Nightflow sits in his seat inside his gran-creator's largest civilian-looking aircraft and stares curiously out the side window. Far down below, he sees Protihex spread out in every direction. The city-state is the only neutral ground in the criminal underworld and―thus―their destination.

It is during the annual event and people all over the planet are celebrating. Even his gran-creator and creator and their enemies. But while most people enjoy the festivities happening in every city-state, the purpose of their trip is different.

He looks at his creator beside him.

His creator stares intensely at the empty air before him with slightly narrowed optics, his awareness solely focused on their trip's purpose. Seeing his creator like this fills Nightflow with a sliver of worry because Torment is rarely this focused unless he is secretly worried. It is one of his creator's tells he has learned to recognize over the years and he knows not to disturb him when he is like this.

::Hold on tight! We are descending.::

He sees his creator wake from the trance-like state as they descend and dares to hesitantly put his hand in Torment's, drawing his creator's attention. Torment responds positively to it because Nightflow feels his creator squeeze his hand gently in silent affection.

-You know what to do when we land?-

He nods seriously. -Keep a distance and out of sight.-

Torment looks at him with a hint of a smile. -If you behave, I will take you to see the fireworks tonight.-

His spark fills with joy.

He loves the fireworks and seeing them together with his creator. It is something they have made into a routine whenever his gran-creator is negotiating with his enemies during the annual event.

The only time of the year where his creator can let go and becomes an entirely different person.

They step out of the aircraft―Torment still holding his hand. But when they touch the ground, the grip vanishes and Nightflow is on his own as his creator follows his gran-creator and their elites to the meeting place a short distance away.

He looks at those waiting for them and feels a chill run down his spinal strut at the sight of Rampage and the Tarnian leader's followers. Now he understands his creator's worry. This will not be ordinary negotiations. Not with the Tarnian Syndicate, their most hated enemies, and he dutifully follows his creator's order to keep a distance and out of sight.

His creator stops at a specific distance, letting gran-creator walk the last stretch to the Tarnian leader alone. But suddenly, something is wrong, and Talon stops in his tracks with a terrifying roar of pain, a force field shooting up from the ground and encasing him.

Weapons immediately get drawn from both sides, Torment and Rampage circling each other as Talon gradually collapses to his knees as if the energy to remain standing gets sucked out of him.

NO!

He slowly creeps closer and closer while keeping out of sight, needing to do something instead of being a bystander.

His gran-creator is in danger, his creator locked in a silent duel with their most hated enemy, looking for weaknesses and any opening to strike against Rampage. Meanwhile, Rampage is loudly taunting his creator and gran-creator.

"You should never have sent Torment to assassinate my creator, Talon. At his death, I vowed to take my revenge on you when you made a fatal mistake. And you did. The schematics for this device originate from the ruin you left behind in my territory 121 years ago. It has taken us a while to make sense of them and perfect it, but now it is ready to be used."

His gran-creator roars in a fury, fighting against the force field with all his strength, but it doesn't even flicker.

"Don't even bother, Talon. The device can only be shut down when there is nothing to power it. Until then, it is a self-sustaining holding cell meant to drain the life of its occupant."

Rampage's optics shine with murderous delight as Talon once again collapses, his strength growing weaker and weaker every moment.

"Can you feel it? How it drains your spark of its life force? What irony that you handed me the weapon destined to kill you, Talon. We could never hope to penetrate your armor, so we decided to ignore it entirely and go directly for your spark. Your frame is, after all, built to withstand any physical attack, but how do you defend yourself against a spark energy extraction? The simple answer is you don't―because you can't."

Seeing his gran-creator collapse motionless to the ground fills Nightflow with the desperate need to act. He looks around for anything that can help him, silently cursing his creator for not giving him any weapons yet. His gaze falls on a piece of scrap metal and he instinctively picks it up as he creeps closer. He weights it in his hand and looks at Rampage with narrowed optics. It is time to show them all he can be useful too.

The piece of scrap metal hits Rampage dead center in his smug face, momentarily distracting him and giving Torment the needed opening to attack. The subsequent weapons fire unleashed by both sides is deafening and Nightflow hurriedly scurries back into safety, barely missing getting hit as all pit breaks loose around him.

-GET AWAY FROM HERE, NIGHTFLOW!-

Before he follows the order, he casts one last glance at his creator and dying gran-creator. Torment is locked in a direct physical fight with Rampage while his frame gets hit by heavy weapons fire from all sides as the Tarnian leader also seeks to take him down. His creator's people are severely outnumbered and he sees some of them fall under heavy fire. What should have been a peaceful negotiation are now a fight for their lives when their enemies turned against them.

Tears run down his cheeks as he transforms into alt-mode and speeds away. A force field shields him as his defensive systems come to life and he senses several stray shots slam against it while he flees the conflict zone.

"GET ME THAT YOUNGLING!" He hears Rampage roar.

He activates his cloaking device and vanishes from sight. It is only temporary protection. He can't keep it active for long―not with the force field in effect too. His defensive systems are only meant to get him out of immediate danger. When he no longer has the energy to keep them online, he is entirely on his own.

The force field begins to weaken and he deactivates it, focusing all his energy on keeping his cloaking device active. If they can't see him, they can't catch him.

An air siren begins to sound, warning civilians in the area to seek shelter and he seeks protection among the fleeing civilians. He transforms out of alt-mode, deactivates his cloaking device and weaves in and out of the people around him, hiding in plain sight.

As he passes a side alley, a shadow steps out of it and grabs his arm. He gets pulled into the shadows, a hand closing over his mouth, and he stares with wide optics up at the black and white sire. The doorwings draw his attention before he notices the Joint Investigation Unit's insignia on the shoulder.

An enforcer.

His spark sinks.

He has fled one enemy only to land in the hands of another.

The enforcer stands stock still with his whole attention turned to the street and swiftly pulls Nightflow further into the darkness seconds before members of the Tarnian Syndicate pass by the alley with their weaponry out, searching for him. He makes an involuntary, frightened sound at the sight of them and the hand on his mouth gets pressed more firmly against it in a silent order for him to be quiet.

Right now, the enforcer is the lesser evil and he willingly complies with the unvoiced order. It feels like an eternity while they wait for the members of the Tarnian Syndicate to return, but when nothing happens for several long minutes, the hand finally leaves his mouth.

::All units engage! Get this contained and under control!::

The moment the order is given, he hears the booming thunder of the enforcers' heavy artillery add itself to the sound of battle in the distance and instinctively fears for his creator's life. He is not thinking about his gran-creator because he already knows he is dead. Talon had been invincible, but his enemies still found a way to kill him that he stood no chance against.

::No. I am safe.::

The enforcer's voice draws him out of his misery and he becomes aware of his immediate predicament.

He needs to get away. Needs to get back to his creator.

::Status on our targets?::

He sees the enforcer's brows shoot up in surprise. ::That is a fortunate outcome, what we have worked so hard to achieve. Has there been any sign of retaliation in Iacon?::

There is a pause, and then the brows furrow.

::Then no one has informed them about the assassination yet. This has the potential to become a massacre between the organizations. At least now we can control the Polyhexian Cartel to some extent, but Athena needs to know her creation is safe and unharmed or she won't put a leash on Torment. Keep optics on Iacon. I want to know when there is the slightest sign of movement so we can interfere in time, depending on how long it will take to get this under control.::

Hope fills his spark at the enforcer's words because it means his creator still is alive and free.

The enforcer looks down at him.

::I have him in my custody.::

::He is unharmed.::

There is a sigh of frustration mixed with anger.

::Yes, Aurora! I know how foolish I was to enter the conflict zone alone without backup! However, it was of utmost necessity I intercepted him and did so without attracting unwanted attention! The Tarnian Syndicate is searching for him to use against his creator! He can under no circumstances fall into their hands! We will need an immediate evacuation! You have my coordinates!::

Nightflow begins to struggle against the hold on him.

No!

He will not go with them willingly! He needs to get back to his creator and help him take revenge for the death of his gran-creator! He is no longer safe here! The enforcers will use him against his creator! To control him! He heard it!

The enforcer's grip around him strengthens, and in response, he bites down hard on the arm that holds him firmly against the black and white frame. There is a hiss of pain from the enforcer, but the firm grip never slackens.

"Stop that!"

"I won't go with you!"

"You will do as I say if you want to return to your creators alive!"

"You are just going to use me against them!"

Tears well up into his optics and they fall before he can stop them. The enforcer crouches in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders firmly to prevent escape, the serious optics narrowed with clear offense in them.

"Your creator and I are not friends, but I would never stoop to his level and use you against him. That is not what we do. Right now, I need to get you to safety. Then I will find out what to do with you. But I promise I won't hurt you oryour creator while I handle this situation."

He looks into the expressive optics, searching them for any sign of deception, but finds none.

Finally starting to see the enforcer as someone he can trust, he leans against the adult frame for comfort in the stressful situation he finds himself in―alone in a city-state far from home and what feels safe with an emotionally traumatic experience fresh in his spark. The enforcer hesitates but then embraces him comfortingly, and Nightflow breaks down in the arms of his creator's enemy, mourning the loss of his gran-creator.

"Why did they do it?!"

It is the annual event. There should have been peace. There shouldn't have been any danger. Why did the Tarnian Syndicate break protocol?! Why did they kill his gran-creator?!

His crying increases to the point where he can't breathe. His frame convulses with violent sobs and hiccups and he feels a hand soothingly on his back. Then there is suddenly the deafening sound of numerous aircraft landing simultaneously on the street and he whimpers in fear when a large number of heavily armed enforcers run towards where he and the black and white enforcer are hiding in the ally―the enforcers having their weapons out and guarding their surroundings as they rapidly approach. At his show of fear, the black and white enforcer holds his hand up in silent communication to have them stay back and not come closer, and then he picks Nightflow up.

The enforcer is not as strong as his creator but manages to carry him anyway. He leans his head against a black and white shoulder as he gets taken over to one of the five blue and white Joint Investigation Unit aircraft now entirely occupying the street―the thunder from the enforcers' heavy weaponry still sounding ominously in the distance.

He gets put into one of the dozens of passenger seats that take up the whole inside of the aircraft and looks at the enforcer when the enforcer sits down in one beside him. "My creator?" He asks imploringly.

"He is alive, but I have no status on his state."

The uncertainty almost makes him cry again. He vividly recalls the massive weapons fire slamming unrelenting into his creator, knowing that being alive does not mean not dying.

A hesitant hand caresses his lower arm gently, and he grabs it, clinging to it like a lifeline. And right now, it is―because this enforcer is the only one he can trust to not want to hurt him.

He meets the stern optics and feels reassured by how they remind him of his creator.

"What is your name?" The enforcer asks as the aircraft lifts off, swiftly bringing them out of the conflict zone.

"Nightflow. What is yours?"

At his question, the enforcer quirks his lips almost mischievously. "Prowl."

He stares in disbelief at the director of the Joint Investigation Unit.

"You're Prowl?" He asks when he finds his voice.

"I take it your creator has spoken of me?" Prowl remarks dryly.

Nightflow nods while staring curiously at the black and white enforcer. The director doesn't look like he had imagined him to be. He should fear being this close to his creator's longstanding enemy, but Prowl has been kind to him and protected him.

Prowl squeezes his hand reassuringly. "Then you know that I have worked with your creator?"

He nods again.

"As I said before, your creator and I are not friends, but we all owe Torment a lot for what he did many years ago. The people I have on the scene will help him and his people in any way they can. We are aware that they weren't the aggressor. We have kept our attention on these meetings, which is why we could interfere so fast."

"They are safe?"

"They will be, and when there is a new status quo, I will return you to Torment. But in the meantime, you should stay far away from the brutal politics in your creator's world. I'm sure he would agree."

Nightflow realizes what Prowl means. "My creator is the new leader of our organization."

He understands what that entails. His creator must show their enemies he isn't weak after the attack that killed Talon. His gran-creator had been fearsome. Now his creator must be even more so.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To people whom I trust to care for you and who will understand the world you come from."