After the pain-inducing procedure of pressure cleaning Primus's tubing, the younglings went back to their cleaning activities. They had the entire house that they lived in sparkling clean, inside and out. They were so pleased by the look of the building, but the cleanliness of their dwelling made the streets and adjoining buildings look dingy and terrible. So now they were sweeping and polishing the street. Afterward, they would begin on the other houses around their own home.

The younglings were intrigued by Silverstorm's idea that they could spread out and live in different buildings instead of all crowded into one room in a mansion. They had been together for so long, pressed and squeezed into a small space with no privacy, no room to really breathe, and it was a novel thought for them to have their own space, their own belongings and place to call home. For now, with the other buildings lying forgotten and dangerously falling apart, it wasn't feasible for them to move out. But they had made some progress.

Mirage and Silverstorm remained in the original berthroom, which was much more spacious than before with only two younglings inside. They had set their berths apart from each other, with side tables that Silverstorm had repaired, and Mirage had cleaned them until they were reflected any light. With electrical knowledge that he had gained on Earth, Silverstorm figured out the lighting system for the building and traced the wiring to find the faulty, broken wires. He had repaired them, charged the system, and that was it. The light in every room was bright and clear, with no flickering or bursts of power. With few possessions, the room was bare, but the Prime and Mirage both knew it wouldn't be like that forever. Mirage had already found several old novels about Primus's adventures from the temple, and Silverstorm had mounted a shelf for him to hold them.

The other berths had been moved to four different rooms, two in each, and the younglings got to pick their roommate. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker naturally stayed together in a downstairs berthroom with large windows looking out into the back, which had once contained a statue garden (since plants couldn't be grown on Cybertron, there had been other methods used to decorate backyards). Sunstreaker was drawn to the garden, and he would often slip outside through the door in the berthroom to sit outside and look at the ruins of the statues that surrounded him. Sideswipe, meanwhile, was more interested in the musical instruments they had found in the closet. He would pluck at the strings and listen to the pure reverberations, recalling the music their protector would sing to them when they were young.

Hound and Seaspray decided that they would room together, and they were getting along splendidly. Seaspray was such a happy youngling, and he rarely got cross or angry. Without consulting Silverstorm, they had agreed on several rules about their room, which was located upstairs across the hall from the Prime and Mirage. Silverstorm had mounted a few shelves in their room for their personal belongings. Hound had several small meteorites that he had found and wanted to study set out across two of them. Seaspray used the other two to hold some old toys he'd gotten from his protector before he had been murdered by the Decepticons. They were worn and well-loved, and Seaspray treasured them dearly.

Below them, in a downstairs room, Beachcomber and Red Alert were bunking together. The reason that they were roommates was simple enough; mellow Beachcomber was the only youngling patient and kind enough to deal with Red Alert and his attitude. Red Alert had mounted the shelves in their room, and his shelves were covered in tools and scientific equipment. Everything was organized carefully within narrow specifications that Red Alert set, and nobody was to touch his stuff ever.

Beachcomber, on the other hand, had nothing but a little pet that he kept, a kind of snakelike creature that ate sweet metals, like copper and silver. It was incredibly well-trained, and Beachcomber would often play with it on their floor or on his berth, cooing and laughing as the funny creature slithered around. Red Alert was not fond of the pet, but he was tolerant because he had to be. Nobody else had the desire to room with him, so it was Beachcomber or be alone. And having a room to himself was terrifying, though he wouldn't admit it to anybody, not even himself.

The room on the other side of the stairs on the lower floor belonged to Pipes and Blurr. The decision had been made for them, as they were the only ones left to bunk together. Blurr didn't mind. Pipes was a novice medic, and he had always been kind to the speedster. He always fixed him up whenever he crashed into something, dented himself, or otherwise injured himself by his inability to slow down or be still. Blurr had very little to himself, since he broke almost everything he owned. But he did have one thing. It was a gift that he'd been given by the kind mech who had led him down into the mines back when the war had just started. It was the pieces of a game, one that Blurr had never figured out how to play. Still, sometimes he would pull the pieces apart and study them, in those rare instances when he wasn't running into things. He wished he had paid attention, but he never could focus back then. Or even now, he thought bitterly.

Pipes had requested a desk to be made, and there was a spot cleared for it, but it hadn't been made yet. Pipes's medical equipment was stacked neatly in the corner, awaiting the desk. A single shelf had been mounted above where the desk would be, and it contained a single datapad that he wouldn't share with anybody. It was something personal, and all of the younglings had long ago stopped asking to see it. Sideswipe had stolen it once, but it was encrypted, so there was no way to see the data on it.

Everybody was just settling into their rooms, happy to have so much space. They had never considered how cramped they were in that single room. But they had been together for so long that they had never thought to separate. After years in the tomblike mines that had defined most of their sparklinghoods, they had been frightened by the open air above their heads, the starry skies that stretched endlessly into the unknown. They had grouped together instinctively, afraid to be alone, afraid to be killed. The horror stories that Ultra Magnus had shared with them about naughty sparklings being murdered if they disobeyed still haunted them. Silverstorm was doing his best to dispel the stories, but they had been ingrained for so long in their minds that they didn't quite trust the big wide world yet.

Silverstorm had so many questions about this Ultra Magnus. He wanted to believe the best of him—he was an Autobot after all—but the younglings had a very low opinion of him. From their stories, Silverstorm had gathered that Ultra Magnus was a bully. He had threatened, scolded, and scared obedience into them, and now that they were growing older, they resented him with more heat than even Silverstorm had resented Optimus when he had been Silverstreak.

So the Prime was excited when Mirage came slouching out into the street, anger etched into the lines of his face, and spat out a single sentence.

"Got a message. Magnus is coming in two cycles."

The younglings all groaned in dismay and began complaining. Even Seaspray didn't look happy as he kicked at the ground and muttered.

"Busybody glitch!" he moaned, slapping the Cybertronian mop against the street. Cleanser splashed up his legs, but he didn't notice.

"I can't stand him!" Sunstreaker snarled. He jumped off the ladder and landed with a grunt on the sidewalk, throwing down the brush he'd been using to clean one of the light poles in front of the house. "All he does is complain about how dumb we are!"

"I wish he would just leave us alone," Hound admitted, wringing the cloth in his hands so tightly that the dirty cleanser drenched his chest. He looked down at himself and sighed then went to wash off the filth with fresh cleanser.

"We don't technically need him anymore," Pipes said thoughtfully. He turned to smile up at Silverstorm. "He needed to check on us before. But now we have a Prime. Perhaps you could ask him to not come back, Silverstorm?"

Silverstorm listened to these complaints as he rewired the box that controlled the lights along the street. He snapped the final piece into place, and the lights flashed on, sending a warm glow over the street. Where the younglings had mopped and polished, there was a nice gleam. The scent of cleanser was refreshing, and mixed with the rust and dust that coated the rest of the street and the houses, it gave the strangest impression of clean and dirty at the same time. After looking at the progress, Silverstorm smiled.

"Go on down, Red," he said; Red Alert was fascinated with electronics, and Silverstorm was teaching him how to work with wiring and electricity.

The aspiring scientist methodically studied the box for a moment, noting the placement and twisting mass of wires, then he nodded once and carefully stepped down into the street. He looked up and down, then beamed at how nice everything looked. Silverstorm swung his legs onto the side of the overhanging lamppost that was closest to the ladder. Judging the distance, he dropped down, holding on with his hands as he dangled down, then his feet touched the rungs, and he skittered down.

"Looks good," he said, smiling his approval. The other younglings nodded, but they weren't really looking. They were eagerly waiting to hear that Ultra Magnus would be told to leave and never come back. When Silverstorm delayed in answering, they began to fidget.

"Well?" Mirage finally burst out.

"Well what?" Silverstorm asked, turning to look at them.

They glanced at each other then Pipes spoke again. "Will you tell Magnus that we don't need him anymore?"

Silverstorm thought about this. "Not yet," he said at last.

"Why not?" they all chorused, deflating around the edges.

"I want to talk with him."

"Why?" Mirage demanded.

"I can't believe that Optimus would leave somebody so sparkless in charge of you," he said. "I want to talk with him, find out what's been going on. Find out how many mechs he has to help him with all of you younglings."

"You don't believe us?" Sunstreaker asked, his temper rising.

"I didn't say that," Silverstorm said. He considered how to word his thoughts so that they wouldn't rebel. "I believe that you've all had negative experiences with Magnus. What I want to know is why all of your experiences with him seem to be negative. There has to be a reason behind what he's been doing, how he's been handling you and the others."

Sunstreaker crossed his arms, his temper warring with the reassurance. Everybody else stepped away from him, unwilling to be in the crossfire when he exploded. It was a common enough occurrence that they knew when to duck. But Silverstorm, instead of moving away, stepped closer.

"Sunny? I believe that he's hurt all of you. But did you ever consider that he might be hurting, too?"

The yellow youngling rolled his optics up as he considered this. He was still angry at the insinuation that Ultra Magnus was going to be believed over them. But Silverstorm's calming voice and strong, steady presence broke through the red haze of the impending rage. And Sunstreaker recalled that Silverstorm had stayed and listened to him when everybody else fled. Silverstorm actually cared about him, and he knew that he was really believed. So he took a deep intake and breathed out. The rage cooled considerably, and he uncrossed his arms. As he spoke calmly instead of exploding, all of the other younglings stared at Sunstreaker as if he were somebody new.

"Fine. But I don't think he has a reason. He's a jerk. He's a bully. He thinks he's better than all of us because he's older and wiser and all that slag. Remember that when he starts yelling at you."

Silverstorm placed a hand on Sunstreaker's shoulder, smiling at him. "I'll take that into consideration. As for now, I think the street looks good. We'll take the rest of the day off and have some fun."

"How?" Mirage asked.

"I'm going to teach you a game from my home planet," Silverstorm said.

"What is it?" Sunstreaker asked, intrigued.

Silverstorm grinned, reached over, and tapped Sunstreaker's shoulder. "Tag! You're it!" he sang.

Then he turned and ran away laughing. It took Sunstreaker a moment to realize what had happened. He glanced at the others, then Silverstorm called behind him.

"Don't let him tag you! He's it!"

And then the younglings understood. The rest of them turned and fled, heading down the familiar alleys and houses. Sunstreaker burst out laughing. He was it, was he? Oh, this was fun. He turned and scanned the streets. A flash of green told him that Hound was fleeing behind the house. With a war cry, he shot forward and began to give chase. The younglings' laughter echoed down the streets as they played this new, fun game. What else could their Prime teach them? Whatever it was, it couldn't be as fun as this!