassis. Energon was beading from the edges of them, caking on the rough edges of the holes. The armor was burnt through, the paint singed. They should have hurt far worse than he was letting on. But Solas was a survivor. Something like cannon fire shouldn't bring him down.

Fera half-slid, half-stumbled down the rubble to grab Solas' servo. He headed for the tree line, dragging her behind him at a pace she could barely keep up with. Already ahead of them, Autobots were transforming and loading up with the rest of the humans who had managed to live through the ambush. A familiar Peterbilt truck waited in alt mode at the barrier of the trees, front turned to watch the other vehicles speed away. Optimus would stay here until the last mech left.

She couldn't call out to him, as Solas barreled too quick through the trees to allow her. He reformed, mid-stride, landing hard on the rubber of his tires. One of his windows lowered, and his voice came through the speakers on his dash. "Get on!" he ordered. "I'll carry you!"

Fera shook her helm. It was dangerous. He wouldn't be able to travel as fast if she was attached to the roof of his vehicle mode.

At her refusal, Solas' engines revved incredibly loud. But his vibrating frame stalled, never leaving her side. She knew he never would as long as he was able. It didn't surprise her that his stubbornness was strong enough that he was willing to perish here with her, if need be apparently.

Not too far away, a soldier was boarding into a sleek, aggressive make of a vehicle, custom-fixed with protective armoring and weaponry attachments. On the lower side of it, it said Reventon in bold silver letters. Fera thanked the gods above for the gift they'd sent her, and jumped over Solas.

"Fera!"

The fembot scanned the vehicle just as it sped off along with the crowd of fleeing Autobots. They were going in all different directions, possibly to break up numbers and distract their enemy. That was no concern of hers.

Fera transformed on the spot, settling into her new shape with stiffness. Comfort would come in time. Which, right now, they did not have. Solas made this fact clear when he raced from behind Fera, forcing her to move out or be rear-ended.

In a kickup of grass and dirt, Fera rumbled as a white and golden streak into the dying embers of the sky. Her rear-view mirror turned to see Solas, and make sure he was still unharmed. Blaster fire hit down behind him, showering them with dirt. However, it also caught the image of Galvatron, running after them with murder in his optics.

If he would have gotten any further, Fera was sure she would have been forced to transform back and face Galvatron with the Galvanizer, which was currently attached to the undercarriage of her alt mode. But, a large truck skidded from the trees, ramming into Galvatron before turning onto the path of following behind Solas. His paint was streaked in blue, and the flames of his decals were no less reassuring than they ever were. Fera wanted to cry out in joy.

As they broke into the main streets however, which were flagged in the seemingly endless shadow of the Nemesis ship as it hovered over the curling graces of smoke from the destroyed Autobot base, all she wanted to do was cry.

---

Told all of you this would be a rollercoaster!

I'm not completely satisfied with it, but if I made this any longer, I'd have to make a part 2, and nobody wants that :)

It sure was a difficult one to write...but I had fun! :D

Thank you all for reading, and I cant wait to hear what you think!

*Chapter Inspiration: Decode= Paramore*