The landing wasn't nearly as painful as the last one, Silverstorm reflected as he struggled to his feet and picked some loose wires from his wings. Slingshot was still laughing as the Aerialbots landed, their faces amused.
"Not the worst," Silverstorm said, stepping over the remains of the metal outcropping.
Slingshot sucked in a breath and managed to stop laughing as Silverbolt gave him a look. "You're doing very well, Prime," he praised.
"Thanks." He stretched and tried to reach some stubborn wires along his wings.
"Here," Fireflight said, stepping forward and brushing away the last bits of wire that were stuck in his armor. The gentle touch sent a wave of warmth through Silverstorm, and he relaxed.
"Thanks, Flight," Silverstorm sighed.
Fireflight smiled. He was always so present during their flying lessons, and Silverstorm loved that. He was getting closer with all of the Aerialbots, and their sessions were the highlight of his days. He spent several hours with them every single wake cycle, practicing all manner of flying. It was especially fun now that he had most of the basics down. The only basic he was still having trouble with was landing. Up until that point, they had all been either rough landings with a skip and a bounce, crash landings where he'd go offline from the force of hitting whatever was unlucky enough to be in his flight path, and anything and everything in between.
Slingshot was still quite amused as he kicked at the remains of the building. "You'll get it," he said with another chuckle. "I had trouble with landing, too."
For Slingshot to admit to a weakness, past or present, was genuinely surprising, and it touched Silverstorm to know how close he was with the insecure, loud-mouthed flier.
"Well, I think this is the perfect time to end our lesson for today," Silverbolt said with a smile. "You can definitely turn faster than before, and your attempt at landing didn't land you back in the medbay."
"Success," Silverstorm agreed.
The Aerialbots turned to leave, and Silverstorm moved to follow, but he paused when he saw Fireflight standing very stiff, his back toward them. Silverstorm strolled over to see what the flighty flier was looking at and he paused. There was some kind of mark in the sky, a Cybertronian glyph for sure but one he couldn't decipher. It looked like the sky was bleeding green, and judging from the look on Fireflight's face, it wasn't good. His optics were white and he was trembling from head to foot, his intakes coming quick and fast.
"Um… Bolt?" Silverstorm asked slowly.
"Yeah?" Silverbolt asked, turning to look at him.
"What in the name of the starry hosts is that? And why does it scare Fireflight?"
At once, the Aerialbots spun and were by his side faster than Blurr could have gotten there. All of their optics turned white at the glyph, and Slingshot let out a noise of horror, his wings hitched high. Skydive lost all of his composure, and he moaned low in his throat and stepped back, his expression a mask of pain. Air Raid collapsed into a seated position and began to rock back and forth, a steady stream of what Silverstorm recognized as a lullaby coming from his vocalizer. Silverbolt stood rigidly, his wings beginning to shake from his locked shoulder joints. Silverstorm looked at the fliers then turned to the glyph again. He knew. He knew that it had something to do with Shockwave.
"Let's go," Silverstorm said tersely. Nobody moved. Silverstorm grasped Silverbolt's shoulders and shook him. "Bolt! We need to leave now! Do you want him to catch us here?"
As if coming back from another time and place, Silverbolt focused on the Prime. He looked around at his teammates then shook himself.
"You're right," he muttered then raised his voice. "Let's go. We don't want to be here."
He went to each of his fliers in turn, pulling them up and after him. Silverstorm took Fireflight's hand and tugged gently while Silverbolt was murmuring to Air Raid. Fireflight looked at him, so serious and scared that it hurt his spark.
"I want to leave. Now, please," he said softly.
"Then come on," Silverstorm said and pulled him forward.
They hurried through the wreckage, and Silverstorm tapped his comm. link, dialing Mirage's frequency.
"Yeah, Prime?" Mirage said cheerfully.
"Listen to me very carefully," Silverstorm said, watching the fliers flee away from the bleeding glyph. "I want everybody to get their weapons and keep them on you at all times. We might have trouble."
"Yes, sir," Mirage said and disconnected.
A shuffling creak startled Silverstorm and he saw a mech crawl over a ruined building. He stiffened and tapped a rapid command on his audial. Just seconds after that, a heavy static filled his audial and he knew at once communication was cut off. He just hoped that Mirage got it or that Primus was aware of what was going on. The mech laughed and the Aerialbots slid to a stop and grouped together as more mechs climbed up. There were six of them.
"Silverbolt," one of the mechs said quietly. "Nice to see you again."
"Scrapper," Silverbolt said tightly. "Can't say the same. If you'll excuse us."
"Now, now, where's the rush?" Scrapper asked, his red optics gleaming. "We should chat. You've been missing for a long, long time, after all."
Silverbolt said nothing, but all the Aerialbots had white optics, and they all looked sick with fear. Scrapper hopped to the ground and swaggered forward. The fliers couldn't seem to move. Silverstorm strode forward to stand in front of his younglings, spark pulsating quickly. He was afraid, but he was also angry. How dare these mechs scare his younglings?
Scrapper actually paused and scanned the youngling up and down with distaste.
"And you are?"
"Silverstorm," he replied coldly. "And I think you need to back off."
Scrapper laughed and the other five mechs jumped down, smirking and flexing their fingers, hoping for a fight.
Silverbolt reached forward and clasped Silverstorm's shoulder. "Don't," he warned hoarsely, leaning close. "Please don't."
He sounded terrified, and Scrapper laughed. "Listen to the coward, Silverstorm. You'd be a fool to fight us. We're so much more than you think."
"That's not that impressive, seeing as how at the moment I don't think much about you," Silverstorm retorted.
Scrapper frowned. "That's not very nice."
"Neither are you."
"What do we have here, Scrapper?" a cold, even voice asked.
As soon as Fireflight made an odd, strangled sound, Silverstorm knew who spoke. He turned slowly to see a small mech standing there, one bright, startlingly red optic set in a scarred face. His armor was almost lavender, a strange choice to Silverstorm, but then again he'd never chosen his own paint job before. He stood relaxed and unsmiling, his red optic boring into Silverstorm with great interest.
"Found the escapees, boss," Scrapper said, an oily politeness coating his tone. "And this… youngling."
"I see. A very interesting youngling, too, considering he bears the mark of a Prime. I was unaware another was chosen. Tell me, Prime, when were you chosen?"
"Almost a year ago," Silverstorm said tightly.
"Hm. You're pretty young."
"Yeah. So?"
"It would be a fine thing to add a Prime to my newest batch of volunteers."
Silverbolt laughed, a strangled, high-pitched noise. "Oh, they're volunteering now, are they?"
"Well, considering it was volunteer or die, I'd say yes."
"Not much of a choice," Silverbolt spat.
"Watch your tone, Bolt," Shockwave said coolly. "Don't make me punish you."
Silverbolt didn't speak again, and Silverstorm could feel him trembling behind him. Silverstorm crossed his arms.
"You aren't going to touch them, Shockwave," he snapped.
"And you're going to stop me?" A hint of amusement came into the nearly emotionless tone. "You, a youngling Prime, with nobody else around to help you."
"We're here," Fireflight replied, and Silverstorm glanced at him to see sharp, clear awareness in the flighty flier's optics. He stared coldly at Shockwave, his expression angry but not afraid. This seemed to startle Shockwave even more. He studied Fireflight with undisguised curiosity then turned back to Silverstorm.
"You intrigue me, Prime," he said. "Now, for your choice. Volunteer or die."
"Neither!" Sunstreaker's strong, angry voice cut through the air, and Scrapper and his pals turned to scowl at the group of younglings who stood, poised and ready, not even ten yards away.
Shockwave narrowed his optic and waved his hand dismissively.
"I'm not interested in more younglings at the moment. Scrapper, kill them."
"With pleasure," Scrapper snarled.
The six mechs moved toward the younglings, and immediately, weapons were drawn. The form of the weapons seemed to confuse Scrapper, who frowned at the younglings then looked back at Shockwave for instructions. Shockwave, for his part, only looked mildly interested.
"External weapons. Rudimentary but necessary with so few upgrades available," he said. "Pay them no mind." He tweaked his audial and Silverstorm knew he was sending for more mechs. He had to act now.
"What kind of experiments?" he asked, his mind racing.
"The kind that will make history," Shockwave said, an innocent smile on his face. "Isn't that right, Aerialbots?"
"Frag off," Fireflight said.
"Tut, tut. So volatile, Flight. Is that how you treat me? After all I've done for you?"
"For us?" Fireflight asked coldly. "Or to us?"
"I told you there were stipulations to taking you out of the street at the start of the war. I could have let you die in the bombings, but I didn't. And here you five are, still alive and thriving. Think of what we could do together. We'll be unstoppable."
"We want nothing to do with you," Fireflight said, pushing past Silverbolt to stand beside Silverstorm.
Silverstorm had never seen Fireflight so present, and he'd never even imagined him angry. This was an intense side of Fireflight never before come to light. And Silverbolt was silent and trembling along with the rest of the Aerialbots. Was this how it was when they were alone?
"Fireflight," Shockwave said, his voice smooth and silky. "You're being a bad youngling again."
Fireflight's wings trembled, but he stood tall and glared at Shockwave. "You've taken away half of my sanity already, Shockwave. I'm willing to lose it all just to kill you. After all you've done to us, and all the others, it would be worth it."
Shockwave turned as roaring engines came to him. Ten mechs transformed, weapons at the ready, their red optics scanning the younglings with mild curiosity and major distaste.
"What're the orders, boss?" one asked gruffly.
"Kill the younglings. Bring the Prime and the Aerialbots to my lab."
He turned to walk away, and Fireflight bellowed and lunged forward. Shockwave spun and cracked Fireflight so hard across the face that his optical glass shattered. The pleased smile that curled his facial plates was suddenly replaced with a gaping mouth as a shriek of pain, loud and long, burst from his vocalizer as Silverstorm wrapped a bolt of energy around his upraised hand and sent a wave of power to fill his systems. Shockwave hit the ground, dazed and genuinely startled. He gaped at Silverstorm, and none of the Decepticons moved, just as shocked and a bit stunned that one youngling had floored their boss. Then Shockwave's expression turned hellish.
"Constructicons! Combine!" he roared. "And take out the trash!"
The next moment, Silverstorm turned to see Scrapper and the five mechs with him lunge toward each other. They began to transform, but it wasn't a normal transformation. Silverstorm's spark went cold as he finally recognized the name of Scrapper. Scrapper had been on Earth in the battle in Egypt. He had been with a group of Decepticons who had transformed into a beast big enough to demolish the pyramids. It was with great horror that Silverstorm began to back away from the strange, unnatural transformation taking place in front of him. Finally, he tore one word out of his vocalizer, a high-pitched scream of terror as he tried to warn his younglings.
"Gestalt!"