We're coming to the end people!

Only three chapters left :o

Is this really it? Is OTSH coming to an end?

Well, kinda.

One-shots are always a possibility, so this definitely won't be the last time we see Solas and Fera again :)

I want to thank all of you anyway, for staying this long

Enjoy!

Of The Spark And Heart

Part 2

Chapter 79

Knowing when you were going to die would be a powerful, yet scary thing. Could it provide you with knowledge on avoiding such a fate, or could it predict the inevitable outcome that had befallen you? The scariness of it came from the admirable factor of emotion. It brought out instincts and understanding that hadn't existent prior. If fear had never existed, and death was but a folly of rumor and rhyme, would there be peace and balance within the universe? Would immunity surely bring a lack of fulfillment within its inhabitants? Could death be but a vision, or passageway for another version of life? Was ignorance eternal, or would it always lead back to wisdom, thus bringing forth war and death and strife? Was everything impossible to escape in the cycle of evolution? Could there ever be a 'perfect world'?

At one time, the Cybertronians were immortal. They did not feel. They thrived in monotonous life cycles that simply began, and never stopped. Then, murder came, and with it, the wholeness of one race became split and divided. Animosity reined. Salvation appeared unattainable anymore. The appearance of an ability to think for one's self emerged and granted all with the choice of goodness or maliciousness. Life changed, and with it, the complexity of the universe. Questions stormed through the legends of old and nearly erased all that was believed in the scriptures of religion or prophecy. They began to have a sort of imbalance with everything around them. They grew too starved for knowledge to contain anymore.

What was it about death that was so fascinating?

~I don't think this is the wisest idea, Optimus,~ a hulking, gruff voice opinioned. ~What if the signal is intercepted? We will surely be found if it is.~

~Do not process that way, Ironhide,~ a nobler, feminine voice interjected. ~Believe in your Prime.~

~You're a Prime too, last time I remembered. I think you've gotta say in this,~ the smooth, suave tone of a smaller mech pointed out.

The forms fanned out, pairing in twos and splitting from the main group. The largest was of three beings, rumbling around a fourth, smaller presence as a protective triangle. Two were shrouded in black, while the third was a blinding silver gleam in the harking beams of sunlight. The middle of their formation was taken by a startling white shape, low to the pavement, with golden streaks ribboning along their lengthy sides. Their pearly paint was untouched by any sort of damage. The pureness in it was striking compared to the dirtiness of those around them. Not a smudge was there, excuse the faint scar running along the side of their door. However, that too was almost too little to see.

Those not with this group took to side streets, keeping close to their comrades as well as they could. Their breaking was necessary to drop off the humans that they had picked up from the battle. Stopping off at parks and buildings of business, the humans were taken out of their cabins, given the order not to contact anyone until they were contacted first, and then left in the dust cloud of their Cybertronian saviors.

Fera saw Titanios dropping off a few soldiers at a coffee shop before he disappeared behind a building she was passing. ~We have to do it,~ she piped in, returning her attention to the road. ~It is too dangerous being spread out.~

~More dangerous than having an enormous target of living beings for the Decepticons to shoot at? I think not,~ Titanios commented from wherever he had driven off to.

Solas' engines revved, sending deafening echoes across the insides of a tunnel he and his group were traveling down. Fera watched him from her right side, concerned. It wasn't unlike him to become irritated with the former Decepticon warrior, however, what he was saying was somewhat true. Fera would have spoken up, if not for the static of their connection due to the signal interference caused by the tunnel. The droning hum of their wheels against the blacktop balancing in with the raging wind against the sides of their frames was all she could make out.

~We are already being tracked,~ the Guardian put in as they breached the outside, allowing proper comlink usage again. ~Fera's output of energy from the Stone gives us away immediately. The Galvanizer is still leaking a trail for them to follow. It is only a matter of time before we are found again.~ He paused, perhaps stricken by his own grim prognosis. ~We have a better chance as a connected faction rather than individual fighters.~

~No, please, don't feel obligated ta comfort us any,~ Jazz snorted.

Fera would have nodded if she was in her bipedal mode. An uneasy weight was on her spark, adding to the already hearty amount of lucid displeasure there. It was hard to shake the feelings passing through her as they drove, escaping a place that she had known since...well her second attempt at life. Solus was hard at work restoring her human memories, and so far, she had gotten a good few months before the incident, and other random images from years back in human Fera's life. The ancient Prime was surely doing this out of boredom, but deep inside, Fera liked to thing that Solus actually wanted to help the stricken fembot to recover.

A comlink opened in Fera's side panel and she perked to attention, realizing it was Solas. ~How is your arm?~ he questioned. His voice felt nice reverberating through her cabin. The deepness of it cascaded across her dashboard, shivering through the leather seats and tumbling off in tremors from the windows. Fera drank it in, using it as a comfort. Solus Prime smirked inside of Fera's processor as she fiddled around with her host's corrupted memory files.

~Better,~ the fembot answered back, glaring at the ancient Thirteen member through her consciousness. ~I've had brighter days, however.~

~It is odd that it regenerated completely as it did,~ he pointed out, driving closer beside her. ~Usually when we scan new alternate modes, we don't regenerate limbs as yo-~

~It's probably the Stone, it's still giving out massive surges of energy,~ she cut in before her Guardian could go any further. If he found out that Solus Prime had actually rebuilt Fera a limb from midair, he would figure she was insane. Or worse, he would believe her, thus bringing on more tests from Ratchet.

Thankfully, Solas took the hint that she didn't want to talk about it and everyone fell silent here, too lost in their own thoughts to process anything helpful. Fera felt the tightness in her chassis and the uncomfortable chill running through her energon that was more from the situation's ominous darkness rather than the rush of wind against her. She knew no other words were to be spoken, neither from herself or anyone else. To be honest, she preferred the quiet. It allowed her to think. Which, could have been frightening, but turned out to be pleasant.

As she though, she listened to Optimus' message for their comrades: ~All Autobots within range, heed my call…~

~…to ensure complete capacity of survival without our ranks, we plead your return to fellow peers as a force of union…~

"Is he insane?!" Sunstreaker bellowed, wincing as another layer of mesh was attached to a laceration on his shoulderbolt. The trained servos pressing down on it patted away any bumps or pockets of air to secure a tight fit. They then welded the edge of it to seal it off. It was a wordless process that the owner of them did this, merely broken when Optimus' comlink rally call hit the airways.

Ratchet listened intently to Optimus' voice, merely listening in on the instinct of a medic. He was searching for signs of stress or strain. Nothing came through (at least no more stress over the ordinary amount the Prime carried as leader of hundreds of beings) and it was only then that he allowed himself to listen to the message. Which, as Sunstreaker had pointed out, was a completely idiotic and brash move to have been made. However, despite that, he listened to it with the concentration of a broken, loyal follower.

"Perhaps it is a false signal, made to fool us into a trap?" Cameo suggested, holding onto the arm of her sparkmate while they watched Ratchet work from a distance.

Ultra Magnus lowered his helm, placing a servo over the clawed digits of the fembot. "That is a possibility," he agreed softly, averting his optics. Ratchet could sense the uncertainty flowing from him in waves while those words left his lip plates. Ultra Magnus was one of Optimus' most adamant soldiers. The city commander would have happily taken a spear through his spark if it meant saving their Prime, even with the added cost of Cameo's life now added onto the costs as well.

"I'm waiting for the 'however'," Smokescreen said pointedly. He was situated beside Rainwing as they sat on a few storage containers they had dragged into a sort of circle near their peers, holding her servo tightly in his lap. The wings upon her spinal support flickered subtly every once in a while, betraying her lack of calmness in this predicament. The fliers were always the antsy kind.

Ratchet caught the narrowing of Ultra Magnus' optics as they aimed at the younger, more arrogant warrior. They were not pleased by the condescending tone of his subordinate, which was easily apparent. Though, Smokescreen didn't seem effected by it in the least. Which, in terms of Smokescreen, was not an uncommon thing.

To keep an argument from coming forth, Ratchet stepped up between them. "However, in this situation, it is possible Optimus Prime will be reaching a desperate level," he factored, switching his optics from city commander and diversions expert to the Fabials Betta and Galax, then to Stratis at her position in the darkest corner of the warehouse, then to the empty listlessness of Firestar's gaze as she hugged her kneebolts to her front and stared at nothing. They were hopeless. Not a single figure among them believed there could be any source of positivity here.

Stratis stood, striding in her slow, steady way toward the gathered group of dejected Autobots. "Optimus is our leader. Whether he sent that message or not, we follow him," she decided firmly. "In our state of decay, our last option would be to ignore a possible cry for union with our leader and comrades. If they are to perish out there, without me to fight by their side, I would never forgive myself." She stabbed a slim digit at the door, her expression cold. "I would rather deadspark at the peds of my leader because of a false hail rather than perish after running from an enemy we have beaten countless times before."

A growl split the scene, causing many to lift their helms. They found the sound to have come from Beta, who shot up with his lip plates pulled into a snarl and the cannons upon his shoulderbolts whirling. "You may claim those things because you have no sparkmate," he snapped hotly. "My own is separated from me, in lands teeming with an adversary we may have beaten in battles before, but not won the war from."

Ah, that was right. Corra, Beta's sparkmate was separated from him during the battle. Not only that, but Corra was carrying a sparkling she had adopted from Ultra Magnus to take care of after the poor thing's nannia and Guardian, Soulsearcher, had deadsparked. The mech must have been worried sick.

When he walked up to Stratis, his towering form giving off a shadow that devoured Stratis' lither build, Ratchet resisted the urge to walk up and push them apart. But he held back, knowing the black spy could handle herself well.

And handle she did, for the fembot took no time to turn piercing, ferocious optics upon the one standing before her. In a split sparkbeat, she'd grabbed his armor and swung up across his body, hanging off his helm buy one servo and staring him down optic to optic.

"But I do have a sister," she hissed loudly enough for all to hear. "And she is one of the enemy." Her optics turned to slits, her free servo lifting with the changing of parts on the bracer. A shutter of the optic, and a sniper barrel was planted directly in the center of Beta's foreplate. Everyone froze, too scared that the fembot would be tempted to do the unthinkable if they moved. "Which means I have to put a bullet through her helm if it means saving this planet, and ending the war. So do not play this game of self-grievance with me - you don't have the right." She pulled her rifle away and jumped off of Beta, who was now silent as stone.

"What happens now is out of our control," she said, turning her helm toward the broken vision of Firestar. Returning her weapon to subspace, the black fembot stepped up to her distilled comrade, dropping to her level and placing a servo on her shoulderbolt. Sorrow-filled optics lifted, planting a blade through Ratchet's spark. "But, whatever is, means that we have a choice: Stay here, and perish as a pitiful being of cowardice and fear. Or, fight with every last ounce of yourself to fix the wrongs we have made and free the universe of this ancient evil once and for all."

~…As it is uncertain if, at all, we may bring ourselves past this shadow of uncertainty, I remind each of you of the strength each of you possess…~

"There is no way in fragging Pit I am following that comlink."

Seven pairs of optics darted toward the bitter voice, all of varying shades of worry, sadness, and anger. Despondence was sticky here, if not suffocating altogether. One could cut an energon blade through the density of the tension surrounding otherwise still creatures.

Rodimus sighed, his upper half leaning against the crumbling side of a pillar that had once been a building. This motion was full of the exhaustion he could not escape, and was no longer willing to hide behind a facade of strength. Though, he knew full well he should be on high alert for any chance of the enemy showing. It was difficult to say he wished for the security of cover, as hopping from abandoned building to abandoned building for the past two kalons was not a task he particularly enjoyed. As well as that, if they were discovered anyway, there was no way that eight Cybertronians and twenty-max humans could take on a fleet of soldiers helmed by a psychotic shadow-mech.

Scrubbing a servo down his faceplates, the warrior turned his scratched and dented helm to Thunderflare, who had spoken his opinion of distrust. Not too far away was Greenlight and Wheeljack, who were both vigilantly quiet. Moonracer, the only other fembot of two in their group, was holding Greenlight's free servo as a show of support only another of their frame-type could give. It was an odd thing, to see the steadiness in their grasp despite the wavering fortitude of those around them.

Hawktail was here, standing at attention along the perimeter of their temporary camp. Thunderflare was never far behind, and currently sat at the peds of his mentor with his legs crossed and his arms resting within the nest of them.

Greenlight had Wheeljack in her lap, his helm resting on the length of her legs while she stroked a thumb link across the side of his helm. His servo on her kneebolt gripped her tightly, as if afraid she was going to be taken away. Her expression was downcast and forged in concern. Wheeljack's usually happy demeanor was replaced with a solemn side of maturity no 'Bot liked seeing from him.

Hound was nowhere to be seen. Sulking, no doubt, as the rest of them were. Rodimus wished he knew what to say here, if but to comfort his comrades, but he found no words to come to his processor. Those that did, fell short on his glossa. When he had been Prime, however short that may have been, he'd known exactly what to say and when to say it. It had come with the wisdom of the Primes. Yet, that trait seemed to leave him immediately after he placed the Matrix of Leadership into Rethalia's chassis.

"What else have we to go on?" Corra, a Fabial fembot that had been separated from her sparkmate during the battle, spoke up finally. "This message is all we've gotten as clue that there are still Autobots out there, however many may still be alive."

"Can you speak to your sparkmate through your bond and find out how many of us are with him?" Moonracer wondered, optic ridges burrowed in concern. Greenlight remained silent next to her, and Rodimus vaguely questioned if he would hear anything from the otherwise soundless figure. Apparently she was a talker.

Corra shook her helm, wrapping her arms tighter around the sparkling in her arms. Firelight, the one she held, squirmed in his recharge before curling into her chassis again and settling down. "Not from this distance," she admitted, her sights bowing in disdain to Firelight's peaceful expression. The fembot was a fine surrogate nannia for the sparkling, and so it must be killing her inside to envision his getting hurt in this dawning fight they faced.

Rodimus set his spinal support to the wall, sliding down it until his aft hit the loose dirt of the ground. It lodged in his plates, yet he couldn't have cared less. As his helm rested against the pillar behind him, his optic caught Hawktail moving from his spot guarding. His brown arms were crossed over his chassis, his deeper blue optics hard.

"We must trust our instincts on whether to follow this message or not," he announced, voice calm and steady. Rodimus was certain that was what he was supposed to sound like at the moment. Hawktail's lip plates pushed into a straight line and his optics darted from peer to peer. "I am not asking you all to follow me, however, I am not dissuading you either. It is imperative we collect the Autobot forces together again if we are to have any hope of winning this war."

Rodimus rested his arms on his kneebolts as he watched Hawktail intently. A noise drew his sights away to a building not too far away, where slabs of concrete and rusted iron poles clattered against the ground. A hefty figure dropped from the roof, landing in a squat and causing the already weak pavement around him to crack or cave in. While he stood, more of it splintered, causing debris to jut out from the ground around his peds.

The mech walked up with an expression of concentration and seriousness, his camo paint and thick disposition gave off a far more warrior-esque feeling than most already knowing the mech would expect out of him "Hawk is righ', we can't stay here," Hound stated, swinging his boxy helm from left to right. "Ah'll deadspark on tha battlefield before ah deadspark runnin'. Ah started mah life cycle fightin', and ah'll end it that way."

While Rodimus set a servo on the ground, his digits brushed against a cold, hard object. The mech's faceplates snapped down, the wind grazing his cheekplate with a stray leaf from the trees lining each side of the road a few meters further the way. His sights caught a minuscule object, rectangular in fashion, poking out from a pile of pebbles. He gently brought his digit tips over the object, pushing away the dust and exposing what was beneath.

Carefully, he pulled at the sharp corner, bringing out whatever was stuck there. The sun's weak morning glow shined down on the shattered glass that had apparently been attached to it at a point. Rodimus picked at the sharp shards, one by one, and flicked them away. Further he delved into removing the pieces. Until but a few microscopic parts remained, he worked at it.

Under the dust and glass was an image. Hard in copy, the picture was faded from being bleached by the sun. In the silence of his comrades Rodimus studied the picture with a determination that was both confusing and intriguing. He dug his digits into the broken frame until he managed to dislodge the picture, bringing it out with a practiced gentleness. On it, was a unit of three humans. One, a male, a smile bright on his middle-aged features. Another was female, with striking red hair upon her head and white teeth behind her pale lips. In her arms was a human offspring, its eyes full of wonder and its thumb link in its lip plates.

"Earth is our home," Rodimus stated as he scanned over the picture again, voice unsteady after being subjected to the constant onslaught of stress and uncertainty. "We must defend it, as we had failed to do by Cybertron."

All optics rose to meet his. Some hopeful, others not so much. What he did see was a sort of desperation that would have meant a crazy, insane part of themselves was willing to do whatever it took to stay, or keep those they loved safe. It was a part of their nature to want to live. To survive.

From the edge of their group, Hawktail dropped his arms to his sides and lifted his leg. Grace was in every step as he made his way over to Rodimus, with each pair of optics and eyes stabbing into his spinal support. His own were focused on Rodimus', and they did not waver. When he was standing in front of Rodimus, the brown mech lowered himself, stretching an arm outwards. His servo, rough and worn from his vorns of work as an armory smith, opened for help.

Rodimus did not hesitate to take that servo. A grunt escaped them both when Hawktail helped up the former Prime. When Rodimus was on his peds, they did not let go, but stood there for a nanoclick, servos locked between their close chassis and optics baring into one another's. Hawktail was issuing him a challenge. A wordless challenge, but a challenge nonetheless. It said: will you be strong enough for me to trust putting my life in your control?

Then Hawktail turned, determined optics preserving the vision of his broken peers. "We fight as one, or we fight alone," he announced, slamming his fist into his chassis, right above his spark. "The choice is yours."

~…to fight this evil and prevail in protecting the planet we call home. Remember divisions Ultra and Omega – let them be your guide. Till all are one.~

"Frag, that can't be it, can it?" a mech cried, taking his digit from his audio, where his comlink communicator would have been to pick up the signal. His navy blue arm dropped, awaiting to accept the hails of his leader if other information was to be passed. His wide optics went from each of those he stood with, vying for a chance at answers.

A fembot, larger than a few of the mechs she stood with, lifted her helm, searching the skies as if expecting an enemy vessel to attack them at any moment. And she was in her right to suspect that. Her movements were smooth, her expression of a gathered patience the Autobots were having trouble maintaining themselves. In their presence, she was more Prime-material than them any. That went far too, considering she was a primal beast of a Cybertronian.

"Challenge fate as you wish, you will not win," she, Tettara, commented.

A human stalked by, fresh from pacing across a line of rotting road the 'Bots had recently traveled down. Their hands were by the head, their expression completely exasperated.

"That doesn't even make sense!" the male soldier shouted, his voice drowned in the whistle of the wind against the naked streets.

As Prowl shifted his helm around on his neck, stretching a minor scrape wound on the back of it, he found nothing but open fields of golden wheat and bulbous, clunky organic breeds the humans called 'cows'. His lip plates burrowed deep into a frown that was worse than before. Pretty soon, permanent lines from this negative twist in his otherwise handsome features was going to set in.

It was illogical that he and his group would stop in the middle of a massive, open area such as this. They were exposed out here with no cover above their helms. Then again, Colonel James Marks, the one pacing back and forth, had claimed that the Decepticons would purposefully be looking in places like that. Somewhere open such as this would never be thought of. Prowl had to admit that he was interested in the simple tactics of the male, as they made sense. If it were not trained tracker drones, soldiers, and war-seasoned veteran Decepticons coming after them, the mech would have trusted the human more.

The tactical analyst stepped closer to his comrades, studying each in turn. There were a startling few of them. Only seven to be exact. Prowl had gathered as many as he could have while escaping the destruction of the Roosevelt Island base, however, his catch must have been slimmer than originally envisioned. Despite his efforts, he'd collected two fembot and five mechs, including himself.

Thunderblast was with her sparkmate, Bekos, over by the meadow. They sat close together, the fembot sitting with her spinal support to her mate's chassis while his legs spread on either side of her. Their servos overlapped on her abdominal slips, no doubt taking comfort in the feel of their developing sparkling. Bekos' helm was on his mate's shoulderbolt, his optics on the ground. Neither of them had Autobot comlink devices, meaning they were unable to hear the message those around them had.

Tettara, the tactician of the Fabial forces, was among them. Her brown and gold armor gleamed under the fresh light of the early kalon. Dust patches remained here and there, but otherwise, she was the cleanest amongst her escaped comrades.

Her comrade, a Fabial medic named Zincar, was squatted down with a group of humans. Pairs of them rested against his frame, trying to snatch whatever lack of rest they had gotten through the past two kalons before Prowl forced his meager group to move out again. Those majestic wings upon his spinal support made a makeshift canopy above their exhausted bodies to shade them from the rising sun. It was moments like these that Prowl dreaded inhabiting a planet with this fragile of a dominant species, for they rested far too often to get in an efficient amount of driving in. At moments, he seriously wondered how they had become the dominant species in the first place.

Mirage was standing not far off, checking the condition of his prized blades. When he clipped it back to his bracer, testing the mobility of his digits while he did so, his optics roamed dangerously across them. Those were a lethal blue color. They no longer offered mercy as an option. Mirage threw down his arm, testing the blade through a slice of air, and scared a pair of cows nearby enough that one tipped over with a horrible, moo sound.

Bluestring, who had initially spoken earlier, pat his knuckles against his thigh, his unsure gaze perking from 'Bot to 'Bot. Prowl waited for him to speak, for it was easy for even a blind mech to notice that the younger mech was not finished speaking his nervous processor.

He opened his lip plates and Prowl crossed his arms. "What did it all mean? Was it a hoax?"

"That is entirely possible," Mirage put in, stepping up to his fellow comrades, one servo adjusting the blade on his other bracer. "Bisogna essere prudenti – we need to be careful. Whoever was on the end of that message could be our Prime, or a Decepticon monger." He stabbed a digit at the ground and flicked his bracer, bringing his blade back into subspace.

"Even if that was your Prime on the end of the message," Bekos called out, catching everyone's attention, "how can you be sure that coming together wouldn't kill you all? You are truly putting a large target on all of you for gathering in one place."

Bluestring deflated at that. His shoulderbolts hunched, a sigh escaping his vents. With an air of disappointment around him, the armory smith and (unofficially) Prowl's protégé dropped onto his aft on the ground. His arms rested in the pocket of his crossed legs. In this position, he was far different than the proper stature that was his brother, Hawktail. The brown and golden armory smith was quite the opposite from his sibling. But they were close despite their differences. It was a quality Prowl found enticing, since he had been not that close with Jazz when they were sparklings.

Prowl clenched his servos into fists, trying to banish the emotions building in him. He couldn't fall into another glitch – not while Jazz was out there, waiting for him somewhere. With their bond renewed, all Prowl had to do was reach out for his brother, and the mech would be right there to latch onto Prowl's essence. Even when Prowl didn't realize he was transmitting his feelings, Jazz was there to calm him. How had he survived all these vorns without the saboteur?

"It's a risk we have to take," Zincar insisted, lifting the wings he held over the humans. As they were exposed to the sunlight, a few scrunched their eyes and stirred. And others turned their backs to it, hiding in the body of another to block out the light. The brown and orange mech stood over them, peering down on their vulnerable bodies as he folded away his wings from sight. "We have to get back to the others. It is not only your leader out there, taking a risk by being separated."

Prowl nodded, agreeing completely. However, others of their group must not have agreed as easily, for Bekos lifted himself from the grass and put his servos on his hipbolts, expression scrutinizing. "Cameo is your leader, correct? What loyalty binds you to her? Why does she control your dedication?" he harped.

Zincar and Tettara both turned toward the mech, their faceplates caught off guard by the sudden question. Prowl studied Bekos, wondering briefly if the being had gone too far, and if he needed to intervene.

Before he could, Tettara went on for her comrade, "Cameo is all we have known since Cybertron. We have been given no reason to doubt her command, or her willingness to sacrifice herself in our names." The fembot's words dribbled off into the sucking sponge of the open spaces around them without anything to bounce back on. They all sounded so weak when they spoke here.

Prowl felt his spark tighten when Zincar placed a servo on Tettara's shoulderbolt, squeezing in support. "And we would do the same for her. Because that is the best gift we could give her for guiding us in a world we did not know. To us, Cameo is our nannia," he said. None of it made sense to Prowl, listening to them. However, with Jazz by his spark again, things were becoming clearer. The fog of agonizing grief that had come with Jazz's deadspark was fading into scars. It was letting Prowl see the colors of life again.

Bekos did not comment against their words, but returned to sitting with Thunderblast. With a gentle grin, she wrapped her arm around his, knitting their digits. They were together, which was more than what Prowl could say for the many siblings and sparkmates surely separated in this event. It wasn't right what they'd been through, and they deserved to be reunited again, no matter the risk. It was for their own safety, and Prowl highly disliked the idea of being away from his brother much longer.

There went the emotions.

"She is a commander of an Autobots contingent, and as such, it is apparent she would be obligated to comply with Optimus' orders," Prowl surmised, lowering his optics in thought. "As Prime, he has overwhelming say in whatever matters our faction has. Rethalia won't override his orders, or she hasn't yet, meaning they have an inkling of thought as to a plan of action."

"Or, it was a false message," Mirage argued back, angled helm turned for Prowl. The police cruiser and Ferrari exchanged thoughtful glances, taking in every byte of factors they could. "Rethalia could not be following with her own message because the Decepticons do not have the correct data yet to mimic her vocal patterns."

"Are we really going to simply sit here and wonder whether that was your leader or not?" Bekos demanded, optic ridges coming down as he stood with his sparkmate. Prowl ground his oral sheets, withholding his biting words. There was little to no trust he held for the former Decepticon, his sparkmate, or brother, for Bekos spoke out far too much against Optimus to be trusted.

When Mirage stepped up to probably raise his voice against the bold ex-'Con, Prowl barred an arm out. With the red spy's optics burning into the side of his helm, Prowl met gazes with Bekos. "No," he stated firmly, lowering the arm across Mirage's chassis. "We are going to follow the signal."

All seven pairs of optics turned on him, filled with shock and disbelief. Quiet enveloped them, filled only by the baying of the cows or the shifting of humans as they slowly woke.

"How?" a voice wondered. It was Thunderblast, who up until this question, had been silent. Her servos were around Bekos' arm, her features pinned into an anxious mask. "We have no coordinates, no landmarks, no city name, anything. We have no clue where they could be."

"That's actually…not true," Bluestring put in, raising a digit from his spot on the ground. He was looking at a monitor on his bracer, which carried on it a selection Prowl could not make out from this angle and distance. When the smith raised his helm, he looked between Thunderblast and Prowl.

"Optimus mentioned the divisions of Omega and Ultra, correct?" he mentioned, waiting until those listening gave a sign they were paying attention. Prowl crossed his arms, studying his 'apprentice' and waiting for the skills he'd taught him to kick in. "Well, Ultra and Omega were actually small brackets of the Autobot faction back on Cybertron. None of you would remember it, since it was probably some of the first Autobot contingents ever created. They were led by Sentinel Prime, but the commanders of those brackets was a mech designated Ultranos and a fembot designated Omega Trine."

"Your point being…?" Zincar prompted. Prowl lifted a servo, quieting the restless Fabial.

Bluestring went back to his bracer, fiddling with the information on it. "'Omega and Ultra' refers to the pairing of their teams to recover precious materials stolen from the ancient archives of the Hall of Records that would be sold on the black market…" He trailed off, tapping on the monitor a few times. "Their orders from Sentinel Prime were to head north through Kaon until they reached the transporters, then…"

His pause made Prowl concerned. The black and white analyst stepped up once, his peds heavy with lead and his energon flowing with sludge. "Then what, Bluestring?" he inquired.

Bluestring gave a short, disbelieving laugh and dropped his arm into his lap. Lifting his other servo, he rubbed it over his faceplates and turned his lip plates toward Prowl. "Then they give everything they have to kill the Decepticon thieves and recover the materials. Honestly, Sentinel was not expecting them to come back."

Prowl saw Zincar look from Bluestring, to Tettara, then back. "Did they?" he wondered for the three of them.

Bluestring moved the servo on his faceplates, sending an icy pair of optics toward the Fabials as answer.

"Then that decides things," Mirage claimed, clapping a servo against Prowl's shoulderbolt. "We head north, and pray to Primus. Perché non stiamo tornando." A smirk was on his faceplates, sad and true, before the mech turned for the road.

~All Autobots within range, heed my call…As it is uncertain if, at all, we may bring ourselves past this shadow of uncertainty, I remind each of you of the strength each of you possess…to fight this evil and prevail in protecting the planet we call home. Remember divisions Ultra and Omega – let them be your guide. Till all are one…~

When the transmission cut, Swoop circled around the pillars of smoke again, trying to keep hidden within their cover. The deep, blackened ash of the columns hid him from the various humans scattered about below. Each fleshy creature took to the rubble of the former Autobot base, picking it apart in a futile search for injured or the survivors. A few shapes, unmistakably human in nature, were lined up neatly by the trees. White blankets covered them, however, scarlet stains were beginning to soak through.

The Dinobot's chassis rumbled in displeasure while he watched them work. With every beat of his wings, he grew tenser. He wasn't certain if the humans would find any Autobot remains, but if they did, Grimlock had made it clear that the humans were not to be allowed to take them anywhere.

Clearly, there were no living sparks here. Swoop had scanned the pile of broken stone and metal ten times over for a sign of a buried comrade, however, not a single spike picked up. Despite that he was determined to stay and root out the hovering factor of Autobot remains being scavenged and taken away for the world to find out that the Autobots were indeed still on their planet, and hadn't left after the battle of Chicago. This planet was not yet ready to be reintroduced to their species. For now, rumors and blurry pictures were all they would receive.

Swoop banked lower, trying to get a clear view of the human trucks positioned at random intervals along the tree line. Humans, male and female, held strange devices to their lip plates while they faced bulky recording objects. Whatever they were doing, Swoop didn't care much for. From their distance, they wouldn't have been able to get much from the scene of the accident. Other humans barred their way with yellow, plastic ribbons, and their legs planted wide.

Those that were allowed to get close to the site of incident shouldered through large piles of concrete and debris slabs. The bodies they found were handed over and lain beside those already salvaged from the wreckage. It was a grim procession that Swoop saw here, and he felt his spark darken a bit in witnessing the humans carrying their own kind so gently, even in deadspark. Of all the Dinobots, Swoop had the empathy and intelligence of them. He understood the meaning of sadness or anger, and knew right from wrong better than most his brethren.

Slowly, Swoop glided over the rubble, taking refuge in the stretch of grey that kept him hidden. His wings beat fluidly against the air to emit a series of even beats, batting at the pressure around him and causing deep sounds similar to that of a sparkbeat. It wasn't in his nature to simply sit back and watch things. However, as made perfectly clear by Grimlock and the others, Swoop was not to engage unless anything Cybertronian in nature was found.

Swoop respected his leader well enough to follow his orders, even though the big lug wasn't here himself to enforce it. There were too many vorns of friendship between them for Swoop to go back now. And besides, if Nightmare found out anything had gone out of order for Swoop, it wouldn't be Grimlock the winged warrior would need to fear. Already, Swoop had countless scratches against his frame from trying to irk the fembot's might. It was no wonder Grimlock found her enchanting.

The way Swoop and his fellow Dinobots had found out about the Washington base getting attacked was quite the attention-getter: the news.

The fiery piles of concrete and scorched iron poles that jutted from the destruction as the only markers left of the former Autobot base were apparently enough to get national attention. That, and the enormous alien vessel having flown over the nation's capital minutes after the incredible explosion. Witnesses had reported seeing flashes go off shortly following the blast, with the sound of crackling shots that could have come from a canon. Or to the Autobots: blaster fire. There was no mistaking that sound that they heard, watching that news caster covering the story. Neither was the sight of countless luxury vehicles, headed by a flame-painted truck, racing from the island.

Immediately after, Swoop had been sent to check things out. Seeing that the claims were true, and hearing the message Optimus Prime had, foolishly he must say, sent to his colleagues as a cry of rally, Swoop knew what would need to be done.

He tipped his wings down some, letting him bank a smooth left. His sharp optics turned on the people below again, the distrust in his system humming. Humans had never been the mech's favorite kind of alien, however, how many aliens had he seen to compare them to? To him, the humans were evil little things, ignorant to anything else except their own wants or needs. Hence, the slow killing of their own planet. However, as he'd gotten to know them, Swoop found himself eerily aware that the humans were not so different from Cybertronians. They cared, they bred, and they survived, just as his kind did. Perhaps in another way than what Swoop would prefer, but they survived nonetheless. How else did one explain their rise to dominant species of the planet?

It couldn't be a positive thing to stay here much longer. Obviously there was nothing here to be found, meaning that all of the Autobots got out safe and sound. It was a relief to know that, no matter the history between the Autobots and Dinobots. It was a rougher patch on the factions, however, deep down, Grimlock was a fiercely loyal being. If things came down to it, the Dinobot leader would take a bullet for Optimus Prime. Their relationship was a complicated one, for sure.

Swoop swung into a steep pitch, dropping into levels he hadn't yet dared to go until now. His enormous wingspan sent flickering shadows across the pillars of smoke, ruffling the sickly greys and sending twisters of silver clouds into the air. His scarlet and blue paint shivered in the early kalon, and would have definitely given him away if it were not humans below, but Decepticon soldiers. The organics digging around beneath him had the worst vision Swoop had ever come across.

However, it seemed that terrible eyesight meant nothing in terms of this world. For not a split nanoclick after Swoop had pulled upwards to even out with the skies and begin his journey back to San Diego to report to Grimlock and the others, a shrill cry came from under him.

His helm snapped to the ground, zeroing in on a group of humans running toward one of their own. The call had come from the edge of the rubble, near the tree line. It was loud and anxious, collecting the attention of nearly all those around. Swoop tore himself back, bowing his neck and watching from above.

A group of humans was running toward a large mass on the earth. It was more or less red, with black here and there from the licking flames, or silver that had shone through the scratched paint. To the passing optic, the half-buried and dust-covered shape would simply be a pile of spare parts and wires. However, when one peered closer, as Swoop did, he realized with a jolt that those pieces had arms and legs and a face.

It was an Autobot.

But no spark signatures had shown up on Swoop's scans. Which meant that this…was a deadsparked Autobot.

Swallowing back his discontent, Swoop dived into the smoke. Tendrils of it clung to his frame, giving him tails of silver as he soared through the air. His speed picked up, throwing him straight toward the figure that had once been a living being.

He had to make sure that the humans didn't get to the Autobot body before he did, or else there would be consequences. If they took the 'Bot away and stripped it down in their labs, or leaked the information to the press, chaos would ensue. This was the exact reason Swoop had been sent here too, to keep Cybertronian technology out of human control. And to do that, this Dinobot would have to do a final, unthinkable thing.

Swoop's throat rippled, the lining down the center glowing a brilliant orange color. His plates fluttered, sticking near to his protoform to help him move faster. Wind ripped by his audios to ensnare him in a soundless bubble. It helped him to process, and overall give him the confidence he needed. Heat trickled into the back of his glossa, thin and wild.

A few humans were already by the deadsparked Autobot, craning their necks to look at it, or picking up pieces of its armor that had probably fallen off. Swoop's optics were covered in a red sheen that doused him in anger, and bitter resentment. If there was one thing he hated more than orders he didn't agree with, it was the Decepticons – for all their ceaseless attacks and annoying arrogance. They had killed millions, and this Autobot could be entered into their hall of victims. The knife blade that had broken off after stabbing its victim was still lodged in the poor mech's spinal support.

Swoop opened his metallic, serrated beak, collecting the energy within his core and forcing it out. His throat burst aflame and projected a hose of fire before him, showering the Autobot body with a bath of immeasurable heat. Fire engulfed it immediately as Swoop came in – to where an explosion was definitely eminent. He then sailed past his target, taking off at an angle that was impossible by the modern-day jets he had raced through the clouds.

Behind him, he heard the screams of humans as they scrambled to get away from the flames. Cries of terror and surprise reached the Dinobot, but they were too far away in Swoop's processor to care for. He was more focused on the anticipation of the demise of a former comrade. To honor the mech, all Swoop could do was defile his frame. It was not the ideal way to go, however, it was all the mech could do to make sure the Autobot went in peace to the Matrix and didn't have his remains ripped apart by humans for study.

Swoop twisted midair when he had flown a good mile or so from the destroyed base. From that position he stalled, his lower half hanging, and his monstrous wingspan pulsing powerfully against the air. Inside of him, his spark beat in a cold fever. Inside of himself was a dark chill. It was a regret that soon disappeared behind his claims of duty. This was an order that had been given to him. He'd had no other option.

Still, why did it hurt to burn a corpse? Was it because he'd never done it before? These were the facts of war, and he should have been used to them by now.

The Autobot frame abruptly exploded, sending many of the humans to the ground in fright. A plume of blackened smoke, full with blue, crackling excess energon energy floated above the scene in a show of gruesome calmness. It stretched above until dissipating into the atmosphere, a good mile above the actual frame. And Swoop stayed there, watching it all, until he'd had his fill of death and destruction.

As a Dinobot, he had never been made to be a smart creature. He'd never been expected to feel emotion as broadly as other Cybertronians, or experience a thirst for intelligence. Which was why he was an odd case of creation. He was the one that questioned right from wrong first, and taught his fellow warriors to learn from their surroundings. He had been the one to second-guess Grimlock's addiction to destroying things and immediately resorting to violence.

He had been the one to ask why they had to be lumbering, unintelligent, brutes. Because, and it made many Autobots crack an amused smile, he wished to leave a reputation of ignorance for the path of a respectable warrior within the ranks. Grimlock spent his kalons beating his way through his issues and chasing after Nightmare for joors on end. Why couldn't he be a wise and tolerable leader like Optimus Prime? Swoop knew he would follow Grimlock until the end, but did that mean he had to be a sparkless rouge that felt nothing when causing deadsparked peers to explode?

Whatever he was feeling inside of himself, wasn't right. This instance of self-pity was not enticing at all. He knew here that he needed to do more to prevent more deaths like this from happening. If he couldn't, then he failed at being the respectable soldier he wished himself to be.

Taking a final look back, Swoop studied the charred frame as it fell apart under the fire's heat, and turned himself around. First, he would need to be stronger. Then, he could prevent things like this from happening anymore.

Inferno, believe me, I will protect what you have left behind, Swoop told the late warrior before he thrust his wings behind him. With the Washington base behind him, the Dinobot raced back to San Diego to report his findings.

Lots of feels in this one :'(

It bounced around a lot, and for that, I apologize, but I needed to show all of you that there wasn't any conveniences going to happen in this story,

everything happens according to logic...

most of the time :D

Anywho, I want you all to know that I will be using the last chapters as a chance to answer any questions you've had about OTSH.

Post as many questions or concerns as you want, and I'll answer every single one, from this point until the end! :D

This is a chance to make you all heard and truly connect with my readers while I still can, so ask away!

See you all next week!

*Chapter Inspiration: Leave Out All the Rest= Linkin Park