Fire of Youth

Chapter 15


Ultra Magnus took point as they trod down the darkened tunnel. Three sets of blue optics cast a dim, eerie glow into the murk. Bluestreak stayed close to him, gun hand held in front of him and trembling slightly. Every so often a particularly loud pedefall would make him jump and whimper. Arcee drew closer to the young gunner after a few such instances, her field mingling with his in an effort to calm him. Infernus had understood the strategic advantages of sending him, but perhaps Bluestreak should be sent back to the hangar. After his encounter with the skeleton, he was behaving far too skittishly.

Privately the stoic mech wondered at the darkness. As he had mentioned earlier, Predacon optics had tended to be overly receptive to photons, sometimes to the point of causing the beast to go permanently blind. Avioid Predacons had seemed to be the most common sufferers of optical degradation. Was this Thunderbird, an Avioid, one such sufferer? Could it simply not stand bright lights? That might explain why it was only theoretically active during thunderstorms – the clouds blocked out the bright sunlight. But what of the lightning strikes then? As a "Thunderbird" did it have some sort of immunity to the effects, both visual and physical, that a lightning bolt produced? He shook his helm almost imperceptibly. If and when they found the beast, perhaps it could offer some insight. That is, if it didn't attack them on sight for invading its home. They were trespassing after all, and reports had labeled Predacons as highly territorial.

It was a forlorn hope, but perhaps this particular beast was civil enough to at least hear them out. If so, perhaps they could convince it that they meant it no harm and that they actually needed its help.

The mech turned to the skittish young gunner when he yelped and pointed his blaster into the depths of the tunnel.

"Bluestreak, please remain calm. We have not been attacked yet. From all indications our Thunderbird is not present."

"You think it's out there in the storm, powering up?" Arcee wondered.

"Everything seems to point to that being the case..." he admitted slowly. She was quick to note the hesitation in his voice.

Still, he admitted that he was...uneasy. If their target was out charging up in the storm, they would be in for a possibly lethal battle once it returned. Its systems would be overladen with electricity, its circuits and motor relays super-charged. For all they knew it could channel that electricity out of its body in devastating discharges that could fry an Autobot's more sensitive systems in a flash. Its strength would be even greater than Bulkhead's. And like Infernus had warned them, its talons could easily rip them to pieces. But they would try every avenue possible to avoid inciting a battle with it. They wanted it as an ally, not an enemy.


Grimwing drew nearer his den, hissing to himself. The scents he had been following were all converging and headed towards that point. He admitted he was curious to detect the scent of a fellow Cybertronian, and three of them no less. But none of them matched the unique scent of the Builder – the Builder against whom he bore a bitter grudge. He snarled in remembrance of that time long past, his charged processor replaying the series of events as he went along, lame wing dragging in the mud-slick terrain. The snarl slowly grew louder as he felt the dead weight beside him.

He had never forgotten. And he would never forgive.

SHOCKWAVE'S LAB
KALIS, CYBERTRON
4,000 YEARS AGO

Hidden away in a lab beneath the War-torn city of Kalis, one of Shockwave's newest creations paced around as it grew used to having a frame to move in once more. The Builder had named him the moment he had emerged from the cloning vat: Grimwing. He had liked the name and its severe regality. Another, older clone who resembled him lurked in one corner of the lab, deep orange optics watching his every move. "Skyrender" he was called. Older and more experienced, but he had more of a temper than his younger sibling, and he followed the Builder's orders without question like most of the other Predacons.

Grimwing's mind reviewed all that Shockwave had told it of its approaching mission. He was going to be a protector for his allies off-world resources as soon as his basic training was complete. At all costs he was to keep Energon out of the hands of the nefarious Autobots. The planet he was going to be stationed on was carbon-based, primitive, mostly water with some land, and treacherous. Some Predacons had fallen offline already under mysterious circumstances, though the Builder knew not how. He had admitted there were primitive carbon-based life forms living there, but they were incapable of harming a Cybertronian. They were small, fragile, and they lacked advanced weaponry and transportation. There might be a few Neutrals there, but he had every reason to believe them dead.

He watched Skyrender leave the lab on receiving a communication from the Builder. Frankly, Grimwing was curious about this whole conflict going on, and with no one in the lab now, perhaps he could do some research into one of the Builder's computers. Shockwave was very protective of his data, but he simply wanted to know a little more about the "enemy" he was going to be warring against. Surely the Builder would not mind some harmless intelligence gathering? Knowing your prey well helped in the hunt.

The Avioid flew over to one of the consoles he had seen the Builder using frequently, using his beak to punch in the security code. At once files upon files were revealed in the hard drive, many of which appeared to be battle reports. He was stunned to see that the "Autobots" were suffering catastrophic losses against the Decepticons. In one particular battle it was nothing short of wanton slaughter: mechs, femmes, even sparklings had been slain. So much death...According to this report, not one Autobot had been left standing by the conclusion, but they had fought till the very last, holding their ground selflessly. He found a sense of sympathy forming in his spark. These Autobots sounded noble to him, unafraid to meet their ends like true warriors. Could the same be said for the Decepticons?

He dug further into the files. Surely there was something in here that detailed the cause of the conflict. It had to be something major for such a large scale war and loss of life to result. But before he could locate such a file a voice spoke from behind:

"Grimwing? What are you doing?"

The Builder emerged from the entryway, his single red optic boring into the confused yellow optics of the Avioid.

He jerked away from the console, endeavoring to explain:

*Why do I fight them, Builder? What have they done to us?* he asked over short-band.

"We fight because Lord Megatron orders us to. We fight to bring a new order to Cybertron." He showed no shock over his ability to speak in such a manner.

*But what have they done aside from die in droves? We gun them down – but for what? That is not war. That is slaughter. There is no honor in killing an innocent, defenseless child or their protector.*

Shockwave stared at him for a moment in silence. Grimwing began to feel uneasy at that red stare. Without a true faceplate, he was impossible to read. Was he in trouble? Had he said something he should've have?

"Skyrender." the Builder said simply.

The larger, older Avioid emerged from the entryway. He looked to Shockwave for further clarification. Shockwave in turn spun about and walked out of the chamber, saying coldly:

"Deal with the traitor. We cannot have dissension among the ranks. If he sympathizes with the Autobots, give him the fate that has befallen them."

The door hissed shut with a resounding clang. Skyrender's optics flashed in a manner Grimwing saw as being far too pleased. His talons retracted. Grimwing barely had time to react before the larger Predacon flew at him, screeching at the top of his vocalizer. He spread his wings to block the blow, and they locked talons, flailing about the room in a vicious struggle as Skyrender attempted to claw him to shreds. Skyrender's talons found their mark almost every time against the less experienced new-built, ripping open gashes the oozed Energon. Grimwing got in a fair few bites and slashes, but he was overpowered and lacked experience. But if he was going to die today, it would not be without a fight.

In trying to avoid a retaliating swipe, Grimwing thus discovered his predecessor's innate talent: spatial displacement. In other words, opening wormholes.

Still screaming, the two titanic birds tumbled into a whirling vortex, clawing savagely at one another. They felt the atmosphere change from laden with chemicals and toxins to one that was almost overwhelmingly clear. Lightning crashed and clouds roared around them as the wormhole reacted with the foreign air, stirring it into a frenzy. Winds whipped past them. And still Grimwing fought back as well as he was able. He knew it would be in vain though.

Skyrender pulled back, raising a talon: "If you pity those poor fools..."

He raised a talon...

"Why don't you join them?"

And struck. Grimwing howled as the talon shredded through the joints and gears that connected his port wing to the rest of his frame, electrically charged Energon spurting forth in a torrent. To drive further home the message, Skyrender grabbed the slightly smaller Predacon and flung him off away from him. Grimwing, unable to fly now, could do little except plummet towards the ground, watching as his kin flew back home, and pray that the impact did not kill him.


He snarled again, shaking the last dregs of the memory back into his mind's recesses. The one who had given him life again had been the reason he had nearly died. He was not about to let such an affront go, even after countless vorns on a planet so different, so far from home. If these were agents of the Builder sent here to finish the task he and Skyrender had unknowingly failed in...he would rip them all asunder. He would send a message to the Builder that he wanted nothing more to do with him or this conflict of his.

He had lost his loyalty. He now only served himself.

On reaching the entrance to his mountain-side den, he checked again for scents. Here, the three unknowns were almost overpowering. They had been here recently, and it seemed that they had gone inside. Curiously enough he could detect almost ridiculous amounts of fear chemicals permeating the cooler air. One of these hunters was as frightened as those slain sparklings had no doubt been. That did not quite fit with it being an agent of the Builder. His minions were not allowed to show fear. And so he entered the cavern system he had come to claim as his home. Multiple targets were inside of it, one of whom was scared near senseless. This was his home and he wound defend it if the trespassers struck back...but he was quite curious to know which one of the three scents was the one suffering a panic attack. These were fellow Cybertronians after all. Perhaps they were fellow Predacons who had also grown disillusioned with the conflict they had been forced into?

He snorted almost in amusement as he passed down the tunnel. The fear chemicals had yet to die down to any extent. He glanced back, noting the collection of creamy white remains he used as a deterrent for overly inquisitive natives. Surely the skeleton at the entrance couldn't have scared a towering, bestial titan?


The three Autobots had reached the main chamber at last. It was an expansive place to begin with it, but judging by the sharp cutting angles on some of the stones it was concluded that it had been artificially enlarged by the resident to better accommodate its size. Big enough that if it came to a brawl, they would have enough room to maneuver. Or so Ultra Magnus said. But that would also mean their Thunderbird would have enough room to move as well. That could prove lethal.

There wasn't much in the chamber in terms of items. The most there was to note was a slab of stone carved to act as a make-shift recharge berth. However, there were some pieces of metal strewn about, some cylindrical and some spherical, that looked like they had been carved meticulously by a sharp object, and they were covered in both images and cyberglyphs. One of the symbols was terrestrial and matched the one atop the copper spire they had seen outside: a Navajo Thunderbird.

Arcee picked one of them up and examined it, admiring the intricate detail. "Hm. Seems our Thunderbird's a bit of an artist. Ratchet would love to see this."

"Guys." Bluestreak said. There was something odd in his voice that made both her and Ultra Magnus turn. "Turn on your headlights."

Eyeing each other, they wordlessly obeyed the young gunner's request.

And froze at what they saw.

Adorning every inch of the walls were beautifully done, mural-like paintings. They seemed to be visual accounts of the Thunderbird's interactions with the Navajo people, along with other plainly disconnected images. One image showed it teaching the natives to refine copper, using some of its lightning to super-heat a primitive forge. Another showed it within the cavern, listening to a few of them speak their grievances and tell it their story and history. Yet another showed it prowling the mountainside as a storm raged around it. A glance upwards revealed an intricate map of the stars, their motions dutifully noted. Simple calculations were etched into the stones rimming the ceiling like a mathematical border. It seemed the beast was keeping track of stellar motions in the hopes of finding Cybertron again, or perhaps it was keeping track of them for another reason.

They looked back down at the wall paintings. One showed a battle between two of the thundering avians, talons locked as they screamed murder at one another. That seemed to tally with Infernus's report of Neal's tale. A fight had taken place between the beast and another of its kind, though the image did not clarify why. Another, more recent painting, seemed to account the arrival of the Europeans encountering the native Navajo. Tsoodzil loomed in the distance, lightning crackling at its peak as if in warning to the trespassers. But throughout history never once did the Thunderbird seem to involve itself in the squabbles of the humans. There was no image showing it retaliating.

One image in particular though, one of the ones not related to the Navajo or history accounts in general, nearly made their Energon freeze. There was no mistaking the tall and powerfully built form of Shockwave, nor was there mistaking that trademark single red optic. Across the image was a slash of red and the cyberglyph for "Death" was scrawled atop the slash, almost as if done in a fit of rage. While the other images had faded somewhat over the years, this one remained vibrantly colored.

"Whoa. Somebody does not like Shockwave." Arcee noted tersely. Dark as that message was, that might be a good sign. If the beast had an ax to grind...

But apparently that wasn't what Bluestreak wanted them to see. The younger gunner pointed to the floor near the walls of the southern side of the chamber, close to where the entrance was.

"Look over there."

Lining the base of the wall were five indentations in the ground roughly the size of an adult human. They had been filled in with small stones that looked like giant pebbles, and each bore a significantly larger one as a kind of headstone. And each and every one of these headstones possessed a carved cyberglyph phrase:

"Forgive me."

"The missing natives..." Ultra Magnus whispered hoarsely.

They all fell deathly silent when a loud hissing noise met their audials, echoing around the chamber. Bluestreak went as rigid as a statue, unable to emit even a squeak in his fright.

[No. Sudden. Moves.] Ultra Magnus ordered over their comm. links. [Turn around. Very slowly.]


Grimwing let his warning hiss echo for a moment, observing them. It was not a true threat. It was just his way of saying no funny business. His den, his rules.

He did not recognize any of the three individuals standing in his den. Two were mechs – one large and powerfully built and obviously in charge judging by his bearing; the other was smaller and lighter, built for speed and agility. He was also the source of the fear chemicals. The third was a femme of a similar light, lithe body build. Actually, he admitted the femme was rather pretty. Her frame held a certain feline grace that attracted him. He wasn't really interested in their appearances though. He was more interested in the crests each had on their frames. The femme had hers on a dorsal fin while the two mechs had theirs on their shoulder armor.

He knew that crest. These were...by Onyx, these three were Autobots! Surely if he approached and communicated with them they would be willing to speak in return. They had not yet fired on him. Perhaps they would be reasonable. But they looked startled, as if they had never laid optics on anything like him before. And the little blue mech looked scared beyond reason. He felt sorry for him. If they had been stationed here, why then the surprise?

The Avioid took a step forward, keening an introduction in his own language. He was stunned to see the large mech revert one of his hands into a long-barreled blaster and point it at him. The other two followed suit, one producing what looked like a shotgun, the other a pistol-like blaster. Grimwing paused midway into his second step and put his talon back on solid ground. Did they not understand? All Cybertronians had translation programs to assist in interpreting different dialects. That was how he had come to be fluent in Navajo. Did these three not have the programs to help them understand his native dialect? Why not if so?

"What do we do?" squeaked the little blue mech. His whole body was trembling like he was suffering an isolated earthquake. "Sir, what do we do?"

"Do not fire." replied the larger mech in command of the three. "Infernus ordered us to avoid confrontation with the creature, and that is what we will do. Firing will only provoke it."

Grimwing snorted at what he interpreted as an insult. He was being referred to as an "it" and a "creature?" Well that was rude of them! The least they could do was be a little more respectful. They were trespassing on both his territory and in his den without his permission. How would they feel if he came into their den and starting speaking in such a manner? But he now understood they were under orders to be mindful of him, to not fire on him which would thus add insult to injury. He wondered why. Were they here for something? Had their war with the Decepticons finally ended after all this time? Were they here gathering survivors to take them home?

More slowly this time, he took a step forward, keening once more in his native language. The tall mech still had his blaster out and aimed at him, but he noted a forceful hesitation in his blue optics. Still the little blue mech trembled in fear at his slow approach. The sole femme seemed to be wary in a more level-helmed way. She was observing with the most calm of the three, but her whole frame was tense, ready to react in a moment's notice. She seemed to sense that a fight wasn't what either party really wanted. And so he took one more step.

KA-KOOM!

Grimwing's helm flinched sharply to one side as the high-powered energy shot struck him, the still-frightened firer looking stunned and guilty at the same time. He looked back up, but now the curiosity previously glittering in his optics was gone. He was annoyed now. Here he was being nothing but civil with them and he'd been shot at just for trying to greet them. Spreading his one working wing out, he screamed at the trio of Cybertronians at the top of his vocalizer, dull accents along his wings igniting to a vicious red as a warning to them. His cry happened to coincide with a particularly powerful clap of thunder that made the mountain rumble. At that, the little mech yelped and hid behind his larger companion.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Sir, it looks pretty provoked to me! Orders?" barked the femme.

"Do not fire!" the leader repeated more firmly. "It has not attacked! This is a threat display, nothing more! Only if it strikes will we strike back!"

The Avioid hissed. "It" again. That did it. These Autobots needed a lesson in manners. Clacking his beak in another fair warning, he channeled some of the stored electricity from his body through his beak – and on opening it, released it in a concentrated wave of energy at the trio. They barely managed to get out of the way in time. Through the flash, Grimwing saw the tall mech press a hand to the side of his helm and speak over the crackling of electricity:

"Infernus? The mission's been compromised! We need assistance!"


Location: Area Fifty-One, Hangar E

Exact Geographic Coordinates: Unavailable

General Location: Twenty-seven miles outside Rachel, Nevada

Time: 1300 hours

Ratchet tinkered with the few final upgrades while doing his best to tone out Infernus's anxious pacing. His human partner napped lightly on the sofa to make up for some lost hours. The teens and June were elsewhere, coordinating with Fowler about their flattened homes. Perhaps if the nurse or Rafael were here they could calm Infernus out of his nervousness. As it was, he did understand his anxiety even if he felt he was blowing it out of proportion:

Ultra Magnus had given his word to to the Primeling to keep him updated as to current events, but it had been some time since his last report. The youth was becoming more and more anxious as the silence dragged on. Outside of those communications he had no way of keeping tabs on them other than Ratchet himself checking for their life signals. What could he do to soothe his anxiety? He didn't know. Just saying he should calm down might result in an emotional implosion. He was far too nervy right now. But sometimes bluntness was the only way to show someone they were being a little insensible.

"Infernus –"

The Primeling paused in his pacing long enough to shoot him a glance and say: "Don't say it."

"You are overreacting. Silence doesn't necessarily mean trouble. They might not have anything to report, that's all. Not all missions end in fire fights."

No sooner had those words escaped the medic's vocalizer did his console flare to life. Ultra Magnus's voice shouted over what seemed at first to be the worst static interference anyone in the hangar had heard:

[Infernus? The mission's been compromised! We need assistance!]

Two noises in rapid succession cut in then, noises that made the Primeling freeze like a statue even as his optics went round in alarm:

SKREEE – KRA-KOOM!

Daily jolted awake at the screaming cry and the loud crack of thunder. The communication promptly devolved into nothing but static.

"Ultra Magnus? Commander? Ultra Magnus, come in!" Infernus demanded. "Answer me!"

Nothing. Just more static. A growl escaped his vocalizer, one that made the medic tense. Right at that moment, he had sounded more beast than mech. Anger and protectiveness was beginning to overwrite his unique personality code and his sense of preservation. He headed for the hangar entrance but Prowl grabbed hold of his arm in a vice grip. Another growl worked its way out.

"What the hell are you doing?! Let go! They're in trouble!"

"You are in no state to be battling a Thunderbird, Infernus." argued the tactician calmly. "You are still recovering from your last fight with Starscream. I have calculated that there is a far higher chance of you being killed in such a brawl than of walking away from it. I will not let you throw your life away. We cannot afford to lose another Prime."

The Primeling's burning blue optics narrowed dangerously to mere slits. His field flared, almost overpowering the other mech's. Others would have backed down at the obvious intimidation. Prowl was not one of them.

"Let. Me. Go." Infernus growled slowly. "That's an order, Prowl. The longer we stand here arguing statistics, the more likely it is we'll lose three Autobots in one go. Now. Let. Go."

Infernus eyed his oldest sibling for a brief moment as if daring the other to try and argue. Then, after plainly deliberating possible outcomes of fighting with him, almost none of which he assumed resulted in Prowl being the winner, the black and white Praxian released his grip. He knew he was worried. He got that. Going into a fire fight while you were basically still wearing a boot cast was a pretty dumb idea. But Prowl seemed to be forgetting one vital variable in his calculations. And that variable was busy watching the two aliens from up on the catwalk, expression worried and impressed at the same time.

"Mark? With me."

The private was on his feet and darting down the stairs in a flash. Infernus finished transforming just as he hit the cement once again. Extending a tattered wing, he let Mark climb up onto his back. It took but a few short seconds to find a good place to settle in, hands and feet finding convenient nooks in his armor plating to act as holders.

Ratchet came over to them. "Mr. Daily. Your weapon."

He held out one hand to show an AK-47 now surgically altered to be more dangerous to a Cybertronian. Its body had been redone entirely. Two lines of thin tubing ran up and down the weapon's lower barrel, each conveying large amounts of electricity from a small Cybertronian power cell contained in the stock. Instead of a magazine of regular bullets it now fired electrically charged ones that would provide a nasty sting to the target's mesh along with a jolt to their nervous system. Attached on the strap was something that looked a lot like a smart bomb, unarmed timer ticking baby blue.

If an AK-47 hadn't looked dangerous before it most certainly did now. This was what happened when you let an alien tinker with a gun. It became all kinds of dangerous.

Mark nodded his thanks silently as he slung the weapon over one shoulder and the medic withdrew to his console to open a groundbridge. One opened in mere seconds.

"Come on, pal. Let's go get 'em."

He was not expecting Infernus to throw his head back, flare his tattered wings, and unleash a deafening roar that shook the hangar's very foundation. Then he surged at and into the waiting portal.


Infernus leapt out of the portal see his three allies finishing avoiding a wide-wing swipe and electricity surge from the aggressive Thunderbird, idly noting that one wing hung limply at its side. Seemed he'd guessed right: even wounded, this thing was still incredibly powerful and dangerous. And like a true Thunderbird of Navajo lore it seemed to be able to manipulate lightning. Cool, but Mark's gun probably wouldn't be the best thing to use against it knowing that.

He landed in front of the trio, spinning about in the process to face the Thunderbird. Rearing back slightly, he opened his maw and unleashed another deafening, screaming roar that shook the mountain itself:

"BACK OFF!"

On his back, he heard Mark sling his weapon from off his shoulder and ready it. Coincidentally the man repeated his warning:

"Back off, pal. Or you're getting it."

The Thunderbird's red wing accents flickered as it screamed back, and the Primeling was surprised to no end that he understood what it was saying:

"They attacked first! In my home no less! They are the aggressors!"

Infernus's anger simmered down by a fraction. His Autobots had attacked even though he'd told them specifically to not tick this thing off? Something must've happened for them to suddenly deviate from the plan. There was something weird going on here. He wasn't getting the whole story.

"Know you nothing of honor or civility, brother?! These barbarians barge into my home unannounced, belittle my worth, and proceed to shoot me!"

"I told them not to shoot!" he roared back.

It seemed to him now that the basis for this squabble was nothing more than a city-former sized misunderstanding. A miscommunication of some sort had happened between the two parties, and the Thunderbird had taken deep offense at the actions of one or more of his team mates.

"Smoke, what's going on?" Bluestreak asked in a squeak. He couldn't understand what the two beast-formers were saying. It sounded like they were having a vicious alpha-mech shouting match straight out of the Lion King. Infernus's voice snapped tersely over his comm. link in reply, quickly:

[I'm trying to keep this guy from maiming you alive for a breach of conduct! You three apparently pissed him off!]

"They didn't mean any offense or harm! I told them only to fire if you gave them no other choice! You did something that made them think you might hurt them! Both of you are guilty here, not just them, but I apologize on their behalf! Now stand down!"

To his astonishment the Thunderbird did as requested. It stood down. A sigh of relief seemed to come from the Autobots. He heard Mark lower his rifle and sling it back over his shoulder. A pulse of pride came from the Matrix itself. It was all he could do not to jump into the air in accomplishment or run in happy circles. A god was congratulating him on his success! He'd actually done it this time. He honestly couldn't believe it. He had resolved a dispute without resorting to fighting. Holy slag did that feel good!

"I suppose things have been...settled?" Ultra Magnus guessed warily, disengaging his weapons.

[I think so, yeah. But I think he wants answers as to what the Pit we're all doing in his home. And I think that would be easier if I transformed. I think I nearly blew out my vocalizer.] The Primeling massaged his throat gently with one clawed paw.

*Mark, could you hop off please?*

The private nodded and slid down off an extended, heavily tattered wing. He and the others watched as the white dragon's form shifted and morphed to reveal what he really looked like. He curiously noted the Thunderbird jolting slightly on noticing the red Autobot crest on his shoulder. But there was something in its yellow optics now that looked suspiciously like reverence. Could it sense that there was something special about him? Or was it simply surprised to see a Predacon with an Autobot crest? From what he knew, all cloned Predacons were technically under the Decepticon faction.

"Now, I guess you wanna know why we're trespassing on your property, yeah?" Infernus assumed with an effort at a friendly smile. "I can explain. You gonna let me? Yeah? No?"

The Thunderbird bobbed its helm in acceptance, flickering red wing accents fading back to dull, dark grey and looking much less offended and more curious now. But what happened next took everyone by surprise: the Thunderbird transformed.

Its transformation sequence was just as incredible and complex as Infernus's. Its whole body shifted and folded out on itself. Talons were replaced with clawed hands and sturdy pedes with small, talon-like extensions, while its avian head and beak formed a sort of helmet for a narrow, handsome, hawk-like face. Its wings shifted to its back, remaining in a sort of folded yet semi-extended position, but its single wounded wing hung limply, barely seeming attached. Its broad fan-like tail vanished entirely. In the end, they were looking at a well built, lithe Predacon mech about the same height as Infernus colored storm-cloud grey-ish blue.

Then it spoke.


Author's Note: Dun dun duuuun! :3 I'm leaving ya'll on a cliffhanger 'cause I'm cruel like that. Just in time for Spring Break, too! :D