Fire of Youth

Chapter 42


"That's it, nice and easy..."

It felt good to be off the slab. It felt even better being able to see Grimwing engaged in therapy with Ribbondance. Over the course of the first week and a half, Jack and Miko, plus Neal and June, had decided to join in to make the daily effort a little less formal. June knew yoga and Miko knew some martial arts poses that, according to June, would actually help strengthen the mechanical "muscles" in his shoulder and upper back, if not the wing itself. Both were important for recovery, and so had gotten Ratchet's seal of approval. Halfway through the first week, he'd even approved of letting him try a few of the exercises – ostensibly to see if it might speed his own recovery, but he knew it was just to keep him from pestering him any further. He was recovering fine thanks to the old medic's skill...and maybe a little quicker than expected if the Matrix had anything to say about it.

"Hold it. Hold it..." urged June.

Grimwing grimaced but held the pose. In the end, his pose collapsed almost against his will.

June beamed. "Excellent! That was nearly two minutes!"

"It felt shorter than that," grumbled Grimwing, embarrassed.

"If you think you're going to get airborne again quickly, Grimwing," warned Neal, "everything you do isn't going to feel like progress."

"Yeah! You'll get there!" agreed Jack.

"Time and patience, grasshopper," Miko said jokingly. "You must learn to walk before you can run."

Grimwing managed a smile at her falsetto sensei impression before trying the pose again.

June decided to show Infernus a different pose just for the fun of it, assuming what she called the "scorpion" posture. Somehow the woman was able to support her weight on her palms, lower arms, and elbows, lift her body up, and arc her back and legs forward over her head. There was an unnerving freakiness to the way her spine bent to obtain the pose; it looked unnatural, reminding him of a scorpion's curved tail, but it wasn't. June was perfectly relaxed in the pose.

"Woah, mom!" gasped Jack.

She was only able to hold it for about forty seconds, but Infernus had to give credit where credit was due. June was way more nimble than he'd thought. That made her all the scarier in his optics.

"That was so cool!" cheered Miko. "Round of applause for ninja mom over here, guys!"

June smiled and laughed. "It's not that hard. It's a hand-stand with a twist, that's all."

"To be honest, I'm not sure my backstrut can bend like that," Infernus admitted, shocked. "Okay, no, no, now I gotta test this..."

"Don't hurt yourself, son," teased Neal with a chuckle.

"Agreed," Ultra Magnus warned from nearby. "I wouldn't try that if I were you, Prime, not in your state."

"Aw, c'mon!" he complained.

Ultra Magnus gave him a look. He was forced to bow to it. "You're no fun."

"Oh! Oh! Lemme try, lemme try!" begged Bluestreak.

Bluestreak pushed himself up on his palms before pushing the rest of his body up into a simple hand-stand. He did actually manage to pull it off, though the back-bend wasn't nearly as extreme as June's had been thanks to his doorwings being in the way. But he wasn't that surprised by his obvious sense of balance. Blue had to have a steady hand and body to be the best shot among the Autobot forces.

"Nicely done, Bluestreak!" applauded June.

The little Mazda's head angled up to grin at her. "You know what? This kinda feels nice! I don't know why. You'd think being upside down and all bendy would feel sorta weird or something but –"

"Prime!" came Fowler's voice.

Infernus groaned. So much for having fun.

He met Agent Fowler at the hangar threshold. "What's wrong?"

Fowler jerked his head towards Ratchet and motioned him to follow. Ratchet was at the console looking more than a little weirded out to him. He didn't quite get why. There didn't seem to be anything on the screen to warrant it.

"You recall my suspicion that the Decepticons were finished with their collection phase?" the medic prompted.

"Yeah, I remember. What about it?"

"For whatever reason, I think they may have restarted. Tracker chip signals have been going dark for the past five days straight. The confounding thing is, the Decepticons are somehow doing so without ever being detected. No faction identifier beacons at all. No ground reports from human allies, either, only some evidence of battles after the fact. It's as if they're suddenly invisible to my equipment. I have no way to tell which tracker chip is being targeted before it goes dark – not that there are very many left after the first round, I might add."

He tiled his helm to the side. "I'm not gonna insult your intelligence by asking whether you've tried everything you can think of to work around that."

"Thank you. I have. I may even be misinterpreting this entirely. It could be the chips are being systematically deactivated to stop us. Someone may have deduced our advantage after our visit to Japan. We were there well before them for once. That alone would be cause for suspicion to Shockwave."

"If they can't have 'em, we can't either," Infernus muttered ruefully. "Yeah, that sounds about right. So what do we do? I mean, if we can't preempt this..."

Ratchet turned back to his console. "That's not entirely true. Though I've had to sacrifice time to see it, I have been able to observe something of a pattern in the signal deactivation. See, here."

The display brought up a world map, with a date below it for the week before. Ratchet then hit a single key and the world map "played" like an Earth weather map. Infernus caught the pattern Ratchet had seen. The signals had started going dark in the Middle East before transitioning to Europe, almost like a weird line of invisible thunderstorms was passing over each area, killing the signals as it went. That seemed too organic to be blamed on the 'Cons shutting them down; if that were the case, they could've shut them all off at once. Whatever or whoever was shutting them off, they were doing so in an east-to-west pattern across the continent, probably in person.

"You think they're headed for the Americas next," he realized, "if they're not already here."

"That is what the pattern indicates," agreed the old medic. "And if we can discern that pattern –"

"So can the 'Cons. Scrap! Is there a way to narrow down which signal might get targeted next?"

Ratchet zoomed the map onto the North American continent where only about ten signals remained. He would have considered Central and South America in the projected path, he admitted, but he trusted the giant serpent beasts, Razorplume and Sunwarden, to hold firm on their previous threat: they would not allow fossil hunters to resurrect their kin against their will, to be nothing more than Decepticon attack dogs. Further, he was certain they had removed their own chips to keep hidden. Despite observing for weeks since their visit, there had been no signals on the move down south that might indicate their presence.

"Good," Infernus nodded. "Which ones up north do you think might get hit first?"

"It would depend on how they arrive. If they can fly, that could be anywhere. But if they can't, they would have to go through one of the east coast ports after hitching a ride across the Atlantic somehow. There are three signals near the east coast that haven't been touched yet," he said, pointing. "Any of those three could be next."

"Are you suggesting a stake-out, then, doctor?" wondered Ultra Magnus.

"It might be warranted," Ratchet answered him frankly. "I only worry if we do that, by acting preemptively again, we risk confirming any suspicions of an advantage."

"I've already saved all the locations for the remaining chip signals," said Rafael. "That way, if they do turn the lights off on us, we won't be totally blind."

Ratchet smiled at him. "Excellent decision. Thank you, Rafael."

Fowler's phone rang up in his office. Bulkhead gave him a lift onto the catwalks, and the agent vanished inside. When he came out again, his expression was troubled.

"Prime, I've got some bad news. That was Japanese intelligence. Your kitsune friend Foxtrot sent a message through them. She thinks one of her survey drones has been stolen. She's been trying to recall it for nearly a week now with no result."

"Does she know who did it?" Prowl asked.

Fowler shrugged. Foxtrot didn't have any ready suspects, but she was concerned that it might have been the 'Cons. That wouldn't be too surprising seeing as they knew where she lived and could probably track the drones the same way she did. If that was the case, they might be in hot water. The drone she'd had with her during Prowl and Arcee's visit had collected possibly sensitive location data during their conversation with her thanks to Miko being a little loose-lipped. That drone hadn't been the one stolen, but all the drones were connected to a cloud database so they could share scouting info.

"What did Miko say exactly?"

"That we lived in an old airplane hangar in the desert."

Infernus hemmed. "That's...not a lot for them to go on, Fowler."

"No, but that info narrows down their search parameters enough that it's got Uncle Sam twitchier than third grader right before recess. The 'Cons have had a week to sift through all that data to find that one sentence. Keep your eyes on the skies, Prime. That's all I'm asking."

Infernus promised he would.

"In the meantime," he continued, "let's see if we can find whoever or whatever is taking out these signals."


[Predaking. Report.]

Predaking growled in frustration. Not only was the sun unbearably hot in this region, it was embarrassing having to report another failure.

[No sign, my lord.] he stated. [This area is clear as well.]

He appeased his temper with the simple logic that with each failed search, their options became narrower. They would find them. It was only a matter of time.

Soundwave opened a 'bridge back to the aerie, into which he followed him. He rather wished Soundwave had a face he could read; it was unnerving not knowing if he was annoyed with him or not, or proud, or any emotion really. His ghost-like calm and completely blank visor was deeply unsettling to him.

[Allow Soundwave to continue searching for the Autobots. I have another mission for you,] hinted Megatron. [A hunt. A true one.]

His interest piqued. Megatron gave him the mission details in a wireless data transfer. Someone was interfering with Project Predacon. He wanted to know who it was, because it didn't seem to be the Autobots. Soundwave had only been able to track the effects of their presence, not their presence itself. All Soundwave knew was that whoever it was, they headed east, across the Atlantic ocean – if they hadn't already made it across. It would be his mission to hunt down this mystery saboteur.

[I will find this meddler and burn them to a husk for their interference!]

[Do not engage should you find them. Observe them. I want to know who this is and how they are finding my chips, so I may counteract their methods,] Shockwave droned.

[But –!]

[Predaking...] came that notorious warning snarl.

[Yes, my lord. Reconnaissance only.] he conceded tersely.

The aerie doors opened and he flew out into the clouds.

He rather hoped it was the white Draconian who was behind this. If more Predacons were to join him soon, the title of Predaking was mandatory. It was the only way to ensure order in such expanded ranks.


In passing down the hall, Killzone slowed on hearing voices coming from one of the storage rooms. It wasn't unusual for the troops to tuck themselves into such rooms for a quick break to chat, but it was unusual to hear the voices of top command coming from such a room. Too curious, and with nothing better to do, he snuck up on the door to listen in:

"He's getting a bit uppity in my opinion..." noted Knockout with some worry. "He was more than ready to backtalk you during that call."

"Oh, and I suppose you forgot how he casually usurped command from me?" huffed the grey Seeker at this side. "That was blatant insubordination!"

Beneath the permanently deployed battle mask, Killzone frowned. That "insubordination" had been out of a desire to protect the rest of the ship; he had figured that was reason enough to turn the other cheek. But the ups didn't sound impressed by his loyalty and protectiveness; they were nervous about his...well, being more open in questioning decisions lately. Killzone rather feared he was to blame for that, not that he'd been trying to teach him to be insubordinate!

"If he did so without qualm to Starscream, it is logical to assume that behavior could extend to you, Lord Megatron."

"Perhaps sooner rather than later," Megatron agreed darkly. "I someone is listening."

"One of the Predacons?"

Killzone let out a faint gasp and backed away fast. He made it around a corner before he heard more footsteps. Just to be safe, he joined some of his troops in the hall.

He felt Shockwave's single red optic on him for a moment. Whether or not Shockwave suspected he was the eavesdropper, he couldn't say. But there was no way he'd be in the dark for long. Soundwave would clarify for him. He'd have to come up with a good explanation for when the interrogation happened. He knew it would come.


Ratchet had decided to start the stake-out small. Fowler, in his V-Dog jet, had been deployed into southern Jersey to avoid alerting the 'Cons since they wouldn't be able to track him as easily. The port splayed out beneath him was an ordinary sight full of ordinary activity: some cargo haulers were docked and workers were unloading the hefty containers via crane before passing them along to parked big rig trucks, ready to haul their goods further inland. One hauler ship, he noted, had came all the way from Ireland, but that was hardly something to be suspicious about, he told Ratchet. There was one from India and one from Spain, too. Ships from all over made port on the East Coast.

"Nothing here, doc. I think we need to expand the search area," the man reported.

"Nothing at all?"

"If anyone's here, they're really incognito."

"I'm sending Arcee and Bulkhead to the Ozarks. That is the next possible target. Satellite scans show a small mine that might make this location even more tempting, and possibly help hide our real intentions."

"Send me along too," the agent requested. "If anything starts comin' at 'em, I'll be able to see it before it gets the drop on them."

"Agreed."

Once he was free of the populated area and high enough in the clouds to hide it, a groundbridge saw him transported back to base briefly before another saw him flying over the forested Ozarks. Arcee and Bulkhead appeared in another green flash below him. Ratchet had made a good choice with those two; they wouldn't look so out of place the way Bumblebee or Bluestreak would have. Hopefully that would keep unwanted company off of them long enough to investigate.

"Let's head for the mine first," suggested Arcee. "Remember, these Predacons were mine guards, so that might be the best place to start looking for any remains."

Plus, Fowler argued, if they didn't find anything, they could at least do a raid to gather some resources rather than brushing it off as a total loss.

After a while driving, Arcee pulled off the main road to hurtle up one of the hillsides. Bulkhead trundled after her. Nothing appeared out of place – that was, until they got roughly halfway up to slope. There, they found a young dark-skinned woman, casually dressed, digging in the dirt dangerously close to the hidden mine. When she heard them approach, her head whipped up. Arcee caught a slight panic in her caramel eyes as she hefted her shovel up defensively, but upon taking a closer look at them both her tense muscles relaxed.

"Shoo!" she urged them. "Go! You'll get me caught!"

"Arcee? You stopped. Is something wrong?"

Arcee didn't know how to answer Fowler's question. The woman knew who they were somehow, and she also seemed fully aware of the nearby mine. Her digging wasn't as easily explained. What was she digging for in such a precarious position?

"This area is dangerous. You need to leave," she ordered through her holographic rider.

"I know that, Autobot," the woman huffed, "so please vacate the premises before you get me in trouble!"

Somewhere nearby, Arcee heard the ominous sounds of trees cracking apart and crashing. The woman swore in Arabic and furiously dug deeper. Within less than a minute, there was a clang when her shovel hit something hard. To Arcee, it sounded like metal she'd hit, not rock. Her position was also right above where a tracker chip's signal was. Arcee started to get an inkling of what the woman was there for, though that brought up more questions than answers. How had the woman known the fossil was there?

"Help me get this out!" she demanded. "Hurry!"

Bulkhead transformed without further ado and thrust his hand into the hole. Some yanking and tugging later revealed the partial remains of a Predacon, on which sat a little blinking chip. The woman promptly ripped the chip off, threw it to the ground, and smashed it to bits with her shovel.

"The chip signal went offline. Did you see who did it?" demanded Ratchet.

"Uh..." Bulkhead drawled. "Yeah."

"...Why do you sound uncertain?"

His question was forced to the back-burner when the sound of crashing trees growing nearer and louder prompted the woman to demand that they get her back to the open road, quick. Once again, somewhat to Arcee's annoyance, Bulkhead was quick to trust her. He opened his driver's side door and told her to get in. He then gunned it back to the main road, with Arcee close behind. Moments after they squealed back onto pavement, Fowler let out a thundering warning of "Incoming!" They barely had time to veer out of the way when something came tumbling down the hillside. That something was a giant hybrid monster that looked like a cross between a mountain lion and a bear, with giant front-curling bull horns on its head. The beast hit the pavement with a resounding crash, only to rise up on its hind limbs and scream, a sound like a bear's roar and a bull's bellow. In doing it revealed it had four huge tusk-like teeth in a maw filled with sharp canines.

"What in the Sam Hell is that thing?!" sputtered Fowler.

A line of trees came crashing down from the same direction the beast had come. Moments later, a huge green and silver truck came thundering onto the road.

"Hah! Come on, then!" the truck challenged in a rough voice. "Do your worst, beastie! Been a while since I've had a good tussle!"

The beast charged the truck. Right before contact, the vehicle transformed into a burly mech, whereupon the beat met him paws-first. Somehow the newcomer was strong enough to push back on his attacker. The new mech grinned madly before ramming his helm into the beast. While it was stunned, one hand changed into a hammer which was promptly slammed into the creature's face, sending the monster careening sideways. That strike only seemed to make it madder. When it lunged again, it managed to tackle the mech to the ground. Jaws snapped dangerously close to his face; the only thing holding them back were the new mech's hands pushing on its neck.

"Feisty one, ain'tcha?" he noted through a mad grin. "You sure that lion guy I killed a coupla thousand years back ain't your cousin twice removed? You've certainly got his ugly temper!"

The beast bellowed and, jaws agape, tried to snap its teeth onto the newcomer's face. When the new mech nimbly rolled out of the way, the monster's lunge left it with a mouthful of pavement that was crushed into pebbled chunks. Another hammer hit to its face stunned it long enough for the newcomer to grab hold of the the creature's two lower tusks. Then, he yanked hard to one side, twisting its neck into an unnatural angle. He then swung himself up onto the beast's back, prompting it to rear up to try to shake him. In answer, the mech drew a heavy sword from his back and drove it into the beast's spine – driven so far that the tip burst out of its chest.

The hybrid beast gave a nightmarish howl of pain as it reeled backwards and fell on top of its attacker. The two fell down the hillside that ran along the road.

"Holy smokes..." gasped Fowler.

"Did he just...?" gawked Bulkhead. "Is he..?"

The woman in his driver's seat smiled. "Relax. He's fine."

Arcee sped down to find the Predacon's corpse lying at the base of the hillside.

The beast was shoved aside as the newcomer clambered out from beneath it, his torso stained with fresh Energon. Somehow, he looked none the worse for wear, and she wondered if that had anything to do with his looks. His armor was very different from anything she'd seen. It reminded her a little of Infernus's and Grimwing's armor. Primal, she guessed, but somehow shaped like modern armor, like the kind she or Bulkhead had.

Seemingly oblivious to them, the mech took his sword and used it to carve open the beast's armor near the back of the neck. From that gouge he roughly fished out a little chip which was thusly crushed.

"Add another to the tally," he declared gleefully. "I'm on a roll here!"

Bulkhead's passenger whipped out a notebook from her backpack, opened it, and used a pencil to create a notch.

"Thank you for the assist, Autobot," she said, "but I should be going. We can't afford a respite even if I think he needs one."

The woman hopped out and trotted over to the new mech.

"You got the other one, right?" he asked her.

"I destroyed the chip but you'll need to go back and actually collect the remains," she answered.

"Alright-y, then! I'll meetcha over there with the Bulldog!"

While the woman took off running, the new mech bent over and, to Arcee's surprise, hefted the hybrid Predacon up and slung it over both shoulders. Even Bulkhead was impressed at his cheerfully casual indifference to his cargo. That thing had to weigh as much as he did, if not more, and was bigger than he was, but the newcomer didn't seem to notice.

He strode past them both. "Sorry 'bout the ruckus, by the way. I tried to keep it quiet but this ugly lug had other plans," he told them, jerking his head at his catch.

"Who are you?" demanded Arcee.

"Name's Brawn. And, look, I'd love to chat, but I'm on the clock."

"Where are you taking it?" she asked, suspicious.

At that, the newcomer paused and turned back to face her. "Gonna melt him down! What else? Unless you want the 'Cons gettin' their claws on him again?"

She let him get back into the treeline before quietly tailing him. Arcee found him, and his human partner, hefting the rest of the remains the woman had uncovered into a ship that looked more like a flying tank: heavy exterior plating, two big forward guns, and smaller ones to accompany them. The front was painted with a row of snarling teeth to match its moniker of "Bulldog." Curiously, just like its owner, she couldn't see any faction badge on it. There was a chance, she thought, that they were dealing with an unaligned. Some had made it out during the Exodus. But, her suspicion of him was greater. What was an unaligned doing hunting down Predacons and tracker chips? How did he know where to find them? Had he somehow hacked the signal network, the same as they had?

There was no evidence to think he was lying about his intentions. Yet...she recalled a 'Con tactic of slipping spies in by having them "act the part" of an unaligned or a defector. And what "unaligned" was that well armed? Regular civilians didn't have access to the sort of artillery Brawn did.

She watched the two finish loading. Brawn stepped out to check the surroundings, whereupon he spotted her.

"Brawn?"

The woman trotted out to join him. Brawn waved her back into the ship.

"Suspicious, are ya?" he guessed.

She didn't answer.

"I got all the proof you need that I'm not your enemy," Brawn declared. "C'mon. I'll show ya. Bring your big green friend. Let's go for a ride."

Her optics narrowed further.

"Primus almighty, are you really this paranoid?" he laughed. "I'm not gonna kidnap ya! I've already got an army nippin' at my heel struts. I don't need ya'll mad at me, too! If you want more proof I'm not workin' for the 'Cons, you gotta come with!"

Still frowning, Arcee called Bulkhead over. Fowler continued his wide loops overhead. She alerted him and Ratchet of the change of plan, and asked Brawn if it was fine for Fowler to tail them wherever they were going. Brawn accepted the terms, so long as Fowler was able to keep a low profile in doing so. The ruckus they'd caused at their current position meant they had to keep their heads low for a bit till the hubbub died back down.

"So come on in," he cheerfully gestured at his ship. "Ladies first."

Arcee strode up the boarding ramp. The Bulldog's interior was like a more cluttered version of the Jackhammer, but roomier like the Iron Will. Weapons were hung on hooks on the walls – anything from pole-arms to axes to pistols to even a bow of all things. A section of shelving near the front of the ship had been converted into a sleeping-slash-living area for his human partner, sort of like the built in cabin beds some big rig trucks had, but nicer. The woman clearly had no problem using some of the extra space for personal storage. Somewhat disturbingly, the woman was sketching in a notebook the body of the beast, which was hanging via two huge hooks through its upper jaw like a fish in a fishmonger's shop.

"Yee..." cringed Bulkhead.

"Sorry," said Brawn. "Storage area's full up so I gotta compromise."

The woman looked up. "Oh! You are letting them join us?"

"Yeah, this lady thinks I'm sketchy," he chuckled, pointing at Arcee.

The woman laughed sympathetically. "You have a dead Predacon the locals call 'the Ozark Howler' impaled on your wall. I don't blame her."

Brawn chuckled. "This is Sami, by the way. Sketch artist, archaeologist, and partner extraordinaire! Met her in the Zagros Mountains a while back and we've been chasin' down beasties ever since."

The Zagros Mountains, Arcee mused. If her geography was right, that was around the same area where Ratchet had first detected the Predacon tracker chips going inexplicably dark. The personal ship also explained how Brawn was getting around so quick and undetected by the Decepticons: it was probably radar shielded, just like their ships. He didn't have a faction identifier beacon either. In Soundwave's eyes, and in Ratchet's too, that rendered Brawn pretty much invisible.

Sami smiled and waved at them. "Once I'm finished sketching I'll have him move it somewhere out of plain view, if you'd like."

Brawn sat down at the controls and fired the ship back into full power. Soon enough, they were high up in the skies, hidden in a cloud bank.

"Is your pilot friend ready?"

"Ready, Fowler?" asked Arcee.

"Ready!"

"Alright-y! Let's hustle! You two ever been to Yellowstone before?" he hinted. "'Cause that's where we're headed!"

In a low bang the Bulldog blazed westward. Fowler's V-Dog screamed after it.


Predaking landed in the forested mountain with a thud. It did not take long for him to know he was on the right track. Someone had been here recently. He could literally smell them. But it wasn't a smell he recognized. Whoever it was, it wasn't one of the Autobots, exactly as Lord Megatron had suspected. However, there was more concrete evidence of the interloper: the hole they'd dug in the ground. According to the chip network, the hole lay where a signal chip had gone dark, but there was no chip, and indeed no remains, left to take.

Snarling, he followed the scent down the mountain. There was evidence of a fight: damaged, fallen trees trailed down to the road, and a chunk of road was missing. The latter hadn't been caused by the interloper, though. The smell was wrong.

He paused.

Smell. He smelled something much more present.

Upon following it down the hillside, he found something usable: a splash of Energon. Whether it was from the interloper or the enemy they had fought, he couldn't say. But he could track Energon. Every individual had a chemistry unique to them. If from the interloper, he could track them directly. If from their attacker, he could track indirectly. There was a chance the enemy had survived and given chase. They, in turn, would lead him to the interloper.

After a moment of analyzing the fuel, Predaking could "see" that it led back up the mountain. Then, it shot up vertically.

So they had survived. A flier of some kind, clearly.

He gave a thundering screech and launched into the air to follow the trail.

[Trail located!] he reported.

[Excellent.] droned Shockwave. [Report again when you have located them.]


I remember one of you guys wondered if I'd involve Cryptids in this "beast hunt" so here's your answer: yes! The Ozark Howler is a cryptid from the Ozark region of North America (around Arkansas) that is said to be a large bear-like creature. I'm working more on Scott Francis's interpretation of the creature, who depicted it on his ArtStation more like a bear, but with long, puma-like limbs tipped in huge bear claws, big tusk-like teeth, and horns.

I was going to try a different tactic here and finish both parts before posting, BUT I didn't want to make you guys wait that long.