Chapter 56

"Bad cover"

She recharged uneasily that off-cycle. The dreams came to her in droves; she passed icy moons and roaring gas giants, and she wended her way through the gulf of oblivion between wayward worlds - taking to that deep black and making it a second home, a road well travelled by. She felt neither fear nor hope, but something starker, something grim and solid and impossible to shake - an acceptance of sorts, though towards what end she did not know. Fractal fleets stalked behind her, dark and flickering with the promise of smothering un-light. She flew beyond them as a helmsman, a trailblazer, a wayfarer of paths unwalked. She was a Hunter set out before her fireteam and she carved for them a path with knife and guile. She drove onwards, chasing the allure of young stars, and she arrived at last at a precipice - a round planet tan and blue, the shine of its golden sun ringing behind it like a halo. It was familiar to her, something delicate and beloved clutched in a closing fist of pure dark, constricted by slender fingers of the deepest void wound with red string.

Only then did Hawkmoon wake up, softly keening for a secondhand home - no red sands to bury her in the past, no methane seas to wash her regrets away, no ice to rip the flesh from her bones, but something more gentle. Something intrinsically fit for life. Earth and all its myriad problems; she missed it. But the dream - that wasn't a homecoming. The sensation that had guided her, that solid dark purpose, hadn't jumped for joy at the sight of it. She recalled shapes like pointed teeth curling around the edge of her vision, a fleet of spearheads poised to strike, and it cut her cry short - it stilled the yearning in her heart and froze her fluttering spark still.

"Are you well?" Augur groaned. He stirred from his roost atop the berthside locker, glancing over at her with his starbright eyes - sharp and needling in all the ways that kept her from letting him come closer than arm's length

"As well as can be," Hawkmoon murmured. She swung her legs over the edge of the berth and stopped there. She winced as the memory of the orn prior sprang back to her. "Don't suppose you have any advice for me?"

"Only that you mustn't waste all your energy on these beings. There are others we can turn to, should the denizens of this world prove less than agreeable."

"Well that's just cheery." Hawkmoon stood up, feeling that oh so human urge to stretch - but the lack of muscles left that ache unsatiated, no matter how far she tested the limits of her joints. "Sweet Traveler," she muttered, "I'm not looking forward to this."

A squawk echoed from the corner of the room and Hawkmoon heard a brief rustling before Rook swooped up over the railing overlooking the lower floor and landed on her pauldron. She smiled softly, broken only by a wince when the damn bird inquisitively pecked her neck, and she tapped his beak fondly.

"No I'm not," she cooed. "Not even in the slightest."

Rook chirped, basking in the attention, and he settled in snugly as she set to finding them some energon to guzzle.

"So you sit there like- yes, like that. Hold him closer, please. Oh yes, that's a perfect angle." Dystrexin smiled. "That'll endear you to the symbiote-caring demographic."

Hawkmoon tried to keep the frown from her faceplates. Tried and failed, evidently, because Dystrexin's smile faded and she vented a sigh.

"It wouldn't hurt to work with me, dear," she said unhappily.

"Still coming to terms with it," Hawkmoon muttered. "Next you'll be caking me in makeup."

Dystrexin looked at her.

"No. No."

"The lightning won't be kind on your paintjob."

"You mean my frame is ungainly?"

"Not at all!" Dystrexin exclaimed, aghast. "You have a wonderful frame-"

"But the extra kibble is controversial," Hawkmoon said blankly. "I'm aware. I also don't care. No makeup. I'm not going to hide who I am. This paintjob I got? That's it. This is what I'm sticking with."

Dystrexin made a face. "It wouldn't hurt you to try."

"My dignity, though. Gotta leave me with that much."

"If you're so insistent." Dystrexin relaxed into another chair by the edge of the room. The chamber was dark save for the lamp directly overhead, and Hawkmoon was seated right in the centre of it all. It was a glorified recording booth; Dystrexin's own queendom where her word was law and the only mercy was her matronly patience. Hawkmoon hadn't seen much of Contrail or Alpha Trion since she'd left her berthroom, but she was content to leave them to their own devices - provided they did the same for her. On the other hand, that had left her stranded with Dystrexin and Soundwave, and while those two were infinitely less aggravating to deal with, they were plenty pushy in their own rights.

"They'll be here in a joor," Dystrexin told her. Reporters, Hawkmoon thought. Handpicked by Contrail himself.

"What'll I say?" Hawkmoon asked, feeling a spike of anxiousness. The idea of speaking in front of a camera - well it didn't mesh well with her. Just the thought of invisible crowds of incredible magnitude hearing her, watching her... it was enough to make her plating crawl. The closest she'd come to public speaking was all the way back in the Last City, when Ikharos had invited her as a guest for an "extrasolar anthropology" presentation in front of near a hundred university students, and even then all she'd done was talk a little on the sparse mannerisms of Devils and Kings she'd crossed in the wild. Nothing revolutionary, nothing she couldn't handle; it was easy to spout deets on Cabal regiments and Fallen gangs, Hive packs and Vex modules. Nothing more than a glorified debriefing. Hell, that was her job - Cayde and Andal before him certainly hadn't kept her around for the joy of her company.

But now what the hell was she supposed to do? Say "Oh by the way, I survived an apocalypse engineered by a bunch of alien gods and we're all going to die. But don't forget to vote for our favourite Vosian senator in the upcoming election!"

"Soundwave has a script prepared," Dystrexin assured her. "You'll be fine."

"What kind of script?" Hawkmoon questioned warily.

"The kind that gives us a basis to work with."

"Like?"

"Who you are, where you come from, what you were doing across the Divide."

Hawkmoon furrowed her optical ridges. "That's..."

"Nothing extreme, I promise you. It's concise, honest, meaningful. You'll like it."

"Do I get to read it?"

"When Soundwave returns."

He was... elsewhere. Overseeing the smuggling in of reporters and journalists and the like. The compound lacked a landing deck for shuttles; Hawkmoon was all but certain Contrail had a groundbridge squirrelled away in a basement somewhere, but no one had deigned to tell her about it. And why would they? Their singular objective was to keep her close at hand, after all. She was their disgruntled ace up the sleeve, the single silver lining to be found in their mess; they were going to cling for dear life and in some ways she already hated them for it.

Oh but to be a Hunter again. Oh but to let fly beyond the City's walls, to hurtle into the wilds and dredge up forgotten horrors from some deep dark Golden Age facility, or to run afoul of Devils in the night, or to ply at that age-old game, that tenuous dance with the Vex in all their shape and forms. Oh to be free. Oh to have a Ghost again.

She'd never deserved him. Gecko. Too shy by half and so much sweeter on the inside; her Ghost had been something precious, and fool that she was she let him go without a fight, intentionally or no. In the moments she waited, Hawkmoon considered herself, her place, the forces that had put her there - and Gecko, bless him, without him she'd probably have died one last time. Even unto the end he was her saving grace. The sting of it, even removed by time and acceptance, never abated even a fraction. Grief was the hardiest of mpaladies - and she was slave to its whimsical motions.

Hawkmoon opened her servo, imagining Gecko compiling in her palm. She tried to consider the difference in proportions, how much smaller he would be comparative to her new form, but it was harder yet. To her displeasure some things, some facets of his memory... weren't so sharp as they should have been. She recalled with perfect clarity every memory logged in her Risen life, but to imagine - that was a human endeavour and flawed for it. She remembered his green shell, his blue eye, his quiet humour - but the emotion, the feeling, that was starting to lose its sheen. He was beginning to fade from her.

And so, in her silence, she grieved him anew.

It was fortunate that Soundwave returned some time after, when she could properly rein in her electromagnetic field; the moment the mech arrived Hawkmoon stood up and placed Rook onto her shoulder, then clasped her servos behind her back, wings raised high. Pride was her vice after all; it wouldn't do to act the beaten war beast, tail between her legs. Not if she could help it. Soundwave appraised her sparingly as he stalked through the doorway, but the mecha behind him stared as they filed through. There were five of them altogether, three of them Vosian Seekers. Of the remainder one had the doorwings of a femme from Praxus - a kind of kibble famous from that far-flung city-state. The other was a blockier, shorter mech who could have been from anywhere, really.

The seeming leader of the group, a Seeker mech with the thin armourless frame of civilian-caste, stepped forward and expanded his EM field in cautious greeting. "You're-"

"Hawkmoon," she replied, locking a cold smile onto her faceplates. "How do you do?"

The mech relaxed. "Very well, thank you. I'm Off-switch. I report to the Interex Columnist. Do you read?"

Hawkmoon dialed a quick search into the teletraan network. "On occasion," she lied smoothly. "Can't say it's a habit."

"Ah it's no matter. How are you feeling?"

Like I'm drowning again, only this time it's so much slower. I can't hold my breath any longer. The burn is killing me. "I'm getting by," Hawkmoon replied evenly.

Off-switch's smile faltered. "I... I'm sorry, that was tactless."

"It's fine." Hawkmoon sat back down. Dystrexin took that moment to glide in and save them all from an awkward silence.

"Off-switch, dearest!" she exclaimed, catching the mech's arm. "Might I borrow you and your cohorts for a moment? I'd appreciate a run-through of our expected schedule."

"Of course ma'am." Off-switch bowed his head and glanced to the other strangers pointedly.

"Excellent, thank you." Dystrexin looked at Hawkmoon. "We'll leave you to rehearse with Soundwave, dear. Don't be afraid to take your time; perfection cannot be hurried." She turned and made for the far side of the room, dragging Off-switch after her.

Soundwave took their place, crouching in front of her. His lanky frame lent him an uneasy aura in that position, like a wild beast coiled to strike. His face-screen lit up and quietly - so quietly - he said, "Query: are you prepared?"

Hawkmoon shrugged with one shoulder, the one not occupied by Rook. "I'll slog through it."

His EM field flashed with a spike of amusement, tingling against her own. "Hawkmoon: discomforted. Deduction: adverse reaction to-"

"Do you always speak like this?" Hawkmoon interjected, growing exasperated. "You sound ridiculous."

Soundwave tilted his helm. "Hawkmoon: combative. Estimation: result of internal distress."

"You'd make a great therapist," she grumbled. "Better than that shrink they gave me in the Palace."

"Counsel: you are safe. Clarify: there is nothing to be concerned about."

Hawkmoon fixed him with a steady look. "People have been trying to kill me, cripple me, capture me every other orn. Sorry sweetie, but I ain't feeling it."

Soundwave studied her. "Correction," he said, "safety is not cause for distress. Hawkmoon: appears to be-"

"Look, if you're about to tell me about stagefright, I'm gonna stop you there. Nothing you'll say will change how I feel and nothing you do will make me any happier about it. So let's cut the scrap and get this over with." Hawkmoon vented hard. Rook chirped worriedly, but she didn't do anything to assuage his concern. "So let's see this speech."

Soundwave watched her a moment, then his face-screen shifted as lines of clear Cybertronian glyphic scrawled across the white glow. Hawkmoon followed it along with a sinking feeling, the kind of anticipation she would've normally twinned with transmatting directly into a danger-close environment, but she worked through it. It was... hard. Keeping herself steady, her mouth shut, when all she wanted to do was push everyone out of the way and take a walk - maybe sling some curses while at it. It almost felt like too much, too suffocating, too... someone else. How Cayde had managed up in that damn chair, she'd never know. All those public speeches, all that paperwork and juggling duties with City officials - it was its own kind of hell. One she was positive she didn't deserve. She hadn't taken up a Dare after all.

For some inane reason she wondered if ol' Adria had ever gone through the same. Was it just a Hunter thing? Or something that defined even their past lives? Surely she'd learned to cope; Golden Age troubleshooters were the last of warm-blooded military units, for better or worse (definitely worse). Human authority was human error - and human error was subject to accountability. Hawkmoon strained to recall, but it was difficult-

"-airman Hosik, Hyperion-Central Nu-Minister Lana Bhetu, New Pac Security-Administrator Edith Vogh and Doctor Shanice Pell, Ishtar Representative Chioma Esi, Caer Lerion CiC Archmaan and Earth-Orbit Liaison Torstil, UN:DPO General Chen Lanshu, BrayTech CIO Wilhelmina Bray and COO Elisabeth Bray, and SOLSECCENT Director Ogrim and Captain Lennox." The Net-Host paused. "SUBMIND Malahayati is online and listening."

"Thank you Control," the AI replied, brassy voice booming - trying to be gentle, trying to be quiet, trying to fill its words with ill-fitting humanisms that stuck out like a sore thumb. "All parties are accounted for and connections are secure. Shall we begin? Chairman Hosik?"

"Of course." Hosik's holographic form leaned forward. "Sure I don't have to explain the reason for this summit?"

"Aliens," Lana Bhetu said. "Little green men from Mars."

"No, not Mars. Not quite."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Chen Lanshu called out, enunciating her words with care, "two months ago hazardous neolife material was smuggled into the Ishtar Sink and summarily exposed to Subject-Delta-Vu in Campus 9's containment facility. As a result, an ontopathic chain reaction occurred and a service frame was commandeered by a sapient extrasolar ideal. Representative Chioma Esi was present, I believe."

"Correct," Esi confirmed. She sounded exhausted. "The Vex signal became digitized, effectively airborne. On-base transceivers were scrambled immediately; I've checked the logs. There was no outbreak, only a single instance of non-human infection. Professor Sundaresh and I captured the compromised frame with a handheld gravity grapple. It was summarily destroyed on SOLSECCENT orders." She paused. "Along with the neolife specimens. Doctor August Thorne was arrested for endangering the project and all lives present." Chioma Esi glanced pointedly at Ogrim. And Adria herself.

Adria gathered herself and looked ahead; oh her mother would have been proud to see her then, stringent woman that she was. "My team uncovered a smuggling ring dealing in these neolife phenomena - these 'Ahamkara', as coined by the Ishtar Academy. All contraband consisted of deceased remains, cause of death unknown. Living entities are to be treated as mobile and sapient cognitohazards - necessitating the intervention of cold-frame operatives. As was recently discovered, even inactive Ahamkara material possesses the same paracausal properties. You may recall the updated security restrictions beamed across the 'Net; these measures are designed to account for further Ahamkara intervention, living or dead."

Ogrim stood up, hands clasped behind his back; he cut ever the grizzled sight. "Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot understate what a colossal risk was taken by Doctor Thorne. His actions almost allowed for the release of all captive Vex subjects held on Venus. Malahayati predicts a eighty-seven per cent total loss of human life within three consecutive days in this scenario, with a possibility for cross-contamination carried via evacuation shuttles to Mercury, Mars, even Earth itself. As we speak, SOLSECCENT is increasing manned and automated security around every known Vex installation. From now on, every investigation into extraterrestrial neolife is to be passed through SOLSECCENT channels pending official authorization. This applies to every physical, official and private body in this system, from system core to trans-Jovian space. This is non-negotiable."

"Non-negotiable?" Wilhemina Bray asked, openly seething. "That's outrageous. That's an infringement on several human rights. The Unification Act of twenty-two-eighty-one clearly states-"

"It's the very reason we've summoned you here," Chen Lanshu said coldly. "The BrayTech Foundation stands in contempt for violating three dozen human rights concerning the endangerment of living personnel and construction of privatized military weaponry, DEADLY weaponry - which was explicitly prohibited in the Act of Disarming of twenty-one-hundred."

"We have done no such thing."

"Doctor Wade Bow reports that the K1 team was pushed to psychological break in proximity to an unknown extraterrestrial object. Does this ring any bells?"

"Doctor Wade Bow is a disgruntled employee spinning tales of gross inaccuracy," Wilhemina growled. "The K1 cooperative project was cancelled as a result of a lack of shared funding."

"Convenient," Liaison Torstil muttered. He flicked his finger across the screen of a datapad.

"Have you something to say, sir?"

"As I understand it, ma'am, the K1 operation is still underway."

"Only on the part of BrayTech. The Aeronautics of China have withdrawn their support, along with all their personnel."

"Why?"

"There was a disagreement in regards to management and communication," Wilhemina retorted. "Project Commander Kuang Xuan made hasty and ill-advised decisions that culminated in a minor security breach. Braytech values the safety of its employees."

"What kind of 'minor' security breach?" Torstil demanded incredulously. "The kind that lands Miss Xuan in a psych ward? And what's this about a secret nanotech project? For colonization? Or something else entirely?"

Wilhemina stiffened. "That's none of your concern."

"Isn't it? Because it seems to me like you're preparing for a war. There's even talk regarding the development of transhuman operators. I think I should repeat that: transhuman. Not so far from the idea of a post-human, is it?" He glared at her from across the room. "You're playing God. It's sickening. Miss Bray-"

"Rumours," Elisabeth Bray sharply cut in. "Nothing but allegations floated by rival corporations. You're better than this, Torstil."

Torstil bristled - all righteous fury bottled up with only one way out, his every word sharp and heated as a plasma-cutter. "Then why is your grandfather running to Jovian space? What did he find on Luna?"

"The BrayTech foundation is investigating the presence of multi-cellular neolife on Europa," Elisabeth explained - too smoothly, with a hollow smile to boot. "Nothing else. Which SOLSECCENT is surely aware of."

Ogrim didn't even blink. "SOLSECCENT hasn't received a request for authorization."

"BrayTech doesn't recognize the need. We'll contest this in Prague if necessary." Elisabeth crossed her arms. "BrayTech acknowledges the necessity of this summit, but we are incorporating every mandated security measure advised by SOLSECCENT. We are complying with every Earth law applicable. But Europan territory is our explicit property, and thus outside SOLSECCENT's direct jurisdiction."

"Will BrayTech be amenable to a SOLSECCENT inspection?"

"Construction of Eventide has only just begun. It will take some time before we're ready to receive guests."

Guests. As if SOLSECCENT were just another corporate body. The audacity of the Brays never ceased to amaze.

"I see," Ogrim said coldly.

Elisabeth's smile became genuine, relieved. Like she'd won some significant battle. "Then surely we are adjourned?"

"Affirmative," Malahayati whispered-bellowed.

"Thank you, ma'am." Wilhemina's hologram faded. Elisabeth's lingered a moment longer - she looked at each and every person present before her gaze landing upon Ogrim.

"In the event, advertently or no," she said slowly, "that BrayTech develops technology deemed unsafe by SOLSECCENT, all implicated property will of course be surrendered." And with that, she disappeared.

Lennox glanced at Ogrim and wondered. Wondered why he'd lied. Wondered why he hadn't mentioned Pell's probes in orbit around Eris and Dysnomia first, beaming the same signal as Bray's little secret. Wondered why he hadn't questioned after the cause of the Ishtar security breach - Doctor Thorne's unexpected delivery.

Or even the Goblin-construct that had conspicuously disappeared at some point during the whole ordeal.

"Sir?" she asked, confused.

"That is all, captain," the Director ordered quietly. "You won't be needed here any longer. Thank you for your patience."

"But-"

"Dismissed."

Her connection was severed abruptly - and that was it. That was her out. Adria blinked away her sensorium's hallucinogenic effects and found herself back home, sat on the living room couch, the cup of coffee in her hands long since gone cold. She looked at the clock; practically ten on the dot, Earth-time. Vaudren's head rested on her shoulder and little Benni - so small, so delicate, so precious - was cradled between them, snoring quietly. The television was on, playing some old classic chick-flick, but the sound was dialled down low. Vaudren shifted, lifted the remote and muted it altogether.

"Mmm," she hummed. "Y'okay?"

"Yeah, m'fine," Adria murmured. "Just... just a work thing. It's all good. We're good."

"Mmhm." Vaudren sleepily pressed in that little bit closer - and that... that warm fuzzy feeling she called love kept her mind busy for the moment.

But she never stopped wondering.

-to recall anything with any degree of accuracy. Even with her newfound clarity, everything was muffled. Foggy. It was like staring into a broken mirror and attempting to piece together the distorted reflection - and every jagged shard cut her palms for daring to try.

"Alright," she said. Soundwave made a curious sound. "I'm good, I've got it." Hawkmoon picked at her sensor settings and played the script along the side of her HUD.

"Query: Hawkmoon is amenable?"

"It's... it's vanilla at best," Hawkmoon begrudgingly admitted. "Not much there to pick a problem with."

Soundwave tilted his head the other way. "Elaborate: 'vanilla'?"

... Ah. Scrap. "It's... an alien term," Hawkmoon admitted. Only too late she'd realized her mistake - human in thought, Cybertronian in function. It was getting harder to split the two apart the closer to Adria she dug.

"Vanilla," Soundwave repeated, forgetting his own speech in the process. It... sounded wrong on her audioreceptors, hearing him say an English word. Too mechanical, too inhuman. She'd crossed more convincing Fallen.

"At least it's not a full-blown speech," Hawkmoon said, relieved. "So I 'spose I have that going for me."

"Acknowledged."

"I... I think I'm good." She paused. "Thanks," Hawkmoon muttered.

Soundwave dipped his helm before rising up and striding over to the other mecha. Soon enough the news team returned to their prior position and began setting up equipment - a soft hoverlamp above set to just the right shade of white (all the better to match her paintjob, she supposed), a dark-lensed camera, a stool for Off-switch in front of her and a noise suppression field, just to cut away all that ambient racket.

"If you want to stop, just say so," the Praxian told her. Their faceplates were rather blank, but their tone was not unkindly. Their doorwings shifted minutely. Hawkmoon wondered if the kibble was as socially important in Praxus as a Vosian's wings. Certainly looked delicate enough to match. "We'll carry on at whatever pace you deem comfortable," they continued.

"Thanks," Hawkmoon replied, "but... I'd really rather just get this over with - a one and done if we can."

Off-switch cracked a smile before settling in front of her. The camera caught his shoulder and the side of his helm. "If you'd look at me, that would be great," he said gently.

"Not at the camera?"

"No." His plating shifted subtly. "That would be too direct. Viewers want to understand; direct optic-contact carries too much personal involvement. It's… It's a little thing, but important in the long run. We can't risk scaring them off before we've drawn them in."

"Whatever you say," Hawkmoon muttered. "When do we start?"

One of the other Seekers raised her servo and began lowering her digits one by one. "In three... two... one."

There was a short pause and Hawkmoon didn't dare move. It felt... well, it felt like more than just a camera. Like the entire world was watching her already. Tens of thousands of optics pinned to her faceplates, roving over her frame; it was icky.

"Hello. My designation is Off-switch," Off-switch said, drawing her gaze back to him. He smiled encouragingly. "Can you tell us yours?"

"... Hawkmoon," she said stiffly - expecting the whole thing to be cut short, for someone to tell her to lighten up, but it didn't happen. And why would it? she asked herself. Tragedy sells.

"What do you do, Hawkmoon? What's your profession?"

"Energon Seeker. Of Formation Alpha-Omegon."

"Who was your formation leader, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Swiftsear."

"Seeker Swiftsear? He flew during the initial stages of the energon crisis, didn't he?"

"Yes," Hawkmoon said, voice clipped. It seemingly went unnoticed. "I flew with him."

Off-switch's expression grew more morose. "Your formation disappeared shortly after setting off, if I'm not mistaken. Swiftsear's designation was etched into the Seeker Shrine. Yours too."

I know, Hawkmoon thought. I saw.

"Can we tell us your heading?"

Hawkmoon read her line. Across a dozen worlds and countless moons. Through the light of star after star. "We crossed the Brachian Divide," she said quietly. She saw movement in the corner of her vision; some of the others were whispering, but the suppression field rendered them inaudible. Dystrexin was frowning. "We flew for the Cyst Stars."

Off-switch paused only a moment, quickly bouncing back. "That must have been difficult."

"It was dark," Hawkmoon said neutrally. "And empty. We made it to the other side in a couple of decaorns."

"As I understand it, you were absent for nearly four vorns."

"We... weren't in a position to cross back over."

"What happened to your formation, Hawkmoon?" Off-switch inquired - oh so sympathetically, so pityingly. It was infantilizing. Her pride could scarcely stomach it.

"They died," Hawkmoon said thickly - because that was it, wasn't it? They were dead and she was still carrying their deaths on her back. All of them: from Sandstorm to Northwind, all the way to Cyberwarp and Nacelle. Dead, dead, dead. All because some part of her had believed herself at last free of the influence of primordial entities and their divine pawns, because she'd let herself get reckless. Overconfident. First Gecko, now th- No, not even Gecko first, it started so long ago she couldn't even remember everyone else she'd lost! "They died," Hawkmoon said again. And before Off-switch could fire another off-the-script inquiry, she followed it up with a firm: "They were murdered."

His next pause was longer, but she didn't think anyone was going to blame him for it. "Murdered?" Off-switch said lowly. His confusion seemed genuine enough. "By whom? Why?"

"An alien scourge," Hawkmoon bit out. "All because we stepped in to help others in need."

"A-and..." Off-switch stammered. "They all died?"

Hawkmoon nodded. Once. Just a quick sharp motion, because the resurgent anger made her stiff, made energon boil and her engines growl and she didn't want to push her system any farther.

"How did you survive?"

"I-" Shouldn't have, I made a bad wish and something terrible heard, granted it. I lived and because of it a monster almost unleashed a plague on us all. "-was struck down as well. Knocked into stasis-lock." Hawkmoon gathered herself. "The beastformers of Clan Krensha found me. They'd sent a search party after us."

"And not one of your partners survived?" Off-switch asked. "I understand you had a trine-"

Hawkmoon gave him a sharp look. "Yes," she said cuttingly. "I did."

"... I'm sorry." Off-switch vented. Definitely real emotion. "Those beastformers were kind to lend assistance. I doubt Vos can thank them enough for saving one of her wayward daughters."

There it was. The pompous speech, the prettied words. As if the dead cared. As if it made a fucking difference.

"To Wei Ning," Ikharos said grimly, raising a shot glass. The whole saloon must have been watching. Waiting. Hanging onto every word with bated breath, eager to hear someone from a place of authority (by way of seniority in this case) put the creeping disquiet to rest. "To Eriana-3, Vell Tarlowe, Eris Morn and the rest of those poor fucking fools." He knocked it back. Lennox-2 mirrored the motion. The whiskey - their favourite kind, smuggled in from the Reef - burned the whole way down.

It felt cathartic, in a way.

"Poor fucking fools," Lennox echoed.

It was all the words she had to spare. Grief wasn't a charity; it was free-for-all and the only prize worth a damn were the memories made along the way. Memories and nightmares, whichever stuck around longer. She had the latter in spades.

Hawkmoon banished those thoughts from her mind, offlining her optics just to keep herself from glaring. It was her grief to be angry, she knew. Her preferred method of mourning, as was her right. But it wasn't like she had a monopoly on their deaths - and ached though it did, she realized she'd have to come to terms with it. Because it was out there now. That they died and she didn't, and every bastard with a heart was going to try to cushion her with enough sympathies to smother her where she stood.

"What will you do now?" Off-switch questioned. That was supposed be farther down the script. Was he trying to hurry it to a close?

Hawkmoon vented. This was the part she felt the least confident in. Nothing, she wanted to shout, to scream. I'm going to run and find other people to do the fighting and killing for me. "Pick up where Swiftsear left off."

"And what is that?" Off-switch pressed.

Hawkmoon set her jaw. She hoped it looked convincing enough. The merits of being pre-recorded meant she didn't have to worry about her EM field fluctuating - only keeping it close enough that it didn't bother the mech in front of her. "Bringing this world back to order however I can. The energon crisis crippled the economy," she said. The words weren't her own. "I'm a Seeker Elite. It's my job to do something about it, isn't it?"

"Your patriotism is admirable," Off-switch said. Was that real reverence, real respect? Or just for show? "Your service will not go unnoticed, I promise you. Nor even the losses you have endured seeing it through. Cybetron will not forget you."

There was a stretch of silence before the other Seeker femme clapped her servos together with a clang. "And we're done!"

Off-switch vented hard and shook his helm. "That was something," he ruefully admitted, looking at Hawkmoon. "Look, I can't imagine what you've gone through, but I-"

She stood up abruptly, almost jostling Rook loose, and walked past Off-switch without another look. Hawkmoon pushed through the news crew, reached Dystrexin and Soundwave and crossed her arms. "There," she said. "There's your footage."

"You didn't stick to the script," Dystrexin murmured. Her faceplates were unreadable. "The script was safe."

"Wasn't feeling it." Hawkmoon shrugged. "Are we done?"

Soundwave glanced at Dystrexin. "Result: undesirable?"

"The script was safe," Dystrexin repeated. Annoyed, then. She seemed annoyed. "You insisted."

"Soundwave: not displeased. Hawkmoon: chose otherwise."

"I'm right here by the way," Hawkmoon muttered unhappily.

"Good. Then you can sit back down and we'll do it again," Dystrexin ordered. "But this time you stick to the script we gave y-"

"Negative," Soundwave interrupted.

Dystrexin scowled. "Negative? Are you saying this was an improvement?"

"Unknown."

"Then make your calculations!"

"Impossible. Unknown." Soundwave's facescreen flickered. "Parameters: unknown. Simulated public reaction: inconclusive."

"We can't work with that. Contrail won't. Alpha Trion will not accept it."

"Soundwave: begs to differ."

Dystrexin narrowed her optics. "How is this any better than the original script?"

"Result: honest."

"But the script was safe. We need safety." She vented and raised a servo to her faceplates. "What's wrong with the script? What is it lacking?"

"Observation," Soundwave said. There was something about his tone, though. Something changed. "Selected script: too vanilla."

"... 'Vanilla'?" Dystrexin frowned. "What does that even mean?"

"He means it was boring," Hawkmoon groaned. "It was way too clean. Couldn't have been more doctored if you tried."

"Soundwave created that script."

"And now he's letting me run with my own. You should too." Hawkmoon tightened her expression. "Because I'm not your puppet. I won't be. You might think you've got me all tied up, but believe you me I can cut these strings any time I want."

Dystrexin shot her an irritated look. "You are obstinate," she grumbled.

"Guilty as charged."

"... Fine. Fine!" Dystrexin threw her arms into the air. "We'll work with it. Camarador and I will put it through editing."

"Yes ma'am," the wingless grounder chirped. "I think-"

"I'm not asking you for your opinion," Dystrexin snapped. "Just do your damn job." She grimaced and looked back at Hawkmoon. "You can leave. It might be best you do."

"Thank frag," Hawkmoon grunted. She all but fled from the chamber without a single glance behind her.

The garden-courtyard was quiet and empty in the sweltering heat of midday, but that was exactly what Hawkmoon was looking for. She marched into the middle of it all, the strange crystalline flora and the artificially pumped pond... and there it was that she promptly, voluntarily collapsed. Rook ejected from her shoulder with a cry, but soon saw that she was fine, she was alright, she was sprawled across the ground and happy for it. Hawkmoon stared up at the sun above, polarizing her optics, and she saw the flicker of ships coming and going in and out of the edges of Cybertron's outer atmosphere. Transport ships, probably. Maybe they were ferrying in energon. Had to be an intense business, dragging in all that essential fuel. Certainly looked like it was bustling up there.

"D'you reckon we'll have to deal with more of that?" Hawkmoon quietly asked. Rook crooned a wordless reply. "Because I'm not a television personality, I'll tell you that much. It's like... It's like cutting out a part of you, a part of your time, your life and selling it for the novelty of being a different person, a bigger person."

Rook chirped.

"Yeah, that's what I mean. It's invasive. Making an exhibition of myself they can paw at any time they want." Hawkmoon curled her lip. "Everything I've done since the Tai has been to make sure I never become anyone's plaything again. This just makes a hypocrite of me, doesn't it?"

Rook tapped her arm with the tip of his beak.

"Look, I'm going to be honest, you're a terrible conversationalist."

He squawked indignantly.

"Oh sure you're great at listening, but I can't understand you one bit." Hawkmoon reached across herself, closed a servo around him and held him up above her. He cawed his complaints but when she began to gently dig her thumbs in over his underbelly, scratching at the plating there, Rook all but melted in her grasp. "'Cept for this," Hawkmoon said, bemused. "Everyone wants someone else to care for them. You're just no different."

He didn't hear her or was otherwise ignoring her in favour of belly scritches. Which, Hawkmoon readily admitted, wasn't a bad deal. Not like she was making sense anyways.

"You mollycoddle that beast but not me?" Augur said with pout - in so far as a fox could pout. He manifested beside her, stalking out from shadow and nothingness. It hardly phased her. "After all I've done for you..."

"Yeah but you're not cute," Hawkmoon said, whispering in low Taishibethi. Let Rook think whatever he wanted, if he heard her at all. "You're just an asshole. What's up?"

Augur dropped the facade of caring and sat down next to her helm, resting the end of his snout on her pauldron. She hardly felt him. "He's watching you."

"Who?"

"Soundwave."

Hawkmoon shrugged, masking the motion as a stretch. "Yeah, I figured. He's got that sort of vibe about him. Anything concerning?"

"Only that the Drezhari drone has passed through," Augur said casually. "The very same as that which we spied during our escape from the Palace."

Hawkmoon froze. Rook began to complain, so she forced herself to resume. "Elaborate."

"It came by while you were in your interview. It didn't break the boundary between realms, and I doubt it has the means to do so, but I believe it sensed your presence all the same."

"What are you thinking?"

Augur didn't answer immediately. He changed his position, laying down on his side with his back to her pauldron "That that which we encountered aboard that filthy station," he said slowly, "has not forgotten us. Nor did I expect it to. It likely knows you have returned to Cybertron."

"What can we do?"

"We? Nothing." Augur paused. "I might stalk this drone; it does not appear overly capable a fighter. My power may be enough to dismantle it."

"Then that angel thing'll definitely know something's amiss."

"Alas, that is a risk we will have to take." Augur lifted his head and looked at her. "Do you think we are safe here?"

Hawkmoon shrugged again.

"Do you think you are safe? Physically?"

"Not a chance." Hawkmoon vented slowly. "But let's not go down that route either."

"What route?"

"The kind where we prioritize my safety over yours."

"Your survival is paramount," Augur said fiercely. "It is essential."

"So is yours," Hawkmoon fired back.

"To whom?"

"To me."

Augur didn't reply. Hawkmoon imagined he was stunned by her response. She hoped that was all it was.

"My life is lived," Augur said after a time. He sounded serious. More than serious; his voice radiated solemnity to her audioreceptors. "I've had my fill of its pleasures. There is no personal matter left for me to accomplish. I have been companion and advisor to noble kings and clever queens, leviathans of fathomless depths and emperors of the stars above. My visions swayed the fates of entire civilizations. I have seen the beauty in newborn life and I have witnessed the horror of its stillbirth by natural error or cosmic corruption." He grew quieter. "I took a mate, I sired kits, I lost them all-"

"So did I," Hawkmoon grimly retorted. "Well not kits, but a kid all the same. He was mine. I remember that much. It just about killed me to lose him too. But look, I'm still here. I'm still... hell, maybe I'm not still breathing, but I'm still living."

"Because you haven't exhausted your urges to live."

"Urges? I mean... Look, a freaky little half-dead spirit like you can probably be forgiven for not-"

"Don't mock me," Augur said sharply. "This is no joke."

"Wish it was," Hawkmoon murmured. "Because I don't like this awkwardness."

"No. That is not it. You don't like emotions. You don't like feeling them. You don't like expressing them." Augur paused. "And hearing the same from others embarrasses you. This is your pride."

"That's not-"

"This is your pride and it is your greatest flaw. Your grandest vice."

"Pride's..."

"The only thing we have left to us, I understand," Augur said softly. "But don't let it turn you as cold and lifeless as the steel you wear."

Hawkmoon offlined her optics. At some point she realized she'd stopped in her efforts to coddle Rook, but when she looked up she found him just... staring back down at her. "You okay buddy?" she asked.

He chirped something. She lowered him down onto her chest and let go, but he remained where he was, taking roost atop her. Rook opened his beak in a yawn and she spied the glint of sharpened denta in the back of his jaws. His optics flickered and he seemed as if about to doze off.

"Yeah," Hawkmoon murmured to herself. "Same."

AN: Hugest thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!