The sun shines down on the streets full of people moving to and from appointments in the center of Praxus. A black and light blue seeker slows down in the air above the city-state and transforms and looks for his destination before he lowers in altitude, weaving in and out of the busy lanes of fliers in the air.
Stormwind lands on the street and looks around in marvel at the impressive public square full of shops of all kinds. He is so caught up in the sight that he stumbles when someone bumps into his left wing and almost sends him on his aft on the ground.
"Look where you are going!" A gruff voice growls at him in passing.
"I'm sorry, sir." He apologizes and moves out of the heavy walking traffic.
It is the first time he is without his creators when he visits the center of Praxus, and he takes the time to study the city-state's enormous central public square. There is a crystal garden in its center with paths leading in every direction, but the true gem in the whole scenery is the sparkling fountain in the center of the crystal garden with pure water―a rarity since water is such a fleeting substance.
He walks towards the fountain, awe filling him as he looks at the rainbow of colors shining from the flowing water. A force field surrounds it and keeps the water flowing in an endless cycle, but for a small fee, you can step inside the force field and get a closer look at the attraction.
His attention gets drawn to the fountain's centerpiece. The water cascades down the slowly rotating sculpture depicting the sun and the twin moons in their orbital cycle around each other. The plaque on the fountain catches the sunlight, and he pays the fee and steps closer to read it.
Donated by an anonymous benefactor in the year 1812694.
May we never forget.
He looks up at the fountain again, looking at it in wonder. The construction year is the year he was born. He looks down at the plaque again and touches it curiously, his digits following the inscription.
May we never forget.
The wording is so solemn.
He knows something significant happened that year, but his creators refuse to tell him about it whenever an annual event is brought up in the news. They distance themselves and him from society during that time of remembrance as if it is too painful for them to remember whatever happened.
He frowns at the plaque.
Building the fountain and acquiring the rare water must have cost a fortune.
Who would donate such a wonder to the public without putting their name on it?
He checks his chronometer when an alarm goes off, cursing when he realizes that almost an hour has passed and he will be late.
He walks out of the force field and searches the vast public square for the shop he is there to visit. He finally locates it after a while and opens the door to it, a chime announcing his entrance.
He nods politely to the shop owner before turning his attention to the shelves with datapads, looking for a specific publication for his creator's birthday a few days from now.
Skywarp has an affinity for engineering and has recently focused on energy fusion and how to improve existing technology.
He has researched the topic and his creator's extensive library and has found a publication Skywarp doesn't have.
The perfect gift for him.
His carrier had hesitated to allow him to travel alone into the center of the city-state. Even at the age of 121, he is still a youngling, and―according to his carrier―danger lurks everywhere for such a young individual. But he had finally convinced Thundercracker to let him go alone, promising to be careful and not stray away from the purpose of his trip.
The door chimes again and his wings twitch when he senses the newcomer. Out of the corner of his optic, he notices a shadowed figure the same height as him, and his curiosity gets piqued when the stranger cautiously turns his head this and that way as if assessing his surroundings for any dangers.
Strange.
When their optics lock, the newcomer's lips curve into a mischievous smirk.
He recognizes the newcomer as another youngling and is about to say something in greeting but stops when the newcomer holds a digit to the lips to signal for him to be silent. He frowns in confusion, but then buffeting wind begins to slam against the shop's windows―nearly shattering them with its force―and he looks out at the public square where an enormous aircraft with massive tandem rotors is landing, scaring away the people who had been there.
When he looks back at the newcomer, the newcomer is gone, and he looks around in confusion.
Where did he go?
He startles when there is a brief touch to the back of his wing and spins around, only to stare at nothing.
A disembodied chuckle sounds and there is the touch of a withdrawn field against his, but he cannot read anything from it.
"We need to hide." The newcomer whispers lowly.
Hide from who, he wants to ask, but one glance out at the public square gives him the answer when he sees heavily armed people leave the aircraft. Their frames bear no official markings, and his spark pulse speeds up at the realization.
Not enforcers or military personnel.
"Come." There is a tug on his hand, and he follows the newcomer away from the windows and further into the shop while still looking out at the sheer number of armed people amassing on the public square.
"Who are you?" He asks curiously.
"Nightflow."
He looks at where he imagines the invisible youngling's optics to be. "Who are they?"
"The Polyhexian Cartel."
Dozens of dark figures pass the shop's expansive windows, and he instinctively ducks further down behind the bookcase they are hiding behind. He should have listened to his carrier and not come here alone. He brings up his emergency ID and sends his coordinates to his god-creator.
Prowl immediately responds. -What are you doing alone in the center of the city-state, Stormwind?-
-I went to get a present for my creator.-
Two of the dark figures return, and his spark turns cold with dread when they move to open the door to the shop. The chime sounds, and he silences a whimper, curling into a ball to try and protect himself from what he knows inevitably will come.
Heavy steps sound as they enter, and he hears them talk together. From their conversation, he understands that they are searching for someone. He looks to his right, where Nightflow is invisible beside him.
"They are looking for you, aren't they?" He whispers, barely audible, looking accusingly at the empty air.
The heavy steps come closer, meticulously searching the shop.
-We know that the Polyhexian Cartel is in the area. I have dispatched two Anti-Terror Special Response Teams to your location. Find somewhere to hide and stay there. They will soon be there to deal with it.- Prowl messages back after a few minutes.
A large shadow falls over him the next moment, and he looks up into cold optics.
-Too late.-
A weapon gets pointed at him.
"Up!"
-Understood. I'll pull some strings to get you out of this. Stay connected, and let me know if further happens.-
He rises slowly from the floor, holds his hands up in surrender and fights not to look at where Nightflow is hiding in plain sight but invisible. Whatever his friend has done to anger these people, he doesn't want to betray him.
He blinks, surprised.
Friend?
He can't stop himself from looking at where Nightflow is at the realization.
-Stormwind, are you still okay?-
-Yes, Prowl, but they are holding me at gunpoint.-
-Remain calm. Help should be there any second.-
As he stares into the weapon pointed at him, he briefly wonders what kind of help Prowl can possibly send him so fast in a situation like this.
The door chime sounds seconds later, and even more dread fills him at the sight of the new, far more intimidating sire walking into the shop and towards them, knowing his situation has gone from bad to worse.
"Lower your weapons!"
He looks baffled at the new sire as the weapons instantly get lowered and vanish into their owners' frames at the order and then senses a surprising curiosity from the strong field as the sire comes closer while the cold optics study him.
"Stormwind, creation of Thundercracker and Skywarp?"
He nods, his wings twitching nervously at the intense focus on him.
The optics lose some of their coldness and a surprisingly gentle smile passes briefly over the sire's lips.
"You have nothing to fear, youngling." The sire says, crouching before him, and even then, Stormwind only barely reaches the middle of the sire's chest.
At a dismissing gesture of the sire's hand, the two who had held him at gunpoint salute and leave without a word, and Stormwind lowers his hands slowly while studying the sire before him curiously.
"Who are you?"
"Torment. I knew your creators before you were born."
A chuckle beside Stormwind draws Torment's sharp attention, and the sire's expression fills with frightening fury.
"Show yourself, Nightflow!"
Nightflow becomes visible with an unrepentant grin on his face. "Hello, Creator."
Stormwind stares at him in disbelief. "C-creator?"
He looks back at Torment with wide optics.
Primus! Did he just get held at gunpoint because his friend had run away from his creator?!
"Why do you keep running away?"
"Home is boring. You and gran-creator never let me participate in anything interesting." Nightflow answers his creator sullenly.
Torment sighs in exasperation. "You are not old enough to be a part of it. Your frame still needs to be fully grown. I have told you that you will be ready when you receive your first weapon. Until then, you will remain by my side and follow my orders when we leave home, or you will not get to leave at all."
"But Creator!"
"No buts! Your carrier is deeply worried about you! What if you had been taken prisoner by our enemies?!"
"If I can sneak away from you, I can sneak away from them!"
The sound of sirens interrupts the argument between creator and creation. Stormwind looks out at the public square when the Anti-Terror Special Response Teams Prowl has sent arrive. Torment leads them out of the shop and commands Nightflow to board the aircraft before he leads Stormwind to the enforcers.
There is a hostile tension between Torment and the enforcers, and Stormwind clearly senses that only his presence keeps them from fighting against each other.
"Greet your creators from me." Torment says with a salute as he backs away from the enforcers, holding his hands harmlessly out at his sides and never turning his back to them. The massive tandem rotors come to life when Torment and his people vanish into the aircraft, and then the aircraft swiftly lift off.
Stormwind follows the aircraft with his optics as it calmly flies away, still not quite comprehending what had happened.