[The Cyberverse continuity is the primary inspiration, with references made to the 2019 comic reboot and other sources of events, lore and characterisation.]

"Thank you for coming to our aid, Sentinel."

"I appreciate the summons, Alpha Trion. I would have arrived sooner," the towering mech declares with a stern chin and narrowed optics, his array of commemorative medals gleaming like fire across his ample bosom. His heavily armoured, stately frame embodies the masculine ideal of strength and fortitude. "However, I was kept rather busy attending to funerals." He has a booming voice, a commanding presence. "There were quite a few of them."

Orion is about to say something intended to bestow comfort when a raised palm silences his attempt.

"Don't."

Ariel tightens her jaw. Glances at Alpha Trion, who sighs, stroking his beard. They knew this would not be an easy reunion.

"I lost good mechs and femmes back there." Sentinel's sneer reveals perfectly maintained dentas. "Your dear old friend brutalised them."

Orion lowers his gaze, contrite. "Sentinel, I–"

"Don't!"

Arial grimaces when Sentinel prods Orion with a digit to the chassis hard enough to transfer paint between them, forcing the gentler, less volatile mech to take a step back, simply to avoid a fight. It almost leaves a dent.

"To the outside looking in, it looks like my elite guard failed at their posts, which would imply that I failed when I had them trained and assigned them to safeguard the Senate! Do you have any idea how this damages my reputation? Don't feed me those platitudes, Orion! This should never have happened! I hold you accountable for what he has done. You, and that idiotic little campaign of yours, filling one another's helms with ridiculous dreams, poisoning the public."

"Ease up, Sentinel. It's not Orion's fault Megatron finally snapped. It was a long time coming. I think we can all recognise that, now."

"Oh, Ariel, your presence here does not evade my notice. There are many things I could say to–" Sentinel, having turned to her with a heavy sigh, only to pause, now leans in a little closer. "Wait." He is squinting at her arm. "Is that a tattoo?"

She follows his optics, gazing down at the shapely casing that envelops the powerful cords of her right bicep. "Oh, yeah." She flexes impressively. "Nice, huh? I lost a bet with the crew."

"…Anyway. As I was saying." He straightens out, looking her in the optics, now. "Funny you should mention what has been a long time coming. Considering you've been away for, oh, how long has it been since you abandoned us all? I suppose this is your long time homecoming, mm."

"Sentinel," Orion chastises, "that is uncalled for."

"Not the time, not the place," adds Ariel, folding her arms over her chassis, in turn only emphasising her tattoo. "Later, alright? I'll let you tear me a new one when this is all over. In the meantime, Cybertron's in trouble, and I'm gonna need everyone onboard to fix this scrap. As a team."

"We're not a team."

"Well, get used to it, 'cause we're gonna have to be."

Sentinel huffs, drawing back proudly. "I hold rank here. I am the one who is qualified, and experienced. I don't need a team. I have my elite guard."

"Ugh. Please, don't make this a whole ego thing."

"You need me. But I don't need you. Remember that! I'll save Cybertron myself, with the combined might of my elite guard. You'll thank me, then."

"Look, Sentinel, I'm a femme of action. I'm in this to win this. And maybe you forgot, but we were all friends, once. Us, and Megatron, too."

"Bah! I never really liked him."

"Well, I did. I'm not leaving him to you. You've got my help, whether you want it or not."

"Fine. You may assist, but you follow my orders."

"Uh, I don't think so. No way you're bossing everybody else around. Not this time, pal. Your Academy days are long gone. We're doing this as equals."

"We are not equals."

Ariel tightens her stance. "Then this isn't gonna work."

"Is there a problem with my command?"

"Old friends." Orion steps forward, clearing his intake. "Let us direct our focus to–"

"I demand an answer."

"Sentinel."

"Ariel. What's the problem? Mm?"

"Your superior attitude is the problem."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Your job makes you mean."

"My job makes me great and powerful. Most femmes appreciate that in a mech."

"Well, okay, but it's why I dumped you those millions of years ago."

Sentinel's chin quivers with emotion.

"You used to be an amazing guy, before all… this consumed you." Ariel indicates his various medals. "I saw a fragload of potential in you from the day we met, and by Primus, I did my best to be supportive of your pride. But you just… let it all get to your helm."

"I was dedicated! It means something, to me!"

"We stopped being compatible, when you started living the ideals that would keep labourers like me down. You got those upgrades, but I stayed the same. It made you mean, Sentinel."

"Was I ever cruel? Did I ever mistreat you?"

"You forgot all about my thoughts and feelings and whatever dreams I might've had. I felt like a pretty accessory to you. But I made you ashamed, too. We all did, eventually. We weren't shiny and new, not like you."

"Say it," he croaks, optic shutters narrowed. "Say what you really mean by all that."

"C'mon. I've said enough. I don't wanna make this any worse than it has to be."

"Say it, Ariel. Please. I need to hear it from you, and… for real. Not what I've imagined you'd say."

"Fine. I'm not sorry I left. There. I said it."

"There it is! Hear that, Orion? She didn't miss us at all!"

"That is not what she said, Sentinel."

Ariel rubs her neck, grimacing softly. "I just had to go. I tried to explain it before I left, but you wouldn't listen."

Sentinel squints down at her.

"It's true. I'm not sorry I left. I'm just sorry I hurt you."

"Is that an apology?"

"It's a lousy one."

"Fine. Any apology might've meant something before. It could've spared me a lot of thinking about you. For my part, I'm sorry you felt like you had to run away from me."

"I didn't run away from you! Primus' ball-bearings! We broke up. But it wasn't your fault I left Cybertron after that."

"So… I didn't make you miserable?"

"No, Sentinel. You didn't."

He nods slowly. "Okay. Thank you."

She flinches.

"I feel marginally better about myself, now."

"Can I give you a hug?"

"Ha! Not a chance."

"We've both gotta get over ourselves for the greater good." Ariel offers Sentinel her servo instead. "Can you at least tolerate me long enough to stop Megatron?"

Sentinel glares at the digits, suspicious. He wants to kiss them.

"Please. Work with me, here. Just think of me as a necessary evil. The means to an end. Okay?"

"I do not approve of your wording," Orion gently interjects. "That is very unkind, Ariel."

"It's acceptable," drawls Sentinel. "Very well, then."

Ariel feels his grip. It is familiarly steadfast.

"For Cybertron."

"For Cybertron."

They shake once.

"Oh, and Ariel."

"Yeah, Sentinel?" She quirks an optic ridge when he brushes his thumb across hers.

"For what it's worth…" He sighs loudly. "Welcome home."

"Thanks." She smiles, tired and old.

He does something that almost looks like a smile, too.

Their servos finally part ways.

"My friends." Orion gazes upon them with familiar, intimate warmth. "Fate finds us together, again. Let us stand united. Henceforth, we should not fight amongst ourselves, for that is not the way forward."

"Still gives speeches like he used to," Ariel murmurs fondly.

Sentinel chuckles at that. "He never stopped. You missed out on some real doozies."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." Orion's smile turns decidedly playful, and then entirely fades. "It is so good to see you again. I only wish the circumstances were happier, and that we were whole, again. Megatron should be here, too."

Ariel promptly pulls Orion into a big, macho hug, with plenty of back slapping and soothing grunting noises buried in his neck, her arms squeezing him tightly enough that his frame creaks.

Sentinel offers Orion a placating little pat on the pauldron.

"Thank you, my friends. I needed that."

"Now that we are all in agreement." Alpha Trion folds his arms behind his back. "We shall form the leadership of our resistance movement, which I tentatively refer to as a High Council. Any objections?"

"Diplomatic ring to it," chimes in Orion, still getting thoroughly hugged.

Sentinel and Ariel murmur their agreement.

"We will have our strength, and wisdom, in numbers," Alpha Trion continues patiently. "Clearly, Megatron is not operating alone, so he already has the advantage. There is the matter of aerial Captain Starscream to contend with."

"Very unpleasant mech."

"Humph. Never met him."

"Be glad for it."

"Which will in turn involve his elite Seekers." Alpha Trion shakes his helm solemnly. "If they were to resume cold construction, the consequences would be dire. We cannot allow that to happen."

"Alright, then." Arial releases Orion, finally, and slams a fist into her own palm, bouncing on her heels. "Team! Let's talk strategy, and keep it short and simple. We're on borrowed time and we've already been at this for way too long."

"Front and centre. I'm going to take the fight to Megatron, personally." Sentinel bangs his own breastplate with a sturdy, heavy clang. "So whatever plan we come up with, I want a go with the old gladiator myself, mech to mech. I'll take him down and humiliate him. That'll demoralise his rebels and end his crusade in one fell swoop."

"That would be suicide," Orion cautions. "You are a strong combatant, Sentinel, and I do not mean to offend you. Yet we all know Megatron is mighty in battle. You would fight with honour, he would fight to win."

"It would be suicide – for him." Sentinel sets his servos on his hips, puffing out his chassis. "I have my honour, but I also have a really big hammer. I got it with my latest promotion. Does he have a really big hammer? I think not."

"He has a rather imposing flail, if you recall."

"I know what he has, Orion! No matter. I'll crush his insurrection, scatter his allies to the wind, and have him strung up publicly before all of Cybertron. He'll be executed for treason."

Ariel throws out an arm, as if to strike the notion aside. "No way is that happening!"

"Sentinel!" Orion is appalled. "We are not barbaric!"

"You know the law! You are a learned mech, yourself. File clerk."

"Archivist," he corrects a little stiffly. "Retired."

"Whatever." Sentinel turns to Ariel, next. "Justice will be done, and we'll do it as it is written down. It's what the Senate would demand of us." A solemn sigh. "May their Sparks rest in peace."

"The Senate's gone," she concurs brusquely, with a remorseful incline of her helm. "But this is our chance to do things differently, Sentinel. To do things better."

Orion feels a surge of affection and gratitude for her resolve, so akin to his own. He finds her servo and squeezes it fondly. "Thank you. This, I hope to do."

"And we will."

"Together."

"Better?" Sentinel echoes, glaring down at their interwoven digits. "How would you know what's better for Cybertron? Orion, you've been compromised by Megatron's lunacy!"

"He is not a lunatic."

"Ariel, you've been gone for far too long to judge our way of life!"

"Looks like nothing much has changed since I left."

"I knew the ways of the Senate! The Senate was not perfect, this much is true, but theirs was a system that worked, it kept order!"

"We are not executing Megatron," Orion repeats firmly. Scarily, even. "I will never consider it. I will never allow it."

Sentinel actually takes a step back. "He destroyed my guys!"

"An abominable action, for which he will answer – severely."

"We're gonna put him away." Ariel folds her arms with a pneumonic hiss. "For a long, long time." But she has her doubts.

"I want him offline, not imprisoned with a life sentence!" Sentinel glares between Orion and Ariel for several moments, then turns away with a snarl. "Alpha Trion, I implore you, make them see sense! That monster needs to suffer termination!"

"You would only make him a martyr," the ancient intones wearily. "So much for a peaceful resolution. This will be a long, long meeting."

And this bold new day is still young.

According to the readings, it is bright and beautiful on Cybertron, out across the surface of the planet. However, its light and warmth do not extend underground. The air is stale down here, still and damp. Bare walls are closing in. The ceiling is sinking. The lights hum their encroaching madness. Tectonic plates of primordial living metal throb below, distant and huge, a dreamless slumber and an endless womb fed by the rivers of mercury, pockets of gas, and crystalline shards of raw, unrefined Energon.

Slipstream feels like crawling out of her own shell to relieve herself of the discomfort of being a flier trapped underground.

"Hey." Flamewar gives the bigger femme a playful prod in the side, with a rather sharp talon. "You okay?"

The Seeker grunts, wincing, optics tiredly gazing at nothing. "I'm just great, thank you." The tone is, for lack of a better descriptor, perfectly articulated for customer service, if one were not fond of customers.

"You're definitely not okay, then." The bike sips her morning ration of Energon. "More bad dreams?"

"No. It's this place."

"Yeah, it's nasty."

"Actually, I mean – well, yes, it is, but I'm a flier. I'm not built for living like this. It's worse for me."

"Hey, I geddit." Flamewar sighs, slouching rudely on the bench. "I miss the open road, wind flowing across my shell. I always drove solo, going my own pace. Owning that open road."

"Didn't you ever get lonely?"

"Nah. I've always been a solitary sort. Great fun at parties, though."

"It sounds lonely, to me."

"Don't you ever fly solo?"

"Seekers are instinctively drawn to trines. We fly in formation."

"Ah. Okay." A sidelong look. "Guys with wheels like me, or treads like Demolishor over there? We may be called grounders, but we're all feeling the pinch, here, Slippy." It is not said harshly. "We don't actually live in, like, burrows underground." A little teasingly, perhaps.

"Oh, I didn't mean to insinuate–" Slipstream stops, struggling with herself, flushed. Starscream has made crude jokes about this very scenario. About how grounders bury themselves in the dirt, where they feel most at home, thus explaining their perpetual imaginary filth. "Um. Sorry. That wasn't what I meant."

"It's okay. You fliers have some funny attitudes about us grounders."

The jet gives the bike a wounded look. "Just because I'm a Seeker, doesn't make me prejudiced like that."

"You know what? You're right. I'm sorry, Slippy." Flamewar picks at her cheek with a claw. "Looks like I need to reassess my own preconceptions about fliers, if I'm gonna go misjudging you like that."

"It goes both ways," intones Demolishor very wisely.

"Oh, we are making such societal strides this morning," Thunderblast purrs with a giggle, inspecting her slender digits, applying a little polish to the tips. "I sympathise, Slipstream, sweetie. I'm built for the open sea. I was the terror of the silver waves, once. Now, I'm stuck surfing storm drains."

"Terror?" the Seeker echoes.

"Mmhm." The boat nods. "I sunk and plundered a few suckers for their cargo, I transported contraband for hefty profit, I had a crew. Made a lotta bank, honestly. And it was exciting."

"Wait." Flamewar gasps. "So, when you told me you used to be a pirate–"

"Smuggler, sweetie. I do not like the term 'pirate' – it's tacky."

"Yeah, but, like, you weren't messing with me? All the stories you told me out on the mercury, they're true? That stuff actually happened?"

"Barely any embellishment at all. What, didn't you believe me? Shame on you, imagining that I would lie."

"Whoa." The bike slouches with an eager rev of her engine, throaty. "You just got upgraded in my mind from being kinda cool, to actual certified badaft material!"

"Ahh. I was crazy, back then." The boat hums, adding a little extra polish to the digit she uses as a stylus when browsing her social media. "What I didn't tell you, is that I used to be in search and rescue, the oceanic division, before I dived into a life of crime."

"No way."

"It's true. I was real heroic, a good girl. But then I met a really bad girl. And she made me bad, too."

"A pirate?! You fell in love with a pirate?!"

"Smuggler!" Thunderblast gives Flamewar a look. "What is it with you and the whole pirate thing, anyway? It's endearing, but weird. Like, maybe you're actually a little fixated on it."

"I wanna be a pirate! But, out in space." A clawed servo sweeps the air, as if to illustrate a picture. "With my own shuttle, my own crew, with energy swords and everything."

Slipstream turns to Demolishor in utter disbelief.

"It sounds quite adventurous," he offers kindly, because he is a really nice mech most of the time.

"Hey!" Flamewar leans over the table, optics bright, wide. "Can you do the pirate voice, and the accent? Please?"

Thunderblast purses her plump, glossy lips. "No."

"Aaaaw!"

"I'd like to hear more about your, um, smuggler ex-girlfriend," Slipstream speaks up shyly, to which Flamewar nods with great enthusiasm.

"Ohh, her optics were intense, farseeing. The rack on her! Her thighs were so thick, too. She even had a hook for her left servo, which was pretty neat."

"Like a pirate!"

"I know someone with a hook for a servo."

"Is he a pirate?"

"No."

"Bummer."

"Anyway, one look at her, and I was a goner. I dropped my old search and rescue team and threw myself into her arms. Literally."

"Wow."

"I worked my way up the ranks, became her second in command, after a million years or so."

"That's kind of… romantic, really," Slipstream mumbles. "Even if you did offline people and take their stuff."

"It was very romantic." Thunderblast smiles prettily, sighing. "She was the best frag I've ever had. The things she did with that hook, girl, you would not believe!"

"Like a kinky pirate!"

"I'll say."

"What a life I've lived. No regrets!"

"And is she dead?" asks Shadow Striker suddenly. "I get the feeling this story has a sad ending, since you're here now, stuck with us."

"She died." Thunderblast sighs, laying a palm to her chassis. "I ran the crew for a while, but… my Spark just wasn't in it. I lost interest."

Flamewar looks utterly dejected at the notion.

"And since I was a wanted criminal," Thunderblast continues evenly, "I couldn't go back to my old life. I found my salvation the moment the right mech came along. He was an admiral with connections in the right places. Got my crimes officially pardoned and started a new life with him."

"Is he dead, too?"

"He totally is! How'd you guess?"

Shadow Striker gives Thunderblast a probing look, saying nothing.

Demolishor and Slipstream exchange glances of their own.

"And now, here I am." Unbothered, Thunderblast blows air on her digits, coaxing the polish to dry. "The rest, as they say, is history."

"I'm surprised you kept your alt-mode," Slipstream speaks up, as politely as such a thing can be said. "It's so… distinct, and specific."

"Niche, you mean. It can be inconvenient inland, true. But I like being a boat. We're pretty rare, and just pretty in general. Can't fit curves like these on just any frame, you know. Not to frame-shame, of course."

Flamewar suddenly drags her claws over the table with a metallic scrape, splaying the unusually sharp digits out before Thunderblast, who quirks an optic ridge in response. "Hey, do me, next."

The boat obligingly scoops up the bike's smaller, sharper servos, applying polish to the bladed tips of her digits, making them shine.

"Is that actually happening?" Shadow Striker intones, briefly contemplating her canteen, as if Shockwave may have spiked its contents with hallucinogenic agents.

Slipstream watches this absurd event unfold from up close. "Yes, Sir."

"She's making me pretty," Flamewar chirps happily.

"So pretty," Thunderblast intones with fondness. "Wanna go next, Slipstream?"

"Um. No, thank you."

"Can I have some, too? My servos are a mess."

"Of course you can, Demolishor. If I've got enough polish for that."

Shadow Striker is fascinated by these fools she is in charge of. "Frag me sideways, I'm too old for this scrap. You're all so weird."

"Aaand done! It's just one coat. You probably should get, like, three, minimum. But it's nice, huh?"

"Like an ambush predator," murmurs Flamewar, admiring her gleaming claws, the wicked points sinfully sharp, shiny and refreshed. "Ready to pounce and rip somebody's face right off."

"No, you've done enough damage to your servos already." Thunderblast wags a shiny digit disapprovingly, then flicks the smaller femme affectionately over the forehelm. "Get yourself a knife like normal people do."

"Sir, tell me I look pretty."

"You look pretty."

"Like you mean it, Sir!"

"I second the knife suggestion," is Shadow Striker's compromise. Meaningfully said.

Flamewar giggle-snorts, delighted by her claws. "Ooh, look at me." She licks a fang, a rather seductive gesture, and passes her servos to Slipstream. "I'm fabulous. See?"

The Seeker awkwardly accepts the bike's servos, cradling the considerably smaller digits in her own, inspecting them. "Oh, that does look nice."

Shadow Striker squints at Demolishor, getting his tubes polished courtesy of Thunderblast.

"Heh-heh-heh. It's kinda ticklish."

"Gonna make you so pretty."

"Okay! I'd like that."

"You should give this a go, Sir," Flamewar says, quite happy to have Slipstream hold her servos, because she does not know what else to do with them.

Shadow Striker looks quite unimpressed.

Flamewar flashes her fangs. "We're bonding, Sir!"

"Uh-huh."

"I feel so close to you guys, right now. Especially you, Slippy."

"Uh."

"Gal pals," Thunderblast intones agreeably, busy with her polish, applying it to the massive servo laid out on the table before her. "And Demolishor's here, too."

"Yup!"

"We're such a team, now."

Shadow Striker curls her lip with utter disdain. "Okay, I'm done." She downs her Energon and disposes of the canteen, sauntering past them. She never sits at their bench. "I'll be in my office. Don't bother me."

"Aw, Sir, come back! We're just about to talk about guys we like!"

"Oooh! Let's talk about Starscream and Megatron."

"I would rather blow my own mainframe out."

"You're no fun, Sir!"

Shadow Striker pauses at the door, directing a backwards scowl, scope whirring. "Excuse you, I am tons of fun."

"Slippy, tell her she's boring."

"Actually, she's an incredible dancer."

"What? Really?"

"Yes," Slipstream intones, flushed, playing with Flamewar's claws. "Really."

"You guys danced together, huh?" Thunderblast has a dirty thought. It shows on her gorgeous facial rigging.

"Um, no, I don't dance. I just watched her."

"Ooooh. Did she dance for you?"

"Not on her lap, for frag's sake." Shadow Striker barks with a laugh, and finally disappears. "Get your afts to work." Her voice echoes in the dim. "You know the roster."

"Yes, Sir," they chorus after her, in their varying tones.

"Flamewar, you've got really nice servos. Unusual."

"Thank you, Slippy. They're modified for my bowstring. I give a mean back scratch, too, if you've ever got an itch."

"I'll be sure to remember that."

"Don't do it, sweetie. She'll ruin your paint."

"Thunderblast, I apologised."

"I didn't say I'd forgiven you."

A fully formed, inert Seeker emerges gleaming from the decompressing mould.

"Ohh, by the Thirteen," Starscream murmurs, optics wide with wonder. "Look at her. She's… perfect."

Visual inspection indicates she is perfectly standard.

Yet he almost swoons, catching himself on Megatron's arm.

A rugged smile. "It is as I promised you, Star."

"My Spark is… resonating with hers. It is singing."

Acid Storm, normally very placid, has acquired an unusual tremble throughout their frame. They feel it, too. Something awesome. Awful.

"Power levels sufficient," drones Shockwave. "Cutting Energon flow. Initiating startup sequence."

There is a shudder, an untempered sensory network among the first of her functions to come online. The Seeker femme gasps, thus jerking awake. Her optics pry open, flickering.

Acid Storm leans on something solid for support, staring with some disbelief at the life they helped create.

"It's really happening!" Starscream laughs once, squeezing Megatron's servo. "A fresh face to call my own!"

"This is just the beginning. What shall you name her?"

The scrolling of text prompts fills a portion of the freshly forged Seeker's internalised HUD, thus she is largely blind, for the moment. She tests some movement, discerns that her limbs are restrained by the maternal guts of cables where Energon used to flow via the insulated connectors scattered throughout her frame. She is sagging in place, held awkwardly upright like a prisoner in shackles.

"How about…"

The brain module is filled with names and faces and places and combat parameters long dormant. Imparted information, none of it original. None of it hers.

"Skywarp."

Even her own designation has been imparted upon her. She knows all she needs to know, except this one thing, which she will learn to accept in time.

"Can I approach her, now?" Starscream is mindful enough to ask of Shockwave, despite being giddy with excitement. "It is, um, safe to do so?"

"Affirmative. You may proceed."

The Captain beams brightly as he swaggers on over to where his new Seeker yet dangles in place, blinking against the harsh lighting. "Hello, my darling Skywarp."

She fixes her bright optics upon him. Reacts to his approach with a tilt of her helm, avian and adorable.

"Skywarp, that's who you are. Yes. Hi!" He settles before her with his servos held invitingly out, reaching for her cheeks, caressing her face plate very gently with his thumbs as he cradles her helm betwixt his palms. "Do you like it? It's the name I've chosen for you."

After a moment to reflect on her given designation, she nods into his servos, apparently satisfied.

"Excellent. I think it suits your colours. What a flattering composition! You're rather pretty, my dear. We will look good together."

She pauses to gaze down at herself. Ponders her own appearance. Nods again.

"Do you recognise me, darling?"

She frowns, taking in his unusual appearance. She understands that he has had his frame rebuilt, because that is what the updated data transfer has led her to know, thus explaining why he looks so strange.

"Oh, my love, do I look a little different? Is that confusing?"

She nods.

"Evidently not the talkative type. Well! No matter. I am Captain Starscream, of course. You answer to me, now. If my appearance confuses you, that is quite alright, my dear. Your leader must stand out, you see. I'm distinct for good reason."

She just stares at him, now. It is actually quite unsettling.

"Um…" Starscream turns back to Shockwave and Acid Storm. "She can talk, can't she?"

"There were no abnormalities detected during the forging process to indicate that she is defective." Shockwave frowns at his terminal. "Speak, Seeker."

Skywarp says nothing.

Acid Storm cringes when Shockwave makes a low sound.

"Disappointing."

"Sir, may I inspect her? Perhaps I might be able to determine the cause."

"Affirmative."

"Allow me." Megatron steps forth.

Skywarp looks up at him.

"Can you talk?" he asks her.

She nods.

"I see. Yet you choose silence."

She nods again.

"Well, there's your answer, then." He seems quite amused by this. "You Seekers are just full of character quirks by your very nature, it would seem."

"Indeed, I must believe it so. Ah, well. As I said. No matter." Starscream strokes Skywarp's helm, eliciting a little purr. "You're the start of a whole new era for our kin, you know. Come, let us disconnect you from these feeding tubes and set you on your first steps. Welcome to the world, my love."

Strongarm sits at Prowl's berthside, holding his servo. She comes to see him in his medbay at least once per day, when she can find the time. Recent unrest has kept her busy.

He is still in deep stasis, recovering from his wounds. His bosom has been painstakingly reconstructed.

She sighs, squeezing his digits.

"In these tumultuous times," Sky-Byte intones solemnly at the bar, stood with a microphone in his servo and a tall drink propped up beside him, poised dramatically before his groaning audience, "I would like to lift your Sparks with a special selection of poems I've prepared for this evening. Ahem. I shall now begin."

"Aw, yeah! Poetry," Clobber declares with a delighted clap of her pincers, smiling over at Lockdown. "Thunder would love this." And then her smile is suddenly gone. "Oh. But he's not here." And she looks so very unhappy.

"I hope the Seekers are okay," says Lockdown, his handsomely ghastly face rendered soft with concern. "Especially now Starscream's in the news."

"Ohh, yeah. That guy's in a lotta trouble, huh."

"I think so."

Dead End slowly shakes his helm. Being the smart one can be a burden.

I've based this iteration of Sentinel on a variety of sources, with my own peculiarities thrown in (such as an imagined redesign that does not stray far from the most popular source). As for Skywarp, she is a femme in Cyberverse who appears for, like, five minutes, with no speaking lines (or pranks) at all! You may not have even realised she was there. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!