Fire of Youth

Chapter 12

*Note to Kaleia: Oh my gosh. You need to go see the two How to Train Your Dragon films. They're freaking amazing! Also, the TV series isn't half bad my favorite new dragon introduced there has to be Windshear, Heather's Razorwhip. The little Night Terrors that guard Dragon's Edge aren't that bad either. They're so very cute :3 The movies and the show have their fair share of great moments. But fair warning: prepare for a feels trip in the second movie. And, erm...*coughs awkwardly* Yeah. I'm, well, an atheist. o_o So your little fic idea is gonna remain on that piece of paper. Sorry, gal. I'm just not a religious person. .-. I mean, I respect your opinion and views, don't get me wrong here, but...probably won't ever happen.

*Note to Giddy: Lol. Actually I based the oil off a special one I use to help me sleep. Not sure why, but you massage some on the back of your neck and it's like knockout gas for me. I always make sure to use it the night before a test. :) Keeps me calm, as I have a very bad case of anxiety. Literally I was having a panic attack just the other night because my movie editor was being an ass and then Blackboard decided at the last second to be super slow. Thankfully I got it in on time and found out what the issue was, but the stress and panic while that was going on was no joke.


Ratchet's groundbridge had dropped the three Thunderbird hunters off about two miles outside Laguna, a small little town in the desert made of hardened clay buildings called pueblos. No one noticed them arrive and no one noticed them head off, as the road leading out of town was empty aside from the occasional dust devil that swept across. They learned thanks to a road sign the reason: Laguna was a very small town of only about twelve hundred people.

Bluestreak for one was psyched about finally getting off base. A chance to really test his new mode out – at last! On mountainous terrain, too! Well, not right now, but really soon! He'd wanted to see more of this planet ever since arriving. It was pretty – not as pretty as Cybertron, but still pretty in its own way. True, there was a huge danger involved in the form of a possibly still living Predacon, but going by Smoke's tone about it maybe it would think twice about blindly attacking if they went in smart about the whole thing. If they didn't go in guns blazing, maybe it would be willing to talk to them.

And that was yet another thing to be excited about: meeting a real live Predacon! Would it be able to talk to them, or did it not know modern dialects? It had been here for a long time. Maybe it spoke Navajo? If it did, would they have to call in Neal Rowland to help translate? That was risky. But if so, would they get to learn a new language? Oh, there were so many cool possibilities he could hardly keep from speeding ahead of Arcee and Ultra Magnus. This was just so freakishly cool! They would be the first ever Autobots to meet a real living Predacon – well, technically a clone, but that was pretty much the same thing in his mind. Clone just meant genetic copy, right?

"Bluestreak, stay in formation." Magnus ordered. "Predacons have sharp vision, far better than ours. If we move too quickly towards the peak we might make it think we're coming to attack."

The young gunner slowed, falling beside the heavy blue and turquoise Kenworth growling along the open highway. Arcee rolled up beside the two.

"You think we're being watched, sir? Even at this distance?"

"One can't be too careful. Ratchet shared the scans he made of Infernus with me while he was unconscious. It was the first chance he'd had to fully analyze what changes his body had forced to undergo. Ignoring the increased durability, agility, fire-breathing and hearing for the moment, his scans showed his optics had been completely reforged. They're now three hundred times more sensitive than before – their zooming capabilities are far more powerful. Ratchet estimated he could spot a bullet cartridge from ten miles in the sky."

The pale blue Miata at his side let out an impressed whistle. "Wow! That's crazy!"

"And you're of the opinion this Thunderbird might have even better vision?" Arcee guessed.

"I'm nowhere close to the expert researcher Optimus was, but from I recall from scientific reports before the War, many Avioid Predacons had even greater vision than that. The zooming capabilities in their optics were nothing like ours, and the sensitivity of the light receptors was so great that some went blind due to degradation of the optic fibers. Ratchet assured me that would not happen with Infernus."

"So this Thunderbird might be...blind?" Bluestreak asked.

"If it is, it would only be relying on its olfactory sensors and audials. If it hears our engines going at full throttle towards its home, it has every reason to believe we might be invaders or attackers. It hasn't heard a Cybertronian engine in very long time, if at all. It might not even recognize us and will simply attack out of suspicion – an instinctive reaction instead of a pre-meditated one. We keep our pace slow and there's a lesser chance of those options happening. We will be considered a curiosity, not a threat. We will avoid confrontation if at all possible."

Bluestreak and Arcee fell silent as they rolled along beside the heavy Kenworth. They both remembered the harrowing chase by Megatron's newest pet. Magnus's ship had found Bulkhead and Wheeljack – plus Miko – in the mountains and valleys of Colorado. They would not know until arrival that they had acquired a very dangerous pursuer in the form of a Draconian Predacon like Infernus. A chase through the valleys had resulted in the Predacon being left behind, but it had appeared again at Darkmount. Only Ratchet bridging it to the Arctic had removed it from the battlefield. And now they knew thanks to the Primeling's vision that it wasn't gone for good. It was probably back home with its master: Shockwave.

Avoiding a confrontation with a Thunderbird, wounded or no, was a wise policy.

Arcee's mind quickly grasped onto something it designated as unusual: "Wait...your wording. You really think it's still alive, sir?"

"Infernus's intelligence renders it is a distinct possibility. Not only have some individuals gone missing here, but Cybertronians can survive without limbs. And if it found a way to feed off lightning instead of Energon, it could survive for a long time, especially if it has a way to store the electricity or lessen its energy expenditure."

"Like going into stasis after a storm?" Bluestreak suggested. "Raf said some Earth creatures do something like that. Hibernation. Store up a lot of energy and then...just not use it. Well, I mean they do use it but not all at once. Maybe this Thunderbird does that – gathers what it can from the storm and then shuts down till the next one. 'Cause desert storms aren't super common. They happen a little more often around mountains, but they're not exactly everyday things."

"Possibly."

Another bout of silence ensued. The trio of vehicles pulled off the main highway and rumbled into the desert. Ahead loomed the snow-tipped peak of Mount Taylor. As they drew towards the base, transforming on arrival, each was under the sudden impression of being closely watched. But no matter how hard their optics scanned its heights they could see nothing amiss. There was no mistaking that feeling though. Right now and from here onwards they were being monitored by a beast – a beast capable of rending them all in two.

Thus, warily, they began the ascent.


Infernus was bored. Thoroughly and utterly bored out of his processor. After his talk with Ratchet, he had nothing to do aside from wait for updates from Magnus's mission, and Wheeljack and Bulkhead were still out in the field and radioing in through Ratchet. Technically his rank allowed him the right to intercept the transmissions, but he felt that wasn't the right thing to do. Ratchet was in charge of the Wreckers, and he was in charge of Magnus. Oh, and the kids had left, too.

It was unfortunate but expected that having nothing to do allowed his mind ample opportunity to worry about both teams. Wheeljack and Bulkhead were on solo missions in Greece, making them easy pickings if Megatron's fire-spewing pet was sicked on one of them. They'd apparently handled their first encounter with it fine together, but separated? He didn't like it. In the end, Magnus had arrived in the nick of time and pulled them out. That wouldn't be an option here. The Iron Will was sitting outside, and the pilot was a state away busy with his own mission – not to mention the Wreckers were on another continent altogether.

He knew they were capable but...he just wasn't satisfied. There were too many "What If's" with bad outcomes.

'What about Wheeljack's ship?' Solus wondered.

In another hangar. Fowler had sent a recovery team to go get it, but it was a mangled wreck. He had no idea whether or not it could be salvaged. Starscream and his Armada had done a real number on it. Wheeljack had been lucky to get out of that in once piece, even if he had been taken prisoner.

'Hm. I see. Carry on then.'

Magnus, Blue, and Arcee he was the most worried about. Arion and the Nemean Lion were ancient Predacons, most likely dead by now – one had already been killed, actually. But the two Thunderbirds of Neal's story could very well still be alive. One was hiding atop Mount Taylor from the sounds of it, eking out an existence there. The other one though – that was the one that gave him real reason to worry. No one knew where it was and it was very violent. What if their arrival and discovery of the Mount Taylor one somehow led the other one there? Maybe the victor bird had wanted to make sure the job was done – maybe it had started having doubts or had flown back and suspiciously hadn't found a body?

'Smokescreen, calm down.' Alpha Trion soothed. 'So far as Mr. Rowland told you, there have been no sightings of the second avian anywhere in New Mexico or bordering states. Shockwave created these clones, so what makes you think he did not have a way to monitor them somehow? He is governed by logic. A Predacon attacking another of its kind without cause deviating from its mission may have resulted in the aggressor being transported back to Cybertronian via a spacebridge to be, ah, put down? That 'tear in the sky' could very well have been a spacebridge.'

His worry paused, temporarily drowned out by his curiosity. So he thought so too, huh? But the story had described both birds falling out of it, not just one. Maybe they were failed clones he couldn't keep on Cybertron for one reason or another. Too powerful or too violent.

'Hmm. A valid point. He could have easily transported them here and left them to their fates. That is not beyond belief. Shockwave's logic is cold. If something is too much trouble he...removes the undesirable variables from the equation. Shockwave deals in absolutes, not partial values. That is as gently as I can word that.'

Liege mused with a little too much dark amusement for Infernus's liking:

'Or perhaps it was designed to deal with deviants in the first place and was told to remove the other Predacon for reasons yet unknown to us? Helping someone it shouldn't have? Stealing Energon from another source? Disobeying direct orders? Who can say? It did something wrong and Shockwave decided to deal with the problem the only permanent way you can.'

So Liege thought the other one was like an Institute Courser from Fallout 4, did he? Those things were designed to bring back wayward synths or simply destroy them if that failed. Interesting theory. No proof for it though.

'You just gotta the suck the fun outta everything, don't you?'

Infernus snorted softly. He wasn't sucking the fun out of everything. He was just being cautious. Fantasizing – theorizing really – was all well and good, but fantasies weren't about to solve the mystery of the Thunderbirds. Nor would they save Arcee, Magnus, and Blue if one or both of the beasts attacked them.


Lacking proper roads, the three Autobots were forced to walk. It was rather fortunate that at this time of the year there were few humans hiking the trails. But few did not necessarily mean none. A quick look on the human's internet via someone's nearby mobile wi-fi hotspot revealed it as a well-frequented location year round. The only times no humans were on the mountain were during severe thunderstorms that occurred in the summer months. Normally that wouldn't be cause for alarm, but that just so happened to be the time of year they were there. Per Ultra Magnus's orders they kept well away from the beaten paths, though he allowed Bluestreak to roam within a mile or so of the group.

And the storms? The storms were yet another threat. Through the same wi-fi hotspot it was discovered the storms around the mountain were not something to be trifled with. They were powerful, and more than a few people had been caught in them in the past – and had subsequently disappeared. A few had emerged from the storms, had survived them somehow, yet they had no memory of how they had or what had happened. Some assumed predatory wildlife had consumed any corpses, but even then there would be bones left behind. They were quite simply...gone, and those amnesiac survivors were of no help.

That the missing had vanished during these powerful storms, some of whom had survived at the cost of their memory, and that no body had ever been found...that was suspicious in Ultra Magnus's opinion. No one could vanish that completely, and knowing what they knew he suspected the Thunderbird might be a culprit. But if it was, what had it done with the missing? Clearly it had released the amnesiac storm survivors, but what of the ones who hadn't returned?

The stoic mech shook his helm slightly as he kept trekking ever onwards and upwards. Questions without ready answers were exactly why he would never make a good archivist. Those kinds of questions drove him crazy; he simply hadn't the creative imagination to solve them. This was the sort of intricate puzzle Optimus would have loved to solve. Hm. For all he knew he was helping Infernus work his way to a solution right now. Whether or not a solution would come before the encounter he couldn't say.

Bluestreak's chipper voice broke his thoughts abruptly: [Magnus? 'Cee? I found something. Well, ran into something cloaked. You're gonna wanna see this.]

He nodded and affirmed he would rendezvous shortly before striding off. Arcee, a few dozen paces away, sprinted ahead of him. She quickly left the larger mech behind.


Infernus had to resist the urge to grin maniacally when Ultra Magnus finally reported in. Finally something to distract him from the boredom! But as he listened, a frown of confusion began to form. If heard without first hearing Neal's story, one might very well be excused for thinking Magnus had lost his senses. Out of context, the report sounded bizarre.

"A pylon? Hidden by a cloaking device?" he repeated slowly in some bewilderment.

[That is what I said. Bluestreak was fortunate enough to run right into it when wandering around the mountainside. It's located about halfway up the slopes. Have you any explanation for this?]

"Uh. Well, Neal mentioned that the Pred-Thunderbird taught the Navajo tribe who rescued it how to refine copper. He said it then had them build three metal spires on the mountain to collect lightning bolts, kinda like giant lightning rods. Apparently it used the electricity as a fuel source. Didn't mention the pillars being cloaked though. That sounds new. Probably its way of counteracting the large number of humans on the peak now."

[Wait, Predacons know how to make cloakers?] Bluestreak chirped. [I never knew that! Why didn't you mention that earlier? That's like major stuff right there!]

[That doesn't make any sense though. While fossil evidence suggested that some Predacons were gifted with stealth mechanisms, no evidence was ever found that indicated they were intelligent enough to craft a cloaking device themselves. It's not exactly basic calculus. And Earth does not have access to such technology. How did it acquire these cloaking devices then?]

A few rather dark possibilities flashed through Infernus's processor. First and foremost was the idea that the Thunderbird had ripped them out of some of its kin in order to re-purpose them. That seemed a bit excessive though. Groundless, too. The mountain Thunderbird of Neal's tale hadn't seemed aggressive enough to perform such a cold-oiled plot to hide the pylons. It had seemed more open-minded, displaying a grudging cooperation with the Navajo – though still proud as a peacock at the end of the day.

"I don't know. Crazy as it sounds, it might have made them itself. I don't think we give Predacons enough credit in the brains department. If we can build cloaking devices...then why can't they? With a broken wing, the thing's had a lot of time on its hands. Er, claws. Wait...does it have hands? Like, can it transform? I mean, I can. Onyx can. Can other Preds do it too or are we some sort of exception?"

He heard Arcee laugh softly, making him smile.

[What is it with you and the random yet very pointed questions?]

"Eh, it's what I do. Keep looking. If those pylons are still there and now cloaked, I think that's solid proof the Thunderbird of Mount Taylor is alive. Whatever you guys do, don't tick it off, okay? It may be missing a wing but I'm pretty sure it could tear any one of you in half with its talons. If it does try to attack you, it's probably just trying to scare you off, not hurt you. So don't hit back. Well, try not to. If it gives you no other choice..."

[Understood, Prime. Ultra Magnus out.]

Unless he was hearing things, the Primeling swore he heard a rumble of thunder come from the other end, and a crack of lightning came just as the link was severed.

His worry returned full force.


"On top of everything else, on top of all the danger we're walking into...it just had to start raining, didn't it?" Arcee deadpanned.

"Well, actually we should've kinda expected this. That site did warn that flash thunderstorms occur here during the summer afternoons, so it's not really like this came out of the blue or anything, 'Cee. We just got our timing off. If we'd done any reading up before this we could've maybe have timed this a little better. Not all bad though – free wash! And the kind that doesn't eat through your armor like back home! This is so awesome!"

Honestly it was hard to stay irked when one looked at Bluestreak's carefree frolicking and running through the rain, oblivious to the gusts of wind and lightning strikes overhelm. It was like watching a happy-go-lucky child romp around in street puddles – you just couldn't help smiling. He ran around, jumped, laughed. Not even a flash storm could dampen Bluestreak's energetic spirit.

"The storm explains why I haven't detected a single native on the mountain. They know about these storms and stayed away." Ultra Magnus observed, blue optics warily watching the skies. "I don't like how strong these lightning strikes look..."

Well he recalled the warning on the website: not to stay on the mountain during one of these storms, as they could become severe in a matter of minutes. The rain wasn't harmful to a Cybertronian, not like the acid rain of their homeworld as the drops merely slid off them. But the powerful lightning strikes might prove a hazard if one struck one of the three metal titans. A powerful enough surge of electricity could fry certain systems.

Even as he finished the sentence, a blinding bolt of lightning arced down from the darkened skies, connecting with an invisible target a bit further down the slopes. The cloaked pylon Bluestreak had accidentally run into was thus revealed – a tall, gleaming pole of bronze colored metal engraved with symbols both Cybertronian and Navajo. Most notable of these native symbols was a blocky, winged creature located at the very top, talons curled around a pair of lightning bolts: a Thunderbird.

"We best hurry. The storm seems to be gaining intensity."

Bluestreak was called back into the group, and they continued on. After another twenty minutes of trekking through suddenly slippery walkways, they reached the peak.

And found nothing.

"Wha? Where is it?! We didn't come all this way for the view!" Bluestreak wailed over the thirty mile per hour gusts.

Ultra Magnus frowned. Something didn't add up. The pylons were still working, they'd been modified at some point...so where in the name of the Allspark was the one who relied on them?


"You're at the peak and you found nothing?"

[Nothing. Any suggestions? We obviously missed something.]

[And make it quick, please. We're exposed up here, and this storm isn't looking like it'll let up any time soon.] Arcee added a bit tersely.

Infernus stifled a groan. Where the Pit was Raf when you need the kid most?

"Ratchet, you have Raf's contact details, right?" he asked. "Can you get him on the line for me? I need him. Like, pronto. Arcee, Magnus, and Blue are on top of Mount Taylor stuck in a severe thunderstorm and there's no trace of the Thunderbird. Seems like it's hiding somewhere else."

The medic glanced at him out of the corner of his optic, nodded, and set to work ringing up the youth's cellular device. Satisfied, he quickly ordered the three absent warriors to get off the peak and down into the tree line in the meantime. It wouldn't offer much in the way of rain shelter, but it would at least protect them from the wind and lightning until he could get some answers for them. They seemed more than happy to listen to the order.

Order...Whoa. He'd just given an order. A real one, not just a polite request. And they'd actually listened to him. He'd expected that to feel weird or something, but it had just slipped out naturally.

'An order of this type never will feel odd. You are ordering them to stay safe, to not test their luck.' said Vector.

'That's common sense is what that is, kid.' Amalgamous added. 'Anyone with their helm screwed on right would never stay out in an acid storm back home, eh? Same logic applies here. The rain may not hurt here. A lightning strike sure might though.'

"Infernus?"

The Primeling turned his attention to the console, a wry but genuine smile forming on hearing the voice he so wanted to have helping him right now. Because if you didn't know the answer to something it was always best to ask an expert. Or, well, a technology whiz anyway. The youngest of their three charges was a jack of all subjects thanks that laptop of his and his hacking skills. He could find out pretty much anything.

"Raf! Hi. I need a question answered, and I'm short on time here. I have a team investigating the Thunderbird of Mount Taylor, but they've come up with zilch at the peak. Is there, like, a cave system or something it could be hiding in?"

"One sec!" The faint sounds of rapid typing could just barely be made out. "Here's something: Mount Taylor's a dormant stratovolcano. I'm betting it's hiding out either in the empty caldera or maybe a network of lava tubes. Not finding anything mentioning the tubes, but there's a chance there might be some. I'm not seeing any mention of a way to get inside though..."

"Think the Thunderbird could've tunneled in maybe? My claws work for digging. Maybe its work just as well – found a weak spot in the outer walls and just dug in?"

"Maybe. But since no article mentions an entrance like the one you're thinking of, I'm betting it's hidden it to keep any random hiker or geologist from getting in and pestering it. Or, y'know, revealing it to the world as an alien."

Wait a second. What about the amnesiac storm survivors? Had they found the entrance by sheer accident, and the Thunderbird done something to their brains to mess up their short term memory, like an electric shock, so they wouldn't remember finding it? It still didn't explain the other missing persons, but it was the first thing in a while that sounded truly believable about this whole mystery.

He radioed in to Magnus with the information.


Bluestreak had grown bored in sticking around Ultra Magnus and Arcee during their search of the slope they were on. And so he'd darted off sneakily to explore the other slope adjoining this one, the north one. The west slope was where the storm was fiercest. Maybe another one of those metal pylons was over there? Maybe it could help lead them to the entrance all three of them were trying to find. After all, if you wanted to hide something from curious humans – why not hide it in a place they would never in their right minds go?

So wait. Did that mean the amnesiacs hadn't been in their right minds when they had stumbled across the entrance? Was this like that instance in Pirates of Caribbean where you had to be hopelessly lost to find Davey Jones' Locker? Or had they just gotten insanely lucky? Or...no...that was crazy! Had the Thunderbird itself rescued them from the storm, brought them safety, and once it had let up, short-circuited their memory in order to safeguard its hiding place and existence? A-And anyway, what would the Predacon even have to gain from rescuing random humans? Nothing so far as he could see. By rescuing them then releasing them it risked a great deal, far more than it got in return. Sure it messed with their memories, but there was always a chance of that backfiring – possibly in a nasty or lethal way. Humans didn't have the same protection against electric surges as 'Bots did.

He was so deep in fantastical guessing that he wasn't aware of where his pedes were falling. His right pede hit a patch of slippery, sandy mud near the base of a cliff. Unable to gain traction, the young gunner lost his footing and tumbled forward, letting out a little shriek of a noise as he prepared for his helm to ram into the stone. But it never came, at least not that one. His helm and upper body passed right through it, resulting in a heavy crash that hurt considerably. Felt like he had a dent on his chin or something. Oh, Ratchet would not be pleased...

For a moment he simply lay there, re-routing power to dampen the pain. Then, slowly, his optics opened. The first thing he saw...was a human skeleton, grinning at him through a flesh-less skull.

He screamed. Frantically he moved backwards, falling back out into the storm and landing on his back before sitting back up, hugging himself and cycling air rapidly. Within mere kliks he heard two pairs of pedefalls and two voices shouting "What is it?!" and "What's wrong?!" Magnus and Arcee then arrived, panic in their optics. Glyphs for alarm, concern, and fear flashed through their fields.

"Blue! Blue, are you okay?! What happened?"

Shakily he pointed towards the cliff, explaining: "S-Some kind of illusory wall t-thingy. Fake wall. I-I-I fell through it a-and there was a-a skeleton in there. Human." He let out a whimper, bunching his knee spikes up to his faceplates.

Arcee knelt and did her best to calm down the frightened gunner, giving him a tentative embrace while reassuring him that the skeleton was harmless. He was alright. Nothing was going to happen. It was just a bad jump start. Not the best way to get introduced to human anatomy either. Eventually he relaxed enough to become coherent in his speech.

The Commander considered the spot Bluestreak had indicated. Curiously, he approached and reached out as if to place a hand on the wall. It promptly passed through it as if it weren't there. A quick look inside showed the skeleton that had startled Bluestreak lying in a long tunnel easily wide and tall enough to permit Infernus's beast form with the wings extended partly – easily big enough to permit the Thunderbird.

"Bluestreak, it's alright. That skeleton has been there for quite some time. That doesn't mean the beast is home. And we don't know if it was killed by it anyway. A predator may have dragged the body here to use the illusory wall as a convenient hiding place. The Thunderbird may have simply never bothered to move it. Possibly thought it might be a good deterrent to anyone who stumbled across it. Going by your reaction, it seems it's reasoning was sound."

The young gunner swallowed hard but nodded and rose to his pedes. "R-Right. Let's go see if it's here."

"And if it's willing to talk to us." Arcee added.

In a close grouping, the two mechs and the single femme passed through the illusion, walked by the skeleton, and delved deeper into the tunnel that led to their quarry.


Outside the tunnel and on the other side of the mountain, and thus unseen by them, a large metallic avian slunk through the underbrush from further down the slopes, the creature's body sparking with stored electricity. Its right wing hung limp at its side, tattered and torn. Suddenly, its powerful olfactory sensors picked up a trio of scents unfamiliar to its databanks. Its two pale yellow optics flashed as it stored the scent to track, then narrowed.

Strangers were on Grimwing's territory. Strangers, moreover, that smelled an awful lot like him. Emitting a growl, he pushed onwards, following the scent the same way a bloodhound followed a blood trail.


Author's Note: Phew! More research into Mount Taylor. :)

Also, Spiritstrike my gift to you, my friend. I'm introducing Grimwing for you. :3 Mainly 'cause I couldn't think of a better name for the Thunderbird of Mount Taylor. You've been so supportive and complementive of my writing that I felt I had to repay you some way. I can't pay you or offer anything physical...but I can add a character. :)