Chapter 54

"Portents and their implications"

The lower city was beautiful. Smoothly paved streets and shining neon displays reminded her of the Last City's foundry sectors, the very epitome of post-Dark Age infrastructure. Vos was busier than Hawkmoon remembered when last she'd cruised by, though the four vorn difference might have changed a thing or too. That kinda worked in her favour - mostly. Gave her a chance to just... blend in at a glance, keep inconspicuous, to stroll along and pretend like she hadn't just escaped the Palace of Vos with her life. That said, it... irked. The presence of so many bustling people, all walking around her and pushing and generally being a bother - oh it was a pain, it was nigh on a scandal. She hated it. Hated the press of so many bodies. Hated the frizzy feeling of EM fields sliding along her own, no matter how tightly she reined it in.

And the looks. Traveler above the looks some of the Seekers gave her as they passed her by, turning their faceplates up at the mere sight of her altered frame. It struck her as ironic, really; what were they doing down on the ground if they held themselves so high? Fragging scrapheads.

"If you're done simmering..." Augur hissed into her audial. Hawkmoon winced and carried on. She quickly looked around to check they weren't being followed before pulling her hood lower over her faceplates.

She didn't belong here. But she did. And didn't. And did and didn't; it was the duality of who she was. Human and machine. Out of place everywhere she went, even if just on the inside. Everything that felt right ran the risks of feeling paradoxically wrong at the same time. And Vos - it was a magnificent city even on the ground, greater in scope than the home she'd called dear, but missing that... that human touch. She loved it if only for the memories it carried, the people she'd last passed through with. At some points Hawkmoon even imagined Cyberwarp or Nacelle pointing something out, commenting on this or that, urging the others to follow as they slipped into another shop, another store, out for yet another energon cube.

She could have done with a cube of high-grade at that moment. Might've taken the sting off.

Hawkmoon set a breakneck pace, as fast as she dared that wouldn't attract undue attention - more than she already had, anyway. Not an especially easy undertaking, with all the alien plate she wore on her sleeves. They passed the parlour where she'd received her first real paintjob and Hawkmoon absentmindedly ran her digits over the silver feathers drawn across her, tracing out the thin scratches here and there. A buff job, that was what she needed. Something to take the edge of rugged frontier off her frame. She didn't dare follow up on the thought, though, for lack of shanix and an aversion towards making a scene.

Further down the street, though, the flow of people diverged from the road leading up to the Exploratory Institution. Hawkmoon looked about, noticed on an overhanging arch a sign in shifting neon colours, and read the Cybertronian glyphs displayed there: Shrine to Lost Sparks, it said. A number of shifting commercial advertisements surrounded it, but the message itself was static.

That was new.

The pair of them didn't hang around. Hawkmoon slipped into the back alleys running along the Institute way, and she passed the hollow frames of rusted mecha hidden amongst the shadows. Some of them stared at her with hungry optics, desperate and severely under-fueled. Some didn't move at all. That was new too; there were wild symbiotes in the scrap piles and the rafters, gliding through the sky above (and causing her no end of paranoia as a result for fear of drones), and even they looked better cared for than some of the people she marched past.

"There is something rotten here," Augur growled lowly.

Hawkmoon didn't reply. Couldn't - though if she had, she would have doubtless agreed. Something had happened. The energon shortage? Was that still a thing?

Even in Vos?

Her EM-field flickered and Hawkmoon looked over her shoulder. A mech had slipped into the alley and was crouching down by one of the downtrodden beggars, speaking in soft, hushed tones. She hurried on.

She ducked back behind a bustling cube-bar as a pair of Enforcers strolled past. They were looking all around, inspecting faceplates, and though they walked with a relaxed gait their frames were taut with tension. At times they stopped a mech here, a femme there and checked credentials - credentials, Hawkmoon noted with a pang of annoyance, she didn't have.

So she stepped into the bar, up to the counter, and took to a stool.

"Hey sweetspark." A Seeker femme rolled up on the other side, wearing a well-practiced smile. She gave Hawkmoon a wary once-over. "What can I getcha?"

"Something light," Hawkmoon told her. "Something small. Just a top-up."

"Alright. Comin' right up." The femme left her be. Hawkmoon vented softly and glanced around. The place was... respectable, she thought. Or maybe not; it was rowdy enough for a Vosian establishment, and roomy if bordering on crowded at the present. Most of the booths were filled up with mecha of all levels - members of the courier guilds, some low-end corporate fliers, even a cluster of off-duty Seeker Elites wearing their Institute badges like war medals. Kids high on the rise of their own bareboned competence. She remembered a couple of occasions where she'd done the same with her trine and Northwind's - dragged them out for a drink. Back when everything was still confusing, still brighter. Back when she'd been under the impression that she was out of the hands of everything that had made home hell - and so eager to fly back into it.

"Wait," Augur whispered, sat up on the counter. He looked past her. "There."

In the back of the bar, taking up a booth all by himself, was a lone mecha. Staring at her. Hawkmoon frowned, returned it with a challenging glare, and he soon glanced away.

"He recognizes you," Augur warned. "We should leave."

"I need a drink," Hawkmoon muttered.

"Forget your drink-"

"Here you are," the femme from before said. Hawkmoon reorientated herself forwards and found a small blue energon cube waiting for her.

"Thank you," she said, meaning it. "What's the toll?"

"Five shanix."

Hawkmoon raised an optical ridge. "And what if I turn up the charm?"

The corners of the barista's lips quirked up. "We'll have to see, won't w-"

"I'll cover it," someone said. A mech sat down beside her. The mech from the booth. Hawkmoon's smile faded and the barista's expression mirrored her own. He was a tall creature, only a little larger than her, but his plating wasn't any bulkier. His paintjob was a deep, dark green and his optics were a pinkish-red. His faceplates were dull grey. He looked... almost familiar to her.

She'd seen him before, Hawkmoon realized. Only - she wasn't immediately certain of when that had been. Or where.

He inclined his helm forward. "Done?"

"Done," the barista said brusquely before moving on down the bar, leaving them be.

For a long moment neither of them said a thing. The mech's digits tapped against the counter - click-click, click-click, click-click. He looked at her, waiting. Augur closed in on him, gave a sniff, and glanced at Hawkmoon with an expression of uncertainty as if to shrug.

"Am I just having an unlucky orn or what?" Hawkmoon grouched in a low voice.

"You think you're more forgettable than you are, is that it?"

"No, no that's not it." Hawkmoon grimaced. "Have you been following me?"

"Not as such." The mech nursed his own cube, already halfway through. "There's a hubbub on certain lines about the Palace in the last joor. And someone like you. Thought I knew which way you'd run. Looks like I was right."

Hawkmoon glanced outside. The Enforcers had stopped just outside and were questioning a trio of Seekers, their optics narrowed.

"Why'd you come back?" the mech quietly asked.

"... How about we call it philanthropy?" Hawkmoon replied. "Or maybe charity? Something selfless; I like the connotations. Makes me sound real nice."

"Our returning hero," the mech said sardonically. "Lucky us."

"You might be whistling a different tune before long." Hawkmoon sighed. "You have questions, yeah?"

"You think so?"

"I know so. You felt it?"

"... Yes," the mech whispered. "Yes, I felt it."

"It was quick."

"I don't care. Tell me how."

Hawkmoon watched the Enforcer move onto a different group, closer. "Here?"

The mech followed her line of sight. "There's a backdoor," he murmured.

Hawkmoon raised her cube to her lips, chugged it down and dropped it back on the counter almost empty. She stood up. The mech followed suit, stepped past, and led the way deeper into the bar - past the storage rooms, past the staff office, right to another code-locked door. He waved a hand over it and it clicked. It bleeped. It didn't budge.

"Scrap," the mech grunted. He tried again. Nothing. He tried a third time. The door chirped and slid open. They stepped through and it closed shut behind them, almost catching Hawkmoon's wings in the process.

The mech stepped out into the alley, turned around and leveled her with a look bordering on hostile. "What happened?"

Hawkmoon leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms. "What do you think? We got caught up in a bad situation. He didn't make it."

"Nacelle-"

"Didn't. Make it."

The mech took a step closer. "Then why can I still feel him?" he hissed.

Hawkmoon's optics widened. "Oh," she said. "Well. Scrap."

"What?"

"You can feel him?"

"Yes."

"How strongly?"

The mech glared. "Not strong enough. What the frag happened?"

Hawkmoon tilted her helm. "Y'know, I never caught your designation. Not once. Nas might've said it once or twice, but never often, and, ah... Well. You know how it is."

"Do I?"

"Maybe not."

There was a pause.

"I know who you are," the mech said bitterly. "Hawkmoon."

"Swear, there isn't a soul about who doesn't anymore. But what about you?"

"I'm not-"

"Oh, wait..." Hawkmoon lifted a digit and wagged it in the air. "I think... yeah. Orchid. You're Orchid."

Orchid glowered. "We're not here to talk about me."

"Guess not. You packing a weapon?"

No answer.

"Sure you are," Hawkmoon said with a stiff nod. "Where does it fit into the equation?"

"It doesn't."

"No?"

"I'm not like that."

"... Guess the apple doesn't... ah, nevermind." Hawkmoon shook her helm. "Nacelle's dead, Orchid. Your brother's dead."

"He's not-"

"Or as good as."

Orchid furrowed his optical ridges. "He's not. I can feel him."

"Orchid-"

"I can feel him. Why... why isn't he with you?"

"Because..." Hawkmoon hesitated and searched her mind for a better way to put it. It wasn't looking good. "Because now he belongs to another. In every way that matters."

Orchid's jaw tightened. "Where's the other one, then?" he demanded. "Your femme."

"Dead."

"What, like Nacelle or-"

"No, not like Nacelle," Hawkmoon snapped. "She's dead-dead and your brother's to blame."

Orchid blinked.

"Yeah. I fragging thought so."

"Nacelle wouldn't-"

"No, he wouldn't, but he did anyways and she's not coming back." Hawkmoon regarded Orchid with a scowl. "The frag do you want?"

"I want-"

"Your brother? He's gone."

"I can feel him," Orchid said again, vocalizer tinged with ragged desperation.

"Then I advise you to cut that thread loose," Hawkmoon sharply told him. She pushed away from the wall and began walking down the alley. "I don't have time for this."

A moment passed. "I could signal the Enforcers," Orchid called after her. "I could bring them here and now."

"And reveal you've been listening in to their comms?" Hawkmoon asked. There was no answer. She harrumphed and muttered, "Yeah. Thought so."

The sound of pedefalls reached her audials and she toyed with the idea of extending her wristblades, but Orchid didn't touch her. Just fell in step beside her.

"Front entrance is being watched," he told her.

Hawkmoon glanced at him. "The Institute?"

Orchid solemnly dipped his helm, optical ridges furrowed low. "What are you looking for?"

"Someone I can trust." Hawkmoon paused. She vented with a groan. "Contrail. Contrail would be a good start."

"The Senator?"

"Who else?" she muttered.

"Why?"

"Because I knew him before everything went to the Pit. Because I know I can trust him. More than anyone else, at least."

Orchid grimaced. "No one else?"

"You have a better idea?"

"We get to my place-"

Hawkmoon snorted. "Not a fraggin' chance. I like your suave, buddy, but that ain't me."

"I wasn't-"

"I know. But it's all the same, right?" Hawkmoon stopped and turned to face him. "Nacelle's gone. I'm telling you that now - he's gone."

"But he's alive," Orchid retorted, growing angry.

"And I bet he wishes he wasn't. Or he would - if he had a will."

"A- what are you talking about?"

Hawkmoon pursed her lips. "Out here? Are you insane? Enforcers'll be sweeping the streets before dark."

Orchid regarded her unhappily. "Somewhere neutral, then. You'll talk there?"

"Yeah. Institute."

"That's not neutral. Iacon already has influence there."

"Iacon." Hawkmoon grimaced. "How?"

"How do you think? Bribes. Nepotism. The works." Orchid scowled. "It's the same from the Undercity to the Palace. That's where you came from, wasn't it? The Palace?"

"What does it matter?"

"What happened?"

Hawkmoon made the shape of a gun and aimed it at Orchid's forehead. "Bang," she whispered.

"You sure?"

"Meh. Close enough to it. Pretty sure it made a different sound, the immobilizer-thing, but I'm not gonna embarrass myself."

Augur chuckled at that. "Oh, if only," he sang. She withheld the urge to shoot him an annoyed look.

"Who?"

"Dunno, but they were embedded deep. Convincingly enough to make their way into my debriefing." Hawkmoon paused. "I'm assuming Iacon."

Orchid glanced away, wearing a troubled expression. "Or Ascenticons."

"Who- Oh. The terrorists," Hawkmoon recalled. "Thought the Prime had them herded up nicely."

"He did. But he got overzealous."

"I saw. We were still planetside when he aired the executions."

Orchid's grimace deepened. "Those who survived took it personally. Though I can't assume there are many left. Not after the Prime's, ah... purges."

"Say what now?"

"Later." Orchid looked back at her. "I have a safe place. My-"

Hawkmoon shook her helm. "Mech, no. It won't work. I'm not even going to bother. They'll figure it out."

"Iacon?"

"Someone. I'd rather be settled in beyond their reach by the time they up the ante."

"The Institute won't give you that."

"According to you."

Orchid chuckled darkly. "You think it hasn't happened? You think Iacon's reach can't find you there? Vos is all but theirs now. They're fighting for it."

Hawkmoon tightened her jaw. "Contrail. I need to contact him."

"Can you call him?"

"Could be tapped. My communication firewalls haven't been updated in a while. And I don't trust they don't have his side already compromised." A thought struck her. "But that's fine."

"It is?" Orchid frowned.

"It's..." Hawkmoon gathered herself. "I'm going to the Institute."

"That's a bad idea," Orchid warned.

"You said the front entrance is being watched?" Hawkmoon asked. She looked at Augur. "What if we slip around?"

"That's... that's ill-advised," Orchi warned.

"It could be managed," Augur reasoned. "But I am hesitant to reveal ourselves to whatever waits on the other side."

Hawkmoon offlined her optics and played it over. "There's a hangar on the seventy-third level. It isn't far from the medical wing on the seventy-fourth. Last I checked, which was admittedly a while back, there was a mech who worked there. Red Light. He could probably contact Contrail without raising hell."

"... Excuse me?" Orchid said, bewildered.

Hawkmoon continued on. "And if Red Light's not there, I'll bet Minerva is. Or someone who knows her. It won't be difficult to talk to her over comms if you go there looking for her."

"Me?"

"Hm? Oh, yes." Hawkmoon rested her servos on her hips. "I can't exactly walk in, now, can I?"

Orchid gave her an incredulous look. "... Me?" he said again.

"Nah, I was thinking about involving ol' Zeta Prime, he and I go way back- Yes, you."

"I'm not doing scrap."

"Even if it means I'll tell you all about Nacelle?" Hawkmoon inquired, lips pressed thin.

Orchid's optics narrowed. "You are cruel," he said at length.

"Information's costly, sweetspark." Just for emphasis, Hawkmoon rubbed the digits of her right servo together.

"Shameless," Orchid growled. "And to think he trusted you."

Hawkmoon flinched.

"What would he think, I wonder, if he saw you now?"

"The worst of me I bet," Hawkmoon muttered, hardening her resolve. "But I don't want to die. You won't want it either. Just don't know it yet."

Orchid glared. "So be it," he said brusquely. "Minerva you said? Red Light?"

"Yeah."

"And what do I tell them?" Orchid's helm tilted. "I doubt we'll be alone."

"Red Light... tell him something like..." Hawkmoon considered it. "You'd like to report someone - an Institute initiate - for storm chasing."

"Storm chasing?"

"Don't worry about it. Find some way to sneak Contrail into the conversation. I... don't have any better than that."

Orchid grimaced. "And Minerva?"

"Hm? Oh. The weirdo's come to pick up her symbiote's supplies." Hawkmoon smiled thinly. "That one'll work like a charm."

"... Alright." Orchid vented deeply. "And where will you be?"

"Hiding."

"I'll contact you when it's done." He beamcasted a set of comm-codes to her. Hawkmoon carefully filed them away. "Where will we meet?"

Hawkmoon shrugged. "Somewhere. Might check out that new shrine."

Orchid's optics briefly brightened. "Of course you will," he grumbled. "Take the Undercity way. Less Enforcers down there."

"Might just do that."

"But first I want your word."

Hawkmoon raised an optical ridge. "My word?"

"I want to know... everything," Orchid demanded, voice falling to a heated whisper. "Everything that happened to Nacelle. I mean it. I want the truth. All of it."

Hawkmoon met his glare evenly. "And you might just get it, provided you play your part."

"That's not enough."

"I swear. How's that? I swear to tell you what happened to Nacelle."

Orchid scrutinized her a moment longer before nodding to himself and backing away. "Seeker Shrine," he said. "Two joors."

"Two joors," Hawkmoon echoed. "Fine."

Orchid extended his wings.

"Wait," she called out. He paused and looked at her. "Thank you," Hawkmoon amended. "I'm basing this on the idea that you're not going to cross me, but thank you. Really."

Orchid's expression didn't ease in the slightest. "Two joors," he said again. "Seeker Shrine. You better be there, or you'll be missing whatever your friends have to say." He took off, up into the air, and rocketed away into the night.

"I prefer this," Augur murmured. Hawkmoon vented. "Better to remain unseen by those forces that matter."

"You say that like a plasma round won't end me the same as any Dark-forged blade," Hawkmoon groaned.

"Mm. Perhaps not. Unless, of course, you don't mind the thought of a Worm chewing your death down to gristle."

"Augur. Shut the fuck up."

Augur yipped, ignoring her. "Which one is he related to, again?"

"Orchid?"

"Yes."

"Weren't you listening? Nacelle." Hawkmoon winced. "Traveler above he would've played this a whole lot better."

"But he hasn't. He is Taken."

"Augur-" she warned, violet optics flashing. The fox carried on.

"Why didn't you take this one with you?" Augur questioned. "His mettle is firmer than your previous companions."

"Nacelle was firm. You can't say otherwise. He stood with me at the end of everything."

"He failed."

"So did you."

Augur blinked. He closed his mouth and bowed his head.

"Thought so," Hawkmoon muttered curtly. "We won't be having this conversation again."

"Never say never," Augur whispered, but all the same he slunk off into the shadows until he was lost from sight.

Whereas the tower space of Vos's upper elevations were glittering and golden, and the surface was the very epitome of a utopian mask thrown over canals of filth, the Undercity made no effort to hide what it was. It was dark and it was underdeveloped, but as Hawkmoon descended into it she found it carried its own charm. If the alleys of the above world were dark and grimy, rife with those forgotten by society, then the Undercity was full of those Vos had actively tried to bury. The paths were longer, narrower, and the foot traffic was sparser - though every passerby gave her a long, hard look as she walked along. Not for the alien plating on her frame, oh no, it wasn't disdain that powered their glares - but envy. Even scratched, even beat up from the journey back to Cybertron, Hawkmoon's armour was in comparatively mint condition compared to most others in the quiet dark beneath the humming city. More than once she spied frames slipping amongst the narrower alleys, naked of plate and with their struts exposed like grey-black bone, wires and cables lining their bodies like blood vessels and a soft thrumming light emanating from betwixt steel grates in their chests. They stared from the shadows, optics dim with hunger, and they watched her as she passed, their EM fields spread wide and far to emit feelings of such despair and hate it almost brought her to her knees.

Orchid had been right in telling her that Enforcers steered clear of the Undercity. She didn't catch even a glimpse of their marked wings, stamped with the insignia of a frowning Cybertronian face. Instead she had to contend with scavs and brutes in the dim wet tunnels below, not through violence but the promise of it. She flexed her talons when their optics searched her out, she readied wristblades whenever mecha swayed too close, and her plating splayed out on occasion - that impossible-to-resist Cybertronian instinct, not so unlike the raised hackles on an Earthborn predator. It was enough to dissuade any attempt on her life, at least until she re-emerged in the upper city by the Seeker Shrine, and from there she was oddly relieved to be back in the company of sensible people, arrogant and prejudiced they may have been.

The Shrine itself wasn't so much a simple monument but an open-air temple, sheltered from the elements (acidic rain in particular) via an active energy shield flickering in the sky above. There weren't guards in sight, nor many Enforcers, but it was busy nonetheless. Hawkmoon entered the place and she found the main attraction to be a series of statues of the original Thirteen Primes - with, on either side, rows and rows of obsidian slates marked with Cybertronian glyphs. On closer inspection Hawkmoon found them to be markers for specific events in Vos history, with columns of designations chipped into the glassy stone beneath. There were skirmishes from before the unification, during the time of the Predacons, and pitched battles waged during the Quintesson Wars. There were border disputes with Tarn and Kaon and even Iacon, then more set off-world, with other intelligent species over the fate of trade routes and energon mines. There were the slaughters inflicted and retaliations taken in stride during Cybertron's Golden Age and the expansion of its empire, and then some minor clashes with colonies grown too big for their boots.

The monument for the Rust Plague was set against the back of the Primes. The list of names was seemingly infinite. A war fought against an unceasing foe, one that knew neither pain nor death. At the end of the list the designations morphed into the names of entire worlds lost. Tens of thousands. Millions. And that was just the Seekers.

Opposite, however, towards the rear of the Shrine Hawkmoon spied one that looked smaller than all the others. Energon Crisis it said. Instigated by the Ascenticon brigand-clan. Not many names, no. Not many Seekers - Hawkmoon was surprised to see any.

Her surprise only grew when she saw her own name etched into it. It sat there, comfy and rough against the canvas of black, and above and below it was flanked by Nacelle and Cyberwarp. Northwind's trine followed after.

Lost to the stars, the slate finished. These honourable souls; they served with distinction and for their world they made the ultimate sacrifice. May time never forget them.

Hawkmoon stared at it for some time. For some reason, some incomprehensible reason, it made her sick to her fuel tanks. Her spark ached and her combat protocols raged; the lines of code in her helm grew to the tune of red-hot fury and she couldn't understand why. Better the rage than the misery, she supposed. Better the anger to the grief, what little of it remained. Better the burn than the slow venom of hopelessness. It was the injustice of it all, she thoughr. One great big joke orchestrated by sociopath after sociopath - an unwitting co-operative effort woven through time and space, and it left her all the worse for it. But unjust or not, that did little to comfort her. The universe was an unjust place. Coming to terms with that did not make it any less so. The sting of it remained painful and the goodness burned fierce but short. Cold was the natural state of being for existence at large; an ocean's worth of ruthlessness to snuff out the decent little things that made it all worth the trouble.

Who was she fighting for anymore? People she'd never met? People who weren't even human?

They acted human enough, though. And it wasn't like she cared overly much about that divide of species - not any more. Matter and minds; that was the extent of it. Only thing left was to keep them intact. And probably die trying. It was a grim way to end things. Here lies Hawkmoon. She tried. Didn't work. Let's hope for someone who actually knows what to do.

That, she thought, was the reason for her anger, for her frustration. Vos had buried her already - only, she wasn't even dead anymore. She'd played a bad hand but someone had cheated on her behalf. Still in the game. Still down on her luck and still trying to scrape by. Bound to lose but looking to prolong it if only to stick it to the other guy - and they'd already slated her for the scrap-pile.

"A sad state of affairs, isn't it?" a voice murmured by her shoulder. Hawkmoon craned her helm around and beheld an elderly Seeker, his optics dulled and plating worn down. His silver paint was refurbished but it couldn't hide the weight of so many years. "Young 'uns, just tossed out and thrown at all our problems."

"Have to wonder if it was worth it," Hawkmoon mumbled.

"I say it must have been. We're all still standing; someone pulled through."

"That's not much solace to those who died."

"Isn't it?" the old Seeker peered at her. "They volunteered for the job, didn't they?"

"... I'm sure they did," Hawkmoon said with a grimace. "Excuse me." She left him be and strolled past the other exhibits, her interest in them dulled - her mind was elsewhere, far away. She strolled along, passing through throngs of mecha all the while avoiding the lazy patrols of bored Enforcers, and after a while she slipped out the less busy side door just for a metaphorical breath of fresh air. Hawkmoon vented, cleared her optics - and saw Orchid standing across the street at the lip of a pedestrianized road.

"He's alone," Augur noted.

Good, Hawkmoon thought, though she scanned around her all the same. No one looked her way beyond those walking by, and theirs was a brief distraction, easily forgotten. She crossed over, stopped in front of him and raised an optical ridge. Orchid looked at her a moment before dipping his helm.

"Thank you," Hawkmoon murmured.

Orchid turned around and they walked down the path, slowly. "It was Minerva," he explained. "Red Light is retired."

"Huh."

"But he sends his regards."

Hawkmoon glanced at him questioningly.

"She called him," Orchid elaborated. "And he... he did as you asked."

"Was there any... trouble?"

"None, though I supposed the guards liked the look of me. The entire complex was on high alert."

"So..."

"She'll call," Orchid told her. "Soon. We best make ourselves scarce in the meantime."

"Mm... no. No, I don't quite like that." Hawkmoon stopped in place. Orchid slowed and swivelled around. She crossed her arms. "What did she really say?"

"I want my info first," Orchid said stubbornly.

"That's not how this works."

"Isn't it?"

"Look - either I get what I want or they do. I don't have to explain who they are, do I? Now who's more likely to hold up their end of the deal?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't know you. I don't trust you."

"Nacelle did," Hawkmoon pointed out. "Dunno why, but he was pretty vehement on that point."

"And look where that got him," Orchid retorted angrily. "Torn from his home."

"He never cared about sticking around."

"How would you know?"

"Because we were a trine," Hawkmoon shot back. "You obviously weren't paying attention."

"He wasn't leaving."

"No, but staying wasn't important to him either. My point stands."

Orchid's faceplates contorted into a vicious scowl. "Terminus East," he bit out. "Minerva is passing by. She's riding with a strato-shuttle to receive medical supplies - crates of pure distilled energon and nanite incubators."

"Pricey stuff. That'll have security."

"Exactly. You're to search them out."

Hawkmoon pressed her lips together. "I see."

"Now? Are we finished?"

"... Yeah," Hawkmoon sighed with a vent. "Yeah, we're finished."

"Then-"

She rummaged through her memory banks, pulled up the most painful offenders, and crunched them down into a single nondescript datapacket - which she uploaded to her comms system and beamed to Orchid then and there. He paused, optics dimming as he reviewed it, and Hawkmoon walked past. His EM field receded, anger replaced by confusion, by distress, by fear.

She'd given him Nacelle's last moments as a living, thinking being - and his first action as a Taken pawn, all caught in perfect nauseating quality.

"What..." she heard him say, voice cracking, "what is this?"

Hawkmoon turned around, walking backwards, and she held her arms out. "One big joke," she called back. "Just don't wait around for the punchline. It never lands."

She twirled back around and marched on. Terminus East was a less-developed station situated on the periphery of the city, equipped to receive visitors and cargo by air and rail both. She already had it marked on her internal maps as per the Institute's education - a place to land in case of an emergency. During her last stay on Cybertron it hadn't been a busy place even on the best of days, so if that hadn't changed...

It just seemed too obvious. Subtle too, if she played her cards right, but that entirely hinged on Orchid - and through him Minerva - having told the truth.

"It could be a trap," Augur piped up.

Hawkmoon flicked one of her wings. Not like I have much of a choice at this point.

It took her a few joors to reach the place, along with a couple of trips down into the Undercity to avoid Enforcer patrols. Whatever happened at the Palace, it left them agitated and on high-alert. Too often she felt the edges of their EM fields pass her by, searching for something, anything out of the ordinary. It was only down to Augur's prescience and sheer luck that she managed to avoid them. A couple of times she even slipped into her fractal shroud despite the fuel waste, just to be sure she was hidden from their sight.

But she made it without incident. The port was active, though sparsely so, and Hawkmoon kept herself cloaked in invisibility to slip past the perimeter checks. Augur was instrumental in sniffing her a way inside that avoided all the security systems - electromagnetic scanners, signal bouncers, metal detectors, armed Enforcers, the whole nine yards. Hawkmoon de-cloaked from behind a pillar, out of sight of the security cameras and roving optics, and she casually allowed herself to be swept up into the crowd heading towards the airport proper. She took up roost by a window at one of the gates, watching as craft came and went, and it was nearly a joor later when she spied anything worthwhile - a heavy armoured starship flanked by nondescript Seeker soldiers. They touched down at the edge of the landing pads and waited themselves. A couple of breems passed before another convoy, this one stamped with the insignias of the Vosian Exploratory Institute, met with them.

"I see her," Augur whispered, pressing his snout against the glass. "I see your friend."

Friend was putting it strongly. Hawkmoon got up, made to move, but something cold pressed against her back and her EM field was suddenly flanked on either side by cold presences. She slowly looked over her shoulder.

It was the guards from the palace. The blue one, the green one - the identical duo who'd taken her guns and Rampage's spark away from her. They stared down at her with very unhappy expressions. For a long moment none of them said a thing.

Then-

"Ah scrap," Hawkmoon cursed.

The green one snorted. The blue one frowned. "Quiet," the latter ordered. It was his transformed servo that was braced against her back - in the conspicuous form of... was that another taser? Really?

"She's looking this way," Augur said, ignoring them. He was still watching the exchange outside. "Your Minerva-"

"So what now?" Hawkmoon softly asked. They hadn't yet drawn any attention. Another craft, larger, was in the midst of touching down and everyone else by the gate was getting ready.

"Now?" the green one echoed. "Now you follow us."

"And if not?"

"We bring you in just the same."

"Fucking lovely," Hawkmoon snarked.

"Quiet," the blue one warned her again. He prodded her. "Move."

"Which way?"

"Follow me," greenie told her. "And - don't draw attention. You won't like it."

"Probably not," she muttered. Dammit.

They took her out a nondescript back door, somewhere on the edge of the runway, and looked all around. The green one nodded to his twin, and the blue one turned to her.

"We're going to fly now," he said. "You are going to follow. We are going to remain calm and we are not going to break rank. We will assume a trine flying formation. Am I understood?"

"Crystal," Hawkmoon said with a grimace.

"You are not to draw attention. Any deviation will result-"

"In a bad time for me, yeah. I get it."

The green one chortled. There was an amused glimmer in his optics, quite unlike the blatant disdain his twin was shooting her way, but his smile was far from warm. "Then we trust you'll do as we say."

"Mm," Hawkmoon hummed.

"Minerva knows," Augur whispered to her. He was perched on her shoulder. "She watched. She knows. This is her handiwork."

"I trust you know what happened at the Palace?" she asked them, feigning a nonchalant air.

The green one looked to the blue, and he simply glared at her. "That's none of your business," he growled.

"Someone tried to take me."

"That's-"

"Do you belong to them too?"

"No," the green Seeker replied. "No. We do not."

"Then..." Hawkmoon trailed off. If you're telling the truth, she thought, then you're on the side I'm looking for.

A rumbling roar filled the air; a transport, massive, was in the midst of taking off on colossal thrusters, belching huge columns of plasmic flame.

"Now," the blue Seeker said, and he and his twin transformed. Hawkmoon debated doing otherwise, just to spite them, but she followed suit quickly enough. To hell with it. They rose into the air, the two of them shifting to flank her - inadvertently, or perhaps not, blotting out the sight of her conspicuous alt-form from prying optics. They fired off into the sky, out and east away from the city, and soon enough the glittering sight of Vos began to shrink behind them.

They took her across the empty wastes of Vos's wild frontiers. From the sky she spotted the occasional towns and outposts that dotted the rest of the city-state, but they steered well clear of them. No one talked much - beyond, of course, the snapped orders and the not-so-veiled threats if she dared to break form. Hawkmoon quickly grew tired of it, but Augur's words of encouragement ("Not yet." "Let us see where this goes." "I am curious.") kept her from acting rashly - despite every instinct she had to buck against the illusion of authority. Doing what she was told ill-fit her.

The off-cycle came and went and, after more than an orn by her count, they descended down towards the vast rocky plains towards a nondescript compound outfitted with a garden courtyard and low if sturdy perimeter walls. A couple of personal landing pads rested by a small hangar, and a lone shuttle bare of paint sat out front. As they closed in Hawkmoon noticed the presence of a light energy shield around the entire place. It fizzled off as they bore down on it, then reactivated only once they were past. A number of automated gun emplacements tracked their course, their invisible targeting tracers fritzing with her electromagnetic field. It was disorientating, nauseating, but only lasted for a second before - presumably - someone on the other side deactivated them.

They landed in the middle of the courtyard. There was a pond nearby full of clear water and the rest of the rocky earth was dotted with crystalline growths and a couple of metallic sculptures that looked like nothing in particular to her. Another Seeker was present, sat on a boulder by the water's edge, and even at a glance Hawkmoon knew he wasn't a soldier, a killer, a fighter. Naw, he was just a kid - adolescent, barely up to her waist, and as he looked at them he wore that perpetual teenage scowl just to show the world how little he respected it.

"Huh," Hawkmoon said. The corners of her lips quirked up. "Not the cell I was expecting."

The green Seeker glanced at her and the blue ignored her. "Are your creators here?" the latter asked.

"Carrier is," the kid grunted. He peered at her with furrowed optical ridges. "Who's that?"

Her escorts ignored him. Blue tugged her arm. "Follow," he told her. Hawkmoon buried the urge to snap back and trailed after him as he marched ahead, beneath the cloisters that sheltered the perimeter of the courtyard, through a door, a set of rooms, and finally arrived at what looked like... an elaborate sitting room, one with a window to the garden and an ornate dining table on which sat a pair of glowing energon cubes. Stationed on either side of it, delicately perched in fine Vosian chairs sculpted from colourful steel, were a pair of strange mecha waiting for their arrival. The first, the closer of the two, was the most beautiful Seeker of glittering silver and gilded gold - a femme with delicate ornate plating, smooth armoured contours and a distinct lack of warframe modifications. She bore no weapons, her digits weren't so much talons, her wings were hardly the kind to weather deep-space exploration, though all the same she exuded a cold, haughty air of particular danger. Cunning glimmered in her blue optics.

The other Cybertronian, though, Hawkmoon did recognize - but rather she remembered them from a portent of elsewhere, a glimpse of some other time. It was a mech, maybe, or possibly a femme, but she knew them. She knew their shape, their colour scheme, the dark purplish-black and the violet lights scattered across their thin frame. They weren't a Seeker; they lacked wings, but they had no other kibble either, so she couldn't tell if they were of a flying caste or a ground-based one. Most notable of all was their battlemask - a blank, dark screen of reflective glass drawn across their faceplates. Four small spikes on their forehead left them with an impromptu crown and their entire head was narrow, triangular, ending with a very narrow chin. They were tall for a Cybertronian, of size with a Seeker, though they appeared rather lanky in comparison to her.

"You must be... Hawkmoon," the Seeker femme warmly greeted - her voice was harmonious and gentle, a matronly tone nestled among the melodic notes. Her vocabulator was tuned, Hawkmoon thought. To an expensive degree. "I must admit, it's a colossal relief for us all that you managed to find your way here. I was so worried something might have happened to you."

Hawkmoon blinked, realized she had been staring at the non-Seeker, but she managed to redirect her gaze the femme's way. "Do I know you? Have we met"

The femme smiled apologetically - so empathetically Hawkmoon all but wanted to believe her. All of a sudden her mind was filled with the stilted memory and far-flung rumours of Golden Age moral-empaths - impossibly charismatic ethicists like the Good Man and the Ishtar Dreamers, philosophical titans who curbed human barbarism towards interplanetary cooperation like benign puppeteers. People you just naturally wanted to follow, people you wanted to agree with.

A frightening prospect altogether, and one that sobered her on the spot; what goodwill was there for manipulation in a universe full of dragons and worms? She came from too grim a timeline to humour it, to give in, and Hawkmoon had to keep her field drawn tight to avoid revealing the disgust she felt in that moment.

"My designation is Dystrexin," the femme explained. "I think you know my sparkmate - Contrail?"

"... Ah," Hawkmoon said at length. "Right." She looked around. "I don't suppose he's here?"

"Not yet."

"Riiight. Okay." She nodded. "What is this place?"

"Our home." Dystrexin stood. "And you're welcome to stay."

Hawkmoon glanced at her guards. But leaving will be a whole other matter, I'm presuming, she thought.

Dystrexin, as if finally taking notice of them, clasped her servos behind her back. "Dreadwing. Skyquake. Thank you for bringing her. That is all for now; dismissed."

The twins bowed their helms and without a word filed back out of the room. The door slid closed behind them with a smooth vroosh.

"Would you like to sit?" Dystrexin asked. "Energon?"

"I don't-"

"Please, I insist." Dystrexin pulled out a chair and wandered to a cabinet by the other side of the room, taking out a small cube of energon tinged with pink. The good stuff.

"Could be poisoned," Augur warned.

Lotta trouble just to poison me, Hawkmoon reflected. She stiffly took to the offered seat and graciously bowed her head as Dystrexin passed her the cube. "Thanks."

"You are very welcome," Dystrexin smoothly replied. She glided back to her own roost and settled in - crossing her legs, laying her servos out onto the table. "I can only imagine the discomforts you're feeling; we have washracks and pressure scrubbers and free berths should you choose to use them. You've come a long way. I imagine you've picked up a pretty coat of dust in the meantime."

"... Dust," Hawkmoon said with a frown.

"Yes."

"Uh... right."

Dystrexin tilted her helm. "You must still be rattled. A terrible business, I hear, that Palace mess. A dreadful thing. I can only hope the Prince's staff get to the bottom of it. A breach of that magnitude cannot go unpunished."

"You know what happened?"

"Oh yes." Dystrexin's smile strained. "And to think they'd burrowed so close."

"Who?"

"The Weapons Division, no? Bitstream."

"Bitstre- He was Division?" Hawkmoon questioned. "You're sure of that."

Dystrexin looked at the other Cybertronian. They blankly stared back.

"We should wait for Contrail," she said. "He'd quite like to hear what you have to say."

"I bet he does," Hawkmoon muttered. She took a sip of her cube and - yeah, it was as fine and sweet as she remembered. Totally indescribable to human understanding; like spiced electricity but so much more. She looked at the other mecha. "Who are you?"

The visor swivelled her way. Beyond that, they didn't move even an inch. "Designation?" they inquired, their voicebox sonorous and gravelly and deep. "Soundwave."

The slender mech at her side bowed his helm in rueful accord. "Outcome: unanticipated."

"He's, ah..." Dystrexin paused. "I guess you could call him a professional aide, a data-splicer. A... mm, a troubleshooter if you will."

Troubleshooter. Even in Cybertronian the word rang in her mind. Whatever her mood before, she was on edge now. Troubleshooter. She knew troubleshooters. Adria had known troubleshooters. Hell, she'd been one - prior- and post-transference. Troubleshooter meant killer, soldier, a warrior-class beholden to no law but the Warmind's deafening whispers. Troubleshooter meant license to expand mission parameters as they saw fit. Troubleshooter meant an excuse - to carve through the Solar System at their leisure.

Troubleshooter meant dangerous - and she had no doubts that it rang just as true on Cybertron as it had on Earth.

"He has earned the right tenfold to sit in on these talks," Dystrexin continued. "But you have nothing to fear; he's discreet and true."

"Those two words don't belong together," Hawkmoon mumbled.

There was a brief moment of silence before Dystrexin laughed. Softly. "It's applicable in this case."

Hawkmoon looked at Soundwave, scrutinized him, and she was under the impression he was doing the same with her - studying her from top to bottom just to get the measure of her. He looked... dangerous. He had the thin, wiry air of some Vex construct but he was clearly Cybertronian in makeup. What really threw her for a loop was the mask - because with it he lost all his visual humanity. It was harder to pin him down, harder to connect - all due to that human desire for eye contact, to make out where the other entity's face was and focus there, to note it as something alive. With him she got none of that.

But the memory, the dream...

What was going on?

"So now we wait?" Hawkmoon inquired, just to distract herself. To give her something else to busy herself with. "How long is he going to be?"

"Another orn or so." Dystrexin raised an optical ridge. "Is there somewhere else you want to go?"

"I want to understand what the frag is going on. Who were those mecha in the Palace? The frag did they want?"

"You," Soundwave said. Hawkmoon flinched; he didn't even sound natural. Cybertronians weren't humans, but usually there was enough there to override the differences. He was... he just wasn't that. "Vosian infiltrators: captured. Status: unresponsive. Conclusion: likely agents of Vosian Weapons Division. Allegiance: Iacon."

"But why me?"

Dystrexin and Soundwave shared a look. "Contrail would like to broach that with you personally," Dystrexin reluctantly told her. "It's important."

"Then why don't you tell me?" Hawkmoon challenged.

"So soon after your ordeal?" Dystrexin shook her helm. "You're in no state - and it would be remiss of me as a host to place so much on your shoulders the moment you arrive. No. I want you to rest first. I want you to relax. You're not in danger here."

"I thought the same with the Palace," Hawkmoon bit out.

Dystrexin stalled. Soundwave leaned forward. "Hawkmoon: armed?" he inquired.

Hawkmoon looked at him. "Is that a problem?"

Soundwave didn't reply. Instead, his face-screen lit up and she was welcomed with the sight of a camera feed - of her in her room at the palace, backing into it as Bitstream and his partner entered. The recording sped up until the point where she drew her Nullblade. He paused there.

"I am," Hawkmoon reluctantly admitted. "And that won't change."

"It won't have to," Dystrexin said quickly, reassuringly. "I won't make demands of you. You are a guest, not a prisoner." She shot Soundwave a warning look

"Funny," Hawkmoon murmured. "Guests aren't usually brought in at gunpoint."

Dystrexin frowned. "The twins threatened you?"

Hawkmoon opened her mouth... and closed it. "It doesn't matter."

"I hope they-"

"It doesn't matter."

Dystrexin scrutinized her. "Then I won't question it," she murmured. "But if there are any issues, please come to me."

"How long are you keeping me here?"

"As long as you'd like. We're safe. We're hidden, undetected. No one will come unless by Contrail or I's invitation."

"So I can leave?" Hawkmoon pressed.

Dystrexin graced her a knowing half-smile. "If you'd like. But there's few places on this world where you can hide from Iacon. And they want you dearly."

"Why?" If it's this damn Aperture-Scrambler, I swear...

"We'll get to that as soon as Contrail returns. I promise."

Hawkmoon vented. "Fine."

"You'll stay?"

"Yeah. I'll stay."

Dystrexin clapped her servos together. "Splendid! Soundwave, would you be a dear and show her to her chambers? I'm sure she'd appreciate the chance to wash away the grime of the wastes."

Soundwave bowed his helm and stood up, still cupping his cube. Hawkmoon rose, cradling her own, and followed him as he silently led the way through another door and down an adjacent hallway. They re-emerged in the cloisters surrounding the garden, then slipped into another sub-building - one fitted with a number of guest suites. Soundwave led her to the last room at the end of the corridor, some elaborate two-storey chamber with all the facilities a Cybertronian could desire. There was a television, a Teletraan-terminal, a coffee table flanked by Vosian seats and a berthroom up above, along with (to her utmost relief) a private washroom. Hawkmoon stepped inside and looked around; it was a dazzling place, just like the rest of the compound, and the walls were painted with scene after scene of mythic Vosian history. In the corner, atop a stool, there were a number of potted crystals - like the equivalent of houseplants.

It was fantastically ridiculous.

"Satisfactory?" Soundwave asked.

"Can't complain," Hawkmoon murmured. She turned, catching him as he was about to make his leave, and said, "Soundwave."

He stopped, swivelled around to face her.

"You're not a Seeker, are you?"

"Negative."

"... What then? Who are you?"

Soundwave regarded her a moment longer with that black visor before turning and walking out without another word.

"Alright then," Hawkmoon mumbled. "Suit yourself."

She took to dreamless recharge and awoke the next day feeling a whole let better. Hawkmoon washed again, just to scrub out the last elements of grit, and she looked at herself in the mirror as she finished - so different, so... other. She looked nothing like her human self, nor her Exomind form. Even her original Cybertronian frame had been significantly altered - adopting the plate of a Taishibethi fighter and the kibble of a mechanized dragon. The hood, though, was a little piece of home she was glad to have. The only article of clothing she owned and it was still a physical part of her.

Hawkmoon left her room behind, stepped out into the garden and glanced up at the early morning sky - just to find it a soft, warm summer blue - a change from the usual orange. The low heat of it suffused her wings and she stood there for a moment, lifting them up to bask in it, but a high shriek shattered her reverie. Her optics onlined, her helm snapped around, and there in the middle of the garden, sat by the edge of the pond was the young mech from before with an even smaller Seekerlette on his left and her green guard (Dreadwing-or-Skyquake) from before on his right. They were looking at her and then to the symbiote perched on the older kid's shoulder. A bird-like thing, one with the fearsome visage of a raptorial corvid, not unlike...

Traveler above.

"Rook?" Hawkmoon said, surprised.

The symbiote launched himself, shot towards her and hit her chest, flapping his wings and screeching so loud the whole compound probably heard him. He grasped onto her collar and pressed close, his tiny less-developed EM field rife with confusion and relief and simple joy. Hawkmoon felt it and hesitated just a second before enveloping it with her own - because for all her emotional turmoil she felt much the same. A laugh escaped her beyond her volition and she couldn't stop it, near delirious with unexpected glee.

"I know, I know, I missed you too, so fragging much!" Hawkmoon chuckled. "You fragging bird - I am so, so glad to see you again!"

Rook shrieked again and buried his head in the juncture between her pauldron and her neck. Hawkmoon raised a hand to his back and cupped him against her, cradled him, ignored the feeling of his claws pricking against her frame and just... exulting in it. Exulting in this one good thing. She didn't know when she'd dropped to her knees, but when a shadow fell over her she reactivated her optics to find herself on the ground, still embracing Rook and staring at another symbiote, a flying critter that looked more like a strange dragonfly with six static wings.

"Laserbeak," a voice rang out. "Return."

The symbiote retreated to the form of Soundwave, hidden beneath the shade of a cloister, and attached to the front of his chest. His visor remained fixed in Hawkmoon's direction - but she just couldn't stop smiling and ultimately decided to ignore him.

"You little brat," she murmured, cradling Rook closer. The crow-raptor crooned. "I'm so sorry, I've been... It's been so long, I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But you..." She pulled him away. "You look great. Fantastic. You've been here?"

Rook chirped. She took it as an affirmative.

"'Spose that means this place is safe," Hawkmoon grunted. "Oh, you... I can't believe it. You dazzling little thing."

"You never said you had a... a pet," Augur said neutrally.

Hawkmoon glanced at him in warning, but she didn't say a thing. Not with so many mecha watching. She turned back to Rook and found him looking at her oddly, inspecting her. "Yeah. Things've changed. I've changed. It's... it's been something."

He looked her back into the optics and chirped again, this time more questioningly - as if to say how was it?

And Hawkmoon - she hadn't the heart to ruin the moment. Not yet. "It... it was... It wasn't what I envisioned. Wasn't paradise. But... look, we'll get there. We will. But first - you. Who's been watching after you?"

Rook reluctantly turned his little helm around and pointed back to the older kid. Hawkmoon stood up, strolled over, and she kept her movements slow and obvious if for how Dreadwing-or-Skyquake was watching her. "You," she said to the young mech. "Could I get your name?"

The youngster looked at Dreadwing-or-Skyquake and received a slow nod for their trouble. "Greychart."

"You looked after Rook?"

"I... yeah."

"Thank you," Hawkmoon told him. "Thank you so much. I... I can't tell you how happy it makes me seeing him hale and happy like this."

Greychart, however, glowered. "Alright," he said moodily.

"... Is something the matter?" Hawkmoon asked with a frown.

"No. Nothing at all." Greychart glanced at Rook fleetingly. "Just take your stupi-"

"Grey," Dreadwing-or-Skyquake warned.

Greychart stopped talking. He shrugged after a moment and sat back down, turning his back to her and kicking his pedes into the water. Rook leaned towards him - then evidently reconsidered and jumped up to perch on Hawkmoon's shoulder. The weight was... nice. The field-contact too, oddly enough. Hawkmoon found she missed it - at least from someone she trusted.

Hawkmoon looked to Dreadwing-or-Skyquake for help and he just motioned with his helm for her to get a move on - only for the other child, the smaller femme half Greychart's size, to stand up.

"You're Rook's owner?" she asked. Couldn't have been more than a ten year old - if she'd been human, anyways.

"Eh, owner's a bit of a strong word," Hawkmoon replied. She sat down, crossing her legs, and even then she still dwarfed the girl. "I prefer the term divine saviour." Dreadwing-or-Skyquake vented abruptly to mask a chuckle

"What?" the little femmeling said.

"It's... yeah. Yeah, I guess I am. Kinda." Hawkmoon raised her servo, half expecting to receive a sharp peck for her efforts, but instead Rook thrust the top of his head into her touch. It was adorable and her heart - or spark, rather - melted on the spot. "Legally anyways. Really, though, he's his own master."

"Yeah. Yeah, he is, isn't he?" The femme turned to Greychart. "Isn't he, Gre-"

"Leave me alone," Greychart snapped sullenly.

Dreadwing-or-Skyquake sighed and stood up, dusting his knees. "You should move on," he softly told Hawkmoon.

"I see that," she drily replied. Hawkmoon got to her pedes and looked to Rook. "Want to stay?"

She received a sharp hiss for a reply, then an extra prickly cuddle to the side of her neck.

"Alrighty." Hawkmoon spared the kids and Dreadwing-or - no, no, she was just going to call him Greenie until she figured the twins out. Greenie and the other one was Blue. Or Moody. Either or. She spared them a final look before quitting the garden. Soundwave intercepted her as she reached the cloister, strolling fast with his long gangly arms clasped behind his back, and without saying a thing inclined his helm to her. "Yeah," Hawkmoon said, eyeing him carefully. "Good morning to you too."

He tilted his helm. "Query: this is a morning to behave appropriately?"

"Oh fuck, not this," she groaned.

"Alternative: the weather parameters upon this morning are deemed satisfactory? Alternative-"

"I was saying hi with other words. Forget it."

Soundwave didn't immediately reply - just studied her for a short while. It was unnerving. Then his visor lit up, briefly, to show what looked like a sound graph and he replayed for her, in her very own voice, "Hi."

Hawkmoon just stared.

"Hi," he said again. Her voice. Her voice cut up. "Hi."

"Alright, okay, you-"

"Hi."

"-just leave it there." Fuck you're creepy, she thought. Rook perked up. Soundwave reached out and the crow just softly touched the end of the mech's closest digit with his beak. She felt some familiarity there, some warmth. Some trust. Just maybe not enough to satisfy her.

"Is Contrail back yet?"

Soundwave's head swiveled a fraction. "Negative."

"Oh."

"Estimated time of arrival: five joors."

"What's he doing right now?"

"Contrail: meeting with Supreme Council of Iacon. Contrail: discussing matters of security with Vosian Conclave of Speakers. Contrail: negotiating with Alpha Trion and Zeta Prime."

"Ah. Right. All that... yeah, that senator business." Hawkmoon tried to keep her face straight when all she wanted to do was scowl. "Suppose that's important."

Soundwave just kept looking at her. "Suppose," he replied again in her voice.

"Can you... not do that?" Hawkmoon asked.

"... Affirmative," Soundwave said after a pause. "Reason: discomfort?"

"Yeah."

"Acknowledged. Soundwave: apologizes."

"It's... look, okay, alright, thanks." Hawkmoon vented softly. "Just... Okay. What's on the agenda today?"

"Clarify."

"Is there anything today for me to do in the meantime? Anything you've got queued up for me? Like another interrogation?"

"Negative. Interrogation: unnecessary."

"Unnecessary?"

"Soundwave: received unedited copy of your report."

"That's..." Hawkmoon blinked. "How many people have that?"

"Estimation: nine. Footage: classified by order of the Vosian Prince."

"That's..." Hawkmoon grimaced. "That's probably the best I'll get, isn't it?"

Soundwave didn't reply.

"Anything else?"

"Priority: Dystrexin has ordered an auto-parlour for your benefit. Hawkmoon: engage?"

"Uh… sure." Hawkmoon glanced down at herself. "Probably need, right? Is that all?"

"Affirmative." He walked past her and disappeared further into the compound. Hawkmoon watched him go, still as confused as when she'd met him. She'd dreamed of him - but when she tried to remember it, all she recalled were scraps. Potent scraps, dangerous scraps - scraps pertaining to something big, something awful. A future. Maybe the future. It was hard to tell. She'd never really fancied herself a Thanatonaut. Ikharos had delved into those death-arts, but never her. Lennox-2 had been content with what she'd had. Knowledge of the future had always been someone else's problem. But now - now it felt like it was being pushed onto her.

She'd seen him. She'd known him. And here he was, a living mech.

"That one bears watching, me thinks," Augur whispered.

"Then go watch him," Hawkmoon growled back. She leaned against a pillar and sighed, reaching up to run her digits down Rook's back. He shivered and purred as reward for her efforts, his steel feathers splaying out like blades. "I'd like not to worry about my life or my circumstances for one fucking moment. Go on."

Augur shot her an dissatisfied look before padding after Soundwave. Hawkmoon winced and felt her denta worrying at her lip, not so far away from breaking the surface and tasting the energon beneath.

"'Least I have you again," Hawkmoon said quietly, leaning her helm against Rook. He croaked happily. And that was enough for her - for the moment. Something to cherish at last.

She had her bird back.

AN: Hugest thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!

Best transformer is here.