The shimmery glow of distilled engex cast a rainbow of color across the darkened bar. Nearby, neatly stacked cubes caught the gleaming light and emitted magenta, yellow, and cyan reflections across the countertop. One could regard the sight as romantic or beautiful; if it wasn't for the bits of brain modules floating in the liquid like a lava lamp.

There was no saving them. Getaway made sure to sever the spinal cable from the primary processor. In his madness he doomed everyone that dared question his authority.

Zeta Prime might have been dead, but there were always those that walked down his path. Blurr sneered at the mere memory of that bastard. Just like Zeta Prime, Blurr promised that Getaway would suffer a similar fate.

Blurr looked at the remains of the crew's members with a familiar numbness. Death happens, it was something he'd grown accustomed to. It was quick- sometimes faster than himself, and often gruesome.

This wasn't anywhere near the worst he'd witnessed. No, he'd seen plenty of tank twisting corpses in his lifetime. Though, this bothered him more than he'd like to admit.

There was something about seeing a location so full of love and life twisted into a morbid display of power. It pissed him off.

This bar contained so much laughter. A place where the war started to feel like a distant memory. Now it was the resting place of those very same patrons looking for an escape.

He didn't try to figure out who was floating in the engex. They'd get a list of names out of their prisoner sooner or later. Blurr watched, detached to the way those parts bobbed around. It was morbid, but he wished that one bot was mixed in there. At least then his death would have been quick.

Blurr closed his optics as a bright happy face popped into his mind. He clenched his fist tightly. He didn't deserve the death he got. He deserved mercy.

There was nothing he could do about it now. They weren't fast enough to save them. He wasn't fast enough.

He laughed. What was the point of his ability if it couldn't save anyone? Blurr took in a deep breath as anger bubbled in his spark.

He slams his fist against the counter with a loud clang. Oh, he was going to make Getaway pay. Slowly. Swiftness was not a mercy he felt like delivering.

Blurr opened his optics to see the space across from him empty. There was no one there to take his order. There wasn't a smiling face or a silly joke. The spark of this bar was gone.

He flatten his fist against the counter top. He gently rubbed its surface as an apology. It didn't matter how upset he was, this place was still special. It deserved to be treated with respect.

"Ya alright kid? You've been in here for a while."

Blurr stilled his servo to glance at the mech at the entrance. Kups stood there, smoke swirling from his cygar, with his brows knitted together. Blurr knew that look meant the old mech was worried. "Not like you to take this long."

Blurr sighed knowing he was right. It took less than a click to get anything done. Yet, here he was, taking his time. He had meant to come here for one thing.

"I'm wrapping up right now," he muttered as he made his way behind the bar.

Blurr crouched down to be on the bottom cabinets level. He opened it up to reveal an array of different liquors. The majority of them were hand crafted by the bartender that owned this place. Blurr quickly read the different labels as Kup approached closer.

Kup whistled. "Pretty nice place. Could do without the body parts but who am I to judge the decor. You come here often, kid?"

Blurr hummed out a confirmation as he set back down a purple bottle. That one wasn't it either. Where could it be?

"Why don't you tell me about it?"

Blurr knew what he was doing. Kup was trying to get him to open up about slag. He wasn't sure that he wanted to right now. Not with everything still so fresh.

"Didn't you say you wanted to open up a bar, kid? Well, again. Heard about what happened to Maccadams. Sorry about that."

Blurr paused for a moment. His bar's eradication was what prompted him to join the Lost Light. The non-stop adventuring since take off had made him forget about his loss. He didn't miss it.

"...It's alright... This bar was better anyway."

Slag. His well built wall was chipped. Blurr sighed in defeat. There was no getting out of this conversation. Kup was good at getting his way.

Kup prop his elbows against the counter and peer down, "Yeah? Don't leave an old bot waiting. Tell me about it."

The racer decided to pop off the lid of one of the containers and take a sip. It went down smoothly. Not as smooth as the fuel he's looking for but still good. He glanced up at Kup then handed him his own bottle so he could partake. The old wrecker gladly accepted it.

"Yeah, this one was better. The bots were all rowdy and fraggin immature. They once glued Ultra Magnus to one of the stools," he paused to snort. "To put it bluntly- it was a disaster. But, that was part of the charm.."

Kup hummed in acknowledgment as he took a drag from his cygar, "Sounds like one hell of a time."

Blurr leaned back against the shelving. He indulged in another sweet sip as he stared up at the old wrecker. He shivered as the sweet liquid coated his glossa. He personally preferred more tangy flavors opposed to the brews that the owner of this bar preferred. Yet, at the moment, it was what his spark wanted.

"I like this bar a lot- it was a place for rejects. Didn't matter what your background was. You were always welcome. Ha, believe it or not they even let Whirl in here."

Blurr's helm thudded against the shelf. He gave his respected comrade a sad smile. He gripped the bottle in his hand a bit tighter.

"They didn't deserve this Kup. This-" he gestured around him, "Should be reserved for afts like us."

"I sense that it's more than just the bar you're talking about. Tell me about 'em?"

Blurr swallowed thickly. He sat the bottle beside him with a frown. Kup was always good at seeing right through him.

"..He was the bartender. Cute minibot- had these dimples when he smiled. It was actually his idea to put glue on the bar stool. He loves jokes-" Blurr's optics dimmed, as words caught in his throat. "Well, loved..."

Kup was quiet as he glanced at the tubes of engex behind Blurr. Blurr knew what he was thinking. He shook his helm.

"No, none of these are him. Though I do think one might be Crosscut. Damn idiot, survived politics on Cybertron, but couldn't beat one lame escape artist." Blurr let out a humorless laugh. "It's like being killed by a clown. It's embarrassing- all of this."

He knew something was happening. Getaway oozed elite scuminess, the same kind that Blurr used to suffer through. He should have stepped in and stopped him.

"But no, it isn't him.. I wish it was," he admitted.

Kup tilted his helm, "You do?"

"You saw that goodbye message Rodimus and his friends broadcasted across the universe? Almost everyone has." Kup frowned. They both knew what that meant. Yet Blurr continued. "He was the red and white minibot. His name was Swerve. He was still smiling and joking despite being scared out of his plating. The DJD got their servos on him."

Blurr deflated as his own words sank in. It was a horrible death. Swerve deserved better than that.

"I think you would have liked him Kup. He'd probably find a way to make you laugh. That was his thing- he always wanted to make a room better than he found it."

"That right kid? That's a rare quality now in days,"

Blurr made a noise of agreement, "Yeah.. Well, he was something special."

Kup's gaze softened, "He was special to you."

The former racer doesn't acknowledge the statement. If he did that then he might have to face the feeling he was currently running from. Instead Blurr found a spot on the cabinet to fake interest in. Kup took a sip from his bottle as he flicked some ash in a nearby cube then stood up straight. He pushed away from the bar.

"Appreciate you telling me Kid. I'm sorry things ended this way. I'd have loved to meet him."

"Yeah, me too…"

Blurr stared off into space till the twinkle of a bottle caught his optic. He surged forward to grab the special container. Swerve's favorite: Nightmare Fuel. The same liquor that they shared together. He cradled it close like it was a precious treasure.

"Found what you were looking for, kid?"

"Yeah, Kup, I did." He said as he carefully placed it in his subspace.

"Good, now. Let's show our captive clown what happens when they mess with one of my boys. I'd rather get it over with before your friends get here."

Kup made his way behind the bar to offer Blurr a servo. The racer clasped it with his own and stood up. He huffed out a laugh seeing the eager glint in the old mech's optics. Getaway was in for a world of hurt.

Kup claimed any bot that could survive the trials of being a Wrecker as kin. Spilled energon bonded them together as a messed up family. Rule number one of that messed up family was nobody fucked with Kup's boys.

Blurr followed the older wrecker towards the exit. He paused to give the bar one last look. He lingered on one particular round booth. It was hard to believe that the first time he set foot in this place was just a few months ago.

"Kid, you coming? You're moving slower than me with my rusted joints."

"Yeah yeah, I'm coming. Just thought you could use a head start."

Kup barked out a laugh. "Keep that sass up and I'll weld your pedes together. We'll see how fast you are after that"

"I'd still beat you with both my pedes and servos stuck together old mech"

The two of them continued the banter through their walk down the halls. He was thankful to Kup for that. The old wrecker knew how much the quiet bothered him.

Blurr hated it even more now. The Lost Light felt dead. There weren't any bots hoverboarding down the hall, no mechs cheering on Whirl's rampage, or even the stern steady voice of Ultra Magnus enticing a strike upon some poor soul.

Blurr pushed down the feeling of loss rising up from the surface. He was a wrecker. A soldier. Death happens. It would continue to happen until his own spark is snuffed out.

That thought brought him no comfort as they entered the communication deck. Blurr walked in to see Impactor circling their prisoner like a hungry sharkticon. Springer scowled, standing between the former miner, and his potential punching bag. Their green leader appeared unimpressed. Fair, considering Impactor's history with unarmed captives.

"Any other survivors?" Springer asked.

Kup let out an old tired sigh, "'Fraid not. Though we did see his arts and craft project in the bar."

"Do I even want to know?"

Kup shook his helm at Springer. He took a long drag from his cygar as he made his way beside the triple changer. He blew his smoke purposely in Getaway's face.

"I have to give him points for creativity, though it seems a shame to waste so much engex."

Springer watched with his brows pulling together. He crossed his arms glancing at the older mech than to Blurr. He couldn't really blame him. It was rare to see Kup in a sour mood.

Impactor cocked his helm then grinned wildly. "Oh, this is going to be one of those. Goodie. What did you do to get the old grouch all worked up?"

Getaway, of course, couldn't reply. His mouth plate was removed and intake was currently covered by a gag. Shame Impactor didn't weld it shut like he suggested.

Impactor came over to rip the thing off his face. Springer tensed, ready to step in to stop him if necessary. Getaway reeled back from the harsh treatment but only scowled up at the harpoon welder.

"Come on, spit it out. What did you do to get good old Blurr here to call us? And Kup-" he whistled. "He's about to blow a gasket. What did one little weakling like you do?"

Getaway's optics flared. He struggled against his bonds, like he wanted to attack the wrecker, and lunged in his direction. Impactor laughed at his pathetic display. That only made Getaway more mad.

"Frag you!" he spat.

Impactor rolled his optics, "Sorry, you ain't my type. But please, keep struggling. I get a kick out of it."

Blurr couldn't help the smirk forming on his lips. Impactor was playing with him like a turbo fox did before devouring its meal. He was trying to get under his plating and Getaway was falling right into it. It was satisfying to see him struggle.

"Now don't make me ask again. See, I only ask nicely once. Speak up and tell me what happened," Impactor cooed in a cruel taunt.

Getaway tensed as the tip of the wrecker's harpoon was pressed right below his optic. Impactor put enough pressure to create a small warning cut. In a panic Getaway looked around the room for anyone that could stop the loonatic.

Springer didn't even twitch. He just crossed his arms and watched, ready to step in if Impactor got too far out of line. Doubtful. They all watched on like they've done thousands of times before.

Blurr wasn't sorry for the mech. There were consequences for greed. Getaway was finally learning that lesson.

Blurr had to admit, he was surprised when the escape artist managed to get his trembling frame under control. Most wet their oil pan when threatened by Impactor's harpoon. One point for Getaway.

It was like a switch was flipped. Blurr cocked his helm with interest. Getaway went from a scared little petrol rabbit to that of a cornered mech animal. My, my, what would he do?

Impactor chuckled. He reached over to yank his chin up. The tip of his harpoon mere inches from the pearly blue orb that was his optic. The threat was left unspoken. Talk or lose an eye.

Springer stiffened. He always was the first to crack when it came to ethics. Blurr was more willing to bend them in cases like this one. Some mechs earned their place under the Wreckers delicate care. Getaway did the moment he called the DJD.

"Impactor," Springer warned.

Getaway leaned away, the best he could while tied to a chair. It didn't provide much relief from the looming threat. Or from Impactor. Blurr knew if the miner wanted he'd pop that optic out and play cube with it if he damn well pleased. Springer's words were always taken as vague guidelines rather than rules.

Getaway glared at the wreckers with utter disdain. Good, Blurr wanted him to hate them. Even then his hate couldn't compare to the inferno raging in his spark.

It wasn't often Blurr felt like he'd lost. He was the best of the best. He'd won more races than digits on his servo. Getaway was pathetic! A narcissist with a God complex bigger than Metroplex. He wasn't worthy of being on the same level as Blurr. So, how did one such bot deliver a devastating blow?

"Why not ask Blurr what happened to the lemon he was fragging?"

In a flash Getaway flew backwards in his chair. Blurr stood over him with his servo still stinging from the punch he delivered. He sneered as a pair of arms held him back.

"Don'tyoudarecallhimthat.I'llripyourvocalizerout!" The words spilled out of him as his engine revs hard.

Getaway chuckled from the floor, "What? Upset Tarn ripped that hunk of junk to bits? Please, I was doing you a favor Blurr. He was beneath you," he breathed out, pride seeping from his field. "Because that's what real primes do! We make the hard decisions."

Red hot rage blinded him as he lunged in Getaway's direction, but Springer held him back. Impactor, thankfully, shut the fragger up by delivering a kick to his abdomen.

"Blurr that's enough-! Time out- Impactor! Stop- you're making it worse!" Springer barked.

Impactor hoisted their prisoner up. He grinned seeing the sizable dent Blurr delivered to Getaway's cheek. He playfully tapped it with two digits.

"Awe, somebody got a booboo. Poor Getaway, never learned when to shut up. Right? You just can't help it," he chuckled before slamming the mouthpiece back in place. "There we go, that should help!"

He made a pained gurgle as the gag silenced him once more. That still wasn't enough. Blurr wanted to make him really hurt.

Springer pushed him back more. "Enough! Both of you. Roadbuster, take Getaway to the brig. Watch him till I send a replacement. Blurr, vent! Step down!"

It wasn't until Roadbuster dragged Getaway's chair out of the room till Springer let go of him. He stumbled forward before catching himself. Blurr stared at the door, frame shaking, as he weighed between the options of following him out or not.

Impactor watched as well, probably thinking the same as Blurr. Sometimes it was better to kill a mech before they could plot revenge. It was too bad some members of the crew acted like morality police.

Blurr's anger diminished as a certain shy dimple smile played in his mind. He could almost feel a playful nudge against his armor. The same way he did it after the Whirl clock incident at the bar.

Half of Swerve's visor had flickered off to 'wink' at the racer before telling him that Whirl really Wrecked the bar. He'd laughed while fetching a broom. Back then, Blurr had frowned; the bar was beyond wrecked- It was in shambles! When Blurr brought up reporting the incident to Ultra Magnus he waved him off.

"Whirl was just a bit overcharged. He didn't mean anything by it. We all have bad days," he paused to pick up part of a shattered cube. "Whirl just had a very bad one. I'm not going to sick Mags on him for that."

Swerve had believed in second chances. Third and fourth chances as well. He was such a forgiving bot. He believed bots could be better. Blurr glared at the door Getaway left through. It was why he was sent to his death.

Springer blocked his view, "What was that?"

"That was Blurr punching the slag out of a piece of scrap. Thought we all saw it." Impactor said as he casually leaned against the nearby console.

Springer pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge. He opened his mouth ready to lay into them when Kup put a servo on his shoulder. Blurr didn't like the pity in the old mech's optics.

"Go easy on him kid. He's hurting. "

Springer frowned, then studied Blurr. He refused to show them anything. Blurr zipped past him to the communication console.

"..So, who was prime-complex talking about? Must be someone important enough to get under your plating." Impactor said as he adjusted one of the dials.

"That would be nunya."

"Nunya?"

"Yeah, nunya business. Now frag off!"

Impactor rolled his optics, "Cute, Where did you pick that up? Sounds like the human slag Springer's been spitting."

Springer joined them with curious optics staying on Blurr, "That's because it is. Verity has used that line before. Where in the pits did you hear that?"

For a moment Blurr considered telling them a half truth. Crosscut had been introducing him to earth culture lately. The playwright was obsessed with Greek tragedies. Though he knew his brothers would pick up on any lie he'd try to spin.

Blurr stared at the blank screen of the console. His own ragged reflection gazed back. He sighed knowing deep down Swerve would have been delighted to share.

"Yeah, it's from human media. The bot that fragger mentioned- His name was Swerve. Me and him had been watching a lot of movies together. It was his favorite," Blurr confessed. His spark throbbed in his casing, "We sort of made a game of it. Quoting movies and junk. We tried to see who would crack first. Gotta admit- he was better at it than me."

It was true. Swerve just knew when to drop the perfect line. Blurr wouldn't ever dare to throw out a 'Are you feeling me now, ?' mid makeout. Blurr had to stop because he was laughing too hard to properly work his glossa.

Blurr realized something then laughed, "Frag- that isn't fair. He'd probably get a kick out of permanently winning by dying."

It was bitter sweet. Blurr was glad that Swerve had one up on the racer. He earned it. On the other servo… he was going to miss the pit out of that minibot.

Impactor didn't often show he cared. Emotions were a tool to be exploited on the battlefield. Blurr knew that about their ex-leader. So he was surprised when the son of a glitch bumped his shoulder with his fist.

Blurr couldn't see his face. Impactor had his optics trained on the keyboard but his field said enough. It was dark and promised retribution.

It brought some solace to Blurr knowing his brothers would rain vengeance onto that rusted pile of scrap. Getaway was already dead. He just didn't know it yet.

Blurr pushed those thoughts away for now. They had more pressing matters to deal with. Such as the fact Skid's crew had yet to appear.

According to their last conversation they should have been less than a joor away from docking. They still hadn't made contact. Blurr didn't like that.

"Still no sign of them?" He asked.

Impactor pulled up the camera feed of the outer hall of the ship, "That would be a negative zippy. Anything on your end?"

Blurr shook his helm. He was about to call Skids himself when a jingle started to play. Blurr recognized it as the song 'Hollaback Girl'.

Of course it was coming from the Lost Light's communication unit. Blurr covered his face with a servo. This was either Rodimus or Swerves doin. His gut was saying both. Even in death they haunted him.

"Is that really…?"

"Yes Springer, it is. Just- answer the call. I don't want to hear how to spell Bananas" Blurr groaned.

Springer accepted the call. The holoscreen came alive to reveal the very mech they were worried about. Skids sat in front of the screen wearing this odd dopey smile. It was very different from the grave expression he wore last time. Pits, he looked down right cheery.

"Skids, the hell you've been?" Impactor asked first.

The theoretican rubbed the back of his helm, "Seems we got a little mixed up. We kind of docked on the wrong ship. But! It isn't all bad!"

Kup strolled over to Impactor, "Kid, you might need to get your vision checked. Not many ships are similar to this one. "

Skids nodded in agreement. Yet he still seemed ready to jump out of his own plating from whatever was exciting him. Blurr could see him drum his digits across the console. He was acting like a youngling experiencing their first sugar rush.

Skids glanced off screen then back to the wreckers, "Okay I can't take this- Sorry in advance buddy but-" he pulled a red and white mech into view.

Blurr's processor stalled. Right there, and very much alive, was Swerve. Swerve quickly tried to cover up his own face as Skids side hugged the metallurgist. Swerve's face was flushed, visor bright, and overall beautiful.

He looked fine- Well, from what he could see. The console was too high up for the minibot. Blurr could only really see his faceplate.

"Skids!? Warn a mini-!" Swerve blurted out.

Blurr came closer to the screen with his servo reaching out. He desperately wanted to touch him- know that this was real and not some kind of trick.

Swerve was dead. They confirmed his death back on the necro world. His frame- he had seenwhat was left of it!

"How?" He breathed out.

Swerve's visor brightened in surprise, "Is that Blurr?!"

Skids laughed playfully noogieing his helm, "Told ya some bots would be happy to see ya!"

Swerve gave him a look like he grew three helms. He held up his servo to pause the conversation. He appeared just as confused as Blurr felt.

"Wait wait wait- Skids you're giving me a processor ache. Why uh-.. why would I know Blurr?"

Skids pulled away surprised. He looked down at something then to Blurr. His brows pulled together as he tried to fit together pieces of a puzzle.

Swerve flushed, "Okay okay- that's… I'll explain later."

Blurr had many questions. His processor kept prompting different ways how this was possible. All came back to the same conclusion- It wasn't.

"..Swerve?"

The bartender perked up hearing his name. He did a nervous wave followed by a laugh he always did when he was uncomfortable. He put on an uncertain smile.

"Uh- Hiya, Blurr! It's super cool to meet you, again? Super huge fan. You-..probably know that. Wow, um. Okay, Skids when you mentioned the wreckers I thought maybe just the new guys like Bulkhead and Strong-arm. Not- not the OGs… and Blurr!"

Springer frowned, "New guys? I haven't recruited those bots yet."

Swerve appeared surprised then thoughtful, "Okay yeah, no that makes sense. Think back to the future rules- things are different here."

Skids flashed them an apologetic smile, "It's a long and complicated story. I'm still trying to wrap my processor around it. Right buddy?"

Blurr watched as Swerve nodded in agreement. Blurr noticed something odd. Swerve would glance in the racer's direction then off screen. He appeared uncomfortable.

Blurr couldn't help himself, "Are you alright?"

The metallurgist froze like a diesel deer in front of head lights. Swerve pointed to himself confused if the racer meant him. Blurr gripped the edge of the console. His spark thudded in his chamber. As if he could mean anyone else.

"Yes, you. Swerve. Are you alright?"

Swerve blinked. Then let out a nervous laugh. He nudged Skids like someone just told a joke.

"Pretty swell for a dead mech! Aw wait, no- frag. That's too soon," Swerve cringed, "please forget I said that. I'm- I'm just going to hide over there and pretend this interaction didn't happen. "

Swerve started to inch himself off screen. Blurr lunged forward as if he could stop him. This time he was going to be fast enough.

"SwerveWait!"

A strange sound distracted the bartender. It was like the sound of a bad belt. High pitched and squeaky. Swerve's visor lit up in panic. He glanced at his lap then at the screen.

"Sorryigottagobye!" Swerve blurted out as he disappeared from view.

Skids, much to Blurr's frustration, didn't stop him. The theoretican wore the same perplexed expression as the rest of the wreckers. He glanced their way and offered an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, its been a weird day. Little buddy received the brunt of it."

Blurr wasn't a fool. Something strange was going on. And Skids was covering it up for Swerve.

Hopefully he wasn't hurt.

"Send us your location- We'll compare notes when we meet you there."

Blurr could feel his engine aching to gun it. Details could be filled in later. All that didn't matter. Right now, Blurr could see the end of a track, and Swerve was the finish line.

He breathed in. "I'm coming for you, Swerve."